Lifeline
An original fiction by Travis J. DeSantis
A bubble rising to the top of my ale. Rising ever so slowly as I gently swish the amber liquid in its mug. Rising precariously, aimlessly. If I were a philosophical man, I'd say that bubble represents life. People are always blindly stumbling forward, heedless of danger and accepting fate as it comes. People ignore the whirlpool their caught in, stubbornly pushing onward and upward. Stupid. Foolish. I suppose I'm no different.
Hmm, and the bubble burst. It finally gave up, no longer able to resist the forces acting against it. Resigning itself to its fate. The end of existence--life--much the same as it is with Man. I can't even begin to count for how many people I was that antagonistic force. My will fighting against theirs until their bubble burst.
Or maybe I'm reading to deep into it. It is just ale.
"A penny for your thoughts?"
~~~~~
A sleepy, dust-ridden town. Quiet, unassuming. The people are simple, life is simple. The only changes come and go with strangers traveling off the beaten path.
Aerin's footsteps sounded loud and hollow on the low wooden walk. She is a young woman, no older than her mid-twenties. Her long bangs are a stark contrast to the short, masculine cut of her raven-colored locks and her soft bronze skin is drawn tight over the lean muscles of an active woman. Aerin's dress is of a foreign land, and while functional, appears bizarre compared to the muted earth tones of the locals. Her short, robe-like tunic bears the violet sheen of satin--but must surely be made of a tougher material--and wrappings with the appearance of bandages comprise much the rest of her garments.
A sturdy duffle bag is slung over her shoulder, measuring a yard or so long. Drawn tightly closed by a leather thong, she hefts the heavy-seeming bag with ease. In passing, one can hear the clank of metal against metal.
Even standing out as much as she did, Aerin draws only glances as she approaches any given towns person. However, those glances change to nervous stares as she passes by, the large black character splashed across the back of her tunic demanding attention. Though is appears to be of no particular language, the sharp angles and perfect symmetry speak volumes, instilling fear in all who see it. No man, woman, or child dares to disrupt Aerin as she makes her way to the nearest pub.
Stepping inside, the interior of the bar is well-lit and clean, far from what one would expect. The sparsely placed tables are occupied not by shady-looking individuals, but by the hard respectable, hard-working men of the town on break. No one could be suspicious of anyone in this group, save perhaps the large, muscular man in the back corner.
He is fair-skinned, much of which is covered by billowy grey trousers and a sleeveless leather trench coat. One arm is completely bare, showing off powerful-looking muscles, while the other is completely covered by a dark tarp, mysteriously secured with thick leather straps and heavy iron buckles. A red-head, his short, wild hair is broken by a sporadic shock of bone white. Though bearing the appearance of a warrior, he wields no weapon.
In fact, he seemed to be staring intently into his mug of ale.
A small smirk played across Aerin's lips. With a signal to the bar keep, she sits down next to the man and crosses her shapely legs under the table. Undisturbed, the man continues his quiet vigil. With a curious look, Aerin takes the chance to study his face, which is square and rugged, marked with a liberal number of scars across the nose, right eye, and chin. Eyes of emerald green stare unwavering into his spirits, his thin lips drawn in a tight line.
Amused by the lack of recognition, Aerin is finally coaxed into speaking. "A penny for your thoughts?"
A moment of confusion is visible in his face at being disturbed, which passes quickly as he finally noticed the woman next to him. "Come again?" he asked in a surprisingly soft voice.
"You seemed pretty lost in thought there. Do you always stare at your drink like that?"
"Ha, no. Just letting my mind wander."
"Hm." Aerin accepts the mug of ale handed to her by the bar keep, paying with a few bronze pieces. She takes a small sip and makes a face at the watered down fluid. "No wonder you're not drinking it," she says with a smile.
"Jaa," he responds, smirking.
With a raised eyebrow, "You must be from the western provinces. No one around here says that."
Returning the look, "And you're a Kal'teth."
A look of angry surprise passes across Aerin's face like a ghost, but fades into amusement as she chuckles softly. "Yes, I'm a demon hunter from the East. How can you tell?"
"The Spirit Arm you carry," he said, indicating her duffle bag, now sitting on the floor between them, with a tilt of his head.
Taking another quick sip of her ale, "The wards must not be working."
"Actually, they are. I can't sense a thing."
"What!?" she asks, confusion evident in her tone.
"I was just guessing. All I did was read the characters sewed into the side."
"And you can read the language of the East as well. I'm impressed," she responds with a laugh, raising her mug in a toast. "So what's your story, mystery man?"
"My story has already been written. Revenge, violence, heartache. Like a bad novel, really. Now I'm looking for something else to do with the rest of my life."
"'May you live in interesting times.' Don't ask me who said that, but it sure sounded nice."
"Jaa. If I'm not mistaken, that's something of a curse in the East."
A smirk. "That's why I like saying it."
"So why are you walking around with a Spirit Arm? I wasn't aware that there were any demons around here."
"Most likely not. But that's what demon hunters do: we wander. Travel around, hope we bump into a demon we can kill and try to con an award out of someone. It's not exactly how I want to spend the rest of my life, but it puts food in my mouth, so I can't complain."
"Well, it beats trying to fight an army of demonic soldiers."
"Lemme guess, you fought against the Dark Horde? Lucky break you got, that one strange fellow coming along and wiping them out. Congratulations on surviving. You're one of few."
Accepting another toast, "Thank you kindly. So how's business?"
"Alright. In fact, I've taken a job to hunt down some kind of demon avatar. He goes by the name Reinheart and is supposed to be possessed by an elder god. Wielding a giant scythe, it's said he cuts down the greatest of warriors like a farmer reaps his wheat. Can't for the life of me think why anyone would want him dead though. Most folks agree that he single-handedly destroyed the...Dark Horde..."
With a slow turn of her head, Aerin stares at the cordial man next to her, wide-eyed. With a broad grin, the man rises from his seat on the wooden bench, facing her for the first time. Only now can she detect the faint aura of darkness emanating from his left arm, muted by the tarp and straps.
"By the way, my name is Val. Val Reinheart."
Turning towards the exit so that his leather jacket whirls with a flourish, he pauses momentarily for a final sentence before making his way quietly from the pub. Aerin can do nothing but sit, staring in wonder at the spot he had vacated mere moments before. Fingers gripped tightly around the handle of her mug, Val's words repeat themselves in her head.
"A penny for your thoughts."
