Asking For Trouble [Rina/open]

[Tally]

If Ruben had his way, there would be no daylight.  He'd spend all hours within the observatory, just him and the stars.  But, much as he hated to admit it, some theories just couldn't be proven with equations and starmaps.  Sometimes one had to field test these things.

That was what had him trudging out here in the woods in the middle of the night, laden down with scrolls and maps and bags of equipment for taking measurements and recording data.  

"I can't believe I thought this would be a good idea," he muttered, trying to make his way over the forest floor without tripping over some tree root or over his own feet and scattering everything to the ground.  "Stupid, stupid, stupid.  I'm never doing this again."  He wasn't really looking for any place in particular.  A large grassy area with a clear view of the sky away from all these trees would do.  He thought that he was heading in the direction of the village more or less.  It had to be someplace away from the observatory so the other astromancy arrays he'd laid out around the grounds wouldn't throw in interference or influence the results.

Ruben drew to a halt as he noticed a distant glow through the trees.  That would be the nighttime lights of La'marri.  The observatory was built far enough away from the village that the glare of torches and lamps wouldn't interfere with its view of the stars.

It wouldn't do to be too close to the village.  This seemed a good distance so he turned in a slow circle, casting about for a suitable spot.  It was so hard to see anything out here.  The trees blocked out the moonlight and obscured his view of the stars.  Damned if he would ever try this again.  There had to be a way to test these things without having to drag himself out into these forsaken woods.  He was sweating already from hauling all this stuff out with him and the mosquitoes were setting up a bloody buffet upon his neck and arms.

Not far away there looked to be a patch of silver that could indicate a clearing.  Once there, Ruben let his load of supplies fall to the grass and shook his arms out to work the ache from them.  This place would do.

He could be intensely focused when he was working, and in very little time he had all of his starmaps and formula listings laid out with lit candle's upon the corners, weighing down the edges against the wind.  They were arranged in a large circle, and at the center burned a small oil lamp to provide more light.  Ruben, now so wrapped up in the work he had forgotten all about the discomfort of being out on a muggy summer night, crawled about in the grass, chalking out the array.  He'd rolled up his sleeves and the three tails of his long black hair dragged upon the ground, but he took no notice.  This would be very exciting if it worked as the equations suggested!

Some night bird winged overhead, crying out sharply, and Ruben startled.  He straightened, neck stiff from having been bent downward for so long.  The array was almost finished, in all it's intricate detail, but Ruben was more interested in what might lay outside his little circle of light.  Beyond the small, flickering candles was a wall of pitch black.  The strange noises of a forest at night and the darkness around him started to work on Ruben's imagination and for a long moment he sat frozen with the chalk in his hand.

He laughed out loud, nervously.  He was just being silly.  Who would have reason to be out here in the middle of the night?  Besides himself, of course.

But then, there was the possibility of wild animals.  Ech.  Maybe he should have brought a sharp stick or...something.

[Anonymous]

Sometimes when people are out in the dark those small sounds are nothing. Just things the frightened mind makes seem louder and closer and more dangerous then they really are. The lower mind functions, the instincts don't want us out at night.

And Ruben was about to find out why that is.

The sounds got a little closer, the leaves rustling under the feet of something. And then there was the smell, faint at first then stronger as whatever it was moved closer. It was a thick, rich scent making it harder to breath, a sickly sweet and vile oder as if someone had disemboweled a cow and left it to sit in the sun for a few days.

The woods were still pitch dark and the flickering candles ruined what night vision the astromancer could have had, their flickering light casting strange shadows on the ground. More noises now, a rasping breathing, hissing slightly.

It's a large beasts, moving low to the ground on 6 legs. It's hard to make out much shape in the twisting light. There are wicked claws and sharp teeth, a flash of long tail. Deep growls as it circles the fire light, watching the man inside.

Doyle could sense that there was something out in the woods. He had been out for a walk as the night always made him restless. There had been a bright spot out from the village, between them and the weird tower that he had heard about. Some mage or something lived there.

He had been a little tempted to go over and see what was going on. And it seemed he wasn't the only one. The breeze was blowing toward him and he could smell it. Covering his nose with his free hand he began to run barefooted toward the clearing.

Please just let him get there in time.

[Tally]

Ignore the noises, he told himself.  Get the work done.  Ruben took refuge in deliberate denial.  He kept his head down, his eyes on the line of white emerging upon the short grass as he drew the chalk across it.  More sounds.  Louder?  Closer?  His heart rate picked up.

No.  Stop it.  It was nothing.  Please let it be nothing.

He might have convinced himself if the smell hadn't hit him just then, so strong and sudden he actually gagged.  No more room for denial.  His head shot up and his eyes cast about the edges of the circle of light, straining to see whatever lay beyond yet praying there was nothing to see.  The stench was suffocating.  He gasped at the air.

Something moved in his peripheral vision and he lurched to his feet to scramble to the center of the circle, where the oil lamp burned and the light was strongest.  It revealed itself to him in glimpses of candlelit claws and teeth.  With each flash of movement he flinched, his panic mounting.  He wanted to run but the border of darkness held him in like a cage.

Light.  He needed light.  A wind picked up and tossed the candlelight about.  It jarred his thoughts free of their paralysis.  Above, the moon had cleared the trees in its orbit across the sky and shone down on him.  A clear path between him and it.  This had to work.  If he could only remember the points of trigger with his mind racing.

Stop.  Be calm.  He was near hysteria.  He forced a deep, shaky breath.  What was the first trigger point?  Distance.  Easy.  Sixty radii of the terra, making adjustments for the elliptical eccentricities of time of day and day of revolution, Earth-relative.  No need for accuracy of location, not so long as he had line of sight.

