Post by Ruthenia Truelove on Nov 14, 2022 0:25:19 GMT
Follows on from Goddamn Fucking Demons
The Three Headed Dragon was not a stranger to new faces, so it barely registered to its workers and inhabitants when the elven woman in simple, clearly borrowed robes, strode in through the door. She, like most elves, had that ethereal kind of beauty that bordered uncanny for other folk; a rounded face that was almost too symmetrical, with glistening brown eyes set into bronze skin and long, flowing strawberry blonde hair that hadn't been put into any particular style and just hung in a curtain around her. It was only the few crow's feet around her eyes and some laugh lines in her face that betrayed her considerable venerability among the fair folk. And yet she seemed uncertain somehow, as if she was out of sorts. She walked gracefully, yet slowly and aimlessly, as if she wasn't used to doing so.
"Welcome to the Three Headed Dragon, how can I help you?" One of Egg, Pegg or Legg (she never learnt which was which) greeted her.
"I have a room already, I need to pick up my key."
"Really? You seem like a new face to me. Name?"
"Dr Ruthenia Truelove."
"...that can't be right. She's the dark grandma witch. Sorry, I don't know what you're trying to pull lady, but you can't go to her room without her permission-"
With a snap of her fingers a skeletal hand apparated and landed on the kobold's shoulder, sending a cold chill through their body.
"I have had a very long day. My key please."
A faint sense of realisation appeared on the kobold's face before they fumbled around under the desk and returned wordlessly with a simple key. The mage hand came off their shoulder and retrieved the key from the table, depositing it into the elf's hands before she strode up to her room.
She stood transfixed, admiring the woman in the mirror. She was beautiful, by all accounts. This couldn't possibly be her, could it? And yet when she put her hand to her head, she was almost surprised at the sensation of smooth skin. She turned to regard her figure fully, and remarked on how mobile she was now. She felt as light as a feather, gone was all the resistance that arthritis and pain gave her. That's when she realised; she could dance again. She had to try at once.
She stretched out her hand and got up on her toes before closing her eyes and falling into an old routine from long ago. It was simple, mostly a line dance with some twirls that they'd all do in rows at the harvest festivals. She spun and stepped and clapped to the beat for the first time in 55 years and it took all her strength to fight back the tears as she was taken back to simpler times. Better times. Before the plague. Good times spent with the best of friends.
She stopped.
The best of friends whose names and faces no longer came to her.
She had to take a seat as she desperately racked her mind. This couldn't be happening. Yesterday she could have recalled all of them, their names, occupations, everything. Especially their faces, for she buried them all. Now there was nothing, a fog where the memory should have been. The tears could no longer be held back. The proud woman sobbed. Then she wailed.
Later on in the day she left the Dragon. She had to do something, anything to distract her from her thoughts. She found her excuse when she realised that none of her clothes fit her anymore. She took her trusty rod to walk with her when she realised that that too was far too short to use as a stick, not like she needed one anymore. She was conflicted as to what to do. As a younger mage she had always favoured wands, however over the years the rod had become a trusty companion to her, and it seemed a shame to discard it. After a while of thought, she eventually came to a solution. With considerable traction that she would never have been able to muster before, she was able to prise the orb embedded at the top of the shaft from the wooden body.
"This works."
"Ok darling, I'm thinking a nice orange would be perfect against your skin-"
"I'd really rather purple, thank you-"
"Really? Ok. How would you feel about a halter neck?"
"I- I don't know what that is."
"Halter neck it is. How do you feel about showing leg?"
"I don't thi... hm. Actually I'm not sure if I mind."
"...We'll go with a midi. I think I have something, hold on."
The woman in the mirror couldn't be Ruthenia. It was impossible. The simple yet elegant dress made no attempt to hide her slender, gently curving figure, and she couldn't recall if she'd ever worn anything sleeveless ever. This felt so far beyond her it almost felt silly; these were clothes for a girl far junior to her! And yet, the woman in the mirror was pulling it off with style.
"Good, good, but your arms are completely bare, they're crying out for bangles or rings or something, and we must do something about your shoes too, come with me darling!" the shopkeeper rattled off before quickly diving into a separate room. Ruthenia, realising she had no say in the matter, followed.
"Now promise me you'll do something with your hair my dear, a big plait, a shaved side, a bob, anything!"
"Y-yes, of course."
