Wining and Dying

A single bell tolled throughout the city, announcing the depth of night it was in by a dozen. Most hovels had their candle lights snuffed out at this hour, their occupants peacefully in dreamland. Unaware of the unforgiving outside world that was just outside their bedroom window. They knew of it, heard of it, but it was best they ignored it. The bright moon above was their cue to sleep, while Merlot found it as her own personal spotlight.

It’s showtime.

"Thief! Stop that girl!"

Crossbow bolts zipped by Merlot's ears, striking a portrait of a man posing with his hunting dog in front of her. One struck the hound in the head, with the other catching the man in the crotch; the convincing oil characters making her cringe at the thought. The cathedral’s upper floor hallway was cluttered and compact, leaving little room for escape. As she veered around the corner, she was met with a vicious swing of a blade. With an instinctive duck, she saved her head at the cost of a few red strands, the blade above her jammed into the wooden corner of the wall.

Swinging around the guard from the right, she twisted back and gave him a swift kick to the side. "This isn't a time for a haircut!"

He stumbled into a table with a decorative vase, knocking it all over with a deafening clatter. The other guards tumbled into him, getting tangled in their pursuit of a thief. She's used to boys chasing after her at the Tight Cavern Tavern, but they're not this aggressive. Except for that one time...

"Don't let her get away with the blade!" A guard shouted as the  draping blob of red hair slipped out into the darkness.

Her escape route was compromised, due to the front door being locked down once she was found out. This was one of those times when a plan B was unplanned but in order. The stairs before her became steeper with each step and the sword in her hand became heavier with each desperate breath. It only took a  couple of spirals up the tower before she had to slump against the wall and collect herself. She held her heaving chest in agony, coughing up a storm.

"Note to self," she began as she stumbled up the steps, "start working out on glutes and cardio. This Blade of Liber Pater better be worth it..."

"Come on brothers,” a voice called out from below, "up the tower. She’s wheezing like a dog in heat."

She hurried up, fighting through the pain in her legs and lungs. "Crap, they know my weakness."

Glancing over the side of the spiral, she saw the dirty end of crossbows aiming up at her, with other guards charging upwards. Bolts ricochet against the stone wall, bouncing and splintering around her. Through the pounding of her feet and heart, Merlot could hear the echoing self-muttering of a priest with his nose deep in a set of parchments. He was going down and Merlot needed to go up. She crossed her chest with a wary gulp.

“Forgive me father…”

Pushing the occupied priest aside, she sent him tumbling down the stairs with a frightful yowl, his parchments fluttering up in the air. The guards fell like crops against a scythe, their bodies collecting into a balled up mass against the curve of the wall. It was enough to get some distance, but there was no telling how quickly they would recuperate. With their jobs on the line and times being tough, they were quite the adamant assembly of aggressors. All she had to do was get to the top and find a way out of there from there.

A massive bell sat at the center of the tower, the twinkling city and stars replacing the clammy stones that surrounded her previously. She caught herself on the wooden railing, watching the floor varnish and the long descent to the housing far down below fill her view. Merlot never had a problem with heights, it’s the idea of entering someone’s chimney the hard way and turning into a skinned square sausage that makes her stomach do a few jumping jacks. She could hear the pounding of steps drawing closer.

Merlot grabbed for the wineskin at her hip. “I was saving this for a rainy day,” she said as she tugged on its cork, “but it looks like today is… more moist than an octopus in a barrel of…”

She tossed the sword onto the floor, putting the wineskin between her thighs and pulled with both hands.. “Cursed cork! Who put it on so tight? Oh wait… I did.”

In anger, she took a throwing knife from her leg holster and jabbed it into the wineskin. Glimmering red wine came pouring out from both sides. “That’s it, come to mama!”

She felt the fire in her stomach but knew it too a while to take effect. Picking up the wine-soaked blade, she held it at attention towards the stairway, prepared for the worst. Pink energy slowly radiated around like steam, her plentiful sweat glowing against her skin. Shadows danced along the stone below, too many to count. The entire cathedral and then some was after her.

“Screw this…”

Spinning around, she leapt for the railing and took a dive. Bolts flew overhead, heading for the horizon instead of her back. The wind kicked up and the rooftops below were getting more detailed. Closing her eyes, she held the blade with both hands and prayed for the best. In a flash of pink, she vanished, reappearing close enough to the rooftop to enter a quick roll. Catching herself with a stiff arm, she slid to a stop, gathering up a few tiles under her boots.

She stood, staring at the blade. “So the tales are true.”

Staring up at the angry Bourbon Brothers, she licked her wine-stained dagger and gave them a taunting wink.