The second trigger: state.  And that was even easier.  It was at the forefront of his mind.  Light.  The visible spectrum.  That was all he wanted.

The third trigger was the position of the output, and that was here, right where he was standing.  He made his own body the target of the invocation.

The fourth was a bypass constant, a formula he'd memorized years ago, a jump command to prevent not only the delay of travel but all the variables between the source and the destination that might interfere.

And finally there was himself.  He was the conduit, the summoner, the spark that would set it all into motion.  Holding in his mind the four points of trigger—distance, light, target, jump—he grasped at the moonlight and dragged it down.  It punched upward from the ground at his feet, a column of silver light far stronger than he'd intended.  Upward it speared, at least a hundred feet over the treetops.  The whole clearing lit up brilliant as noonday.  Ruben reeled backward and threw up a hand to shield his eyes.  He fell onto the grass and for one awful instant caught full sight of the creature before he had to shut his eyes against the blazing column.  He scrabbled backward, knocking over the oil lamp and a candle, his only thought to put distance between him and that monstrosity but he couldn't see.  The light was blinding.  All he could do was blink in the white glare.

It wouldn't last long.  Ten seconds, maybe fifteen, then all would be darkness again.  Ruben found his feet.  He had to get away from there while the light still shone and the creature was still reeling from the surprise of it.

[Anonymous]

Circling the flickering candle light carefully, the creature made a low growling sound. It wanted the weak and tender human, but it was careful. It didn't like the light, though it was a feeble light. It's long, sinuous body moved closer, tail lashing with excitement as it drew closer to his prey.

The smell grew stronger as it got closer to the mage, that awful rotting scent. Then suddenly is gave a high pitched squeal of pain and scrambled back, 6 legs back peddling as a huge pillar of light appeared, blinding the monster.

Ruben would probably have been happier if he hadn't seen it. Huge open sores covered the monsters thick hide, the cause of most of the smell. It seemed to almost be rotting, huge chunks of it's flesh missing, the edges of the wounds discolored and foul looking. It's short powerful legs ended in huge, vicious looking claws, each one the length of a small dagger. It's head was large and misshapen, the jaw massive and powerful looking.

And it was now very angry on top of being hungry.

Bare feet moving silently across the ground, the fighter cursed to himself. This was not good. He could see the creature now, moving around the flickering light from a candle. He had no idea what it was, some twisted monstrosity of magic and nightmare. And it smelled awful.

Drawing the sword from his back, the man moved closer. The creature was too focused on it's prey to have noticed him yet, which was good. This was not going to be a fun fight. He was unarmored, wearing nothing but a pair of pants and a light shirt. He gave a shirt prayer of thanks that he had strapped the sword on at all.

As it moved closer, getting ready to strike, Doyle made his rush, drawing the sword back to stab it into it's rotten flank.

His rather heroic charge was ruined by the pillar of light that burned his eyes, causing the fighter to stumble, one hand coming up to cover his burning eyes, "SHIT!"

The sound caused the monsters attention to turn away from the bright light to where the stunned human was and it began to move slower, muscles rippling under its foul hide.

Still blind, Doyle rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to clear the spots from his eyes at the light faded. This was not good. He was blind and even when his sight came back, that had ruined his night vision. And he could hear the thing moving closer.

Today was just not a good day.

[Tally]

How long did he have left before the light extinguished?  Ruben backed up, torn between wanting to run headlong away from the there and fear of turning his back on the place he'd last see that demon.  Beast.  Whatever it really was.  It looked like something that had crawled out of his nightmares.  Where it was now, he couldn't see, because he could see nothing but the grass at his feet, bleached near white by the intense light flooding the area.

He hit something with the back of his foot and yelped.  Whatever it was, he tripped over it and fell onto his back into the grass.  His arm was in something wet, and a sharp smell hit him through the stink of the monster.  Oil.  He'd overturned the lamp and gotten into the spilled oil.

The column of moonlight chose that moment to wink out.

It was like being plunged into ink.  He'd only thought he'd been blind before.  Not only was it pitch black, but the afterimage of the light left huge purple spots pulsing in his vision.  He couldn't even see the stars overhead for them.  Paralyzed by the total shut out of sight, he lay frozen in the grass, swiveling his head, trying to find something he could use to orient himself by.

His eyes fell on the flame of the upturned lamp.  The exposed flame.  The flame that was lying a hair's breadth away from the grass.  The grass that was covered in oil.

The same oil that was now soaking through the fabric of his sleeve.

Realization came too late.  All it took was a breeze.  A gentle wind kissed the flame, made it dance, and the oil in the grass caught.  The fire roared up and enveloped him.  Ruben howled, somehow had enough sense to roll away.  He writhed in the grass.  His left arm was ablaze with fire and pain.  Pain like he'd never known in his life.  With one hand he tore at the buttons on his jacket, screaming the whole time.  He managed to rip the jacket off, but his arm still felt on fire.  Cradling it, he lurched onto his knees.  In his mouth flooded the metallic saltiness of blood, and there were bright spots of pain on his tongue and the inside of his cheeks where he'd bitten through.  He didn't forgot about the creature, even then.  Where he otherwise might have fallen to the ground shaking, the awful knowledge of what was out there kept him moving.  On his one good hand and his knees he tried to crawl away though he no longer knew in what direction he should be going.  Away.  He just wanted away from here.

[Anonymous]

The sharp smell of flames and burning skin caused the monster to slow its movements toward Doyle, head swinging back toward Ruben, nostrils flaring as it took in the scent. It seemed to hesitate a moment, still mostly blinded from the pillar. As tempting as the stumbling, screaming human was, the fire was still to bright for it.

