The Bad Samaritan (private)

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

TS: Last Few Days of Winter, A.V. 510

The nearer one came to Syliras, the more definite the paths became. Constant travel had worn strips of soil clean of foliage and opportunists with axes and knives had whittled away paths. The trails were few and narrow, hedged on sides by thick forest that sometimes sloped into deeper groves. There were quicker ways to the city, but none as tame as these worn strips.

Hurried or curious travelers deviated at their peril, either met with animals, the dizzying loss of direction, or sliding down the hilly terrain when the soil gave way.

Beside one such path, was a long slope of trees, rocks and fen that ended abruptly in a dry riverbed cobbled with sharp stones. Rising to the higher path from the shallow ravine was a young girl's voice. It gurgled and whimpered in turns, loud as a wounded animal, but the sounds came in spurts as if caused by a rhythmic occurrence instead of a lingering suffering.


Silence, then a barked cry of pain.
"Move again, and I will make it more painful!" An answering voice hissed mercilessly.

In the midst of the riverbed a girl around fourteen was laying down, her back arched with pain. One leg was limp, her foot pointing in an unnatural direction. Scratches and bruises mottled her and her eyes were wild as she beheld what crouched over her.

A Symenestra was at her side, one clawed hand spread across the girl's belly, keeping her still. The hand holding her down was slick with blood.
His other hand was near her side, obscured by her body. Blood was spilling from the girl's side, pooling in the stones beneath her.

The girl twisted her body, crying out again and bucking against the Symenestra's pressing hand. The monster hissed, his rising temper making his fangs elongate.
"You stupid cow. Quit struggling."

[Abashai]

Late winter had given way to more agreeable weather, and Abashai was wont to take advantage of it. The wet, cold and oppressive season had put a damper on his forays into the wilderness, day trips intended to permit the marked one of Yahal to commune with his Lord in the solitude of the woods.

So on this occasion the Benshiran was able to convince his fiercely protective mate that he needed to get out. She knew well enough the value of his worship time, as Nya herself convened alone with Zulrav, whispering into her swirling breezes adorations to her patron and receiving his encouragement and direction. The Stormwarden knew Abashai's steadfast resolution was grounded by the songs of praise he offered to Yahal and his meditation on the sacred Penitas scrolls that he pored over.

Following a familiar path, astride his Desertbred mare, Abashai stirred from his mundane attentions to the sound of the girl's cries. He reined Sus to a halt, swiveling his head in the direction of the desperate sound. He could make out between the trees the figures in the riverbed below. The startling agony of the young female voice and the harsh tone of the male's, brought him swinging from his saddle. The heavy-bladed khopesh cleared the belt at his side and remained jutting from his right fist.

Carefully, Abashai made his way down the slope, attempting to maintain his balance on the wet, mossy ground while not raising a ruckus. As he approached, the scene unfolded. The girl, Lord Yahal she was just a girl, lay sprawled out, obviously wounded as a crimson pool expanded at her side. Perhaps she had fallen from the slope. The weapon at his side lowered.

The man leaning over her at first glance appeared to be helping her, though his rough language clouded what relationship the two enjoyed, if any. Only a few breathes passed before the truth struck Abashai. It was the black fingernails on the hand atop the withing girl's abdomen. Nails....claws would be more accurate. The pale flesh of the hand, the long straight mdinight hair bound at the back of the head. Though he could not see the figures face, the hair that raised at the back of his neck raised involuntarily. Spider.

He had never seen a Symnestra, but what he saw fit every distrubing description he had ever heard. His pulsed quickened, his next move uncertain. The grip tightened audibly on the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword.

Though his emotions battled with instict, Abashai held his voice to a steely, steady tone."What are you doing?"

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

Duvalyon heard the Benshira shortly before Abashai was in speaking distance. He raised his head briefly, as if he had been surprised while reading instead of looming over a wounded girl. When asked what he was doing, the Symenestra smirked. His first answer was in lightly accented Shiber.

