"Gavin's Tale Part I"

by Tyvaar al'Dran

"Never again", Gavin swore darkly as he gathered his bow and quiver. The slender elf nearly knocked over the wash basin as he slung his traveling cloak across his arm. His rage was so focused as he moved about the room, that he was deaf to Lila's sobs. The pale woman's pleading cries bounced off the walls and he was oblivious to her tiny fists as she attempted to trample him on the way out the door. He did not so much as glance back, heading instead toward the stairs of the Lonesome Elf. However, he did ponder the irony of the name - in light of his current situation.

"Bring my horse!" He growled at the stable boy. "Now!" His words caused the halfling child to scramble to his feet and sprint outside.

"Gavin, you cannot leave me! I am nothing without you!" The young woman begged as tears streaked her face. Lila banged her fists futilely against the aged banister of the inn's third floor. Her slight frame leaned against the weathered wood as she pleaded with the elf.

Gavin snarled, "Judging from your mewling pleasure, wench, you were nothing without Hastion." He paused a moment before adding, "Perhaps, Lila, you are just nothing, period."

He turned back to the door, taking a moment to sling his quiver over his left shoulder. He was careful not to catch the leather on his delicate ear-points.

"Gavin!" she cried again, stretching her hand towards him. The sudden snapping of dry wood caused him to whirl about just in time to see the surprised face of the young woman as she fell. His world moved in slow motion as he watched, horrified at seeing her slow, tumble from the third story ledge. It's not right, he thought between the seconds. She should fall faster. Lila's scream was cut short by the sickening crunch of her head and neck colliding with the floor.

He was detached as he gazed at the lifeless heap of tangled hair, skin, and silk. Only moments ago this had been a warm, loving woman. His mind winced as he bitterly reminded himself that Lila had been too loving. Gavin plucked a silver from his pouch and tossed it to the stunned barkeep.

"Sorry for the mess," he muttered as he pushed through the door into the awaiting night.

In the years to come, Gavin was unable to recall clearly what had occupied his thoughts as he journeyed north to Crossing. However, he was certain of two things. First, he did not dwell on Lila, which was a good thing overall. Second (and even more puzzling) was that he had no real conscious desire to go to Crossing.

After riding for two days with little pause except to feed his horse, Darr, there seemed little else to do. The woods here in these parts were dangerous. He dared not wander too far off the beaten path. The trip was quiet and uneventful other than the occasional caravan or traveling party. This provided Gavin ample time to consider his future.

Gavin wrapped himself in his thoughts as he rode north. "The problem," he whispered to himself, "is that I have no true calling, no great aptitude that makes anything either obvious or appealing." The young elf had heard of the many Guilds in Crossing of course. He had shared more than a pint or two listening to the fabulous tales of riches and the exciting life of the adventurer. However, he had quickly concluded it was all a load of horse dung. In his jaded mood, he was unable to believe that any profession offered both quick coin and honest coin. Still, his heart was unwilling to consider alternatives.

Shaking his head wryly, he began to unsaddle Darr, whispering softly to the gelding. He was one of the few real friends Gavin had in life. Darr had been a gift from his Uncle Shemtin fort his twentieth naming day. What had happened to old Uncle Shemtin? Like so many things from his past, Shemtin was little more than a hazy, unhappy memory.

Lost in his brooding of days gone by, his subconscious slowly registered angry, urgent shouts from deeper in the eastern woods. Although he was not a natural adventurer by any means, Gavin strung his bow as a precaution. He paused to secure Darr before heading into the woods to investigate. He utilized his elven heritage to move through the woods without a sound. The woods were thick with undergrowth and towering trees, and he was startled when he suddenly appeared at the edge of a ravine. Surveying the land below, he caught sight of several men pursing something through the valley.

Gavin crouched, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. He silently assessed the situation. There were four of them, three with swords, one hanging back with a crossbow. They appeared to be humans. Few other races moved so clumsily through nature's landscape. His eyes penetrated the ground cover and noticed a woman directly below him. Although her clothes were torn she appeared to be in better shape than her pursuers. Having reached the end of the ravine just below him, she now faced the gang, a
knife held before her. She has skill, Gavin thought, as he watched her test the weight of the metal in her hand.

"Leave me be, Hendrick" she called out. "Or you won't be enjoying anyone's company for a long time!"

"You are mine, witch!" came the reply from the one carrying the crossbow. "And I always get what's mine!" Shifting long enough to load his crossbow, the lone figure barked to the other men, "Get her!"

The three ruffians began to close, fanning out to pressure the woman all at once. Rather than sit and await the impending violence, the woman seemed to embrace it She crouched warily, then lunged to her right. Obviously not expecting such a tactic, the poor fellow stumbled. Attempting to regroup, he fell as his boot heel struck an outcropping. His blade clattered among the rocks, as his head struck the ground, his eyes rolling back.

Pivoting smoothly, the woman tossed the knife overhand, taking the second man in the throat. Like a seasoned fighter, she snatched up the fallen man's blade and spun back, facing the third. Gavin could not make out the exchange of words, only the snarl from the ruffian as he engaged the woman. The conversation of their steel was brief. It was with a look of tremendous surprise that the fellow looked down upon the blade sheathed within his breast. The woman stepped side ways, and matter-of-factly withdrew the bloody steel, scanning the rocks for the last man.

Hendrick stood some thirty feet away, his crossbow raised to the shoulder. "Damn," he cursed. "Now I have to hire more. I'll be taking this out of your hide, Missy!" The woman glanced about, obviously weighing her chances against the crossbow. If the fellow were any shot at all, Gavin thought, she was as good as dead. The tall dark haired human closed his left eye as he carefully aimed the crossbow.

"I'll not go back a slave, Hendrick. I would rather be dead!" she shouted. Rather defiantly Gavin mused, given the situation.

"As you wish, Missy," echoed throughout the ravine. Hendrick's finger twitched, but his bolt sped high and wide as he crumpled to the ground. "Damn you!" he howled, pulling at the six inches of arrow protruding from his thigh. He could do little more than scream in futility, as the woman quickly grasped her situation. Darting off like a deer, she quickly found a path leading into the woods, and into deeper cover. And of her unseen savior, she saw no sign.