Corporal Knightley was amazed by his medical knowledge and how easy he made everything seem. It was like he had done it so often, he could have done it with his eyes closed. She sat by her captain’s side while the barman watched impatiently as Sergeant Devonne passed back and forth until the barman cracked and shouted out.
“Néit, take us. Woman, would yee ever sit down, and you’re running around there like a blue-arsed fly, making me head sha’pin!” he bellowed, his Irish bróg somewhat confused the sergeant who plopped herself down at what remained of the fire trying to warm herself.
“Right, I’m off ta drain the ould spuds,” mound the rounded man as he slid off his stool.
“Do you have anywhere I could splash some water on my face?” Lieutenant Storm asked the barman.
“Yeah, it’s right through there,” he answered, pointing to a door with the word ‘Mńa’ on it.
Lieutenant Storm sheepishly entered the restroom to wash her face. She stopped once she entered the room unsure what she was expecting, she looked around the room feeling very uneasy. It was brightly light and warm with white and deep blue marble walls and flooring, each of the sinks had a different shaped mirror hung over them. The one she looked into was in the classic shape of a werebear as we would know it.
There wasn’t a sound that could be heard until she turned the handle on the taps. The sound of running water filled the room, the rushing water was almost musical to her; the feel of it on her face when she cupped it in her hands and splashed it onto herself and it was heavenly. It felt like she was washing her troubles away, but she knew she wouldn’t be that lucky, she would have to see this nightmare through until she woke up or died from the horrific monsters that surrounded her. She turned off the taps and took a few deep breaths thinking of how she could get home, how she could recover from what befell her since she arrived in Eiru, the amount of therapy she would need and just what else would she have to face before she could get out of Eiru. She looked at the markings on her neck and the blood stains on her face and chest, she was delighted to be alive, but she wondered where she had found the strength to survive this long? Bolstering her courage, she re-joined the group with a false sense of courage.
Soon after she re-joined the team at the bar, they all heard a great commotion outside the tavern. The atmosphere within the tavern quickly turned sour, it was clear trouble was about to escalate and the team couldn’t afford to get involved in local punch up. The team tried to wake Captain Quis Podex but to no avail, he was too heavily sedated. The barman franticly raced passed them, all been followed by the men who sat at the bar and the door was abruptly slammed shut behind them.
“Sergeant, this is your circus. What are your orders ma’am?” asked the lieutenant.
“We can’t do much with the captain in his current state. Corporal, secure a room upstairs. Lieutenant, you and I will carry the captain,” ordered Sergeant Devonne. She was suited to the commanding role even though she always felt otherwise.
Corporal Knightley made her way up the stairs with her assault rifle at the ready as she searched the stairwell and the hallway with caution. She didn’t expect to find any trouble, but it was better to be safe than put the team’s safety at risk.
“Clear, move up,” she called out to the others while she opened the door to room nine.
It was the perfect room with a perfect unblocked view of the town centre. Lieutenant Storm and Sergeant Devonne quickly followed her lead into room nine, lying the captain on the only bed in the room. Corporal Knightley watched from the room window as a large group of rather pale well-dressed people approached the bridge the team themselves had crossed not that long ago, stopping at the apex of the bridge. The group clearly wanted to cross the bridge, but it seemed like they were being held at bay by some kind of unseen force!
One of the group stood forward, away from all the others and declared his name loud and proud and with purpose.
“I am Vladimir and something across this bridge has been stolen from me, I’ve tracked its scent to this town, return it and that will be the end of it!” he declared, taking another step further across the bridge.
When a bright flash came from the skies narrowing and forming a blinding silhouette of a man and with a deafening crack, the light was broken and a warrior of great presence stood on the bridge blocking passage across. He wore a full suit of golden armour that was Celtic in design; he held a claymore sword (long and heavy two-handed sword) in his left hand resting it on his left shoulder.
“I have been sent from my post at the request of the Goddess Eiru to remind you of the treaty you are about to break and of the inevitable outcome you will bring upon yourself and others,” the warrior announced. He was indeed imposing as he stood at over seven-feet tall, wielding his weapon like it was a mere toy.
Vladimir shyly stood back from the warrior and into his large group declaring, “The gods have no place here, the peace has already been broken and humans have been on our land and stolen from us, return what I have rightfully captured or have your Allfather show his cowardly face to me.” Vladimir spoke with poison on his tongue.
Facing such a large group alone,