"I wonder sometimes."

How he knew bits of Shiber was an uncomfortable question. Time amidst surrogates was an education, and hunting them required a sufficient grasp of their native tongue. He'd chosen to focus on Benshiras for harvests, perhaps from a strange sort of pride in his maternal side.

The girl showed greater agitation at Abashai's arrival. She mustered a sudden jerk to sit up, only to be summarily pressed back down by the Symenestra.
"It hurts, Sir. Please, help me."

Her limbs were beginning to shake from blood loss and panic, making her teeth chatter. The Symenestra was nonplussed by her protests, wearing the same expression one would over tea.

Without looking away from the girl's side, the Symenestra began to explain. He didn't relish the idea of a khopesh splitting his ribs.

"Come see if you're curious."

On the other side of the girl, a gash in the curve of her waist was gurgling blood. The Symenestra's claws delicately held a needle, and despite her constant movement, he was attempting to suture her side with catgut. It had been slow going, as few liked being repeatedly stabbed or loomed over by a bogeyman of Mizahar.

While he was playing medic, there was no aspect of healer to the Symenestra. The girl's pain was an afterthought to the immediate treatment, and he didn't even attempt consolation. If the remedy for a deep wound was kicking the human senseless, he would have done it with the same determination.

"As you see," he dryly explained to Abashai, "I'm behaving."

Bypassing any attempt at pleasantness, Duvalyon briskly announced, "I need a splint for the ankle."
He glanced at Abashai again, expressing a wordless "Well?"

[Abashai]

The situation took one unexpected turn after another. Abashai was surprised to hear Shiber coming from the Symnestra's sarcastic mouth. He eyed the ...man...with increased suspicion until he moved cautiously to see the girl's wounded side. The spider actually seemed to be attempting to save the child. For what purpose Abashai was unsure. The tales he had heard of the Symenestra never included acts of pure benevolence.

Duvalyon's insinuation that Abashai should supply an ankle splint was momentarily ignored as the Benshira looked at the girl in agony. Closing the bleeding wound was critical, and she was in shock and horrible pain. Abashai moved closer to her, opposite Duvalyon, and knelt beside her. He laid his weapon next to him, giving the spider a warning glare, then pulled the small dagger from his boot. He held the handle at the girl's mouth. "Here, bite on this."

He then, gently but forcefully, pressed one strong hand against her shoulder to hold her down while stroking her head with his other hand. His eyes did not leave the Symenestra. "The ankle can be treated when the wound is closed." His words were flat and sober. Then Abashai leaned down to whisper encouragement to their struggling patient.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

Duvalyon shook his head derisively and returned his attention to stitching.
"Typical of humans. Treat the symptom instead of the injury."

As Abashai comforted the girl, she began to calm. At least she had the assurance of defense should the Symenestra decide to carry her back to Kalinor.

"Coddle her if you like, it won't assuage the actual pain."

He removed his hand from her stomach, just as eager to cease their contact as she was.

"She looks at you with an expression of gratitude, but between us I am doing more for her well-being."

He was tugging at the catgut in increments, his primary focus not on the conversation.
"So easily led by feeling, and they wonder why they are caught or deceived in droves," his voice had lowered to a deceptively soft tone.

A quiet stalemate ensued. The Symenestra lost his prior talkativeness, a relative term in dealing with Duvalyon.

Bereft of scissors, the Symenestra bit off the end of the catgut, leaving a good deal dangling. The girl would have scrambled but for Abashai's comforting presence. From her angle, it looked like the monster was about to undo all his work with a single chomp.

Duvalyon wiped his bloody hands and claws on the girl's leg, using her clothes as a cleaning cloth. As he stood, he sucked an errant bit of blood off his wrist, like one would a drop of broth.

Sitting, his proportions looked normal, but standing the eery elongation of his race was noticeable.

"I'd like that knife in her mouth," he was looking at a nearby tree.
"Unless you care to get three slivers of wood for me while I stay with it."

