Writing just gets away from you, and what you plan on being a two-part scene becomes the first part from two separate angles and a love letter inserted into the middle of the whole thing. Eventually I will get to the end of this, which is meant to just be backstory for a D&D character, but not quite yet.
With any luck this will be concluded one day, but until then I hope you enjoy the ride! I really do quite like the character I'm trying to put together here, and ideally I'm relaying the image in my head well enough that you can appreciate them too, as well as the supporting cast and setting which I play very loosely with.
Have yourself a lovely day, see you when I have something else to say, and enjoy!
Tarron Gislow by Mac Clevinger, December 18, 2017
Bailes Maina stood amidst the debris of the heretic’s lab, his hand grasping a torch that illuminated the night-time scene of their search. The heft of it and its guttering flames were comforting, the potential for cleansing the world with fire as far away as dropping the torch and letting the block burn again.
It reminded Bailes of himself. The flame had always been there, but he’d never set anything alight, had been greedy with his own potential. He wouldn’t let that happen again, even if he had to attend and lead every burning of a heretic’s home to show the commoners how easy it was to trim the unsightly growths that his predecessors had let run wild.
“Just give me a body, she had to have been in here” he muttered under his breath, pacing in a small circle of a few feet while a dozen or so men searched through the collapsed and burnt wood interspersed with deformed, monstrous shapes of metal. His torch warped the scene around himself with every twitch of the flame, a flattened brass ball taking on a demon’s countenance before hiding again the moment Bailes looked closer.
Unless, of course, you torch their homes “when they aren’t even here. You lot! Find her or find where she is! Do you want her to escape? She would have seen us all destroyed and replaced with these machines of hers – can you imagine?
“Thrown out of your homes, removed from your work, exiled from your city and families, and that’s if she doesn’t just tell them to kill us all! If she’s still out there, we need to find her before a nightmare can descend upon us all, so stop screwing around and find her! There are others that need our attention tonight, other heresies that need to meet the fires of the gods’ judgement.”
Bailes waved the torch around himself as he spoke, its flame trailing behind him as he stalked around the lab and toppled what little remained, searching beneath shattered chairs and burnt tables for a sign to point his wrath in the right direction. The light gleamed off the metal of sunken constructs, piercing through the dark to fill his mind with visions of monsters.
Then something else shone through the night: the hinge of a squat cupboard, half buried in rubble but catching the light at just the right angle to shine like a beacon to Bailes’ eyes. He charged through the mess, his jerky, frantic actions worrying the men who had stopped searching during his rant to watch him.
A beam had fallen over the cupboard, a mess of debris, ash, and fused metal following suit. Surely only a miracle could have spared it, divine providence that would show Bailes the way forward. He planted his torch behind him and took ahold of the beam with both hands, straining against its immense weight that had once held up the building.
Several men moved to assist Bailes, but were met by a glare that stopped them in their tracks. Confused, they watched him struggle with the weight alone, their confusion turning to confoundment as he began to lift it a few inches into the air. With a strained groan, the beam shifted, carrying the mass of metal and debris upwards with it before being thrown from the cupboard by a breathless, sweat-strewn Bailes Maina. Turning to the stunned men, he rose to his full height and breathed deeply.
“My convictions are strength enough.”
He crouched besides the cabinet, grasping the board blocking his entry and ripping it away effortlessly. Inside he found a foul-smelling bag – no surprise that the heretic should also partake in the infernal weed – and a collection of letters. Grasping the latter, he brought them out and approached the torch, eyes searching for a clue to the heretic’s whereabouts.
Emblazoned on the first letter was all he needed: a family crest he recognized, though it turned his stomach to know they cavorted with the heretic. He opened the letter, scanning it for evidence.
My dearest Natalie,
It pains me to write to you this day, for I wish to tell you of all the ways I love you, to be able to pretend that what has happened has not, but I can do no such thing. The times when I would write pleasantly with a mind filled with joy seem a lifetime ago, and it is with a quaking heart that I must deliver a message from my father instead of a message from my heart.
‘You are not to see one another again. Not for now, anyways – you would pose a danger to the Gislow name if common association continued between you two. Until such a time that you may part with the stink that follows in your every step, you must remain apart. We are no strangers to the choppy waters of politics however; come the day that you and your kind are no longer wont to be burnt at the stake, or when you leave that life behind you, you may reintroduce yourself to our dear Tarron.
You make my child happy, Natalie, but I will not allow you to put her in danger.’
He has told me not read the note he has given me, but I know full well what he intends. I am so sorry that it has come to this, Natalie, and I pray for our reunion or deliverance from the foul place that fate has brought both of ourselves.