It swung it's massive, misshapen head back to the other creature, deciding to go for it. It didn't like the fire and moved farther away from it, the flickering light dancing over its rotten body.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit! Doyle shifted his stance, blinking rapidly. His night vision was toast, destroyed by that massive pillar of light. He raised his sword, dropping into a defensive stance, trying to sense where the beast was. The smell was so over powering it was hard to pin point where it was coming from.

A moment of relief when the light from the turned over candle appeared, casting enough light into the clearing for Doyle to make out the shape of the monster. That lasted a moment before pain filled cries filled the air. Doyle glanced over, cursing. He couldn't just rush to his side or the thing was going to lunge.

Another quick glance at the man and Doyle could see he had gotten the burning clothes off and was stumbling away. Damn. That wasn't good. He was going away from the light, which the monster didn't seem to like.

Changing it's mind yet again, the monster made a pleased hissing sound, jaw parting to reveal it's rotten, wicked looking teeth. The easy prey was moving away from the fire light. It started moving after Ruben, faster now, confident that he wouldn't put up much of a fight.

Suddenly it gave a loud, high pitched squeal of pain, thrashing desperately to dislodge Doyle from it's back. The mercenary had used the opportunity to leap onto the creatures back, slamming his sword deep into it's back. And was now clinging to it for dear life. Foul black pus spurted from the wound, covering Doyle's legs and bar feet. And the awful rotting smell got worse.

"Hey. You alright? Stay close to the light! The light! It doesn't like the fire!"

[Tally]

A voice—a human voice—froze Ruben where he was.  For an instant he thought he'd imagined it.  Above the hiss of the oil fire he could hear shuffling somewhere out in the night, sounds of movement int the grass, and a hissing sound that could only have come from the monster.  Could there really be someone else out there?  His head whipped from side to side, searching for the source of the voice, before he actually managed to comprehend the words that had been said.

Fire?

Fire.  In his terror, he latched onto the word.  Fire he could do.  Aries, Leo, Sagittarius.  Kid stuff.  Not like the bullish forces of planetary astronomy, devoid of any true subtlety or finesse, and not so intellectually exhausting as the incarnation declensions, so convoluted and intricate in their invocations he'd not come close to mastering even one.  No, he could channel the elemental properties of the zodiac constellations in his sleep.

Or with one mangled arm and his mind half mad with panic.

It was still hard to see, but the stars were bright overhead and adrenaline was heightening his senses.  What time was it?  One of the three fire signs had to be up there.  Without an attractor, he still needed line of sight or it wouldn't work.

His eyes locked on one of the fish of Pisces and followed its tail up to the ram of Aries.  There were no formulas needed, no numbers to remember or variables to take into account.  Just his will and the ram's fire.  His one good hand darted out, brushed the wide circle of chalk he'd drawn in the grass before, and with that as a mold he channeled the fire.  It followed the ring of chalk beautifully, racing along the circular path and closing around him.  He found himself now both trapped and  protected.  If the creature was indeed afraid of fire, Ruben could hold the flames indefinitely...or until he passed out.  If it decided to wade through and attack him, he would have nowhere to go.  The flames encircling him were low.  With a running jump one would be able to leap over them safely.  But he could barely crawl, and his whole body was shaking as he dragged himself toward the center, where the puddle of oil still burned.

For good or ill, he was stuck here.

Swaying on his knees, Ruben blinked owlishly out beyond the fire.  It glinted off two struggling figures and though Ruben's eyes watched, they did not comprehend.  He was descending into a shocked stupor.

[Anonymous]

The fire ring startled Doyle a little, as he clung to the back of the creature. His toes were curled into some of the rotting skin and he was desperately trying to not think about what was squelching between his toes. The warrior glanced over at the mage, though it was hard to make him out inside the bright light. If he could still work magic, he must not be to hurt. That was good.

The beast gave a loud roar, thrashing harder under Doyle. The sword had wounded it and the sudden burst of fire was making it upset. It's simple meal was starting to be much more work then it had planned on. Not even the scent of Ruben's charred flesh was enough for it to want to stay.

With a rough jerk of the creatures sinewy body, Doyle's sword came free with a foul sound, black ichor spraying out of the wound. Landing rather unsteadily, just managing to keep his footing, Doyle didn't even have the time to congratulate himself on the landing when the creatures heavy tail slammed into his belly.

The sword dropped from his hand and he felt the air rush out of his lungs as he flew back, rolling along the ground and through the flames surrounding the mage. He felt the heat, but his heritage made him resistant to the flames, though they didn't help his clothes much.

The monster gave another bellow of pain and rage, hissing at the two figures in the circle before slinking off into the darkness to lick its wounds. Doyle on the other hand, curled into a small ball, clutching his belly as he tried to fill his lungs with air again, his shirt still smoldering.

"F-fuck." Coughing, the man sat up, smacking at his clothes where he saw fire. He blinked, trying to adjust to the light inside the flame circle, slowly focusing on Ruben, "You alright man?"

[Tally]

Above the odor of the monster rose another scent.  It bothered Ruben, and it wouldn't go away.  He inhaled deeply and realized that it was the smell of his own burned skin and a wave of nausea left him gasping and swallowing down bile.  He tilted his head up.  There was a breeze coming through and it felt good on his face, helped him chase away that feeling of needing to vomit.

Yet he couldn't tear his gaze away from the struggle for long.  The two figures were quite clear now, man and monster etched in fireglow as they thrashed.  Ruben's eyes followed the fight, his expression unchanging from a slack jawed daze ...until a man came flying through the ring of fire right at Ruben.

