Urban Fantasy: Journey's Start

She discovered a few more cuts on her skin in various places, some on the sides of each breast, on her hips and a slightly deeper cut on the left-hand side of waist. She patched them all up with band aides, and by the time she was done it looked like she'd just come from a scuffle with a paper cutter and lost.

She gazed at her reflection for long moments, the reasons for which in part were her vanity as she admired herself and the other part was counting how many cuts she'd managed to patch up. One was actually deep enough to draw blood, and a small splotch of crimson was forming on the tiny square patch, the one on her waist. She took a hold of hr black hair, wet and slick with water and fixed it into a top-knot before making her way out of the bathroom and out to the front door nearby, her wet feet leaving slick prints where they touched the ground, and saw the wad of bills sitting pretty in front of picture frame atop the table.

The photo itself was old, perhaps taken when she was but 5 years old, and it was of her sitting on the middle section of a spiral slide giddy and on the way down, with her mom kneeling, ready to catch her at the bottom. All bundled up in a thick purple jacket, with a deep red scarf wrapped around her neck, she looked like she was the happiest kid on earth with that huge smile on her face.

She remembered that day rather vaguely; something about a long trip to some northern region up on some mountaintop city where everyday was nice and cold and the crows would settle down by her cottage and peck at the leftovers on an old picnic table nearby. She also remembered her dad taking that photo, but it didn't fully sink in at all until it all pieced together the moment it the blissful haze of youth lifted upon the onset of puberty. She could barely even remember his face. It was just a blur, nothing more. Saharan stood there, dripping water before snapping herself out of her reveries. She hadn't realized that she had the frame in her hands in a vise-like grip and she dropped it face-first back on to the table, only to hesitate for a split second as she moved to grab the wad.

'Oh, mom…' she mouthed, her voice barely rising above a whisper as a single fat tear rolled down her cheek, which she promptly wiped away with the back of her hand. The wad she grabbed, intentionally averting her eyes to the scene of her own hand quickly snatching the bills and grasping them tightly in her fist.

Guilt, elation, sadness, happiness, disgust, primal urges and some others to name a few. She couldn't describe them at all, or exactly what state her mental health was in, and neither would she actually know, if at all. Woe, Saharan was but a poor girl trying to keep up with the daily grind of things, and since losing her job has felt the slow pinch of what it was like to sacrifice the luxuries she was so accustomed to, meager as they were compared to her richer contemporaries back home.

She looked around her small apartment, gazing for long moments at the stuff she had, like her small TV, the little Wii underneath of it, the neatly arranged clothes in her closet, her extremely messy bed, the various photos she treasured so much and down to the bills she had on the palm of her hand. The sight of which made her sick to the stomach, and holding them made her feel like she was clutching at barbed wire just to keep from falling down into the abyss.

She'd begun to despair at the current state of affairs she found herself in, seeing how low she'd gone, whishing it all away while her belly bubbled with acidic taste and the bitter tang of bile nearly crept down her tongue before her hand suddenly slapped her on the cheek, apparently of its own accord, 'Snap out of it Ran. You're strong and you'll make it through this,' she said, steeling herself against the waves of sad realization washing over her ego like the waves of an angry sea crashing against a rocky coast.

'This is nothing,' she said, barely above a whisper. She'd just stowed away all the negative feelings about this whole thing when other emotions, unbidden and raw, rampaged about her inner self; excitement, arousal, anticipation and a host of others encouraging her to take further steps towards unfettered carnal desires. She didn't welcome them.

She decided then and there that she needed a distraction, and the bed was calling to her, the sorry state it was in just tickled at her OCD and she'd walked over, stepping over the puddles of cum, and plucked the dirty sheets off before tossing them into her wicker laundry basket beside her bathroom door. She stood there, still in her bath towel, contemplating over what to do next, thinking quickly if she'd lay new sheets but ultimately decided against it, knowing that Griblet might barge in at any time tonight and expect some poon. And somewhere, under all that doubt and anxiety, buried under layers of pride and vanity was tucked a tiny ember that smoldered powerfully, wishing that Griblet would come tonight, Gromet in tow.

