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Does My Ring Burn Your Finger - Printable Version

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Does My Ring Burn Your Finger - Hammersmith - 10-05-2015

You can carry a knife and still trust everyone.
Carry it in your mouth.
Every time you open it,
We await the sharpening noise of worship.
Cry out into the darkness
The sermon that doesn’t cease:
You cannot be abandoned.
You can only be released.
— Church of the Broken Axe Handle, by Derrick Brown

"What I think about weddings."


Something stumbled through the scrub of the Shroud's forest.  It was headed for a rock outcropping, some monolithic remnant of Dalmud's fall that had embedded itself in the forest's flesh and stayed as a splinter of rock in a world of wood and loam and ancient forest.

It didn't belong.

Neither did the giant that was climbing it's side.
"Oh come on now.  You loved them.  You just hate the idea someone else might make it out alive out of one."
"The fuck do yez know?"

There was a fire lit at the top of the minature mountain's plateu top.  A campsite the Roe had been tending to for weeks now.  Outside the constant buzz of the Company house.  Solitude.

"Enough.  Envy always was your worst drive."
"Worst an best. The fuck do they know."
A grunt got the giant over the ledge.  Another grunt hauled up a pack with a bottle on it's side.
"Enough to pin stripes on you"
"Command.  Fuckin nightmare."

A third grunt got the lumbering roe to his feet and towards the fire burning outside an empty tent.  Smoke, sparks, and dull gold light dancing on the flat, smooth, dragon kissed stone.
"This kind of thinking for you in trouble a long while back."
"Alla them got the same damn surprised fuckin look on their face every time comes up.  Gets old bein a fuckin monkey."


Hammer settled down next to the fire to pull various clay jars, glass vials, and alchohol bottles from the pack.  One stayed rolling in the palm of his hand.  One with a stinking, black liquid that looked more like syrup than it did something to be consumed.  There was only a fourth of a draught left in the thing.
"Well you should stop looking like an old gorilla."
"Hard do that.  Gotten good attit."

He started working at the cork.
"You get stared at because the rest of them don't have a problem with it.  Like those two dear sweet boys on the alter.  Or that other couple.  You were soused at that wedding as well.  Bet you can't even remember their faces."
"That wis the point."


The pop of the bottle opening echoed into the night as the giant settled in to stare east over the desert of green that was the top of the shroud's canopy.
"Both your fellow Ruperts have someone else to slide against in the quiet and whisper at.  Green one has someone they trust to toss secret meanings with.  The Dancer found a new partner to be shy with.  That Lord you're signed on with is secure in knowing his place, just not with anyone taking it.  Even that pink horned one has a better grip on how to drift in that bloody dance of trust.  They've hit a few walls but at least they're honest about drinking to forget their fuckups.  Even the Void Eater seems happy with the one they decided to trust.  Or at least secure in knowing what's coming."
A toast of a black bottle to a black horizon.
"So where that leave me, other than pissed about weddings? Eh?  Other than about t'fall asleep in front o'a fire inna dark?"
"...you wouldn't."
A laugh into the emptyness.
"Hah!  Sure would.  Least then I'd be talkin sommat I trust."
"It's thinking like that got you shot six times in the chest, you know.  Thinking like that made you end up alone.  No family, no nothing.  Thinking like that let the Apprentice out the nest and the world empty, leaving you waiting to do quiet in a hut out in the middle of the gods forsaken ends of an island."
And a sigh to follow.

"Yeah that didn't go so grand didit?"
"I don't know.  You got over it."
A hand tossing wood into a fire to drive the void away high in the Shroud's umbral silence.
"Moon droppi'll do that."
"And drove you looking for something a little more hmm?"
Feeding flames to highlight a wolfish smile floating in the shadows holding that ugly black bottle.
"Maybe.  Maybe.  Still allowed be pissed at weddings though eh?"
"Worse things to want to pass out after."
Another toast to a horizon starting to burn with it's own banishing brightness.
"Aye then.  Here's to need.  Here's t'ae tryin remember it.  N'hatin every tick o'the clock doin it."
"You're going to die alone and sobbing, old man."
A giant drinking the syrupy, black bottle dry.
"Here's hoping."
"Here's hoping not."
A blood red tongue searching for the last drops in the glass walls.
"Here's hopin one way or no...ther."
A heavy body falling backwards onto the stone.
"Idiot."
And the sound of snoring rolling over the sunrise in the Shroud.  
Another day breaking.