He didn't realize it was a man in that first surprised instant when he yelped and jerked backward, sure it was something lunging through the flames to eat him, hands flying back to catch himself.  Baaaaaad move.  The movement and the jarring impact sent a fresh jolt of agony searing through his burned arm.  It crippled him.  He couldn't even scream, just try to remember to breathe as he pulled his arm back to his body and fell upon his side.  Beathe.  He'd never experienced pain like this in his life.  Never anything even close.  He thought he'd die from the pain.  Every moment that passed he thought the next would kill him.

And yet survival instinct was a strong force, even in one so sheltered.  Tear tracks gleaming on his cheeks, Ruben struggled back up onto his knees.  He nearly toppled over again.

On any other occasion a strange man with a sword, a man who was so clearly a fighter and so obviously bigger and stronger than he, would have roused Ruben's immediate distrust and wariness.  Here, with the night so close and that foul stench still hanging in the air and Ruben growing increasingly delirious with pain, this stranger qualified as trustworthy just by virtue of being human-shaped.

Even so, Ruben's answer came out as an confused stammer.  "Wha...wh...ah...who..."  He couldn't seem to grasp a coherent thought long enough to get it out.  He rocked forward, curling over his burned arm, feeling lightheaded.  But if the man was here with him in his circle of fire, then where was the creature?  Ruben's eyes swept the perimeter but saw nothing.  "Wh...where is it?" he managed.

[Anonymous]

The foul putrid scent began to fade as the monster retreated farther into the darkness. The blood and gore that had flung across the clearing in the fight still stunk of corruption and rot, though it was much less potent then it had been and the clean scent of the fire managed to cover much of it.

Doyle winced as he move, he was going to be a giant bruise tomorrow and he had probably broken a rib or two in that last hit. But he could smell the burnt flesh of the man's arm and he wanted to make sure he was alright. His strange eyes, one a normal human eye, a pretty hazel color, the other one a pure black color, were focused on the area outside the ring of fire, watching for the return of the monster. He was far more likely to smell then see him though, with the fire making it hard to see far in the darkness.

The sound of the man's pain caused Doyle to quickly turn around, biting down his own cry of pain as the movement jarred his ribs. His strange eyes widen slightly as he can finally take in how badly injured the man is. Nothing life threatening, but the burns aren't pretty and had to hurt.

Struggling to his feet, ribs feeling like small bastard gnomes in white hot spikes are dancing through his chest, Doyle curls one arm around his torso, hoping to help keep the ribs in place, "H-hey. That arm doesn't look good." His voice came out a little rough, his chest protesting with every word.

Doyle moved closer, doing his best to ignore his own pain. He knew he could handle it and that his injury wasn't that threatening, he had been through it many times before. But this kid didn't look like he was handling his well. "H-hey! Careful!" Wincing as he rushed forward, Doyle tried to help the boy to his feet, doing his best to not touch the crispy arm.

The scent of the burning flesh made Doyle wrinkle his nose, though part of his brain danced happily. It excited the darker part of him, made him hungry for a taste. But it wasn't a strong part of Doyle and he ignored it, focusing on the man instead. He wasn't that great with first aid, just simple battlefield medicine, and this was well beyond what he was well beyond what he knew how to handle.

"Hey. Let's get you sitting down, alright? You are just gonna hurt yourself." Pain tore through his body at each small movement the words caused him, but he managed to keep his face calm. The poor guy looked terrified out of his mind and Doyle was worried he was going to hurt himself more. He kept his voice calm and low, talking gently to the man the way one talks to a frightened animal, "My name is Doyle. I'm not going to hurt you. That monster is gone, scared off. It's okay. You'll be okay."

[Tally]

Kneeling in the grass, Ruben was struck alternately by the heat of the fire and the bit of cold in the night wind.  Tremors shook his body, some of them from the trauma of fear and injury, some from the chill of the air which might not otherwise have bothered him save that his coat was gone, half-burned and lying in the grass.  The thin shirt he wore underneath provided little protection, especially with one sleeve burned away and a cold sweat soaking through at the neck and shoulders.

With the immediate danger gone, there was nothing to distract Ruben from his injury and he began to slip from panic into misery.  He didn't know which of those was worse, but he was losing what was left of his composure, a tear or two leaking from his eyes as he fought the urge to sob.

He looked up with surprise at the next words that came out of the man's mouth.  "What?!" he snapped.  "My arm doesn't look good?"  Ruben feigned wonder, eyes wide and gleaming yellow in the firelight, and looked down at his own arm then back up at Doyle.  "Heavens, you're absolutely right.  I hadn't even noticed.  Whatever would I have done if you hadn't been here to point that out to me."  He ended the sentence in an scornful snarl, voice heavy with sarcasm in spite of all that had happened.

His annoyance was short lived, however, and a moment later his pained expression was back.  He needed help, and badly.  He may have never sustained a serious injury in his life—nor seen any wound beyond a bad scrape—but he knew there were dangers if he didn't get his arm treated soon.  The possibilities swam through his mind.  Infection, necrosis, scarring...amputation.

Another wave of shivering swept through him.  He felt faint.  "I'm...Ruben."  The ring of fire faltered, parts of it extinguishing before roaring back to life as his concentration and his consciousness wavered.  "What...what do I do?  What should I do?  I don't...I think I..."  Again the flames encircling them began to dim and disappear in places.  He would lose them soon.  He looked at Doyle, pleading with his eyes for help and looking to him for direction, looking at him as though Doyle held all the answers and knew exactly what to do and how to get them both out of this.

[Anonymous]

The man's sarcastic snarl surprised Doyle. He pulled back from the mage slightly, frowning. What in the nine hells? He had just been trying to help and had gotten beat up saving this guys life and he was getting snapped at for it? Doyle started to sigh, but that was cut off by a hiss of pain, which only made his chest hurt even more. He was going to have to get his ribs bound soon, before they set wrong.

