Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words

Roderick watched gravel give way to rocks, and then to dark grass. He was laid down on a sheet, vaguely aware of someone pressing something cool and wet against his skull.

Volunteer medics came to find out what was going on, but Wilfred waved them away, closing his eyes and murmuring under his breath. This was not the first time that Wilfred had used his magics to heal Roderick’s wounds, yet the sensation never seemed to waver in its intensity. The magic seemed as though it was shaving ten pounds off his weight, and just as many years from his age. Even the air he breathed seemed sweeter, but this bliss only lasted for a scant moment or two, as that was all it took to knit open flesh back together.

It made Roderick wonder if the relic’s power would feel all that different, were he to let its magics course his body. It would be all too easy to find out. He shuddered, opting to fill his belly with bread and water the medics offered him, trying to stuff this train of thought away as quick as it had come.

After some time to rest, Roderick was able to stand, but Wilfred urged him to lay back for a time yet. Roderick wanted nothing more than to take to the beach and search every grain of sand for his Skaven companion, but how far would he get with this crack in his head?

He lay in the camp along with the other wounded, what felt like hours passing them by. Eventually there was a ruckus, and the sentries at the edge of the camp parted to let Captain Von Kessel through. He hunkered by Roderick’s bedroll, the peacock feathers on his hat flicking in the breeze.

“Heard you took a nasty tumble,” Von Kessel remarked. “How are you?”

“Well as you’d expect,” Roderick answered. “The men told me you stopped the searches.”

“We have found more than enough cargo to see to our immediate needs,” Von Kessel replied. Roderick found it strange that he talked about cargo, not his missing crew. “And we cannot camp out here in the open, we will draw unwanted attention if we tarry.”

“Are you expecting trouble, Captain?” Wilfred asked.

Von Kessel nodded. “Every second. If we’re lucky, the Brettonians will have marked our passing and sent out riders.”

“And if we’re unlucky?” Roderick asked.

“Then their enemies will find us first. The last time we passed through Lyonesse, I heard they had yet to solve their problems with vampires, greenskin tribes, and packs of ogres camping up in the Grey Mountains. And of course there’s the Skaven, I doubt they’ll stop while we still possess the relic.”

Roderick knew from experience that basing a force in one place was the biggest mistake in warfare, though leaving would mean giving up searching for Skyseeker.

“I’ve had some of my men scout for landmarks,” Von Kessel continued. “There’s a holdfast a couple leagues north of us. We can shelter there and tend to the injured, and from there we can find out where exactly we’ve ended up.”

“A sound plan,” Wilfred said with a nod. “I do not like putting a village in danger with our presence, but I see no other option. Let’s gather the supplies and prepare the journey.”

The men were eager to get moving, and the crew began to pack their gear. What supplies couldn’t be loaded into packs had to be carried by hand, and even though the men were strong, it would be back-breaking work carrying everything over rough terrain.

Once he was able, Roderick packed what possession he had that had survived. His great sword had been found, fortunately, and he strapped the weapon onto his back, the scabbard tapping against the back of his legs as he walked.

He noticed that Wilfred didn’t seem to be gathering any equipment, so Roderick wondered over, resisting the urge to scratch at his wound. “Wilfred,” he remarked. “why aren’t you packing? Did none of your things wash ashore?”

“Oh, no, I carry all I need with me,” the wizard replied, giving his staff a pat. “I won’t be accompanying you and the good Captain.”

“What?” Roderick asked. “Why not?”

“I thought about what you said before,” Wilfred explained. “There’s a possibility that Skyseeker may still be alive, as well as those of the crew yet to be accounted for.  If there’s anywhere we will find them, it will be on the coast, here. I will stay with some of Von Kessel’s men, and search for them.”

“Then so will I,” Roderick added, but Wilfred shook his head.

“Absolutely not. You are injured, and need rest. If we have to march up and down this coast all day, you would never be able to keep up with us.”

“You healed me with your magic,” Roderick countered. “I’m not injured any longer.”

“My magic heals the flesh, not the blood, and you lost a lot of it because of that injury you sustained. You need time to recover, or you will just make things worse.”

Considering Wilfred had studied the art of healing all his life, it was hard to argue against him. Roderick would just slow down the search anyway if he stayed, what with all this nausea he was feeling.

“I don’t like this,” Roderick mumbled. “I already lost one friend today, and now you’re leaving us as well.”

“Don’t worry about me, Roderick,” Wilfred said. “I may not be a fire mage, but that does not mean I am helpless in a fight. I will join with you as soon as it’s possible. And when that time comes, I will have Miss Seeker by my side. How does that sound?”

Roderick relented, nodding his understanding. He gave the old man a farewell embrace, clapping him on the back. “There is one last thing,” Wilfred said once they parted. “Take this.”

He was holding out a length of cloth, the same one that wrapped the relic, the ancient staff that plagued his dreams. Roderick backed away a step, as though the thing was giving off a foul odour he wasn’t quite aware of.

“Wouldn’t you rather hold onto that?” Roderick asked skeptically.

