Great Hunt: Völund
Lute has a rude awakening, and subjects Moloch to his odd shade of panic.
Author's Notes
Gold Total:
scarletsnowbird:
10 (1042 words) + 4 (4 posts) + 1 (world-specific) + 1 (familiar) + 2 (evocative) = 18g
x2 hunt bonus: 36g
edithae:
9 (924 words) + 3 (3 posts) + 1 (world-specific) + 2 (evocative) = 15g
x2 hunt bonus: 30g
a village a few days north of faline. winter 1236. mid-morning.
LUTE
His dreams were full of fire, as they almost always were, and most mornings he finally awoke to find that the real world was exactly as he'd left it; there were no infernos threatening to swallow him whole.
This morning, Lute jolted awake to the all-too-familiar smell of smoke wafting in from the open window. (Sure, it was the middle of winter, but something about leaving the window open and inviting the chilly night air inside made sleep much easier to find.)
Fire.
In a heartbeat, Lute had thrown the covers off -- startling his slumbering familiar at the foot of the bed -- and was on his feet. While Ylfa parted her massive maw in a disgruntled yawn, Lute practically flew to the window, leaning out of it and peering around.
So far, everything looked... normal, but now halfway through the window's threshold, the stench of smoke threatened to suffocate him. His throat felt like it was closing up, and a sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He tried to take several slow, deep breaths to quell his rising panic, but that only seemed to make things worse. The air he swallowed felt like shards of glass sliding down his throat, and he pulled his head back inside, burying a cough fit in his sleeve. With his free hand, he slammed the window pane back down and took a moment to recover. By this point, his familiar had jumped down from the bed and padded over, leaning heavily against him. Lute leaned back, finding comfort in the pressure and running his fingers through her thick fur.
Once his hacking had eased, he let himself peer through the window again, and finally, rising up just beyond the distant treeline, he spotted the smoke.
He had to find Moloch, and they had to warn someone. He snatched his supply bag off the dresser, pulled on his robe, and bolted for the door.
He descended the flight of wooden stairs to find his traveling companion already seated at one of the tables in the inn's common area. With Ylfa at his heels, he hurried over to the faceless man and called out to him. "Moloch," he said, bracing his hands against the table's edge and leaning slightly over the tabletop. "There's a fire."
MOLOCH
It had been roughly the same story for the past few months, ever since he'd started traveling with the young man who'd only offered the name 'Lute' when first introduced. Travel by the light of the day, find an inn to rest in before darkness set, rent one room, wake up mid to late morning, and they were off on the road again. A predictable, oddly comfortable arrangement - though perhaps a bit domestic. What they were looking for? Moloch wasn't sure either of them knew the answer to that.
Occasionally, if Moloch was feeling particularly like he had a wild hair, he'd rent his own room just for the peace and quiet. But truly, there wasn't much point. He never slept these days, and there were plenty of bodies in most taverns to keep him entertained. If he wasn't drinking, he was reading, or gambling or fighting or fucking. Often, there was something to keep him entertained, though it all often felt like a pretense. Like faking normalcy.
Currently, it was at least an hour before Lute's typical wake up time but Moloch could hear movement upstairs now. He'd learned that he could, and should, wait for Lute to rise on his own. Mo had only woken up the other mage once or twice, but it was not something he wanted to do again. The verbal assault the first time had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and he wasn't keen to have a repeat of that experience. Not when the other man's traumas shined like a beacon, and his tongue created only venom. Plus, what was some extra time to a man that couldn't die? Words hurt more than a leisurely pace, so Moloch remained patient.
When one of the doors swung open and Lute came flying down the stairs, Moloch simply inclined his head to welcome the other. His hair was not yet bound, so it pooled around the table and his seat, a strand dangerously close to slipping into the cup of coffee he was nursing.
At the mention of a fire, Lock seemed to jolt: as if suddenly noticing the urgency with which Lute was moving. Instantly, his hands were moving. Show me.
A lot of his communications with Lute were clunky, a result of the other man's lack of experience with sign language as well as Moloch's penchant to take the easy way out and play charades when he got frustrated. If Lute had turned to the door, Moloch would lay the back of his hand against Lutes. What kind of fire? His fingers said, even as he rose and strapped his blades to his back.
LUTE
Thankfully, Moloch wasted little time in acting, even despite the steaming cup of coffee situated in front of him. Normally, Lute would take his time getting ready in the morning, even though he tended to wake up relatively late compared to most. He’d order a hot cup of coffee or tea, maybe enjoy a light pastry for breakfast, and then they’d be on their merry way. Without that opportunity to decompress and prepare for the coming day, there was a good chance he’d be pretty grumpy later, but that concern was at the very back of his mind right now. His hands trembled as panic coursed through his veins, and Moloch had barely finished signing before Lute had turned and practically sprinted toward the door.