But first things first. Before Doyle could even make a comment about the mage's rude tone, the sarcasm was gone, replaced by pain and confusion. The dark haired man just looked too pitiful for Doyle to stay angry. And it was probably just the hurt and fear that had made him lash out.

As the fire flickered in places, Doyle turned to watch it, carefully scanning the area around them. There was still no sign of the monster returning, but it probably wasn't a good idea to stay out in the cold clearing much longer. He turned his mismatched eyes back to the mage, glad the darkness helped obscure his features.

Doing his best to smile, Doyle held a hand out, his voice rough with pain, "Ruben? It's gonna be okay. But we shouldn't stay here. Do you live around here?" Doyle was still new to the area and hadn't met everyone yet, so he had no idea who the mage was or where to take him. And he wanted to get to whichever house was closer, "And we need to get your arm looked at, okay?"

The look Ruben was giving him made Doyle feel almost guilty. He couldn't make this all better for the guy and he had next to no idea what to do with burns. Cool them and cover then lightly to help keep out infection was the limit of what he knew. Though he didn't really have a way to safely cool the poor guys arm safely, "Can you walk?" Doyle gave a small prayer to his Gods that he not have to carry anyone while he had broken ribs.

[Tally]

It was becoming much too difficult to hold the fire ring around them, yet Ruben was hesitant to let it go.  What if Doyle was wrong and that thing was still prowling nearby?  What if it was just waiting for the fire to go out?

It was while Ruben was concentrating on the flames that he caught sight of a parchment curling black and burning amid the fire.  No no no.  The maps he'd brought!  Ruben moaned and sank his head into his one good hand.  Gone, they were all gone!  Burned!  Months of observations and measurements and data!  And paper was so rare and so difficult to find that there were almost no copies made of those documents!  If the agony coursing through him hadn't quite managed to break him down into hysterics, this came just a close and he groaned one more time.  Oh, he could just die!  All that work lost!

He might have knelt there forever bemoaning the fate of his lost starmaps and charts and calculations if not for Doyle's voice cutting into his misery.  "Walk?!  Are you crazy?  How could I walk?!"  He could barely stand!  He was only kneeling and he was about to fall over and die!

Although...

Ruben bit his bottom lip.  He was done, didn't have any fight or energy left in him at all, and yet as he pictured Doyle carrying him away like he was some helpless cripple his pride flared up and lit a fire under him.  A small, weak fire but still a fire.  "No.  Nevermind.  I'll walk.  I can make it."

Sniffling, shaking, gritting his teeth to keep from all out weeping, Ruben braced his good hand upon the ground and got one foot under him.  Then he got the other, and rose to an unsteady standing position.  He had to reach out and grab Doyle's arm as his head swam and the world seemed to tilt around him.

"Ah...I live...far from here."  Too far for him to walk.  It had taken hours to get out here even when healthy and whole, and even if he made it back to the observatory, what then?  He lived alone, isolated from the rest of La'marri.  Who would help him if they went there?  "I don't live in the village," he added, still clinging onto Doyle's sleeve.  It was then that the weakening ring of fire at last extinguished.  He couldn't hold it any longer.  They were plunged into darkness with only the stars and moon for light.

[Anonymous]

The sudden moaning from the mage alarmed Doyle. He hadn't paid the burning papers much attention, as the contents of them were a mystery to him. And he could only barely read, so paper scraps held little interest for him. Rotting monsters trying to kill him and injured, grumpy mages were a much higher priority for him. A look of worry crosses his features, though he bites back the question of what is wrong. He can only imagine the answer to that one.

For just having his life saved, Ruben was rather...prickly. Though Doyle hoped that was just because of the stress from the pain and the near death experience. Not that it really matter, Doyle would have saved him anyway. But being yelled at after rescuing someone was a first for him. Normally he at least got a thank you.

As Ruben struggled to his feet, Doyle did his best to help him up, steadying the thin man. Doyle felt rather rough standing next to him. His huge hands could almost wrap around the mage's arm! And now that Doyle could see him up close, Ruben's delicate good looks were a bit more obvious, even twisted in pain.

Seeing the effort it took for the mage to stand, Doyle closed his eyes, giving a small sigh. This was going to hurt. He must have done something to piss the Gods off. He was going to have to sacrifice something big and fat to the Gods to try and make it better.

While his eyes were closed, the fire vanished and the mercenaries eyes snapped open, doing his best to scan the now almost pitch black clearing. He didn't even try to move until his eyes started to adjust to the new darkness, "Alright. If I can't take you home, how about my place? It's not that far from here. Unless you know how to get to a healers...?"

Not that it mattered. He could just bring the healer to Ruben. He didn't want to stay here any longer then they had too. He carefully pried Ruben's fingers from his sleeve and gave the mage his back, "Alright, get on. I don't want that monster to come back and I don't think you can move quickly."

Ruben climbing onto his back caused white hot pain to shoot through his chest. It took almost all his will power to not collapse and start crying. Bending down to get his sword made the world spin quite alarmingly, but somehow he managed to get the fallen weapon.

The white haze of pain keeps Doyle silent on the walk home, concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other. Luck seems to finally have taken pity on the poor mercenary and nothing leaps out to attack the wounded pair on the way back. In his current state, Doyle wouldn't have noticed a glowing, trumpeting elephant dancing through the woods until it was right in front of him.

The sight of his small brick house almost brings tears to Doyle's mismatched eyes. The last few feet seem to be the longest distance he has ever had to walk, pain shooting through his body at each step. 10 feet. Agony. 5 feet. So very close, yet so far away. 3 feet. 2 feet. Finally!