He measured the dimensions with his hands, a little over a foot.
"Two this size. One half the length."

[Abashai]

The Symenestra oozed disdain. It dripped from his words, exuded from every motion he made as he applied his rough ministrations to girl. Duvalyon obviously had little regard for humans. Abashai gritted his teeth as he suffered the words of the spider in silence.

It was obvious that this monster cared for this girl in the same manner a Benshira would tend to a wounded goat that he planned to put on a spit in a few days. No, even a Benshira would show more compassion to the goat.

The paradox that presented itself had tied Abashai's tongue. Why would someone who obviously care nothing for humans, other than in the capacity of cattle or breeders, take the time to tend to the wounds of this girl? He wanted to ask, but would not give the Symenstra some boasting advantage over him.

Without taking his eyes off Duvalyon, Abashai removed the dagger from the girl's mouth and slid it back into his boot. He stood to his full height, them moved across the dry creek bed to a nearby tree, glaring at his unlikely partner. With a few deft hacks with the khopesh, Abashai had secured the three pieces of wood Duvalyon needed.

Abashai returned and tossed the splints down at the Symenstra's feet. His curiosity could be held no longer, his own righteous repulsion requiring an answer.

"Why?" he demanded.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

Duvalyon didn't shy from Abashai's warning glare. The noble Benshira was cautioning him against trying anything underhanded without being overtly aggressive, a judicious tactic. Most wouldn't tempt the temper of an armed man, especially one hardened by desert life.

But Duvalyon smirked in response to Abashai's serious expression, demonstrating how easy it was to dislike a Symenestra. Ten minutes with a smug one was enough to curdle a good man's stomach.

When Abashai delivered the materials, Duvalyon was tearing the hem of the girls smock into neat strips. She was watching in horror as she only had two smocks for the year.

The Benshira's abrupt question was answered with a touch of impatience.

"It will isolate the bone and let it set in its proper place."

Without warning, Duvalyon jerked her swollen ankle into place. The girl barely had time to yell before the thing was done. He was already wrapping her torn smock around her swollen joint, creating padding for the eventual splint. It was then the breadth of Abashai's question occurred to him. For the first time, the Symenestra looked uncomfortable.

He glanced down and away, then cleared his throat out of nervousness. His claws fumbled with the strips of cloth and he dropped them with a hissed curse in Symenos. Finally he gave his testy answer.

"Viratas would have me preserve blood when it does my kind no harm."

Duvalyon was obligated to look at Abashai as he continued, so he didn't appear a coward.
"My kind, my blood are my primary concern in life, as long as a thing does not interfere with them, I am indifferent to it. My god is pleased by my aid to this girl even if she is not."
The girl had no comment, only wan looks and a fearful tightness to her features. Duvalyon sardonically gestured towards her face to prove his point.

"I'm gambling that when I take her home..." his reply was broken into pieces as he focussed on placing the parts of the splint above and beneath the dislocation.
"…her corn-fed and simple-minded brothers or father don't stone me on the spot."

A moment of precarious silence passed as he adjusted the smallest piece between the splints on the side of her leg. He used his claw to make notches then used the last strands of the smock to lash them in place. Satisfied, the Symenestra nodded to himself and stood at the girl's feet.

"Is that a good enough explanation to avoid a beheading, oh pious Benshira?"

[Abashai]

Viratas. Abashai was vaguely familiar with the god of blood. He understood enough to know Viratas reigned over both blood as the fluid of life, and as the tie that connects a people. To hear this...monster speak of devotion and obedience to a god was unexpected.

The Benshira could not deny a feeling of satisfaction as the Symenestra exhibited momentary discomfort at his question. But Duvalyon's response gave Abashai pause.

The follower of Yahal found himself somewhat disarmed as the girl's reluctant savior turned his subdued reddish eyes towards him. Abashai was perplexed, unsettled in what he believed to be a black and white situation. Symenestra bad, Benshira good. Duvalyon had complicated matters by revealing what, in reality, was the philosophy of any race, preserving one's own kind. This Symenestra was practically suggesting that his kind only do what they do in the name of self-preservation, and not out of maliciousness or evil pleasure.

