Head and Shoulders Above His Peers

Head and Shoulders Above His Peers

Postby Korressa » Fri Oct 30, 2015 8:13 pm

Laerd knew he'd had a good night at the tavern, because his pockets were empty of all but a bit of lint and a scrap of overly scented handkerchief. It was moth-holed and thin from use, but made of soft, stained silk that had once been a fine ivory. He clenched his hand over the threadbare rag, trying to recall his adventures in the Broken Dagger.

He couldn't remember much of the evening, but for vague impressions. There had been a girl—not one of the tavern lasses—with eyes that shone dark and full of stars, and hair that glowed a brighter white-gold than the midday sun. She had been enchanting.

Oh, it was probably the drink that made him remember her as such a beauty, but he didn't mind that. His inebriation made her edges softer, less real, but more ideal, and as he stumbled along the road, he remembered her little by little. He filled in gaps with his imagination, lingering over the creation of tapered elf ears that had blushed delicately when he murmured poetry into them. She'd been sun-burnt brown, the colour of a girl used to digging out weeds, but he replaced her hard-won skin with a pallor that rivalled mother of pearl. Her hips had been bony and hard, but he filled them out with a soft, supple mound of flesh under his seeking palm. Little by little, he painted a portrait over the plain, hard-worked village girl, and turned her into his own personal goddess.

She had full, soft lips the colour of coral he'd once seen for sale at the docks. Bright, red-orange, with a dark, warm centre—oh, and the things she had done with those lips!

Had she done with her lips? Laerd stumbled over the pitted wagon tracks before him, lost in thought. He could smell something about his own person over the pervading fragrance of cheap wine and even cheaper perfume—but he couldn't remember if they'd even gone above stairs or not.

"B'hind the stables, mebbe?" he muttered to himself, tripping a second time over the opposite track in the road. The thought of the shapely, divine creature he was moulding in his mind, sinking to her knees in the stench of horse dung made him scowl. No. Not behind the stables, he was sure of it. Not amidst horse piss and—

Horse piss.

Just the thought drove a new urge through his brain like a stroke of lightning—Too much wine. Gotta get rid of it.

Suddenly fleet of foot, the man hitched his trousers upward and half-tripped, half-trotted off of the road towards the trees. A looming pine drew his attentions, for its drooping, concealing branches. After checking for signs of any of the usual rash-inducing foliage of the land, Laerd opened his trousers to relieve himself.

Someone giggled on the other side of the tree and he nearly jumped out of his skin mid-stream.

The someone had a voice that perfectly suited the girl he had shaped in his memories. It was a musical laugh, muffled by a dainty, white hand. A hand without callouses. A hand as soft as silk sheets. Laerd shook himself, in more than one way, and quickly backed away from the tree. As if following his movements, a face appeared from behind it, pale in the dim light beneath the pine branches.

Alcohol and darkness blurred his vision, but Laerd knew that face. It was heart-shaped and full-cheeked, framed with long, thick hair, from which the elegant, pointed ears protruded. She'd followed him!

"Ah, darlin'," he drawled, and the figure giggled again. Little by little, she inched out from behind the tree, revealing more and more pallid flesh. He couldn't remember if what kind of gown the girl had been wearing in the tavern, but as she drew closer to him now, she had nary a stitch covering her birch white body. Leaves clung in her pale hair, a dark, natural crown. Laerd stopped his retreat and opened his arms wide in greeting.

The hand that touched his shoulder when she reached him was not soft like silk sheets, but knobby like an old oak, with claws sharper than steel. The dark eyes that beheld his face showed no stars, but reflected Laerd's own terrified expression back at him. And the lips that closed over his throat and cut off his belated screams were not coral red, but soon became the vibrant bordeaux of human blood.





A farmer on his way to market the next morning found the body.

Well.

A farmer on his way to market the next morning found half of the body.

Laerd's legs had been left in the road, barely attached to the pelvis. His trousers were nowhere to be seen, and most of the soft tissues has been stripped from the bone. Sharp, hard marks showed where gnawing teeth had torn away the flesh, and what little remained swarmed with late season flies. The constable who examined the scene initially ruled that it was likely the doing of wolves, with the way they had tried to crack into the bones to get at the marrow. However, finding the rest of the body quickly changed the constable's mind—he just wasn't sure to what it had changed, and he stood, staring at Laerd's mutilated remains.

The majority of the other half of his body was up a birch tree some twenty feet away. It had been wedged tightly between forking branches, with one arm missing from the shoulder, and the other rent from the elbow, and multiple ribs missing. If the autumn winds hadn't begun to strip away its leaves, they might not have found him at all. The only piece of Laerd still intact enough to identify as human was the head. His lower jaw had been ripped away, and his ears and eyes removed, but the curly crop of dark hair, and his wide, flattened nose remained.

The second constable—a newly recruited lad—regretted having reported for duty that morning immediately. Seniority dictated that he remove the remains from the tree for burning and, despite being told to have a care on his descent, the youngster dropped the corpse halfway down. It landed with a sick thud and several more ribs broken.

By the time the sun had reached its mid-morning height, Laerd had been collected as best they could for his final rites and incineration.
Korressa
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