Saharan sniffed, wiping another tear that was rolling down her cheek as she stood by her bed in nothing but a damp towel, having walked gingerly from her door, and she stared for long moments at the mess that corrupted her place of rest. Even lacking the bed sheets, it was all crusty with white and greenish fluids long since dried up, and a hint of dried brown that was once crimson that pooled in small round patterns that looked like puddles of vaguely reddish mud.

She knew what it was, where it came from. She also knew that it was hers, having been drawn from the numerous times it would be that time of the month and Griblet would come in expecting some action. Other times it would just be from sheer brutality that she'd bleed from her mouth or from her nose, and the crimson liquid would splash on to her bed like some fine wine from a broken bottle.

The thoughts caused Saharan to shudder in slight fear and – as much as she'd hate to admit – arousal. She'd only see the backhand flying, striking her across the cheekbone and flooring, rather, bedding, her during one of the ork's romps to her bedroom. As much an affront it was to her dignity, some tiny part lit up at the pain caused to her given such a situation. It was like a switch suddenly jerked into the 'on' position after being in the off for such a long time.

She could still vaguely remember it, though, that day. Her hands were tied to her bedposts, and helpless was she, but not beyond hurling wrathful invectives at the scheming Griblet, who hovered silently between her spread legs, chuckling, and gagging her with an old sock taken from his own boot. The smell was awful, and Saharan's eyes rolled back into their sockets at the smallest hint of that stench before he began the lascivious act of rutting between her creamy thighs. The rest was a blur, as she was caught between passing out and wakefulness, trapped by the ammonia-like smell of that rotten sock. She imagined could almost feel maggots wriggling about.

It didn't matter. Not that she could have done anything either way.

She pushed these thoughts aside, detesting them, but finding herself unable to draw strength to fight her way out of her situation, finding this turn of events not helping much with her dismay at how things have turned out once that fateful day of reckoning had come to pass.

The look of utter desolation appalled her as she surveyed her once pristine living space once more, the feeling of anger and hatred burning bright within her breast before she snarled to herself, 'I have to leave. Leave and ever return to this damn place and to that damn goblin, or whatever the hell he is.'

Scooping whatever meager possessions she had from her closet, the little knickknacks and anything that may be useful into a duffle bag. Clothes, knife, boots, and a small pistol amongst other things were stowed neatly in the bag which Saharan hefted up to her front door.

Struggling into her knee-high boots – far and away harder than snaking into those fish-net stockings – Saharan spat out a few curses, finally pulling up the zip and securing the thick buckles on the outer sides of each heavy boot, wasting no time and smudging on a dark circle of eyeliner around each eye, black arm-warmers, micro mini skirt and a rather small tank top underneath an old and beaten leather jacket. Her crowning glory she wrapped around of her neck; a studded collar that she fastened from behind.

Standing at the doorway of her former home, Saharan took one last look at the mess that used to be her place of living, sneering at the recent set of events that had just taken place in this place that would forever be stained in the back of her mind and at the deepest recesses of her gut, and without missing a beat took off from the cursed apartment, without so much as a word of goodbye to the landlord or her neighbors.

Heading north by bus, a hundred kilometers closer to her former place of living, the girl set out on her journey to forever, guided merely by the slightest whims, or the longing for home that burned bright within her heart. Crossing vast country sides by train, bus or simply hitchhiking, boat or hydroplane the small seas that dot the mega continent that was her country, always moving, never stopping for long until she reached her first destination.

Staring intently at the map laid out on her lap, Saharan traced the jerkily made lines spanning different destinations she planned while on this voyage, small towns and cities already bore an X mark, marking them out as being unlikely to be a good place for her to live in. Her next stop would be this city maybe 50 or so kilometers north of her last stop, and from the news circulating she hoped this place would maybe make a good town for her.