It is a silly thing for me to be fearful when I spend my days behind gates and walls, while you are the one watching neighbors turn their gazes on you in distrust and anger. Yet I am fearful for the both of us; for you if the worst were to happen, and for myself if I were to lose you.
No matter what he says, this is not the end of us, merely a pause until such a time as you may come to me or I may come to you. Promise me you will stay safe until we can be together again.
Oh, I cannot stand by and do nothing while you are in such danger! If ever you are in dire need –
The ragged end of the letter taunted Bailes, even more so than the contents that described such a hideous bond betwixt heretic and what he had thought to be a family exemplifying the best traits of his city. Bailes took ahold of the torch and turned to depart, his men following. If these putrid sympathizers wanted to provide sanctuary to heretics like this ‘Natalie’, then so be it.
They could burn too.
Natalie tucked the ragged end of the letter into a pouch at her waist, darting frantically around her lab to grab what little else she could salvage from the coming blaze. As soon as a heavy fist had pounded on the door, situated at the end of an alley and hardly seeming to be the dwelling of any living thing, she knew that her time was up.
When Bailes’ voice seeped through the covered windows to accuse her of treachery and demand that she present herself for judgement, Natalie stopped. Around her lay half-finished constructs, documents detailing the procedures of their making, tools left strewn about the place at random yet precisely where she needed them to be…
Around her was home. The entire city had been her home up until a few weeks past, the street she lived on had been her home until just a few days ago, and now the place she had lived for over half her life was about to be taken away too.
Her vision grew blurry, tears pricking at her eyes as she steeled herself against the impending loss. Bailes had started to scream as she turned from his voice, fingers dragging lightly against the tables worn down by the years of her life. Her eyes drifted over the incongruity of the furnishings she had accrued piece by piece, each filling a need she knew she’d had and a need that she had never known until now.
Natalie idly placed the scattered tools and scrap she passed into her pockets, drifting further away from the door that was admitting smoke beneath its frame. It bothered her that she had never managed to eliminate the draft that always managed to sneak in during the winter, one of several projects put to the side in deference to her craft.
At the end of the table sat a bag which she slung over her shoulder, her home taking on an odd appearance as a red glow began to spread throughout it. Taking ahold of the mechanized board, theonly construct she could take with her, she resisted the urge to look behind her. Seeing the flames spread and devour her home, the only safe space she had always had? The only comfort always waiting for her return?
It would tear her to pieces.
And the night wasn’t over yet; they wouldn’t stop with tarnishing her name and taking her home away. They wanted her life, and she wasn’t going to give it to them as easily as dying in a burning building. She needed to get away, get as far away from them as she could. Would she come back? She didn’t know, but there was one thing she had to do before she could run.
As Natalie pried open a trapdoor built seamlessly into the floor, her thoughts lit upon the ragged note she had torn from the end of the last letter Tarron had sent her. It had devastated Natalie to lose her, even if for a short while, but a gleaming hope had now become her only beacon in the world that had rejected her.
Oh, I cannot stand by and do nothing while you are in such danger!
A burning beam collapsed as Natalie closed the trapdoor over her head, blocking any hopes of return as she descended the short ladder and found herself in the sewers. Further sounds of collapse and destruction erupted behind her, echoing against the algae-strewn stone that made up the walls and walkways which bordered the slow-flowing sewage.
If ever you are in dire need, come to me at once. I do not care what my father says about our reputation, I would rather have my name in tatters than for you to come to harm.
Natalie regretted not exploring the sewers more when she had stumbled upon them after losing control of a digging contraption, having only the experience of wandering for hours in search of a way out to now navigate across half of the city. She turned towards the direction of Tarron, the love that would surely deliver her from the nightmare she’d fallen into.
Make sure to come at night if possible, Maurice is more sympathetic than the others and will listen when I speak to her. Tell her that I’ve fallen into the nettle patch – it sounds silly but I’ll make sure she knows what it means.
Striding deeper into the sewers, Natalie left behind the only home she had ever truly known for the only person that had promised to stand by her no matter what dangers she may face.
I can hardly bear to imagine the days and weeks we will be apart, my dearest Natalie, but I know we will be brought together again. You are a woman of action, the bravest and strongest I have ever known. I’m sure that before too long you will have set things right and this will all be a foul dream for us to awaken from together, and yet…
I worry for you Natalie, so promise me that you will come to me if ever you are in danger. If the problems you face grow too large, if your battles leave you too weary to carry on, if the worst is to come and you don’t know to whom to turn, turn to me, my dearest Natalie.
Forever loving you,
Tarron Gislow