Doyle braces against the door, a small whimper escaping him before he gropes for the door handle, stumbling as the door swings open with him still leaning against it. Inside is small, but neat. Doyle forces himself forward, being so close to his goal giving him an extra burst of energy.

Until he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He didn't remember there being so many of them before, "...Balls."

Someone up there really hated him.

[Tally]

Ruben ducked his head, leaning heavily on Doyle.  He was dying here and the man was still talking.  "I don't care," he muttered.  Just get him away from here.  He didn't care where they went, so long as the pain would stop.  Doyle could beat him in the head with a rock if it would knock him unconscious.  Oblivion would have been a blessing.

"No," he protested, "I told you I can walk!"  But he hardly believed it himself and the suggestion that their smelly monster might attack again gave him pause.  Ruben glanced around, and just then some animal or other in the underbrush—he prayed it was an animal—made a creepy rustling sound and his mind resolved itself on the spot.  He braced his good hand on Doyle's shoulder.

This was going to hurt.  Badly.

Ruben hopped up onto Doyle's back and gasped at the white-hot agony that speared through his burned arm on contact with Doyle's body and clothes.  He bit his tongue again and blood once more flooded his mouth.  Pressing his face against Doyle's back, he fought down sobs and clenched his eyes shut.  The journey from the clearing to the village was one long torturous blur.  Ruben stayed as still as possible, holding his eyes shut so tight they ached, his good hand gripping the front of Doyle's shirt to keep himself from falling.  Every jarring step triggered a fresh wave of pain.

He descended into an almost trance-like state, so much so that he didn't even notice they had stopped until Doyle's voice cut through his concentration.

Had...had he just said balls?

Must have been Ruben's imagination.  As he opened his eyes and unclenched his teeth, he realized he'd bitten down on the back of Doyle's shirt just to keep from screaming.  Gods above, they had better be at their destination.  He couldn't go any further, not even with Doyle carrying him.

A flight of stairs rose up before them.  Peering over Doyle's shoulder, Ruben could just make them out in the moonlight.

He'd been carried far enough and already made to feel like a cripple and a burden.  No more of that.  His hand let go of Doyle's shirt and he slid off the man's back, stumbling against the railing of the stairs.  When he was sure he wouldn't lose his feet or just curl up into a ball and cry, he eyed the steps.  He could make it.  Had to.  It would be pitiful to go through all that just to be defeated by some stairs in the last few feet of their trek.

Ruben put a foot up onto the first step and started to haul himself up.

[Anonymous]

When Ruben first started to slide off his back, Doyle started, thinking the mage was falling and twisted to try and catch him, which just made him whimper slightly as his broken ribs moved. The realization that it was just the mage getting off the climb the stairs on his own just made Doyle want to give a prayer of thanks. It had been far from easy to carry Ruben all the way back to his house.

"H-hey now." Doyle frowned, leaning heavily against the wall, face slick with sweat, one arm curled around his torso to protect his ribs, "Do you need some help up those stairs?" Part of Doyle really felt like he should still be carrying the other man, the other part of his just wanted to go into the kitchen, re break his ribs, set them, take something that would help with the pain and then, and only then, would he try to conquer the stairs. But it just seemed so cruel to watch Ruben struggling up them alone.

Pushing away from the wall to start to help Ruben caused a burst of pain to shoot through him, almost bringing the mercenary to his knees. He had to bite down hard enough on his lip to make it bleed to stifle to cry of pain. That decided it for Doyle. He wasn't going to be any help until he took care of his ribs.

"Well...yeah. You can take the bed up there." Sleeping on the hard floor would be quite fun in his condition, but he figured Ruben deserved the bed more. He should see about getting another bed, or at least a bigger bed, so that he didn't have to sleep on the floor next time he rescued someone, "I'll get some supplies from the kitchen and meet you up there. I think I have something that will help with your pain."

Still cradling his side, Doyle staggered to the kitchen not waiting for Ruben to reply, colors dancing in front of his eyes. He kept his ears trained on Ruben's slow movements for any sign the man would need his help. He felt guilty leaving the mage on his own, but he was of no use to anyone in his current condition.

A few failed attempts at getting a fire started, Doyle glared at the stove then snarled a harsh word that seemed to singe the air even as he spoke it, leaving the faint smell of raw magic in the air as fire burst into being around the wood. A kettle of water was already setting on the stove, Doyle turned his attention to fixing his ribs. This was going to hurt. A lot.

Doyle wasn't sure how he managed to keep from screaming as he set his ribs, having to break a few of the ones that had already started to knit back together incorrectly. But once they were in place and wrapped tightly, it was much easier to move. It still hurt, but it was a much more manageable level.

Now...what to do with that burn? Doyle frowned as he went through his medical supplies trying to figure out what to use. He settled on a salve that helped keep wounds clean and numb it a bit for Ruben and some dressings. It took another few moments for the water to boil.

He couldn't seem to get the water poured and the herbs seeping fast enough. The tea would help with the pain quite a bit, and help both of them sleep. It was a little awkward carrying the two mugs and the other supplies, but Doyle manged to make it work.

With his ribs now bound, the stairs didn't seem quite so awful this time. He still took them slowly, wincing when he would jar the ribs, hissing in pain. But he got to the top of the stairs. The upstairs was one simple room, a small bed pushed against one wall, a chest of drawers for his clothes near it, a bed table and the rest of the room was a rather carefully organized armory, weapons mostly with a bit of armor stacked in the corner.

Setting the supplies and one of the mugs on the table, Doyle took a drink of his own, wanting the tea to take some effect before he started working on Ruben's arm, "The tea should help with your pain. I've got some medicine we can put on your arm for now, and bandage it. That should hold until I can find a healer tomorrow. Okay?"