Abashai could feel Nya's glaring green stare even now. He remembered the encounter with the Dhani at the Fire Festival. She was a woman of instinct, the protective instinct of a forest cat. No doubt she would not cede until the spider was gone or dead. He wondered if she would understand the disturbing similarities he had found existed between the Symenestra and himself. Small commonalities among a sea of difference, but common ground enough to require a higher standard of offense before Abashai would do him violence.

The tip of the khopesh lowered, its wielder too cautious to put it away, but confident there was no longer eminent danger from the tall, dark-clawed man standing before him.

For the first time, Abashai's grim visage softened, if only slightly. "Sufficient to avoid a beheading for now, Symenestra." The Benshira's crystal blue-green eyes darted to the distressed girl, the fear that she would be left in the keep of the Symenestra apparent in her pleading eyes.

"But perhaps, to avoid a stoning, I should return the girl to her family, I have a horse."

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

The Symenestra shrewdly considered Abashai's offer.
"Fair enough, but I'm walking alongside."

Casting a look about, the ashen creature recalled where he had placed his things. His medic kit was rolled up and his tools hastily wiped down before being reverently placed into a wooden box then shoved into his bag. The fabric of his pack had an uncommon richness, due to the little known skill of Symenestran weavers.

"If you are with me, I can be bold enough to ask for something slight in return, like eggs or fruit."

Betraying a morbid sense of humor, Duvalyon added, "Since I was deprived of eating her, I'm owed that."
His delivery was deadpan, and never ceased to be so.

The Symenestra withdrew a flask from his bag, He took a swig without offering Abashai any. The Benshira would grow less charitable if he knew what the ruddy contents were.

"Let's get her up the hill, then."

The girl finally voiced something more than indistinct moans of pain when the Symenestra crouched beside her. Duvalyon was raising her torso, draping her arm over his neck and shoulder.

"You're coming, yes?" she was asking Abashai, "You have to, the widows are liars."

Duavlyon's expression was mildly annoyed at this, especially since he was trying to help her to her feet.
"Yes, to both," he answered for Abashai, "He is coming, and widows lie through their fangs."
Now standing, he gestured up the hill with his chin, "Now move, cow. Don't put pressure on the injured leg."

With the addition of Abashai's help, the girl made it up the damp hill and through the tangled underbrush. Duvalyon was a convenient anchor as he seemed to stick to the ground as he walked.

Near the horse, Duvalyon let Abashai take the girl the rest of the way. The Symenestra didn't care for large animals with a potent ability to kick.

"She won't be able to sit up on her own for long," he cautioned from a safe distance.

When prompted, the girl gave rudimentary directions to her home. It was about a mile and a half towards Syliras. Something deeper than fatigue was coming over her in waves. Her eyes fluttered, and her head bobbed, but she held on, despite.

OOCFeel free to use the injured npc!

[Abashai]

Abashai had to lean back uncomfortably to allow the weakening girl to lay against him, one arm around her waist while the other managed the Desertbred's reins.

He no longer was concerned that Duvalyon would suddenly leap on him with bared fangs, but the Symenestra himself confessed to his dishonest nature. So the Benshira kept an eye on the tall lanky man walking next to the riders.

The girl moaned. Removing her straggly hair from his face with a puff of expelled air, Abashai tried to shift her position so she leaned against one shoulder.

He whispered in her ear. "You are safe, let me know when we are close." The child responded with a soft groan and a faint nod of her head.

The journey seemed tediously slow, the presence of the Symenestra distracting. He finally decided addressing the stranger was easier than trying to ignore him. Abashai glanced down again at the thin spider. He found it difficult to muster any congeniality towards Duvalyon, and the tone of voice he did find was far from amiable.

"What would one of your kind be doing out here?"