Folding the large map and tucking it under an armpit she shifted uncomfortably, feeling rather cramped in the economy section of this train line, letting out a soft sigh and leaning against the window and looking outside. Squirming again in her seat, she looked behind of her, or rather, at the occupant of the seat next to her to her left and took note of the big, hairy creature sitting there, obviously asleep. Wondering to the gods what the hell it was, for she couldn't quite know exactly what it is, I wonder what that creature could possibly be, was all she could say, and she dismissed all thought of asking it what it might be, for such a fearsome creature that sported claws and long fangs could not have been all too friendly, she surmised to herself.

Looking around, the train was obviously old, most likely used beyond its workable service life, but brought back from the dead by some cheap transport line. It had an odd smell to it, like a mixture of old socks and old wallpaper given a half-assed clean job using some off-the-shelf antiseptic used in public bathrooms. The train squeaked everywhere, and the seats had what looked like blood stains on them, though Saharan couldn't be quite sure what she was looking at, seeing as how many passengers were already drooling on their own seats around of her. How this piece of crap keeps going this fast, I have no clue, she thought to herself.

An automated speaker chimed over head while she stared out at the wide plains and clear blue skies, green fields alive with animals and snow capped peaks dotted the background, and Saharan could quite feel the energy seeping back into her limbs that were tired from all the travel. The speaker chimed again, and a voice heavy with static cut through to everyone aboard the train, Fifteen minutes to Nausinaa. I repeat, fifteen minutes until our next destination Nausinaa. All passengers heading for Nausinaa, please be ready to depart in fifteen minutes.

That was her next destination, Nausinaa, a small city on the verge of becoming what may be known as a boom town due to the break through projects occurring there, and Saharan hoped she could ride the wave to a stable life when that time comes.

Already, she could see hints of what made this town what it is, and she could see them far, far away in the sky, just barely seen between white fluffs of clouds but dotting a large swathe of blue with their number. Fishing out a pair of binoculars from her backpack which she aimed carefully at the white figures up in the sky she could see them much more clearly now, immensely huge wind turbines up in the sky with blades each a kilometer or more long, suspended high up in the atmosphere from satellites orbiting in space. A white plane was weaving between the turbines, practically on the edge of space, and Saharan wondered how such a feat could be done without ending in disaster.

Putting the binoculars down, she hoped to be able to make a good living here, even if it wasn't at the head of some fancy research project, which she knew she wasn't quite qualified for, or maybe at the very least earn some money on the side until she completed her journey back home, up north to where her family lived.

With that thought came sorrow, and it sank her chest down to her gut; the feeling of guilt and utter failure leaving her empty on the inside. She looked to her slumbering seatmate, and she fought the urge to shake him awake just to be able to recount to him her utter failure, to be able to vent, but one look at those fearsome claws sent her reeling. She looked elsewhere, finding humans, orks, gnomes, little goblins, stone creatures and other beings like her, though much taller and much more slender they had to be quite entirely something else. She looked to the other elfin beings in the carriage, but they were almost few and far between, and she ones she saw were either asleep or were obviously in a state where they did not want to be disturbed.

Her outfit certainly got her a few stares on her first bus ride, and she could have clearly counted the looks of disapproval from the others, some mocking, others out of pure contempt, in other individuals she saw the unmistakable glint of them undressing her with their eyes. It was normal now for her, and through her travails she rarely deviated from her style of clothing. It was what she was comfortable with, and there was hardly any reason to disagree with that.

Slowing down to a full stop from 400 km/h was no easy business, and the old train began to whine and complain as the brakes were applied to its huge wheels, the scenery that was passing by outside the window in a blur only moments ago were beginning to resolved themselves into something much clearer. Trees were no longer green blobs, cars didn't streak by and cows grazing on the field could now be seen quite easily. It took a while, the carriage shaking violently the whole time, but the train soon ground to a halt in the station, Saharan snaking her way past the abominable snow creature with her heavy duffle bag and managing to wake it in the process.