[Tally]

"I can do it," Ruben snapped, shooting a glare at the man and noticing for the first time how Doyle was clutching at his torso, how his face was twisted as though in pain.  Wondering what was wrong and when exactly it had happened—during the fight with the creature or before—Ruben watched Doyle stagger away until the man was out of sight.  Then he faced the stairs.

There were...an awful lot of them.

More than he'd originally thought.

With one last apprehensive glance in the direction Doyle had gone, Ruben pulled his weight up on the first step.  He made the mistake of looking up toward the top of the stairs and his shoulders sagged.  It was so far.  He dropped his head down to stare at his feet and that made it easier to take the next step.  That was how he eventually made it to the top, by seeing only the next step, telling himself he only had to pull his weight up one more time.  How long it took, he couldn't have said, but at one point he ran out of stairs and looked up to see the second story bedroom before him, lit faintly by moonlight streaming through the windows.

Ruben shuffled over to the bed and sank down onto it, holding his injured arm away from everything else, trying not to let it touch the rest of him.  He perched upon the edge of the bed instead of curling up in the middle of the mattress like he wanted to.  His face felt sticky and stiff from the tears he'd shed, but his night eyes had returned during the trek to the village.  The glint of moonlight on steel drew his attention to weapons and armor gathered about the room.  Not a small number of them either.  Who kept weapons in their bedroom?

Obviously the man who's bed he would be sleeping in tonight.

Doyle chose that moment to appear at the top of the stairs.  He couldn't have known just what an imposing figure he made to a young, injured astromancer who was in strange surroundings and still traumatized from a nearly fatal attack.  Ruben repressed the urge to shrink away.  That pride of his again.  Making him stay put when he wanted to put distance between himself and this man.

As soon as the words, "...help with your pain," were out of Doyle's mouth, Ruben was reaching for the tea.  He didn't chug it, but he did drink half the mug in one breath.  It wasn't bad, but at that moment anything better than pure, liquid pain was a step up from his current state.  A pleasant warmth spread through him and Ruben closed his eyes for a moment before looking up at Doyle and nodding mutely.  It was a courtesy that Doyle was phrasing his intentions as a question, as though Ruben were in a condition to offer any better ideas or solutions.

[Anonymous]

Even with the help of the tea and a resetting and rebandaging of his ribs, Doyle was still a little out of it. The fighter didn't notice how Ruben sank slightly away from him or the slightly worried caste to the man's features. He smiled as the mage downed half the tea, "Easy there. It's still hot."

His hands were much steadier now then when he had tried to light the fire in the kitchen, the herbs helping him deal with the pain from his broken ribs. The lamp on the table flickered into a soft glow, the light dancing over the blades and armor in the room.

Doyle kept up a steady stream of talking, his voice low and calm, letting Ruben know what he was doing so he wouldn't startle the injured man, "Alright. First lets get you out of this shirt. I'm going to have to cut the rest of the sleeve off your arm."

Reaching down into his boot, the mercenary pulled out a dagger, his movements slow and careful as he gently cut the sleeve away from Ruben's burn. Then the dagger went right back into the boot, "This is probably going to hurt a bit. And I'm sorry." But that monster had been rather disgusting and who knows what disease it carried. And while Doyle didn't have to worry too much about that, the same couldn't be said for the full human.

His hands were quite large and rough from years of fighting and hard labor, but he was quite gentle as he got the shirt over Ruben's head. He was quite glad the mage had drunk so much of the tea, he was going to be feeling pretty tired and rather good as it took effect.

"Okay. Why don't you drink some more of that tea. I'm going to put the salve on you now." It was just a numbing salve that helped keep out inflection, but it was the only thing Doyle really had for burns. He opened the jar, the faint scent of mint and a few other herbs coming from it was rather pleasant. Scooping some of the pale blue cream onto his hands, he started to slowly cover the burned area with it.

The salve felt almost icy cold for a moment against Ruben's skin before it started to tingle, the skin starting to go numb, "Tomorrow I can get a doctor and we can get your arm properly looked at."

Once the salve was applied, Doyle carefully bandaged the arm. It would probably hurt, but he didn't want Ruben to get infected. And he seemed to recall hearing that burns were easily infected, "Almost done. Finish up your tea. You can sleep in my bed tonight, alright?"

Sighing slightly as Doyle envisioned having to sleep in the kitchen, he finished off the wound. Though it wasn't so bad. He actually liked having someone to take care of, "There you go." Doyle gave him a small smile, reaching over with his clean hand to pat the boy's hair, "I'll just be down stairs if you need anything."

Standing carefully so not to jar his wounds, Doyle gave a small hiss of pain before taking another long drink a tea. It was starting to take effect and he could feel himself getting tired, "Sweet dreams kid."

Leaving the salve with Ruben, Doyle makes his way slowly back down the stairs, favoring his side, draining his tea before he even reached the kitchen.

His sleep is deep and dreamless thanks to the herbs. Light trickling in through the windows slowly wakes him up. Why am I in the-Oh. Right. Memories form last night come flooding back as Doyle starts to sit up.

Then freezes with a curse as pain shoots through his torso. Sleeping on the floor had not helped his ribs any. And lugging the mage back to his house had not helped matters much either. Moving slowly, he managed to sit up and look down at the damage. The skin not covered in wrappings had turned a dark purple color, the edges going green and yellow in places. He wasn't going to be very pretty with his shirt off for a few days.

Not that he was that pretty with his shirt on. Doyle ran a hand through his two toned hair, shaking his head. Scars covered his body, including two on his face that kept him from being very traditionally handsome.

