Waxley the Bold Ch. 01

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slyc_willie
slyc_willie
1,343 Followers

"Another time, Waxley!" cried the figure in boisterous laughter, sounding all at once insidious and familiar. It raced up the hill to where the badly-wounded dire badger crouched against the palisade wall, no less menacing for its condition yet somehow more docile in the presence of its master.

Placing a hand upon the massive creature's blood-soaked hide, the figure gestured one last time. A shimmering rectangle of light formed in the air above both master and beast, and by the time it had descended to the ground, both were gone.

Wading, struggling, through the field of twisting vines and snake-like grasses, Waxley angrily trudged his way up the hill. But he knew the effort was useless; villain and monster were both long gone, transported through some magical means to a safe haven. Frustrated and angry, Waxley pounded his fists against the palisade wall, beating against the rough wood surface until his hands bled, soaking through the leather gloves he wore.

He fell against the wall, sobbing in anger, fear, and frustration. He had been so close, he felt, so close to avenging Riley's murder and stopping whatever terrible fate lay in store for his village . . . And the enemy had slipped away. The affront was too much, and as he collapsed against the wall, tears streaming down his face, he suddenly wished none of this had happened, that time could be turned back to a day when life was more simple, when death and doom were not omnipresent.

He was barely cognizant of Corabell's soft supple arms encircling him, of the softness of her breasts against his face through the material of her dress. But he clutched at her nonetheless, and there, in the embrace of Corabell, he succumbed to exhaustion, his mind slipping away to numbness. The last thing he heard, above Corabell's soothing endearments, were the orders of Captain Wills, ordering a full watch by all members of the constabulary. That, at least, gave Waxley's fogged mind some measure of reassurance, but it paled in comparison to Corabell's soft form, and the lingering, light trace of the fragrance that surrounded her and followed him into sleep.

*

He stood in a dim clearing, the moon new and invisible. Only starlight allowed Waxley to see around him, not that there was much to see. Just the omnipresent trees of the forest, and a narrow, rarely-trod path. Feeling himself drawn forward, Waxley followed the path, stumbling over exposed roots and thick underbrush. He steadied himself against the body of a great oak, found it surprisingly slick. He brought his hand away, unable to see what strange effusion clung to it. It was slick, not gummy like the sap of a tree. As he brought his hand to his face, he detected a strong, metallic aroma, like . . . .

Blood.

The forest is bleeding, he thought suddenly.

He looked back to the path, found that suddenly, the way was illuminated by the presence of a full moon. A clearing appeared before him, small and natural, with an enormous tree toward the far end. The massive roots, easily twice as thick around than the stoutest of Warrows, were exposed around the base and framed an opening like the mouth of a cave. Within that opening flickered a faint light, as if by a single candle.

Waxley stepped closer, drawn toward the light within the cave. He was nearly there when he heard an ominous growling emanate from behind him. Immediately on edge, he reached for his crossbow . . . But he was weaponless.

The growling came again, and Waxley decided to face his fate, whatever it may be. He turned slowly, coming face-to-face with the massive badger. It seemed impossibly larger now, twice his height at the shoulder. Its face was lowered to be level with his, and hot, foul breath rolled forth.

But the monster's face, somehow, seemed less feral, but at the same time, more menacing. It grinned with evil intent, the thick lips curling over sharp fangs. The eyes glowed balefully, but they were not the beady eyes of a beast, but rather, the intelligent eyes of a Warrow.

"Another time, Waxley," it hissed in a deep voice.

*

He awoke to the muffled sounds of voices far away, like the distant, unintelligible conversation at the end of a tunnel. As he swam his way back from the depths of unconsciousness, the voices became clearer, closer, more coherent.

". . . thought he was mad at first, the way he was talking. Babbling in his sleep like some damned prophet. Something peculiar about the lad, something uncommon. But if not for him, many more would have perished."

"He pushed himself too hard, far too hard. I shudder to think of what might have happened had he not finally given in."

The first voice, he recognized groggily, was Captain Wills'. The second, he realized with a smile upon his haggard face, was that of Corabell . . . sweet, sweet Corabell . . . .

"Yes? Waxley, I'm here," she said softly. Waxley felt the surface upon which he floated dip and sway, like a raft upon a river. He muttered something again, not hearing it himself, but hearing Corabell's soft, passionate reply.

"Yes, Waxley, my dearest," she whispered. "You're safe now."

Waxley drifted off again, the smile on his face fading ever so slowly. Corabell planted a soft kiss on his forehead, then his lips. With a motherly sigh, she rose, facing Captain Wills.

"He needs rest," she said firmly. "He won't be of any use to anyone until he's regained his strength."

Captain Wills frowned in frustration, pacing back and forth in the parlor of Corabell's tiny home. Like generations of Undertree women before her, Corabell had been born with an innate gift for divine magic, a gift that had saved many a life in Crawley's Crossing.

"Well, can't you just . . . Wave your hands, make him all better?" sputtered the captain.

Corabell frowned. "It is not that simple," she said. "My healing still takes time, and it has limits. I've reached them. Besides, his wounds are of the heart, not the body. I'm sorry, captain, you'll just have to wait."

Wills sighed, threw up his hands. "Fine, fine," he blustered. He headed to the door, but turned back before exiting. "You will tell me the moment he awakes," he said.

"Of course," said Corabell, forcing a smile. The smile faded the moment the door closed behind the captain. With a sigh and exasperated rolling of her eyes, she turned back to Waxley, who slumbered on her couch. Affection stretched her lips. She knelt beside him, touched his forehead, smoothed away a few thick, dark curls.

"Oh, dearest," she whispered. "I am so glad you are safe. I couldn't go on if something dire happened to you."

Waxley muttered something unintelligible, shifted on the well-worn couch. His face grimaced, as if he was dreaming of something distasteful. Corabell reached to a low table upon which sat a bowl of water and several washcloths. She wet one of them, then placed it lovingly on Waxley's forehead. Slowly, his features relaxed, his breathing became normal and steady.

Corabell kissed him tenderly once more. "Rest now, dearest," she whispered.

--to be continued--

slyc_willie
slyc_willie
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joaodasdesgracasjoaodasdesgracasabout 9 years ago
Good but..

This is quite good, but you really towards the deep end with the purple prose huh? Specially in the last part. Waxley is a great character, his love interest, not at all.

dupage10dupage10over 16 years ago
Great Start

This is a really great start. It helps if the reader is familiar with Lord of the Rings as far as visualizing the characters. This story can go in some very interesting directions. Hope the next chapter is here soon!!

thanks for the work.

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