Ruthenia, feeling positively sheepish in her new outfit, decided that what she needed more than anything was rest. This was all far too disorienting for one day and she was starting to develop a terrible headache. She strode through the main market square on her way back when she walked past a stall with various weapons on display. Normally this would have held no interest to her but on this occasion something told her to stop.
"How can I help you, my lady?" The man on the stall called out to her. "A dagger to keep you safe?"
Ruthenia scanned her eyes across the weapons on the display until she came across a short sword which seemed to catch her eye for some reason she was unable to work out. The stall owner traced her vision and handed the sword to her.
"You have a good eye. Careful though, these aren't easy in untrained hands. Give it a try." He pointed at a pell next to the stall.
This is a stupid idea. Ruthenia thought to herself. There was no reason to do this. No meaning. And yet, something compelled her.
She took a swing at the pell. Then another. Then one more. Then she spun the sword round in her hand and went in again. Overhand. Underhand. Returning to a neutral guard stance every time. Stance? Ruthenia looked down at her feet and realised that she had adopted a combat ready stance without even thinking about it.
"Wow, you're pretty decent! Where did you train?"
"I haven't."
"What?"
"I've never held a sword in my life until now." Ruthenia stated, with a haunted expression on her face. She returned the sword to the stall owner and wordlessly walked away. She couldn't remember her past and now she knows how to use swords? Enough of this. Ruthenia was done thinking for the day. She was done thinking for a while. And still, this blasted headache. Her walk quickly became a march.
"Owwwwww!"
"Alfan? Alfan!"
The cries came from a side street somewhere. Ruthenia stopped in her tracks.
No. This didn't have to be her fight. Not now. Not today. Not with all this going on. Not with her head fit to burst. And yet, she turned and marched towards the sound of the two voices. Halfway up the side street, she found what she assumed was a boy and his mother, dragonborns. The boy was sat up against a wall, howling in pain whilst his mother was crouching next to him, clearly beginning to panic.
"Right, mum, can you tell me what's happened?"
It took the mother a second to register Ruthenia's presence.
"Please, you have to help me, we need to send for a cleric, I think he's broken a bone!"
"Trust me, you don't need a cleric, and it's not a break, it's a dislocation."
"I-I'm sorry?"
"The joint is out of place. Look, you can see it coming out to the side."
"How are you so sure?"
"I'm a physician, I've seen this plenty of times before. And young boys don't break that easily. I can fix this quite easily, if you let me."
The dragonborn mother looked apprehensive but the sight of her boy in pain was too much for her.
"Please."
Ruthenia crouched down to the boy's height, feeling around the shoulder joint.
"Alfan, was it? Does it hurt a lot?"
Alfan nodded whilst whimpering in pain. Ruthenia fumbled through her bag to find her healer's kit, then paused once again as she looked at the bottles of ointments and tinctures. The blasted fog again?! Now she couldn't even use these anymore?! Well, painkillers be damned, she could reduce a shoulder in her sleep!
"Okay Alfan, I'm going to move your arm. I promise I'm not going to move it to fast but this is going to hurt. I need you to be brave for me and hold on while I put your arm back in place. Is that okay?" Alfan nodded once more. "Mum, hold his other hand while I do this."
Ruthenia held his arm with both her hands, one at the elbow and the other at the shoulder. She first lifted the shoulder away from the body until 90 degrees, before rotating his forearm upwards to put his hand in the air. Alfan grimaced in pain as this happened until with a thunk that Ruthenia could feel, the shoulder fell back into its socket.
"There, how does that feel?"
"...much better! Mum, she fixed it!"
"Oh, praise Bahamut!" the mother cried, drawing Alfan into a tight hug.
"Now mum, you need to make sure he isn't stressing the joint out too much for the next two weeks at least. No heavy lifting, ball games, tree climbing, what have you. Did you hear that young man? Be good for your mother, you hear?"
Alfan nodded, still nestled in his mother's embrace.
"How can I ever repay you?"
"Repay? For something simple as this, it'd feel almost criminal to take money. No, that's quite fine, thank you."
"Can I at least know your name then?"
"But of course. Dr Ruthenia Truelove."
The woman in the mirror stared back at her once more, having returned to their room. Memories lost and memories gained. It was Ruthenia's soul in this body. Surely. Mostly at least. But something was missing. And something had taken its place. Elves lived long lives, Ruthenia knew that. They learnt a great many things. Older ones dream of the past, this she knew too. So what past would she see? Hers, or something completely different? When the spell created the elven body, did it also take an elven soul?