RE: Does My Ring Burn Your Finger - Hammersmith - 10-08-2015

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Asleep in front of a flame.

Some people look forward to it.

Some people fear it.

It's a kind of safety.  

A kind of fear.  

All depends on the context.

Especially when it's dark.  Especially when you're not awake to tend it.

Listen to the dark around the giant roe sprawled out on the stone, face down, drooling, with nothing more than shallow breaths to show it's alive.

Listen to the two other voices around the fire.

Familiar.  More polished.

"Is this what we've got to look forward to?  Every time he shows up I'm left wondering if we might not be better off taking a jump off a tall wall one of these days.  And soon."

Nothing but a low chuckle in the dark as a response from the one on the far right.

"Oh. You think that's fun-I remember that laugh.  You dog.  Blow the candle out.  Wake up, blow it out, and go live your damn life."

A pair of red eyes in the dark watched the roe on the stones, being crushed in the grasp of Morpheus.

"If he's any indication of what we have to look forward too you might as well get your kicks while you can afford them, eh?"

The eyes in the middle of the circle shut.

The fire went dark.

-------------------------------

Decades ago, in a dark inn room, a pair of red eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling.  

There was a single candle burning on a bedside stand.  The owner of the orbs's first action was to lick his fingers and pinch the flame out.  A quiet grunt into the pillow he was lodged against was the meant the pain of the burn had registered.  The young roe sitting up out of the bed rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully before swinging his legs out and padding over to the window on quiet, calloused feet.

Opening the window took some effort.  Doing it quietly took more.  There was a layer of snow against the outside eves and a thin layer of frost inside that gave a muffled crackle as the teenager pushed his shoulder to the task and let the winter air of the Spine roll over him.

Behind him, in the bed, someone rolled over and pulled the heavy duvet up over their head in unconscious protest.

At the window, however, the teenager was pulling on a pair of breeches and a belt from which hung an ornate, long stemmed, thin brass pipe.  He hopped out of the window and onto the frozen roof of the inn and the deathly cold mountain air.  The giant teenager stood tall, squinted at the stars, and took his bearings before carefully scaling the sloping roof behind him to reach the peak of the inn's shingled arch.  It was easy to recognize what this was now. It was a scene that's played out over and over.  A large, white haired, red eyed roe, on a high place, facing east and waiting for the sun.  Hammersmith unhooked a pipe from the belt of the breeches and started packing the bowl with something that could only be described as tribal.

Back in the room, the other occupant of the room had given up trying to deny winter existed.  This one is tall as well.  And smart enough to roll through the sheets, turning the bedding into a long, warm sheath of cloth to drag with her into the cold air of the room.  A pack on the floor was her first stop, from which she pulled a flask, then the window, then the roof.  She was following a similar path, following bare footsteps and the other half clad roe up to the perch he'd taken.  The wind clawed at a long blonde braid running down her spine and whistled through the heavy, ornate brass ring fixing the end.

It didn't take long for her to trace the smith's path up to the roof's peak or to drape over the giant's exposed back.  He didn't turn around, just moved to pass the pipe over his shoulder to her.  She clamped it into her mouth and grinned around the stem.  In turn she passed the flask down into the still open hand, smiling around the smoke and sparks leaking from her pale lips. 

She ducked down to rest her chin on an all too broad shoulder.  He took a long pull from the flask before leaning his head against hers.

No words.

Just a couple watching the sun rise in the Spine of the world.

------------------------------------

Three days later, a crimson eye surrounded by bloody vessels opened.

The sun was coming up and, in the depth of the shroud, an old voice swore.

RE: Does My Ring Burn Your Finger - Hammersmith - 10-12-2015

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Up on the roof the giant roe pulled the cork out of a bottle of black rum while scanning the Lavender beds for anyone stupid enough to still be moving at this time of night.

"Have to trust me on this one Hammer."

He listened to echos of a conversation he'd just had.

"Not my business to tell other people's secrets."

Two weddings had put him in a foul mood.  Three days facedown in the Shroud had given him a powerful thrist.  

Watching someone be genuinely happy with something? 

Well.

The rum bottle was going to ease all of those burdens. 



