[PK] The End Comes to All

[WizardWhisper 216]

Spoiler

This should be obvious, don’t metagame the events that take place in this post.

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"Uncle Gideon said th’ rules again an’ again. There’s t’ree thangs tha’ matteh; food, yer famileh, an’ th’ rats. In tha’ ordeh. No frien’s, nothin’ else if et ain’t on th’ list. Bu’ I was neveh good at followin’ rules.”
 

[The Sun’s Smile, Year 75 of the Second Age]
 

Breya decided that today was the day she’d finally go by and mess with a man she’d met so long ago. It had been a bit of time since she’d messed with anyone. It felt as if it had been decades since she’d seen him last. She wouldn’t know though, she couldn’t count past ten. Either way, she prepared one of her best disguises yet, birded her friend that would help make it all come together, and was off!
 

Time Ticks.

The two arrived at the Vortice gate. One orc and one human adorned in a cloak, paint, and a fake tusk. Orla performed a skit that played off her partner as her son so convincingly the man they came to see was so confused he left them right inside! Stage one was complete.
 

Tick.

The three arrived on the tavern roof, without a word to speak from the cloaked woman. Each movement, every step, brought the human closer to the elf, drawing closer and closer.. Orla lingered nearby, continuing her spew of disappointments in her ‘child’.
 

Tick.

An axe swung out from beneath the false uruk’s cloak, snagging into the man’s side. “Let’s ‘ave a littel fun.” Came Breya’s twisted words. The facade was no more, she was no deformed orc at all! She lunged with her weapon, he drew and swung his sword. Orla stood near as blade met blade in shrieks of steel and iron. Panic and anxiety pulses through the air, racing with each movement as the pair battled. Nothing but thrilled joy beat from Breya as she fought and sliced; her axe glinting with a crimson spray.
 

TICK.

Blood enveloped the iron sword. A pause. Breya’s eyes trailed down and the smile once strewn her face dispersed in an instant. She got too cocky, and it caused her to be stabbed in the chest. Not deep, not yet. “Yer tryin’ t’ kill me!” She jerked back, bringing a hand to the wound. Her axe swung to his shoulder, at least wounding him a bit more, nothing that would slow him. It wasn’t enough. 

“Of course I am!” The ‘ame shouted back, thrusting the sword into the middle of her chest, and even twisting the blade.
 

The clock begins to run slow.

The axe dropped with a metallic clang against the floor. A scream of pure agony emitted from the tavern roof, resulting in the old woman dropping to her knees. The rats that inhabited her cloak and overalls scattered out of the depth towards crevices and corners around the roof. Pain pulsed and twisted throughout her body.

Her mind slipped to a memory of two individuals standing in front of a farmhouse in the land of Haense. The man on the right handed over a keyring to a much delighted, youthful Breya. She finally accomplished the family goal of getting one after years of waiting for the Oren officials to never deliver. Even now with her family of uncles and aunts gone and passed, she stood at the steps with a mighty grin sprawled across her lips. She did it.
 

Tick.

Orla who was watching the two like a hawk from near her seat, watched the pierce; racing over to the pair, picking up the pace rapidly as Breya took the hit. Her name was called to unfocused ears. Orla lowered herself to both knees, skidding along the wooden flooring as her palm supported Breya at the neck, keeping up that drooping head. “Keepz et in dere. Am dere a medic here?! ZUMUNZ AM HURT. Breya breya..du nub move tuu much. Lat kind am brittle at latz age, zo ztill.” Her free hand was working its way around the blade to provide extra blockage. “Pleaz.”

Breya’s head lulled, her thoughts ending to answer the orcess. “‘m gon’ be okah.” Her voice muttered. Even as much as Breya tried to deny the feelings creeping, twisting up her spine to conjoin with the pulsing pain, there were not many ways to ignore them. For the first time in years she truly felt fear and .. that she was not going to get out of this alive. She knew the ins and outs of killing someone. She knew where to go, where to strike. She’d been doing it her whole life! It looked a grim way to go.
 

Tick..

The ‘ame went to grab her by the collar, beginning to drag her toward the ledge of the building, yet Orla sought to yank her back. “FAK UFF, SHE AM BEATZ. LAT WUNNINZ.” She emitted in a feline-like hiss. Breya was stuck in a tug of war as she was pulled to one side then the other, back and forth which did nothing good for her. Background pounds came, unsure of if it came from herself or the roof’s door… It didn’t matter. 

Her mind slipped away to a memory once more. This time the woman stood on an old ship, overgrown with plants and mold. She stood there with friends and allies surrounding her. Breya couldn’t recall the words they spoke, but it seemed joyous enough; they were there to celebrate after all. She’d just let their guest out of an old tater sack, allowing him to go away below deck before turning to the real party. When she looked back, everyone had disappeared except for one. She spoke with him for a bit, then others, before opting to have the celebration with her rats below in her quarters. A feast it was! If not with her crew, she could still celebrate with family. 

Orla gave one final yank before pulling herself up. She still clung to Breya’s garments as she lunged forth with her mouth open as wide as it fell, before locking up on the man’s arm. Breya dropped to the ground. Orla soon suddenly let go, moving over Breya, using her body as a shield. “Lat am here ztill?..” .. “Et am uykee, Breya. Lat am uykee.”

Breya laid there, some on her side, mostly not. Barely a strained chuckle escaped the woman; “Glad we’s frien’s..” The woman breathed out in her last breath. Her eyes flickered closed for the final time and her body fell limp. Breya Hucklehill, who lived her life killing and terrorizing many, who cared and loved those few people and rats she called family and friend, finally met her end.
 

Tick…

The pounding had long stopped and a new ‘ame male stood over Orla, pressing a blade into her neck. For a long pause, there was nothing. No words, no movement. That was until Orla slipped both arms underneath Breya, pulling her into a coddle-hold as her torso rotated towards the first ame’s direction. She brushed some paint from Breya’s face. “Mi hope lat die zum forgotten znaga eytin rat shitewiv lat twiggeh-c-nt kindz. Lat am all scum inferiazh.” Her gaze returned to Breya, those being the last words emitting from the orc as she took her last breath too.

 

Time ticks on. Not for the pair that drew their final breaths not minutes apart, but for the rest of the world.
 

[!] The rats of Providence, now Vienne, awaited the one that fed them each day for over fifty years; but no one came. So, they scattered to find another means of food. Three rats with envelopes tied to their backs took to traverse the land. The hope was that they eventually happened upon three specific individuals; Rosalind (@Generi), Gelt (@acostrob), and Orla. One would never find its match, instead to be picked up by a passerby or not at all. Each envelope held a drawing within, as well as who it was addressed to in shaky handwriting. A true remembrance for Breya Hucklehill.

Spoiler

[!] The drawing inside:

 

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[Acostrob 254]

Something stirred within the scarcely populated forests of Western Almaris. Horus, upon noticing a messenger rat approach flashed a nostalgic smirk. It took the man a few moments to recognize the person from the drawing. He exhaled with a brief smile. "Breya? It has been years... What's this for?" He wondered, folding the drawing a few times and hiding it within the depths of his coat, and continuing his feast.