The Tattooed Woman Pt. 37

THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 37

Apologies for that month-long hiatus, but here we are again. Hopefully, you guys didn't lose patience with me. No idea why, I just had a bit of a dry spell. Guess it happens.

As said, I'm glad folks appear to be enjoying my yarn. As always, please leave comments, as criticism, both positive and constructive, is inherently useful. Plus, I really like reading comments, so that's cool.

Once more, a shout-out goes to Avicia for their suggestions and much-needed help with editing this.

The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 37: Fury, Wrath and Vengeance

Cassie stopped dead in her tracks, and the incredulous look on her face caused Hildegard to wince, "What?!"

"I'm sorry, Cassie, truly! It was never meant to come to this, I swear! But things just got a bit... out of hand, I suppose," she finished lamely.

"But... The dungeon?"

"I know! Please, don't look at me so. But Narissa wouldn't come, and we had to... um, well, you see..."

"We kidnapped her," Garrow added helpfully.

Cassie looked up at the towering creature. She wore a short-sleeved toga-like garment that was belted at the waist and ended at her mid-thigh. Her long, unkempt hair framed her face like the mane of some wild and untamed thing, and her skin was well-oiled. The obvious muscles of her arms and legs held the promise of significant strength, yet for all her size, she moved with the rangy wolf-like grace that Cassie knew was common among Orcish folk, and she had that same feral gleam in those inhuman yellow eyes.

"I'll wager she didn't take kindly to that?"

Hildegard blushed, "No, she did not. Look, I tried to talk her into it, really, I did! But she's so bloody stubborn! And, well, there was a bit of a... um..."

Garrow chuckled, "Fight? Brawl? A tussle if you will, mayhap a melee if you're feeling a touch melodramatic. It was all jolly spirited," quipped the Half-Orc with a grin, "she's got quite the temper on her, you know, and for a wee pixie of a lass she's no shy of getting stuck in. Damned near stove my head in wi a barstool so she did. Must confess, I've quite taken to her."

"Garrow, you're not helping!"

"Sorry, I just work here. If ye'd wanted me to fib to the wench, you should have said."

Cassie shook her head with a sigh, "Well, she's been a wee bit testy since she was murdered. She didn't kill anyone, did she?"

The two women paused as they took in the words, "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if she killed anyone?"

Hildegard frowned, "Ah, no, I mean, look... that last bit? Say that again."

Not noticing their boggled expressions, Cassie continued, "I think getting killed gave her a wee scare. Hardly surprising really. I mean who wouldn't get fright from such a thing? But it has made her a bit leery of folk of late. I'm hoping she gets over it in time."

Garrow turned to Hildegard with a deadpan expression, "You know, I recognise every one of the words she just said and yet somehow, when she strung them together like that, none of it made any fucking sense to me whatsoever."

The handmaiden shook her head, "Me neither. Cassie, when you say she was "murdered", you don't mean that whimsically, do you, like she was mayhap given a sound beating or somesuch?"

"Nah, a Drow killed her. But she got better, so it's fine."

The Half-Orc snorted, "Just look at her cheeky wee grin! I swear she's doing that deliberately."

Hildegard frowned, "Cassie, are you jesting with us? That's not like you."

The younger woman looked up at them both, "Well, you're the ones going to throw me into a dungeon, so I'd say you deserve it, but no, 'tis no jest. She was stabbed to death by a Drow, and Adair brought her back. I wasn't there, but I heard tell it was quite a... thing. And I have seen the change it brought to Adair, so I suppose it cost her some, but she did it nonetheless."

"We are not going to "throw you into a dungeon" Cassie. I wouldn't do such a thing to you anyway, but even if I was a mind to, Mistress Aventine was adamant that you not be treated so."

"Why?"

"What?"

Cassie sniffed, and the distinctly canny look she gave Hildegard surprised the woman, "Why would she care a whit about me not being thrown into her dungeon? What am I to her?"

Pursing her lips, Hildegard considered the question, "I don't rightly know Cassie, but in truth, she might surprise you. She's probably the most Dark Elven Dark Elf I've met since we got here, and she's definitely playing the long game. But while she'd likely peel us all like grapes without a second thought if it suited her purpose, I don't think she's inclined to needless cruelty beyond that," she paused and drew a breath, "I suspect she's very much like the Captain, to be honest. She'd not hurt someone or lift her hand against you on a whim or for simple spite, but get on her wrong side, and Gods help you."

