SUMMER

Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Extremely hot and dry. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please direct them to DaringRaven! As for the rest of the announcements, including a season change, you can find them over here at the following link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


WHAT IS ELENLOND?

Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


QUICK TIDBITS

  • We accept any member who wants to RP here;
  • We are an intermediate-level RPG;
  • We have been open since June 2004;
  • Elly's layouts work best in Chrome, Firefox, Safari, and Opera. It is not optimized for IE.

  • CURRENT EVENTS

    Angkar: To honour the reinvigoration of the ancient city of Mondrágon, the majestic Queen Eulalia has permitted the opening of a Coliseum where people from around the world and all walks of life can test their combat skills against one another. Many have already done battle in search of honour, glory, prizes and money.

    Ashoka: In an otherwise peaceful times, Ashokans are beset with the relatively minor inconveniences of wandering undead and occasionally-aggressive giant rock worms. There has also been some controversy over the recent re-legalisation of human sacrifice.

    Morrim: Rumour has it that Emperor Leofric de Hollemark is mustering forces for a war. Though the threat from Soto’s forests has passed, the forces previously employed in watching the forest now linger at the border. Rumours also circulate of a small group that has been dispatched to make contact with the tribes of the Do’suul Mountains.

    Soto: The Sotoans have defeated the fey and liberated themselves from Méadaigh’s oppression! Preliminary efforts have been made at rebuilding the city of Madrid, which had been captured at the beginning of the war. However, the Sotoans are hindered from recovery famine. Méadaigh’s magic caused summer to persist in the Erth’netora Forest through the winter. Her power has been withdrawn and the plants die as if preparing for winter – even though it is now summer. The Sotoans must sustain off what food they can get, what creatures they can kill and what can be imported into the city from Morrim and Angkar.

    For a fuller description of our most recent events, check out our most recent edition of The Town Crier!

    daringraven
    Administrator
    Qayin Graves
    SHADOW
    Supporting Admin.

    Kestrel Sumner (Shadow)
    Kindle Blackheath
    Orion de Lacey
    Sinadryn Arsydian
    Welcome to our home, a world in which anything can happen. From sprawling deserts and vast forests to massive volcanoes and luscious hot springs, Soare and the Scattered Isles are beautiful places just waiting to be explored. For the brave and the bold or the cautious and the wary, creatures of all kinds roam the earth, looking for adventure or for a place to call their own. Species of all kinds - the well-known and the unknown - thrive here, though not always in harmony.

    Elenlond is an original medieval fantasy RPG with a world that's as broad as it is unique. Calling on characters of all kinds, the sky's the limit in a world where boundaries are blurred and the imagination runs rampant. Restrictions are limited and members are encouraged to embrace their creativity, to see where they can go and what they can do. It's no longer just text on a page - it becomes real.

    Enter Our World

    Username:   Password:
    • Pages:
    • 1
    The Burial; Open~
    Topic Started: Mar 28 2014, 01:02 PM (1,165 Views)
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Nevneni entered the city at the dawn's incipience, her mind a swill of exhaustion. The guards looked at her with some suspicion, or so she thought. It was as if she felt their questions rising up from the deep shadows: Why does such an odd little woman want to get into the city before the gates have even opened? Even traders rising early from their inn-beds to set up in the market aren't here so early. Why is she so tired? Has she been up all night, running from something? Why else would she ignore the danger of night vapours? If she's running, is she a murderer?

    She submitted herself to their terse questions, hardly aware of the answers she gave. She was here to see family, not for business, she said, or at least that's what she thought she said. She might've made some excuses about her grandmother being ill, but once she got inside the city she'd forgotten them. There were too many shadows to preoccupy her mind, rising weirdly from the alleyways and jettied houses. Dread was breeding in the darkness, surrounding her, pricking at her with whispers. She felt so tired, but at the same time she was so alert to every scuffling movement of rats and street urchins slipping out of sight. Perhaps she was alert to things that weren't there; it was hard to tell in this state and she had no one at her side to ask questions to. Surely Vorkael would have done such a thing for her, told her whether she imagined these things or not. Or Sinadryn would have, or Alexandros, or even Phaedrus. And where were they now? Why did she enter Madrid alone?

    Nevneni had no particular direction to head and she didn't know Madrid too well, so she wandered where the main roads took her. This, of course, took her to the marketplace, the throbbing heart of the city that was, for the moment, barren. A few early risers were opening their stalls, pausing in their work to watch the woman who wandered through like a ghost, her eyes flickering here and there but then always coming to some fixed point straight ahead of her, as if she was intent on something in the distance.

