It was raining, again. Of course it was. That was just the luck Yurkin always had when he traveled with this group it seemed like. The caravan paid him well, or wellish. It was work though and the most he ever had to do was scare off a stray owlbear or one of those freakishly large bats. He wasnâ€™t even sure what they were hauling, heâ€™d stopped asking about a dozen trips again.
So when the caravan came to a stop and word traveled to him that the road was washed out and they were going to take a detour he only sighed with a slump then shrugged of his shoulders and tried to pull his cloak around him tighter. They slogged on, heads down as the torrent of rain fell upon them and mud squelched under boot. Thoughts of a warm fire, a glass of mead in one hand and a wench in the other tried to take his mind off the misery.
What was that? His head tilted to one side then the other, straining to hear through the patter of rain. Was it, singing? Out here? It was. A strange beautiful voice sang and the implied promises of warmth and a soft woman enticed his mind. Before Yurkin knew what he was doing, his feet had taken him off the muddy path and into the wild brush and through a ring of treeâ€™s.
It was there, just there! That big tree with the hollow! She waited for him just inside, warm and soft and her song promising of luscious curves and a long heated night! There she was, beautiful and dark, undressing him with her eyes, want and lust burning like flickering candles in her deep eyes.
He twitched and spasmed at her touch as she caressed his cheek and slid her hand down his neck, the pressure ecstasy as her hands, strong hands, lingered there and squeezed.
In the distance, he couldnâ€™t hear the men shouting at him with their hands over their ears to get away, to stop! STOP! They watched as the noose from the tree slithered around his head and haul him up into its branches, his body twitching and convulsing. Later, when they spoke of it in the tavern. The part no one understood, and left many with nightmares, wasnâ€™t that hanging itself, but the smile of pure joy left on Yurkinâ€™s face as he hung dead in the Hanging Tree.
Ongoing roleplay and fiction.
1 post • Page 1 of 1