"Who are you?" said Ruthenia to the woman in the mirror. The woman in the mirror asked her the same.
The Three Headed Dragon was not a stranger to new faces, so it barely registered to its workers and inhabitants when the elven woman in simple, clearly borrowed robes, strode in through the door. She, like most elves, had that ethereal kind of beauty that bordered uncanny for other folk; a rounded face that was almost too symmetrical, with glistening brown eyes set into bronze skin and long, flowing strawberry blonde hair that hadn't been put into any particular style and just hung in a curtain around her. It was only the few crow's feet around her eyes and some laugh lines in her face that betrayed her considerable venerability among the fair folk. And yet she seemed uncertain somehow, as if she was out of sorts. She walked gracefully, yet slowly and aimlessly, as if she wasn't used to doing so.
"Welcome to the Three Headed Dragon, how can I help you?" One of Egg, Pegg or Legg (she never learnt which was which) greeted her.
"I have a room already, I need to pick up my key."
"Really? You seem like a new face to me. Name?"
"Dr Ruthenia Truelove."
"...that can't be right. She's the dark grandma witch. Sorry, I don't know what you're trying to pull lady, but you can't go to her room without her permission-"
With a snap of her fingers a skeletal hand apparated and landed on the kobold's shoulder, sending a cold chill through their body.
"I have had a very long day. My key please."
A faint sense of realisation appeared on the kobold's face before they fumbled around under the desk and returned wordlessly with a simple key. The mage hand came off their shoulder and retrieved the key from the table, depositing it into the elf's hands before she strode up to her room.
She stood transfixed, admiring the woman in the mirror. She was beautiful, by all accounts. This couldn't possibly be her, could it? And yet when she put her hand to her head, she was almost surprised at the sensation of smooth skin. She turned to regard her figure fully, and remarked on how mobile she was now. She felt as light as a feather, gone was all the resistance that arthritis and pain gave her. That's when she realised; she could dance again. She had to try at once.
She stretched out her hand and got up on her toes before closing her eyes and falling into an old routine from long ago. It was simple, mostly a line dance with some twirls that they'd all do in rows at the harvest festivals. She spun and stepped and clapped to the beat for the first time in 55 years and it took all her strength to fight back the tears as she was taken back to simpler times. Better times. Before the plague. Good times spent with the best of friends.
She stopped.
The best of friends whose names and faces no longer came to her.
She had to take a seat as she desperately racked her mind. This couldn't be happening. Yesterday she could have recalled all of them, their names, occupations, everything. Especially their faces, for she buried them all. Now there was nothing, a fog where the memory should have been. The tears could no longer be held back. The proud woman sobbed. Then she wailed.
Later on in the day she left the Dragon. She had to do something, anything to distract her from her thoughts. She found her excuse when she realised that none of her clothes fit her anymore. She took her trusty rod to walk with her when she realised that that too was far too short to use as a stick, not like she needed one anymore. She was conflicted as to what to do. As a younger mage she had always favoured wands, however over the years the rod had become a trusty companion to her, and it seemed a shame to discard it. After a while of thought, she eventually came to a solution. With considerable traction that she would never have been able to muster before, she was able to prise the orb embedded at the top of the shaft from the wooden body.
"This works."
"Ok darling, I'm thinking a nice orange would be perfect against your skin-"
"I'd really rather purple, thank you-"
"Really? Ok. How would you feel about a halter neck?"
"I- I don't know what that is."
"Halter neck it is. How do you feel about showing leg?"
"I don't thi... hm. Actually I'm not sure if I mind."
"...We'll go with a midi. I think I have something, hold on."
The woman in the mirror couldn't be Ruthenia. It was impossible. The simple yet elegant dress made no attempt to hide her slender, gently curving figure, and she couldn't recall if she'd ever worn anything sleeveless ever. This felt so far beyond her it almost felt silly; these were clothes for a girl far junior to her! And yet, the woman in the mirror was pulling it off with style.
"Good, good, but your arms are completely bare, they're crying out for bangles or rings or something, and we must do something about your shoes too, come with me darling!" the shopkeeper rattled off before quickly diving into a separate room. Ruthenia, realising she had no say in the matter, followed.
"Now promise me you'll do something with your hair my dear, a big plait, a shaved side, a bob, anything!"
"Y-yes, of course."
Ruthenia, feeling positively sheepish in her new outfit, decided that what she needed more than anything was rest. This was all far too disorienting for one day and she was starting to develop a terrible headache. She strode through the main market square on her way back when she walked past a stall with various weapons on display. Normally this would have held no interest to her but on this occasion something told her to stop.