“It cannot stay here. If the Skaven are truly after it, this will be the first place they look. It must not fall into their hands, Roderick, there’s or any one else. Not the orcs, not the ogres, not even the Brettonians. Only a true sone of Sigmar can resist its pull, as you’ve demonstrated. Until the Conclave takes it off your hands, it is never to leave your side. Understand?”

Roderick wasn’t sure about the whole resist aspect, but he didn’t’ want to worry his old friend, so he nodded again.

“I know this is a terrible burden I place on you,” Wilfred continued. “But I trust no one else.”

“You can count on me.”

“I know.”

Wilfred placed the relic into his hands. Immediately he felt its shape through the cloth, the padded haft as welcoming as the grip of a worn sword. For a second he wanted to peel it back and expose the relic, just look on its familiar shape with his eyes, but then he supressed the impulse.

He turned and secured it to his belt, as it was too big for the satchel he wore across his other hip.

Before long, the crew was ready to depart, Von Kessel leading them forward as he took point at the head of the column. Roderick wished the wizard one last farewell before turning to join them, wishing he could do more, help in some way, but there was nothing else for it. There were no roads beyond the shore, the rocks transitioning into sprawling fields of grass and highlands.

He touched the staff with one gloved hand, just to assure himself of its presence, and then fell in line with the others. His guns, his sword, and his staff, Roderick was now laden with weapons. He wondered which of the three would make him feel the safest, in this trek across these foreign lands.  

-xXx-

The waves crashed against the rocky peaks of the headlands, carpets of foam washing against tidepools filled with green algae. Flocks of gulls and seabirds perched in the tallest peaks nearby, scanning the waves in search of errant fish. The seabirds took off with angry squawks as the next waves vomited forth a screeching rat woman, her fur as shaggy as the weeds that clumped in the pools.

She landed sprawled on her belly, and she opened her muzzle, water cascaded forth, Skyseeker feeling herself physically deflate with every cough and sputter. Naturally, drinking the ocean had all been part of her plan – after all, the less of it that was on the outside, the less trouble she had swimming.

She pushed herself up on an elbow, shivering beneath her coat as the wind rippled over her. Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see, not even when she put a paw to her face. What was going on, was she dead? Was this what death was like, all cold, wet, and eternally black? She decided it was not her style.

Hole, a voice in her mind spoke, one that sounded like her own. Or was it saying whole, as in this was a whole ordeal? One thing she was certain of, was that something was definitely wrong with her.

She put her other elbow against the rock and pushed, but her strength failed her and she collapsed. She was so much heavier than she remembered, as though she was carrying rucksacks on her back.

No, not rucksacks, the ocean. It had let her go, yet was staying with her nonetheless. Her fur was soaked through with it, and when she reached over and rung her forearm like an old dishcloth, an avalanche of water spewed out.

She needed to dry out, but first, she would need to see. She tilted her head, noticing a faint blue canvas above her head. It was her namesake, the Sky, with a hundred thousand glittering points sparkling down on her, with the moon taking up a giant portion of it. So she was not blind, it was just dark. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

Hole, the voice said again. Skyseeker reached for her goggles, but they were not on her head. Confused, she reached for her neck, but they weren’t there either. She frantically peeled open her pouches, tossing away trinkets and baubles she’d collected over the years, sighing when her paw wrapped over the familiar shape of the lenses.

She stretched the band behind her ears, fixing them over her eyes. She flicked on the night vision setting, the clinging darkness yielding beneath a green filter. She was laying upon the rim of a field of stones, the jagged stones curling and shooting across basins trapped with water. The pools stretched on and on for maybe a league inland.

The great span of the ocean curled to her rear. On her flanks, she could see the shores of the mainland, arcs of sand and grass and gravel. She vaguely recalled aiming for one of these more accessible areas to escape the ocean, but this place would do. Hole.

Skyseeker was getting real sick of this intrusive thought. Perhaps if she could stand, it would go away. Struggling against her newly added weight was a chore, and it took her two attempts before she could curl one knee beneath her and use it like a brace.

Yet the second she tried to straighten, she shrieked in agony, an alarming flare spreading from her side. Clutching it dulled the pain a little. A part of her was afraid to look at herself, but she pushed the notion aside, and when she raised her paw, a giant ring of blood stared back.

Hole, the thought said, helpfully. This gap between her third and fourth rib must be what it was talking about. Her life essence was leaking out of it in small, consistence dribbles, staining the nearby fur a rich crimson. She could feel the little pellet inside it, burrowing into her muscles like a tick.

Her first instinct was to reach inside there and take it out, but her paws were shivering, and her claws were very sharp, and self-mutilation was the last thing she needed. She needed to find a place to dry, and that place wasn’t here, where the waves sprinkled down on her from behind every few moments.

Her wound fought to bring her to her knees again, but Skyseeker wrangled down the pain, and this she rose, first to her knee, then to her feet. Droplets of water rained from her fur to splatter on the rock below; she must look like a walking thundercloud right about now.

One hand on her wound, she stalked into the jagged outcrops, her feet dragging in soft sand as she waded through a pool. Her leather belts creaked as she moved, and she wondered if anything had been ruined by all the water. She would have to take inventory as soon as she was able.