He just barely caught Moloch’s addition, and he spared the void-faced man an indignant sort of look. “I dunno,” he quipped. “A hot one?”
Outside beneath the mid-morning sun, Lute felt a little bad for that response, and quickly attempted to mend it; he didn’t mean to be so snippy. “I didn’t see the actual fire. Just the smoke. It’s past the village but… it looked like there was a lot of it.” He rounded the corner of the inn and looked off into the distance, in the same direction his window had been facing. Sure enough, there was still smoke curling above the trees. Its acrid stench stung the back of his throat once more, and he buried a cough in his sleeve. He lifted his other arm, gesturing toward the far woods. “Out there, see?” he said, glancing back at Moloch and hoping his panic wasn’t quite as obvious as it felt.
MOLOCH
To say Lock was accustomed to Lute's little outbursts would have been a laughable understatement, and as such, he didn't outwardly react to the barb like he might have when they first met. Instead, he left a few coins on the table and shot the barkeep a grateful gesture. Then, he turned to follow Lute out the doors.
A hot one, the young man said, ah yes. How foolish was Lock, as no fire could burn as coldly as Lute's personality did when his temper was up. Lock did not think that thought was an unfair one, for he'd already formed an understanding of his young partner over these months: one based on an endless cycle of forgiveness and tolerance. He knew there were things that Lute would not speak of, and there were things Lock did not push him on - even when Moloch didn't understand, but maybe wanted to. After all this time, though, he was starting to put some of the pieces together himself.
Whether or not Lute appreciated his efforts was still up for debate. Here, in the morning sun, Lock sensed anxiety and maybe the smallest flash of remorse. It was enough.
I see it, he signed, waiting until Lute's eyes were on him again. What would you have me do? A pause. What do you want to do?
Somewhere in the distance, Moloch could hear a bell had begun clanging loudly in warning, and he was certain he heard the grinding of steel.
LUTE
Just staring at the pillar of smoke rising in the distance was enough to make Lute's heart feel like it was going to beat out of his chest. He was so distracted -- his mind racing way too fast -- that he almost forgot to look at Moloch to see his answer. He thought for a moment, unsure what to do, or to have Lock do, and as his knees began to tremble, he felt Ylfa press up against his side for physical support. He leaned into her once more, his fingers curling tightly in the thick fur of her ruff.
The sound of a bell broke him out of whatever freeze had taken hold of him, and he blinked at Moloch, clearing his throat. "I'm... not sure," he admitted, feeling -- and sounding -- utterly helpless. "I don't even know what's over there. I think we should... see if anyone needs help. Hopefully it's only woodlands that way and not..." He swallowed hard and looked around at their surroundings, lifting one hand and making a wide gesture. Another village, was the unspoken part, and seeing as Lock was an impressive man of few words, Lute figured he'd be able to glean that much.
MOLOCH
Even as he posed the question, Moloch had realized he'd made a mistake. Lute wasn't a combat ready veteran like Lock was used to having around: he was, for all intents and purposes, a child in this situation. A child faced with a decision he shouldn't have to make about a situation he knew nothing about. T
he panic growing in Lute's gaze slammed into Moloch like an out of control horse.
So, Lock changed gears and began signing - a bit to enthusiastically at first. Get an evacuation going. He signed, much more slowly this time. He was watching Lute intently, making sure he was using words he'd used in prior conversations to get the point across, even if it was clunky. Tell everyone you can to spread the word. Make a lot of noise. Scream fire from the rooftops.
He stopped and watched Lute then for a long, long moment: making certain he understood what the faceless man was asking him to do.
Making any sort of 'noise' about the fire himself was out of the question: he wasn't sure many people signed in this tiny town, but also every time he tried to actually say something it sounded horrible. His throat was too damaged to produce anything other than a cough that sounded like a hoarse crow call. It was worse with the smoke steadily filling the air.
Go, now.
LUTE
Lute looked to his companion expectantly, some of his panic beginning to fade as Moloch immediately offered a course of action. His own brain didn't seem capable of formulating a plan on its own at the moment, too busy racing with frantic images of fire devouring everything in its path. He was ready to protest, ask what Lock would do while he spread the word and gathered an evacuation crew. At the other man's final words, though, demanding he go, any question died in Lute's throat. He swallowed hard and nodded, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steel himself. "Right. Got it."
With that, he grabbed hold of Ylfa's thick neck fur and threw himself onto her back; she could cover a lot more ground in a short amount of time than he could on his own two feet. "Let's go," he urged her, the wolf-like beast sprang into action, bounding deeper into the village, but Lute made sure to keep the heavy cloud of smoke in his peripheral vision at all times.