[Ransom]

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Aredihel Danwedh watched with rapt interest as blood dripped out of the shallow incision several inches below her left wrist. It was scarcely an inch long and shallow, but it served its purpose. The life giving crimson liquid slowly seeped out of her wound and gathered into a large droplet before plummeting into the metal cup on the table. She would have preferred leaches, but her husband had not found an apothecary that stocked the slimy critters. Aredihel didn’t blame him—after all they had only arrived in the city yesterday. As the Judicial and Military attaché to the Gondorian ambassador, he had been obligated to spend the day learning the ropes. Adjusting to their new home would certainly take longer.

Satisfied that she had drawn the prescribed amount of blood, she quickly cleaned and bound the wound. From her twelfth birthday, she had suffered from an ailment that all the doctors were at a loss to explain. Sunlight scorched her, causing her skin to break out in rashes and blisters. Wine and beer had the same effect, marring her pale white skin with ugly red blemishes. It seemed that the curse ran in her families—her aunt and her grandfather had both suffered the same problems. Over a few decades of experimentation, her grand father had discovered that drawing a small amount of blood each day would greatly lessen the curse.

Later, after nightfall, she would dispose of the blood in the garden and clean the defiled vessel. There were so many things for a new arrival to accomplish, and most would have to be accomplished in the daylight. They still had several days of travel rations remaining, but there were a few small things she would have to purchase. Furthermore, she would soon have to find somewhere to procure food for her two dogs, Marco and Sinco. The wolf and the hunting dog lounged in front of the fireplace, exhausted after the long trip up from Gondor. It was reassuring to know that, despite the move, something was getting rest.

After straightening her simple black dress, the Gondorian woman pulled on a matching pair of gloves. A simple white wooden mask sat on the table, devoid of any markings or decorations save for two slits to allow vision. For all intents and purposes, it was simply a wooden plate that protected her features from the scorching sun. A heavy scarf tied around her neck and a brown traveler’s cloak with a hood completed her attires. As long as she didn’t look directly at the sun, she probably would not suffer any symptoms. Anyways, the light had begun to fade, and soon she would not need her elaborate protection.

Aredihel paused inside the foyer of her home. Her uncle, who had been a rich merchant while he was still alive, had built the house. Success had made him paranoid, and he had built his house with half-foot thick stone walls. Still, it didn’t take a bat to figure out that something was going on in the streets outside. She sniffed, sensing the harsh presence of smoke. Was there a fire?

The sudden influx of noise and smell caused by the opening of the door woke Sinco, the wolf. He stumbled into the foyer, still half asleep, and yapped anxiously at the owner. Aredihel smiled at him and gently shooed him back into the common room. While her family had trained their dogs to track and hunt, Sinco had never been city broken. Anyways, a fire was not exactly the best time to introduce him to the city. The horses certainly wouldn’t appreciate it either. With a wince, she stepped into the sun and shut the door behind her.

She didn’t feel the burning itching that indicated the burning rays of the sun touching her skin. Despite the shouting and smoke billowing down the street, her mood lightened considerably. Her uncle had enclosed his property with an eight-foot high stone wall, so she could still not see what was going on. But, at the very least, she would be able to move freely now. The two horses the couple owned, a black warhorse, and her chestnut riding horse, moved about uneasily in the small stall near the gate. Aredihel didn’t blame them—the sound of the screaming horses was beginning to unnerve her as well.

Closing the heavy wooden gate behind her, she began pushing her way down the street to get a better look. The stables of the inn at the end of street had caught fire, and the crowd had begun to form a chain between the burning building and the nearest well. Others had begun dousing the neighboring buildings. In a city made of straw and wood, an out of control fire could quickly devastate the infrastructure. She joined the crowd in cheering as another horse was freed from the burning building. However, as time passed, fewer and fewer of the creatures emerged. Those that did often sported burns and bruises. Aredihel hoped the slowing rescue rate meant that most of the horses had been rescued—the alternative was not something she wanted to think about.

[ October 25, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ October 25, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ October 25, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]