It was with silent, solemn efficiency that the remainder of the group made their way through the twisting halls and stone-paved tunnels. Faringalia remained out and limp in Alan's arms for a long time, while Windhawk took her place as torch bearer. Without Garthur's expertise, they had to move slow and careful, though at least Windhawk's keen senses still alerted them to potential ambush.
Alan was just utterly exhausted. Every muscle in his body was screaming for rest, yet still he continued onward. The oppressive feeling of the dark ruins lessened over time, as they made their way along, leaving that cursed church further in their wake. The dangers gradually diminished as well, the traps became less frequent, and although they stumbled across some true goblins on two occasions, the green skinned little beasts fled without challenge in both instances.
He had no idea how long he'd slept earlier, but it clearly wasn't enough. About the same time that the diminutive illusionist in his arms began to stir, he glanced over to Vick. Catching the big man in mid yawn made Alan feel a little better. He wasn't the only one feeling the effort of it all.
Alan slowed his pace, as did the others. He carefully set Faringalia down, just as she began to open her eyes. He offered a smile to the gnome woman, which was answered by a look of confusion.
"You saved us back there. What did you do, exactly?"
The little woman stretched, and ran a hand through her unkempt shock of red hair. "Mmm? Oh. I showed her what fear was. I mean if she could show you lot exactly what you desired, I figured that I could show her exactly what would terrify her most."
Alan frowned thoughtfully. His curiosity was definitely roused, "And dare I ask what that was?"
"I don't know," she said with a shrug, "I'm not privy to what they see, only to their reactions. I'm just glad it worked."
Vick laughed merrily, though his eyes still reflected the shock of the earlier battle. Cutting down a twisted monster or menacing bandit was one thing. Swinging at a creature wearing the face of the a loved one was a different matter, which Alan had the misfortune of finding out on two separate occasions the last few days.
"Alright," Alan finally turned to address them all. "We're near the exit, we're undoubtedly going to catch up with them shortly. I think we should stop and rest here, just for an hour or so. It'll be no use barging out upon them only to find ourselves too exhausted to fight." It was a tough decision, but he felt it was for the best.
There was no argument from the rest. It was likely they were all equally tired, except perhaps the unliving Daphne. It didn't take long to force open a nearby door, and slip into a room they could fortify just off the main hall. Daphne volunteered to keep watch and time, and for once, not even Windhawk objected. The air was still and stale, but after a few moments to let it circulate with the hall, it was almost tolerable. Stout stone walls and an almost equally sturdy door of ancient oak made the place seem secure. The room itself housed only a few dusty wooden crates, but upon examination, all were long empty.
Once settled down for their rest, Alan idly watched Daphne and Windhawk for a moment. The two women were watching each other suspiciously, but did not seem outwardly hostile. At least not for now. It did bring to mind the visage which the Lost Queen had taken when Windhawk attacked. There was a connection between the two elven women that he was clearly not privy to. At the very minimum, it had shown that Windhawk's 'greatest desire' had to do with a revived Daphne. He had never really had any insight to the reclusive ranger's desires through all those years. His eyes lingered on the lean archer as she peeked outside the room for one last quick check. Imaginings of her and the vampire entwined in passion brought a smirk to his lips.
She caught his gaze in the dying light of the flickering torch, then frowned at him, "What?"
He just shook his head and lay back, using his arms as a cushion. Windhawk tilted her head and scowled, then struck the torch she still bore to the ground. In an instant the room was plunged into darkness, as the flames died with a sputtering hiss. The creak of the heavy door closing followed soon after.
It did not take long for the exhausted rogue to drift off once more, nor for the dreams to return. He knew them for what they were now, though this time it was another glimpse of the past, rather than the present. Alan's old room in the Reavers' Rest was lit only by a single lamp upon his desk. While merry music and laughter in the commons could be heard even through the walls, Lightning Alan examined his latest take as it laid upon his desk, appraising a fascinating sapphire he had found by the light of that lamp. A velvet pouch lay open to one side, its burden of gold, silver, and jewels spread out on the smooth wooden surface.
A very soft knock sounded from the door, which he almost missed. Probably one of the tavern girls who'd been eying him over in the room below. They had, after all, just returned from a perilous task, and while Vick, Garthur, and even Windhawk were undoubtedly wasting no time in spending their coin on drink and merriment, he preferred to know exactly what he had beforehand. Still, some company would do him good, and a man had to enjoy his youth while he had it.
"Come on in," He called to the door, then placed that sapphire carefully aside.
As the door creaked open, he took the next gemstone up, and began to examine it. The soft patter of delicate feet and the rustling of long fabric confirmed a woman's entry, and no sooner did the door's closing mute the raucous sounds of celebration before he spoke in a tone that was a little more commanding than he intended, "Come along girl, I think I need a shoulder rub more than anything at the moment." He was still wound up from earlier in the day. Vick's recklessness had almost got them all killed, and he was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed. It was making him short tempered, and he didn't enjoy that.
He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, as if she was about to protest his words. "Sorry, I just, I'm tense as a spring. It's not your fault." He took his eyes away from the gem he'd been carefully examining, then glanced down to the table. Sliding a few gold coins to one side, he tapped the table beside where they lay. "Show me how good your hands are, girl, and we can go from there." He sighed as he tossed the gem he'd been looking at into another pile, then reached to gather up a fine gold necklace.
There was more hesitation, but just before he was about to turn to see what was keeping her, those soft steps crept up behind him. It must have been one of the more modest wenches, as he could hear her skirt dragging the floor from time to time. Most tended to show a lot more leg than that allowed. He felt bad for snapping at her so, especially when those fine hands came to his shoulders. He lifted one hand to pat one of them reassuringly, and they began to rub at the tense muscles there through the loose fabric of his tunic.
She was no expert, but the way her hands worked against the tight knots along his shoulders seemed born of a genuine desire to see him relaxed. It felt marvelous, despite how chill her hands were. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, only to find himself resting against her bust. Not as generously endowed as some he preferred, but he could hardly complain.
"That's good. Thank you, girl," he sighed the words out, and let that necklace rest within one palm. Her hands worked up the side of his neck, cool and soft against his skin. They then slipped back down, this time under the fabric of his loosened shirt, kneading firmly, working the tension out.
"You've no idea what it's like," he murmured to the wench, "Working with them. Sure, we get things done, but damned if it's not harder than it should be. Vick's so damned quick to rush in. Garthur's always getting us into more trouble than we need with his insistence on fixing all the world's wrongs. Windhawk's just as bad." With a groan at how her hands worked upon him, He waved his hand absently, "The only other one with any sense in the group is Miena, and she's always too lost in her damned books to help."