"How can I help you, my lady?" The man on the stall called out to her. "A dagger to keep you safe?"
Ruthenia scanned her eyes across the weapons on the display until she came across a short sword which seemed to catch her eye for some reason she was unable to work out. The stall owner traced her vision and handed the sword to her.
"You have a good eye. Careful though, these aren't easy in untrained hands. Give it a try." He pointed at a pell next to the stall.
This is a stupid idea. Ruthenia thought to herself. There was no reason to do this. No meaning. And yet, something compelled her.
She took a swing at the pell. Then another. Then one more. Then she spun the sword round in her hand and went in again. Overhand. Underhand. Returning to a neutral guard stance every time. Stance? Ruthenia looked down at her feet and realised that she had adopted a combat ready stance without even thinking about it.
"Wow, you're pretty decent! Where did you train?"
"I haven't."
"What?"
"I've never held a sword in my life until now." Ruthenia stated, with a haunted expression on her face. She returned the sword to the stall owner and wordlessly walked away. She couldn't remember her past and now she knows how to use swords? Enough of this. Ruthenia was done thinking for the day. She was done thinking for a while. And still, this blasted headache. Her walk quickly became a march.
"Owwwwww!"
"Alfan? Alfan!"
The cries came from a side street somewhere. Ruthenia stopped in her tracks.
No. This didn't have to be her fight. Not now. Not today. Not with all this going on. Not with her head fit to burst. And yet, she turned and marched towards the sound of the two voices. Halfway up the side street, she found what she assumed was a boy and his mother, dragonborns. The boy was sat up against a wall, howling in pain whilst his mother was crouching next to him, clearly beginning to panic.
"Right, mum, can you tell me what's happened?"
It took the mother a second to register Ruthenia's presence.
"Please, you have to help me, we need to send for a cleric, I think he's broken a bone!"
"Trust me, you don't need a cleric, and it's not a break, it's a dislocation."
"I-I'm sorry?"
"The joint is out of place. Look, you can see it coming out to the side."
"How are you so sure?"
"I'm a physician, I've seen this plenty of times before. And young boys don't break that easily. I can fix this quite easily, if you let me."
The dragonborn mother looked apprehensive but the sight of her boy in pain was too much for her.
"Please."
Ruthenia crouched down to the boy's height, feeling around the shoulder joint.
"Alfan, was it? Does it hurt a lot?"
Alfan nodded whilst whimpering in pain. Ruthenia fumbled through her bag to find her healer's kit, then paused once again as she looked at the bottles of ointments and tinctures. The blasted fog again?! Now she couldn't even use these anymore?! Well, painkillers be damned, she could reduce a shoulder in her sleep!
"Okay Alfan, I'm going to move your arm. I promise I'm not going to move it to fast but this is going to hurt. I need you to be brave for me and hold on while I put your arm back in place. Is that okay?" Alfan nodded once more. "Mum, hold his other hand while I do this."
Ruthenia held his arm with both her hands, one at the elbow and the other at the shoulder. She first lifted the shoulder away from the body until 90 degrees, before rotating his forearm upwards to put his hand in the air. Alfan grimaced in pain as this happened until with a thunk that Ruthenia could feel, the shoulder fell back into its socket.
"There, how does that feel?"
"...much better! Mum, she fixed it!"
"Oh, praise Bahamut!" the mother cried, drawing Alfan into a tight hug.
"Now mum, you need to make sure he isn't stressing the joint out too much for the next two weeks at least. No heavy lifting, ball games, tree climbing, what have you. Did you hear that young man? Be good for your mother, you hear?"
Alfan nodded, still nestled in his mother's embrace.
"How can I ever repay you?"
"Repay? For something simple as this, it'd feel almost criminal to take money. No, that's quite fine, thank you."
"Can I at least know your name then?"
"But of course. Dr Ruthenia Truelove."
The woman in the mirror stared back at her once more, having returned to their room. Memories lost and memories gained. It was Ruthenia's soul in this body. Surely. Mostly at least. But something was missing. And something had taken its place. Elves lived long lives, Ruthenia knew that. They learnt a great many things. Older ones dream of the past, this she knew too. So what past would she see? Hers, or something completely different? When the spell created the elven body, did it also take an elven soul?
"Who are you?" said Ruthenia to the woman in the mirror. The woman in the mirror asked her the same.