    Of course, there was nothing really there. Nevneni passed through the meat-market, cringing at the sounds of slaughtering and butchering, the hot scent of blood steaming through the chill morning air. She turned right and stared at that same point as she passed towards the stalls of cloth sellers. She had some inkling of what sort of thing she stared ahead for, but her lazy mind couldn't truly make the connection. There was that dream she'd had when last she slept, the one that imitated several she'd had in the past year. Perhaps it wasn't a dream so much as the image within many dreams, the sole image that surfaced to her waking mind like a rock on the seashore at low tide. She'd always be doing something else, something silly even, and there it would be: a wavering road ahead, tunnelling through trees or stretching across flat plains. At the end this road, a thread of white, a tower that ended nowhere in particular, or perhaps went on infinitely. Thinking about it now, she still felt the watching-ness of that tower's distant windows, as if they were eyes. Even while awake (though really she was half-asleep as it was) she could feel her frightened skin gather together in goosebumps. The image was so persistent in her dreams that she by now felt like it was always there, at the end of the road.

    Nevneni was heading towards a dead end, she'd have to turn soon. There was a carpenter's house just ahead, a nice house with a sign and what was obviously a workshop attached to it, jutting out into the street. From the wide doors of the workshop grew a stall, which was not yet opened up. But then something caught her eye, something small and pale against the filth-darkened cobbles. Her mind latched onto it, but she walked with the same pace, too tired for outward curiosity or eagerness. The sun was rising now, illuminating the sky somewhere behind her, casting a few cloud-strangled rays over the rooftops to brighten the scene.

    What she had seen was the soft breast of a pale she-robin. She came to it, her eyes taking in the frail legs stuck up like twigs, the dark line of the tail, the wings folded to its sides. At the same pace as ever, she knelt, heedless of the besmirched cobblestones, and looked at that cold body. There was no outward mark to indicate harm. Looking up, Nevneni saw the glass windows of the carpenter's house and figured that the robin must have flown into one, not knowing any better. At least it was no torment that killed the thing, no cat or cruel street-child. Just an accident, a silly accident.

    The robin's eyelids were scaled with the tiniest pale feathers and they were still partly open, revealing a sliver of shining black. She had not been long dead, then, perhaps had fallen only an hour before at most. Thinking of robins – of how they were when alive, how they hopped about and snatched up worms, how they stopped when a person was near and fixed them with their bright, beady eyes – Nevneni felt her heart seize up. Of course it made no sense: it was a dead animal. She had killed and eaten animals, as was her place to do so in nature. And yet, here she was, exhausted and confused, feeling grief for the death of this small thing.

    Despite herself, tears stung at her eyes, then trickled onto her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She was full of a thousand screams that she had to choke back, the same screams she always tied up in her throat. She kept herself silent but for gasping breaths, stolen in the moments when she could feel those screams briefly retreat. People were probably noticing, or maybe they had forgotten the odd little woman and were going on with their days without a care. Nevneni didn't know which was worse.

    Gently, she took the robin into her hands, stroking that soft, dusky-red breast. With shaking fingers, she tried to close those tiny eyelids. Even when she pulled them all the way down, they eased back up, revealing that same sliver of dead eye. How stupid it was for her to pay such respects. Robins spent their lives avoiding people, fluttering away when they got too close. Why would this one, in its death, desire such mourning? Robins likely didn't even understand what it meant to mourn in this way; this one had probably never realised that it died. Nevneni sucked in another breath and shook with renewed sobs. So she was mourning more for her own reasons, though she could hardly know what they were right now. Perhaps all would become clear later, one day? One day, when she slept and ate and lived in peace; then she might understand all.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    As the rosy fingers of dawn began cresting the far horizon, the streets of Madrid had yet to attain their usual frenetic bustling. Most of the populace were sleeping soundly, while some were only just rousing before they set about their daily labours. The taverns, however, had been busy all night - a recent influx of soldiers bearing coin had ensured good business for the past few nights.

    The streets were quiet, and the heavy steps of one such grunt resonated loudly, accentuated by the clink of chainmail and the occasional thud of a dropped shield. Juul had come to the city late in the night, and had failed to organise accommodation for herself - the inns were full to the brim. Instead, she had opted to spend her newly-earned cash on a hearty meal and ale. And more ale. She had reasoned that the tavern was warm and dry; besides, the serving maid had been giving her the eyes. There was chance of a bed!

    Alas, the maid had not succumbed to her advances, and the soldier had drowned herself in yet more ale. By Vespasian she was regretting it now, as she staggered away from the establishment. It felt as if a tiny blacksmith had taken up residence in her skull, with repeated blows of his hammer ringing from behind her eyes, the soot and ash from his forge being channelled into her mouth.

    She stopped, swaying, at the market square. She had no idea where she was - she had only visited Madrid once before - and had no definite plan. It was hard to act while nursing a severe hangover. She shuffled forwards, animated by the pain behind her eyes, and nearly stumbled into a crouched, shaking figure. She stumbled back, nearly falling over before steadying herself with a loud clunk of her shield.

    Her bleary eyes tried to focus on the obstruction - a tiny slip of a woman, crouched and shaking in some manner. Was that sobbing she could hear? The roaring in her head was inhibiting her ability to perceive. As her mind reeled, her mouth struggled to form coherent words for a moment, before she blurted them out.