------------------------------------------

They'd slipped out of the inn during the party.  It hadn't been hard.  They'd been there for almost a week settling travel arrangements with the caravans.  There were plenty rolling through the trading outpost but the question of which one to take to which end of the earth had consumed a lot of the time.   They weren't going back, and the money from the Fighting Season wasn't going to last through a second intercontinental trip.  The prospect of a one way ticket dictating their prospects for the coming years was one worth taking the time to talk about.

"I heard he fucked a bear"

Now they were rolling away.

In the back end of a cart four mountain Hellsguard descended from a season of war in the mountains.  The money had been alright.  The experience had been eye opening.  The children of the Spine had grown and were leaving home behind for the last time.  Behind them on the horizon a town with an inn we already know was rolling away into obscurity.  

None of them would be coming back too that inn, or to their home.

"He was drunk enough to dance.  Fucking a bear isn't out of the question."

The party had been huge.  A horde of mercs freshly released had money to burn.  When you had a group declare it was someone's birthday that money had an excuse to explode.  They'd be picking up after the riot of a celebration for days.

"You're just jealous you didn't get laid, precious little Henk."

But some things hadn't changed over the Fighting seasons.  Shit talking was always prime for harvest.

"Fuck you Minny."

The group was still loud.  Still only knew how to show love by how hard they shoved each other.

"Right.  We forgot.  You married the axe."

In a way that was the truest kind of love.  The kind that shone in even the worst behavior.

"And fuck you too Litha."

Under a fur the giant winced and rubbed his head at the ongoing mix of shouting and glowering silence.  Hammer opted to avoid the ongoing, never-ending axis of insults that was any converstion involving Henkersbeil and rolled to the back of the cart.  He peered out at the vanishing inn.

Maybe his raging hangover was making him see things.  Maybe he just wanted to think there was someone up on the roof watching the cart roll away.

Unlikely.

He hadn't told her when they were leaving.  Her oath circle hadn't decided where they were headed and his own's choice had been hard locked with coin before the party had even began.

Things whispered at the dawn, up on that roof.


"So who was she Hammer?"  Minn had a sixth sense for where to put an emotional wedge into a wound.  The other two had a talent for following the blood that seeped out of that sort of wound.

"Was it a bear? You look like you got in a fight with one.  Claw marks.  Everywhere."  Henk's laugh was as much accusatory as it was hopeful.

"Wasn't a bear.  Saw him duck out of the party.  You two too drunk to notice."  Lihta motioned a finger between the weather witch, who was scribbling in her book, and Henk, who was running a polishing stone over the edge of his namesake axe.  Then to Hammer.  "Worth remembering at least?"

Hammer nodded and started packing his pipe.  Not a word yet.  Just the glow of fire and the slow curl of smoke that followed it.

"Well.  Maybe you'll see her again.  Assuming she doesn't end up on the other side of the landmass.  Or dead."  Minn enjoyed sticking her finger in a wound and twisting it around.

"And assuming he doesn't end up dead either.  Don't forget that.  Destroyer's city has a lot of lethality for us to cash in on, but we gotta survive it to enjoy the cash."  Henk, conversely, liked lurking under fresh cuts and waiting for the worst to drip into his open mouth of regret.

"Easy way to tell." Lihta, though, the gaunt, wire muscled ghoul, liked to be sharp, and direct, pulling the heart out and then waiting, politely, for you to eat it. "Did you or didn't you get their name?"

Hammer nodded, raising his pipe to the Inn as it sunk away out of sight.

"Aye."

A farewell to someone else sitting on the roof watching the cart roll away.

"I did."

RE: Does My Ring Burn Your Finger - Hammersmith - 11-05-2015

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Five years later, and the sun rise was a different one.  Here in Ala Mhigo it was white, and cold, in the morning.  

"Is he gonna wake up?"

Later it would be filled with grit and the stench of thousands of people moving through the streets.

"Not sure.  You weren't there.  Didn't see how many times they hit him.  Mostly in the head."

But right now?  Here in front of the jail in the wee hours of the rising sun?

"I was upstairs.  What did you expect me to do?"

The light was sharp and laden with ice.

"Be there when it happened."

Much like the words passing between the two Roe squatting next to a window looking down into a jail cell.

"You're really gonna place this on my head?"

Much like the taste of what was in the flask being passed between them.

"I get conscripted for defending him.  Min's bolt torched the tavern and is probably getting conscripted.  You were out getting your rocks off.  See which one of these isn't like the other Madeye?"

