Warhammer: Vermintide

[CONTEST] – An Elf’s Debt

warhammer 7 - [CONTEST] - An Elf's Debt

“This is pretty deep.”

Kerillian said nothing as Kruber tugged the needle through the injury; her eyes were vacant, staring at a void unseen while her hand worked a whetstone across her glaive. The quiet rasp was the only sound in the Red Moon Inn, that and their breathing, soft as it was.

“Elf?”

She craned her neck, a single white eyebrow arching by way of a question.

“This is deep, you should rest.”

The Waywatcher breathed a small sigh.

“Just patch me up.”

Kruber shrugged and continued his work. She’d taken a swipe from a Rat Ogre’s claw. The wound ran from the top of her right shoulder and ended just above her hip. Her tunic, hood, and fur mantle were set aside for cleaning and repair. Save for the breast wrappings to cover her modesty and her breeches and ironwood greaves, she was stripped to the waist.

Her request for aid had come as a surprise. He’d figured Sienna the obvious choice, given the fact they got along like ale and well, more ale.

She hadn’t complained or cried out as he’d done his work, not even muttered about human clumsiness, as was her standard practice. She just stared into the distance. Maybe the blood loss had gotten to her. “Alright, its done,” he said finally, biting the thread off at the end. “Like I said, you need rest. Let Sienna take your place for a while.”

Kerillian shook her head and made to stand.

“No time, no time…” she muttered, almost a chant. Her fingers gripped the haft of her glaive.

“Hey, slow down.”

Kruber set a hand on her shoulder. She spat out a curse, raising her glaive to strike from overhead. He caught her hands, and their eyes met. Hers bored into his soul like twin blades of onyx, daring him to move.

“Easy Elf… its just Kruber.”

Her chest heaved, sweat glistened on her forehead, and her eyes flicked to the door. Kruber tugged the glaive free from her grasp. She blinked, looking between herself, the weapon, and him, before taking a seat and burying her face in her hands.

“I… I can’t sit still. Stillness in Athel Loren is death.”

“You’re not in Loren anymore elf. This is The Empire.”

Kruber filled two tankards with Lohner’s ale and took the seat next to her. She didn’t stir, head still in her hands. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of her shoulders he’d have thought her dead.

“Drink.”

He expected a rebuttal concerning its foulness, a jibe, a glare, anything. Yet the elf did as he asked, cold fingers sliding over his as she took it. His eyes widened as she drank, and kept on drinking until the tankard was emptied.

“What’s this about?” he asked after a moments silence.

Her fingers traced the pattern of the table.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She let out a mirthless chuckle and pressed a hand to her brow.

“I… it’s a debt, Kruber.”

He frowned and took a swig.

“With Saltzpyre?”

She laughed at that, a tinny guffaw like wind chimes in a deep cave.

“One-Eye? Gods no…” her good spirits vanished as her eyes found the void again. “I killed people, now I’m here.”

He shrugged and downed the rest of the ale.

“Thought you liked killing.”

“I do.”

The Mercenary stood and went to refill their drinks. He knew little of the elven constitution, but the fact that she was still speaking after downing a whole tankard of Lohner’s brew was enough for him.

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“Then what’s the problem?”

She snatched the drink from his hands and swallowed its contents in seconds. He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw tears swimming in her eyes.

“They were wasted deaths, cruel. I-I was tricked, they lied to me!” Kerillian hissed, slamming the cup hard enough to dent the metal. Kruber reached out to steady her. Her eyes flashed with anger once more, only to soften as he took the cup from her hands.

“Who lied to you? What happened?”

She chuckled.

“Who indeed?”

This was getting him nowhere, so he turned his attention to the remains of their medical supplies.

“Stay still.”

“Not going anywhere, apparently…” she said, dejection coloring her words.

Kruber ignored the complaint and smeared a strip of linen with a poultice. It smelled like rancid foliage, but the stuff worked wonders. As before, she didn’t flinch when he applied it to the wound.

All her attention was focused on his tankard.

“Go on, there’s always more.”

She sipped slower this time, eyes finding the void. They sat in silence as he worked, applying the linen and ensuring it would remain fixed if she moved.

“I don’t mean it,” she whispered.

He scowled.

“What?”

She seemed to be struggling with the answer, waving her hand in the air as if she could catch the thought.

“I’m. I can’t—” she sighed and turned to face him. “With the… the short and stout one we can trade insults like its goin’ outta fashion, and it means nothin’ in the long run,” She chuckled. “Old grudges are hard to forget, but when the stumpy fool saves me from warpshot, and I his beard from a scorching, grudges become jibes an’ insults, nothing serious…”

He wanted to laugh at the sight before him: a proud Waywatcher of Athel Loren stumbling over an apology, to a human no less, and incredibly drunk. The desire passed. She was shivering from cold, swaying from drink, and he realized, entirely sincere.

“Well?” Her eyes were expectant.

Kruber sighed, thinking back to all the verbal abuse she’d thrown at him in the past few weeks. The words were harsh and biting yes, but if he were honest, they kept him moving, if not to prove her wrong then at least to bite back a response.

“Its… fine Kerillian,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “You could hold back on the insults though.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He got the impression she was smiling behind the mask.

“Can you…” She cleared her throat and gestured to the staircase. “Can you help me up?”

Kruber nodded and knelt low enough for her to wrap an arm around his neck. She swayed when they stood, eyes screwed up in pain.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

The staircase lay before them. Kruber shifted his hand so it settled on her waist. Kerillian nodded, and they took the first step together.

“About who lied?”

She said nothing for a time, wincing and tensing with every little strain imparted to her muscles. At the fifth step she spoke.

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“The tree-kin. They told me of a threat to Athel Loren. I thought I took care of it, but I…” she shut her eyes in pain, whether within or without he could not tell. “I sealed its fate. I’ve doomed all of our peoples because I made a stupid mistake, and now worst of all, when the world’s crashing in around us—” she craned her neck so they were practically nose to nose. “I can’t go home…”

Self-hatred dripped from her lips like venom. He knew the feeling well, The Necromancer, The Skaven, all branded into his minds eye like a hot iron. Yet he’d gotten revenge after a fashion. She never had that luxury.

Was that why she counted?

Her bed was on its side, its mattress on the floor. Weapons and discarded arrows clattered underfoot as they stepped through the threshold. He sighed and set her against the wall, muttering to himself as he worked.

“What’re you doing?”

“You want to sleep on a hard floor or a comfy bed?” Kruber groused.

“Maybe.”

“Which one?”

“Yes.”

He rolled his eyes and kicked a loose dagger to the side.

“Here.”

Kruber let her down slow, but still she sucked in a lungful of air, grip tightening on his wrist. She breathed a sigh of relief as the bed took her weight. He made to stand.

“Well goodnight then.”

Kerillian snatched his wrist and pressed a cold object into his hands. He brought it into view, recognizing it as an ivory fetish of Taal. The God of Beasts stood proud, eyes staring forward in cold certainty, antlers crowned in gold. He looked at the date inscribed in the bottom and sucked in a breath. 1999 I.C.

“How—”

“I found it,” she said, reaching for her covers. “You will know its purpose soon.”

“Dreams?” he wondered aloud.

She looked through him to that same void. Fear, guilt, anger, all weathered her features like a storm, fading to cool placidity.

“I know not if your Gods exist Kruber, but something shadows you,” her eyes cleared and met his. “I cannot see where the twists and turns in our path lie, but I know they are there.”

“Our path?”

She rolled onto her stomach and shut her eyes, breathing softly.

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