Garrow sniffed and cocked a thumb at the sky, "I'd bet buttons to bollocks it's got something to do wi that Dragon. The monstrous thing is what took Cassie here, and if it's made some claim on the lass, then I'd rightly be wary of treating its pet roughly in case it provoked the beast."

The reaction to her words caught the Half-Orc by surprise as the diminutive human whirled on her, "Ellén is neither beast nor monster! And I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak of her, you green-skinned jackanapes!"

Garrow's eyes narrowed as she took in the girl's angry tone, the clenching of her fists and furious stance, and she shook her head in disbelief, "You know, I think she's sweet on the thing!"

Turning to Hildegard, she pondered, "You think the wee daftie's been beguiled? Mayhap some sorce... woah!"

Cassie's punch was well-aimed, but Garrow was no simple lout, and her fist sailed past the Half-Orc's chin as the ex-gladiator nimbly leaned away from the blow, "What the fu...?"

It was all too much! The last few days had been an utter maelstrom of violent insanity. She had been plagued by a nightmare, hurled through the sky on Dragonback, pitched screaming to the ground for her bones to be broken and smashed, only to be restored by some magical healing that near drove her mad in the process. She had seen Ellén burned, scorched and tormented by shame at the bloodlust of her kind and then watched as the woman she now knew she loved had gone off into peril only for her to be mocked by this lanky bitch! She was weary and heartsick, and she had had enough!

With a scream of frustration and rage, she hurled herself at the Half-Orc, teeth bared, hissing like a cat and with arms and legs pinwheeling as the tantrum fully burst upon her.

For her part, Garrow made no real attempt to fight back but instead tried to grab the struggling girl, only for her grip to fail as the folds of the tattered black shawl she wore somehow slid through her fingers.

Before Hildegard could prevent it, a guard moved forward and tried to restrain her, but somehow, Cassie slithered from his grasp and kicked out a Garrow, catching her neatly on the shins. But given she was wearing nothing more substantial than old slippers, the ex-gladiator barely felt it.

"Cassie! Stop!" With a cry, Hildegard threw her arms around the screeching woman only to find herself as unsuccessful as the guard as Cassie slipped from her grip like smoke and literally hurled herself at Garrow, punching, kicking, screaming insults, and all the while weeping like a child.

The warrior woman eyed the distressed girl and held her hand up to forestall further efforts by Hildegard and the wardens, and instead simply weathered the assault as Cassie pummeled her furiously with her fists and feet. The young lass was stronger than she looked, but even so, Garrow knew that other than maybe a few bruises, it was unlikely she could actually hurt her. Not unless she found a handy fencepost to beat her with or somesuch.

Eventually, exhaustion took its toll, and the blows became all the more feeble until Garrow wrapped her arms around the crying girl and held her close while muttering as softly as she could, "I'm sorry, lass, truly. I'm a rough clod at times, and given my mouth's gotten me into trouble often enough, I should have known better. Will ye not forgive me?"

Sniffing, Cassie eventually ceased her struggles and stepping back, she wiped her nose and mumbled, "'Tis Ellén you should be apologising to, not me."

With a chuckle, Garrow nodded, "Like as not you're right, but in truth, young Cassie, all I know of Dragons is they are fearsome big and not near as mythical as I thought only minutes ago. Given the stories of their appetites, then should I find myself before it, I suspect I'll be too busy begging to not be devoured rather than apologising for any slight I've unwisely offered."

"Ellén wouldn't eat you."

The Half-Orc stood taller and looked down at the girl, "Oh, is that so? And why not, may I ask? Do you think I do not appear appetising enough, is that it?"

"What?"

"Why, I'll have ye know, lass, that there was one time, back when I was chained up in the pens beneath the arena, that I was pitted against this Half-Troll. A towering great lump of a thing he was, with teeth like a lion and a shark's smile. Ach, he smelled bad, so he did. And the whole bloody night he sat there staring at me, licking his chops, and telling me all the best ways to cook Orc," she grinned, "now I was still being starved at the time, some punishment for kicking a guard in the balls I think, and by the end of it the fucker even had me wondering what I'd taste like."

Cassie stared at the woman, not sure if she was jesting or not, "What happened?"

"Oh, we became fast friends and lived happily ever after."

"You killed him, didn't you?"