Moving gingerly Doyle started getting ready as best he could. He was going to have to wait to get a new shirt until Ruben was awake. Couldn't shave yet either. He made another pot of tea, minus the sleeping herbs this time and the moving around helped loosen him up enough that he wasn't wincing with pain as he walked.

Now to take care of business. Best to appease whatever God he had offended, break the streak of bad luck he had from last night. Doyle grabbed a long knife from the kitchen and headed into the back.

A high pitched squeal fills the air, then is abruptly silenced and the sharp, tangy scent of blood. Then the smell of cooking pork overwhelms the blood, making Doyle's belly rumble loudly.

Once his prayers are done, the mercenary leaves the sacrifice to burn down and returns to the kitchen and starts breakfast. He isn't much of a cook, but he can do simple things well and soon there is bacon, eggs and some homemade bread on two plates.

Making Ruben a cup of tea, Doyle does his best to balance it all as he slowly makes his way up the stairs, cursing his want for a two story house. Sagging against the wall at the top of the stairs, Doyle takes a moment to compose his features, trying to hide how much pain he is in, though there isn't anything he can do about hiding the mass of bruises on his torso.

"Good morning! Time to wake up. After you eat, lets see about getting your arm looked at, eh? I hope you like bacon and eggs."

[Tally]

By the time the knife came out and Ruben's shirt came off, the tea had gone to work on him and he was already in an apathetic daze.  Warm, sleepy.  Not comfortable but weary enough not to care.  Yet not utterly without his senses.  His eyes locked on the blade and did not leave it until the knife went back in Doyle's boot.

With his shirt off, Ruben's skin grew chilled and he hunched his shoulders, drawing his good arm close to his body.  He sipped at the tea more delicately now, grateful for the heat and for whatever effect it was having on him, for either his arm hurt less or he could just no longer feel it as sharply as before.

His eyes drifted shut.

Then snapped open a moment later.  He gasped at the salve on his arm, the cold and the stinging.  Ruben bit his bottom lip and buried his face in the pillow.  Don't cry, don't cry.  Try not to whimper.  He didn't want this man to think him pathetic and weak.

But after the stinging went down...ah, that made Ruben really want to cry.  A tingling enveloped his arm and then nothing.  Numbness.  A relief from pain so profound it made him want to thank the gods he didn't believe in.  All the tension left his body, and he only just then realized how taut he had been all this time.

Bandaged and blissful—he'd never thought simply being free of pain could be bliss—Ruben raised himself up from the pillow enough to fumble at his mug and down the rest of the tea.  Whatever Doyle was saying, Ruben heard none of it.  He drew his legs up on the bed and was asleep before Doyle reached the top of the stairs.

The tea had a strong effect on him.  His sleep was black and dreamless—and abruptly cut off.

Normally a heavy sleeper, the squeal of the pig speared right into his oblivious mind and shocked him awake.  His eyes flew open.  Something was screaming out there.  Out where?  Above him, dust motes danced in the slanting light from a window.  An unfamiliar window.  Not his bed.  He'd fallen asleep on his stomach but was now on his back, sheets tangled in his legs.  He'd even forgot to take his boots off.  The weather had warmed from last night, left the morning breezy and comfortable.

It wasn't until that screaming stopped that he was able to notice his arm and remember.  The injury tingled, unpleasant but tolerable, not yet on the verge of pain but getting there.  Doyle's house, Doyle's bed.  And something dying outside?  Now the awful sound had cut off, he almost thought he'd imagined it, but he stayed dead still just the same, listening.

Sounds drifting up from the kitchen got him fretting, absurdly so, or so he told himself.  The monster from last night was not puttering around in the kitchen.  It was just Doyle, had to be, and the man had been nothing but civil thus far.  Didn't stop Ruben's naturally pessimistic mind from projecting a vague sense of apprehension at being in a stranger's house.

When Doyle's head appeared at the top of the stairs, Ruben shot up into a sitting position—too fast.  The blood rushed from his head and left him dizzy and his vision splotchy.  Doyle had already reached him by the time he was able to look up again, and the first thing he saw was Doyle's bandaged torso.  That was a lot of bruises.  It looked hideously painful.  How was the man walking around like that and not complaining?  Ruben's arm barely hurt at the moment and he was ready to unleash a flow of invectives and discontent with his circumstances that would have taken paint off walls.

Upward his eyes traveled to Doyle's face, where they traced the lines of scars that Ruben found oddly fascinating.  He was so far out of place here, in this room with all its weapons (he'd never held anything larger than a kitchen knife) and a man he doubted he could relate to even on the most basic of levels.

He paused in his introspection.  Doyle had said something.

"Ah...what?"

[Anonymous]

Moving slowly into the room, partly to not startle the mage, partly because his torso really hurt. The boy's confused expression was a good sign, meant he must not be in too bad of pain and he seemed to be sitting up just fine, "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

Doyle flashed him a bright smile, which always looked odd with the small scar on his lip twisting his expression slightly, "I had just asked if you liked bacon and eggs. And mentioned that sense you were up I was going to see if you were up to going to the doctor. Or if I needed to bring him here." It would probably cost more to have the doctor make a house call, but he wasn't going to make the mage try and make the trip if he was in too much pain.

Setting the tray down on the bed, Doyle plopped down next to it, then hissed with pain. That had not been smart at all. He tried to cover it up with another wide grin, one arm curled around his ribs, "How's the arm? The salve still working? If you don't mind, I was going to apply some before we ate."

Doyle reached across to pluck the jar of salve off the table and wiggled it at the mage, "Then once this is out of the way, we can eat." The food smelled amazing and he was starving from all the healing his body had been doing. And he was going to have to check on that pig after they ate as well. Make sure it burned properly.