Much like the body cooling on the floor inside the cell.  Barely breathing.

"It had been five years Lihta, give me a break.  I'm allowed to be mortal and carry a torch."

Much like the smile on the ghoul-thin Roe's face

"Must be big torch to let it burn your friends."

Much like the glare in the giant roe's eyes.

"That's unfair and you know it."

"Don't tell me.  Tell Henk."

The lion maned roe in the cell, more tendized meat than man.  Both of them looked between the bars to check.

"Don't think he's gonna hear me."

"We all knew this.  Going going to happen, soon.  Didn't do anything."

The light of the morning pushed between the buildings.  A blade of white sliding through links of stone and street.

"How many of the monks did he actually kill?"

"Two.  Two monks.  Maimed three more.  Killed two guards."

Piercing the two roe on the wall and painting them with harsh contrast.

"Thought we agreed he wasn't allowed to go drinking without his axe?"

"Used a table.  And a chair.  And part of a Monk.  One went through the floor.  Near drowned in a beer keg in the basement."

Highlighting the lion maned midget, groaning for each breath between bubbles of blood, in that armor piercing white.

"That's no coincidence....they put a tankard on his head didn't they?"

"First one didn't die quick.  Died because no one could get close to him."

The ghoul poured out a small measure of white death from the flask into the dirt.  Formed a small diamond in the stark rising light.

"Hells below."

"We knew this would happen.  Oath circle's supposed to stop it before it does.  Keep it our business."

The giant nodded and took the flask back, holding it up to glitter in the mourning light.

"Truth.  Maybe we shoulda.  Kinda hard to put a friend down.  Berserk or not.  We all know he wouldn't have gone quiet."

"Now he'll hang.  Alone.  Should have gone from us doing the job."

They both knew there wasn't enough liquid in the flask to shut out the truth though.

"And not a bunch of injured guards and monks.  Yeah, I get that.  And I wasn't there.  You want to keep turning that screw or you want to let me do it for a little bit?"

"Screwing got you into this, Mad Eye."

No more than it could shut out Henks' coming execution at the end of a short rope.

"FIVE DAMN YEARS, Lihta.  No way I could have known Henk'd go off his gourd while I try do something simple as a damn date."

"Girl's trouble, Mad Eye."

No more than they could absolve Henk, bleeding on the jail floor, of his rage and crimes.

"More ways than one.  Don't you worry though, wasn't there when I woke up."

"Serves you right."

No more than they could stop the sun from rising.

RE: Does My Ring Burn Your Finger - Hammersmith - 11-09-2015

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Watching the sun come up over a battlefield isn't a pretty thing.

It's a beautiful thing.  

Shards of sun bouncing off bright blades broken over seas of glittering armor and shattered shields.  Lances of light piercing hollowed out skulls and shining through empty eyes with the piercing stare of the morning.

A field of blood soaked treasures weighted with the cloying smothering scent of decay and clotting rot.

Through this open-faced tomb lumbered a giant, dragging a cart behind his slow-moving form.  Every few steps the scarred giant would turn it's two red eyes down to the ocean of blood it was wading through.  Every few steps a knife would flesh to cut a ring lose, pry a tooth out, snap a catch off a necklace or locket given by someone who would never see the object of their affection warm, vital, and living ever again.

The Ash Rat of the siege corp, was prowling through the aftermath of his work in this early hour.

Into a sack went the keepsakes of the dead.  Into the cart went the few remnants of weapons that hadn't been destroyed by the conflict here.  Sometimes a knife would flash and slide through some joint in armor.

The crows followed after the giant's wandering path.  Nothing but the dead remained behind.

Which isn't to say that the giant, white haired, red eyed, burn-scarred Roe was the only thing looking over this field of gore.

One of the hills looking over the ocean of mayhem's harvest were three more Roe.  Two paired, yellow-robed, bald headed horrors on either side of an equally tall, slightly more slender leader.

Look at them.  The two yellow robed gore-crows pointing and arguing.

The long-braided leader patiently cleaning the gun that had been resting on their shoulder.

She points and nods.

The two vultures descend.

In the red soaked stage, a pair of red eyes look up.

Blue and red eyes meet.

A nod from on high as the gun is brought to shoulder.

An accusatory howl from below as the two yellow hounds race forward.

Thunder roars over the field of the dead.

This story would have been very different if that had been the end of it.

But we know better, don't we?