"Too fucking right, I did! Caught the bastard trying to pull me close during the night and woke up just as he was about to take a bite out of my leg. I kicked him in the teeth, and next morn I opened him up from crotch to eyebrow," she paused and looked thoughtful, "I got extra rations at supper that day; they never did tell me where it came from, but it did taste a wee bit gamey."

The young human stared up into those gleaming yellow eyes, and her brow furrowed, "You're jesting with me, aren't you?"

"Am I indeed?" Garrow sighed and looked over the woman's head, staring off into the darkness of the gardens, "I suppose I must be."

"I-I'm sorry I hit you; I was angry."

"Ah, 'tis nothing to be sorry about, Cassie. I deserved it for sure, and besides," she grinned, "I've had worse."

...

Vortigern eyed the blonde woman standing before him. Her enticing smile had a strangely enigmatic quality to it, and she reminded him of her mother, "I see the beauty of your dam in you, young one. Tell me, little Dragon, what name did Shalidar give to her child?"

The woman's eyes sparkled, and her smile broadened at his words, "She called her Ellén."

He smiled, "A fair name and well-chosen, I think."

She doffed her head in a small bow, but her eyes never left his, "I thank you, kindly."

To one side, his companion sighed in exasperation, "Vortigern, must we waste time in such dissimulation? Our Master awaits his prize."

The older Dragon pursed his lips and gave the woman a regretful look, "Apologies, but it seems that the unfortunate necessity of unseemly haste provokes poor manners in my companion. But alas, for all that, he is sadly correct, and the weight of our errand presses us for time. So, I must ask again, will ye come willingly or no?"

The woman glanced briefly at Rend and then back to him, and she sighed, "You did not fight in the Morrigan's War, did you?"

Surprised by the question, Vortigern blinked and was taken aback a moment before answering, "No, I did not. Your mother did, as did Demeritus, Scale, and a few of the others. I recall feeling the madness and bloodlust of their battles, but I was too young for the fighting then," his brows furrowed, "strange that you should ask. Has Shalidar told you of those days?"

"No, she never speaks of them," she cast her eyes to the floor, "perhaps she is ashamed."

"A peculiar sentiment. Scale boasts often of her feats."

"I suspect so," looking up at the creature, she drew a breath and raised her head, "I shall not go with you."

With a frown, Vortigern took a half step towards her, "Come now, Ellén, I have ten times your years and five times your strength. If you compel me, then needs must I will use force, and in truth, I'd rather not."

Smiling, she discarded her dishcloth and stepped away from the table she had been cleaning, and for just a moment, the hairs on his neck stirred.

She eyed him, and her gaze was steady, "Vortigern, you have spoken kindly of Shalidar, and so I offer you opportunity to turn and leave this place. I tell you, you would do well to accept my gesture and go."

He shook his head sadly, "I cannot, no matter how much I might wish it otherwise."

Rend snarled at her, and his eyes blazed, "Listen well, you foolish worm! If you choose to fight, you will lose and, in the doing, condemn all present to fiery doom, for I shall take great pleasure in reducing this hovel and all within to ash."

Behind Chulainn, the urchin made a whimpering sound of fear and grabbed at his leg. Instantly, the old warrior felt his temper flare, and he took a pace forward, lowering his spear so its gleaming point was levelled at the man's chest, "Here now! 'Tis no great feat of bravery to utter threats to bairns and unarmed women. But if ye be man enough, then mayhap you'd like to step outside, and we'll put your courage to the test with steel in our hands?"

With an angry snarl, Rend moved to meet him, "Oh, be silent, you witless old fool!"

The Dragon contemptuously slapped away the spear levelled at him, only to stare in disbelief as half the fingers of his hand were neatly severed by the silvery blade and tumbled to the floor. He stared after the bloody digits for a stunned moment before looking back at the old warrior, finally taking in the grimly determined set to his features and the cold, unblinking glare of his icy grey eyes.

With a sibilant hiss, Vortigern took a pace forward and even in human form, the inn shook as he advanced. His gaze grew hot as he reached for the woman he had been sent to collect, "Enough of this!"

Behind the bar, Fiamma Vor, ancient Battlemage of House Varro, dropped the glamour that disguised her with a shrug.

"Oh well, that's that then, I suppose."

Producing her blasting rod from under the counter, she levelled it at Rend and spoke a word of power.