The creature stood up, and Saharan's eyes grew large in their sockets as she realized how big it really was. The top of its head seemed like it touched the ceiling of the train carriage, and that was saying a lot, to from her vantage, it seemed like the creature was even hunched over a bit as it took its own luggage and began to shuffle out of the train along with the other passengers.

The weather outside the train was really nippy, and Saharan pulled her jacket closer to her body while a strong and persistent wind began pushing at her from every direction. She distinctly felt a shiver travel up her spine as she began her long walk into the station, passing some signs that bade them welcome to the city of Nausinaa.

Opting to walk instead of taking a cab, she inquired about certain places at the station, places of residence like a run-down motel that outsiders like her could stay without paying so much, and she got directions to a cluster of motels a few minutes' walk away. The station itself wasn't that big, but it was getting quite crowded from all the people beginning to come in from the trains that were just now unloading at the tracks, people with looks of hope or sorrow etched clearly on their faces, and Saharan thought to herself how she didn't feel as alone after seeing those looks on other people's faces.

It was about 4 pm on Saharan's watch, and she tucked her time piece back into her pocket before finally chucking her belongings into the dingy room of the cheapest motel she could find and shutting the door behind of her, happy to be out of the cold and persistent winds this place was quite known for. She stood at the doorway, not quite surprised at what she saw; an old TV that looked like it was fished out of some dumpster, a sloppily made bed with sheets that looked deceivingly white, walls that was more wall than wallpaper, and flooring that was more stain than carpet. A single light bulb wavered at the center of the ceiling, shrouded by a cheap looking lampshade, and Saharan shrugged at the sorry state of this little room. Whatever could keep her funds up, she guessed.

It wouldn't have helped much if she checked in at the most luxurious hotel in the area, 'Not that I could afford it either way,' she mumbled to herself.

She was lucky to get a room at all, as the front desk had a long line with the attendant quite irritated to just below the point of exploding with the number of annoying customers checking in, and Saharan wasn't surprised to see some of the people onboard her train were also in line at the check-in desk, chief of whom was that huge furry creature and a scrum of round, little gnome-like beings who'd been giving her the eyeing-up ever since her entrance into the motel. She felt a shiver run up and down her spine, partly in disgust as she clearly saw one sporting an erection leering at her, making no effort to hide his arousal, much to glee of one of his companions. There were about a half dozen of them, but she couldn't be too sure. Not that she could care either way; she probably wouldn't see them any time in the near future.

'Yes?' hissed the woman behind the counter when Saharan checked in earlier. She blinked curiously, surprised at the elfin woman's venomous glare so thinly veiled by a veneer of false cordiality demanded by her profession.

'One room please,' Saharan replied as coolly as she could manage through the irritation crackling between the two of them. She, staring into the attendant's piercing golden eyes, the other returning that glare into Saharan's violet pools, breaking it to turn and grab the last key hanging on the wall behind her. She could almost feel some measure of malevolence within them, but shook the thought from her mind as evil intent could have just as easily been mistaken for irritation.

'Room 27,' said the girl, whose name was Liana, according to a nametag pinned to her uniform, and Saharan could almost feel tendrils snaking their way from the woman, reaching their way to strangle her.

Saharan nodded curtly, paying a fee and hefting her bag along towards where the rooms were. She could vaguely hear a heated exchange behind her, between the attendant and one of those disgusting little gnomes that went something like What do you mean you're out of rooms? I demand a room for my friends and I!

Looking back, Saharan could see it was the bunch of little guys who were harassing her from earlier, and she couldn't help but let a little smirk spread across her lips at their predicament. The horny one stole a glance from her, the venom seething in his eyes at their frustration at not being able to get a room, and she couldn't help but twist the knife a little bit by dangling her key and sticking her tongue out.

That was almost an hour ago, and Saharan had a lot of settling down to do before she could start looking for work the following day. She scanned through the newspaper, pacing back and forth in her room, scrawling out listings and highlighting possible entries such as 'secretary', 'cashier', or 'medical technician' and scrawling out impossible ones such as 'chemical engineer', 'mechanic' and 'translator' amongst other things.