Mirallia Historia: The Escape

Hooves beat upon the cobbled path, their owner refusing to slow despite ragged breath. Your head turns to look behind you briefly as you hear voices. “Get her!” They yell, “Stop that woman!” You force yourself forward, hand gripping tighter on the leather-bound tome held against your breast.

A left turn and your feet devour more distance, forcing you to nearly run into a wall as you turn the corner of an alley. Stumbling over your own poor reflexes you crash to the ground. Pain shoots through your knees and arms, your thin spaded tail falling to rest upon the cold, unforgiving, cobbles. Your pursuers, however, are not so unfortunate as their pace has not slowed. They saw you dip into the alley and, swiftly, you extricate yourself from your prone position, eyes darting around for a place to hide, landing upon a small alcove that you hadn't noticed after you turned. You quickly slip to it's inside edge, pressing yourself against the floor, willingly this time, quietly pulling the hood of your brown, tattered, cloak over your head.

You quieted your ragged breathing, still of heavy breath from the exertion and adrenaline of the long chase. You hold the book closer to your breast, uncaring of the yielding flesh being squashed, and the pain from it. You allow yourself no thoughts of safety as the footsteps pound ever closer, your breath catching in your throat as the imposing form of the Guard Captain clanks into view, then releasing in relief as he and the other pursuers run past without so much as a glance at you.

“Dammit!” You hear the Guard Captain shout, “That abyssal bitch has eluded us once more”

“Uhm sir?” A guard speaks up, getting a questioning shout of “What!?” from the captain. “Teiflings are of Infernal Heritage, Sir. Remember Emily I of the Mirallia Line?”

“I couldn't care less whether she's the daughter of a succubus and a sex-changed Nymph you idiot! I want that Teifling CAUGHT!” he yelled in reply, but you had stopped paying attention as your eyes closed. Your ancient ancestor, and namesake, fought for this wretched place... And they treat her kind, nowadays, like dirt. “My Lord...” You murmur under your breath filling your mind with visions of the elven god, the very deity who blessed your ancestor, “Guide me...” You finish your four word prayer by slowly standing up, stowing the book, now that you have the reprieve to try, into your bag and closing the cloak around your thin frame, you glance at your rear and notice your tail peeking out of the bottom.

You shake your head as your attention returns to your escape. Your tail shoots back into the cloak, and past the hem of your dress. You sigh with dismay as you slowly walk from your cubby-hole and hope the cloak is enough as you walk towards them, head down, “I'm sorry... my ancestors. Our charge abandoned us... I cannot continue our fate.” You whisper the Guards barely heeding much attention to you, at least until you're far enough away that you think they won't notice you.

Then you bolt, your target within sight. The Fireblood Tavern slowly enters your vision as you force yourself to run, the exertion starting to take it's toll as a cough explodes out of your mouth. Once more you hear the guards chasing you, the captain spouting insults at you with extreme prejudice. You barrel through the never-locked doors of the tavern, skidding to a halt at the bar, “H-help...” You breathe to the barkeep. The human behind the counter simply nods and gestures to the door behind her, which you happily go though.

Not even half a minute when you get through the door do you collapse, the book tumbling from your bag, ceasing in front of a lamia. As the scaled demi-human reaches down for the book, you feel arms lift your prone, exhausted form from the floor. With the last flecks of stamina-induced consciousness you see the caring eyes of your boss and smile, “I... Made... It...” You breathe.

“Yes. You made it,” The woman replies as you fade into unconsciousness.