The results were... striking.

...

The mists around the Temple of Morrigan's Stone seemed to swirl all the more as the sound of the slap echoed about the pillars. The Dragon's head snapped to one side as the blow was struck, and he staggered a pace before gathering himself and glaring at her with angry eyes, "You are not the Morrigan!"

She chuckled and stepped back, "Did I not just say as much? Or were you too busy posturing to pay proper attention?"

At a gesture, his brothers moved to stand alongside him, and they bent their will to pierce the glamour that veiled the creature before them. Under their hot gaze, the magical shroud withered, and she was revealed.

"You are Dragonkind!"

"I am."

The leader eyed her, his head tilted as he considered, and his brow furrowed, "You are young."

One of his kin snarled, "She must be the scion of Shalidar! We are deceived, brother."

He nodded with a frown, "So it would seem, though the purpose of such pointless trickery escapes me."

Turning back to her, his eyes glittered with malice, and his face split in a vile grin, "You could not stand against even one of us, child, and yet here you are, left alone to fight three! Surely your Mistress must be witless indeed if she thinks our kinship would cause us to hesitate in slaughtering you or induce us to show you mercy."

Ellén snorted in contempt, "Only a fool would expect mercy from such spiteful reptiles, and while I might just surprise you, I suspect that you are correct in that I could not contest with three such bold warriors," she grinned and looked towards the temple, "but I'll wager he can."

With a deep grinding of scales against stone, Ddraig Goch, the Great Red Dragon, first and mightiest of his kind, steed and hound of The Morrigan, reared out of the mist and drew an incendiary breath as he gazed down at the trio of worms before him.

...

Fiamma Vor had crafted her blasting rod long years ago from a shard of ancient bone she had found in some Sluagh-haunted barrow back when she had been a restless adventurer, drifting between quest and ruin with a band of like-minded malcontents, seeking who knew what.

Her power and wealth had increased ten times a hundredfold and more since those wild days, but she still remembered the frenzied battles with ghosts and goblins, giants and ghouls, fighting tooth and nail for treasures they didn't need, and uncovering secrets nobody cared about.

She remembered the folk she fought alongside and the folk she fought against, each and every one just as mad as she, the laughter and screams, the furiously incendiary arguments and tempestuous love affairs. And sometimes, as she lay in her bower at night, she looked over the long, long years of her life and wished she could revisit the freedom of those days, but in her heart of hearts, she knew you can never go back.

The blasting rod crackled and hissed alarmingly. Steam drifted about the thing, and it felt hot to touch, with a strange weight to it that belied its appearance. Over centuries, she had packed it with all the destructive magic she knew. Each time her strength increased or she learned some new spell or ritual, she would squeeze just a little more power into the thing. It had become a hobby of sorts, distracting her on long, lonely nights as she worked her craft, until now, the device was literally bursting at the seams with perilous magic. Indeed, if not for the many binding spells she had wrapped it in, it would have flown apart a century ago at least. Even now, she feared that if she accidentally dropped it or inadvertently struck it against some counter or hard surface, it would likely detonate and kill everything within five hundred paces in some violently entertaining eruption of raw magic.

Certainly, she had not used the thing in an age. Her skills were deadly enough that she had no real need of such a crutch, and no threat presenting a sufficient peril that would require deploying such a weapon had presented itself in centuries. In truth, she had no real idea what would happen if she ever triggered the bloody thing now. But there was always that little voice at the back of her mind, that little echo of the wild days of her youth, that egged her to do just that.

And here, at long, long last, were foes worthy of the effort.

She grinned.

Rend was a Dragon; regardless of disguise, he was possessed in full of the colossal might of his kind, sheathed in living armour that made him all but indestructible, with supernatural senses even the wariest of beasts could only envy and capable of dealing fiery death on the slightest of whims. And yet here he was, staring in disbelief at the severed fingers of his hand, neatly lopped off by the magical silver glaive carried by a pitiful human warrior of all things.

A playful whistle drew his attention from the bloody digits that lay scattered carelessly upon the floor of the inn, and he dumbly looked up at the sound.

The Dark Elf behind the bar gave him a merry smile as she levelled the blasting rod in her hand and spoke a word.

The sound was... beyond loud. As one, the windows of the inn blew outwards in a spectacular shower of shattered glass, taking the frames and chunks of wall with them as the brilliant glare of the spell turned the world white.