Under The Chemical Lights

When Shaistrell turned down the dark and narrow alley he saw three things that confused him. First there were red roses all over the ground, their petals all spread about. Second he saw a man lying in a pool of what Shaistrell assumed was blood farther down in the alley, his face obscured by shadows. The third thing he saw that made his heart stop was deep in the alley, he saw a girl her dark hair tangled around her dark face. Her brown eyes were bright and alert as she looked wide eyed at the three approaching men. In her shaking hands she held a dagger that oddly curved upwards, blood dripped from it. Shaistrell’s mouth dropped as he looked at her, as he looked at the girl he’d been drawing for years.
He unsheathed his sword from his walking stick; he held it aloft as he walked towards the three men who hadn’t noticed him yet. They were closing in on the girl.

“You killed Raldry, bitch.” Said the man on the left, the small blade he held in his hand glinted dangerously in the Chemi light.

“I think,” said the man in the center, his voice was gruff “that you’ll regret that dearie.” He said he advanced a little and the girls back hit the wall.

“We’re gonna make you wish we killed you…” said the first man and then he lunged at her.
There was a flash of silver and a yelp from the girl, Shaistrell leapt forward and brought his walking stick hard onto the man on the rights head, he crumpled to the ground. A gurgling sound emitted from the man who had attacked the girl as he fell against the wall, his throat slashed open. Shaistrell looked at her, she looked terrified and confused, and he lunged at her and grabbed her arm. She panicked and he narrowly dodged her blade.

“Watch it! I’m here to-“but he was cut off as the last man threw himself onto Shaistrell. He dropped his sword and the scrambled on the ground. He felt a searing pain in his left shoulder and he started to fling his arms about at the man’s face. He managed to land a few punches, one of them broke his nose. Dazed and holding his bleeding nose the man staggered to his feet. Shaistrell jumped up and grabbed his sword just in time to see man lung at him holding a dagger. Then in mid stride he stopped and fell to the ground, the girl’s exotic looking dagger sticking out from his neck.

After retrieving her dagger and sheathing his own weapon Shaistrell managed to lead the girl out of the alley in her near catatonic state. He knew she must’ve been in intense Shock. She shook like a leaf the whole way back to his house. He led her up all the stairs and stopped outside the door and looked at her. She was flecked with blood but nowhere near as much as he was. He was cut in the shoulder and was bleeding profusely; he had no idea how she managed to escape getting her raggedy dress covered in blood. As he looked at her he realized how poor she looked, it surprised him. He had always drawn her wearing expensive silk dresses or embroidered gowns, not this sad excuse for a dress. It was grey and bag like, the only decoration on it was the vivid purple sash she had tied around the middle. Her sad brown eyes looked up into his own. She blinked balefully, and then she looked at his shoulder and began reaching for it.

“Don’t touch it!” he said he gently swatted her hand away, he wasn’t sure she understood Common. “I don’t want it to get infected;” he smiled at her “I’ll go to the Doctor tomorrow, okay?” She shook her head slowly. He turned and began unlocking all the locks, behind the door he herd frantic shuffling around.

“Gods dammit! He’s early! Quick into my room!” That was Pellund’s voice, Shaistrell could tell. He waited until he heard a door close before he walked in. When the girl walked into the main room of his home she looked around curiously, as if she had never been in a building before. He sat her down before the hearth with a few blankets on her to keep her from shivering anymore and then he went into the washing rooms to clean his cut and to wash off the blood. When he returned she was looking at his desk, her head turned like a puppy who doesn’t quite understand as she looked at his drawings of the Cityscape.

Shaistrell handed an old tunic to the girl and sent her into the washing room to change. He then set about cleaning up the living room. He made sure he hid the drawings that he had drawn of her in a very safe place. On top of one of the beams that lanced across the ceiling, to get to it Shaistrell had to stand on some books that were stacked on a box that was balanced precariously on a chair. He knew that if the girl even somehow piled all those things up she still wouldn’t be able to reach, Shaistrell was six foot two.