    "Wha' you doin'?" she slurred, her eyes struggling to retain focus on the figure before her "Ya cryin'?"
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Mar 28 2014, 05:28 PM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Nevneni had not heard the woman's footsteps, but when the soldier spoke, she froze. Her tears stopped in their tracks, her body seized up with rictus. The woman had been drinking, she perceived that from her voice before she smelled the sour waft of drink on the air. That hardly bothered it; rather, it was that she was asked what she was doing because she honestly didn't know how to answer that.

    Nevneni's knees unfroze. She stood up swiftly, still holding the cold robin to her chest with one hand while she hurriedly wiped at her damp face with her other sleeve. "No, I'm not crying," she said, her voice strained, "It's nothing, really. Don't worry." She knew she didn't sound convincing, but maybe the stranger would be too hungover to notice or to care. She kept her back to the woman, her shoulders hunched, knowing that even if the woman was totally smashed, she would know Nenvneni's lies if she showed her swollen and tear-stained face.

    Why did it have to be that way though? Nevneni knew that if there was a single thing she needed right now, it was comfort, or at least a listening ear. But that was the last thing that she'd allow herself to have. The shame of her situation – namely, that of her entire being – was too much for her to share. What a paradox it was for her that, even though she hated herself, the last thing she wanted was for others to hate her, and to say so. That, somehow, would be worse than the stabbing, striking voice in her mind.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    The soldier swayed on the spot again, as if she was disturbed by the slow, almost rickety, movement of the figure before her. Her ears were starting to clear as she concentrated on the quiet words spoken, the roar of rushing blood seemingly ebbing away. The soldiers mouth worked mechanically, her tongue pushing slowly against the roof of her mouth and lolling out over her slips in a vain attempt to moisten them. The effect was rather more like rubbing sandpaper against seasoned wood, and she desisted with a slight groan.

    Her eyes broke from the girl before her for a moment and focused instead on the worn cobbles on which she stood. They were caked with what looked like mud, but Juul knew how filthy cities were - trodden in gore and excrement from numerous species was more likely. Abruptly she broke that chain of thought - she had faith her gurgling stomach would doubtlessly revolt and disgrace her. Instead, she took three heavy steps circling around the figure, so that they were now face to face.

    "Ah, nothing?" the soldier spoke, her tone on the edge of jovial as she struggled to focus on the woman's face "Sure, enough tears have been shed over that, I can tell you. Its more than alright to cry over nothing."

    The soldier had seen tears enough, and had shed her fair share. She remembered young Cynricke writhing as she sutured his stomach, crystal droplets cutting through the dried gore on his face. She remembered her own sobs as she knelt over his still form. He was barely more than a boy, but that had been many years ago. She slammed shut the doors of her memory, focusing instead on her new companion.

    The soldier struggled to perceive, her eyes slightly blurred by the drink and obstructed by Nevneni's hanging drapes of hair. Her face was full and homely, juxtaposing with Juul's own pointed features, but her eyes seemed hollowed in some way. And she was clutching something to her chest, but the soldier couldn't discern what it was. Deciding it was unimportant, Juul settled on her favourite tactic for dealing with sadness: distraction.

    "I won't push ya, lady. Ya ain't gotta say a word. But come with me." she spoke again, blinking languidly as a dumb smile spread across her scarred features "I need some water to ease myself, and I don't know this town. Help me out, a walk'll do ya world of good."
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Apr 2 2014, 06:11 AM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    That time of night again.

    And where was sleep? Dancing amongst the rafters. Belched like smoke to the rising dawn. Running off in creeks and puttering down gutters, laughing beyond his snatching grasp.

    The usual, then.


    Phaedrus controlled a bull of a sigh, breath smoking in front of his cold, drawn face. He cut an ominous figure in the dark -- the colorless sky left his cloak black, snapping around his heels, hood making a corpse of his white face. Clutched in his hand was a bloodied bundle, the freshest cut from a pig. It felt warm through his fingers, squelching through the butcher's wrap and twine; his nose still stung with the bitterness of blood, and he'd shaken the squealing from his ears, but their echoes had followed him.

    Damn this insomnia. The goddess of stupor had granted him a few snatches of sleep, till the howling wind had entered his mind like a demon and he shot up in bed, choked by his own screams. Once the panic had passed, he simply laid there awhile, glassy-eyed, staring the ceiling into submission. 'Till the cat had leapt up, of course, and he'd stroked her coat with shaking fingers until the necromancer mustered the strength to swing his feet out of bed. Distractions, distractions, distractions. The kettle had screamed, and he'd steeled himself with however many cups of tea it took for the pot to empty. Sleep would not be coming now. The nightshade was still bubbling in its decanter, hissing, steaming, distilling to a deadly blue in his sordid basement. And? There were still errands to be done. Lunch to be fetched, quills to be bought, a whole plethora of tasks to invent…

    Really, he had little to do. Or rather, little he actually wanted to do. The salvaged wreck of Alloces' tomes waited quietly in his cellar, hissing to be deciphered; the air froze like a crypt's down there, the summoning circle splashed in gruesome whips of blood, his own clawing prints burned permanently into the groundwork. The artifacts still screamed and rattled in their desks and chains. A thousand voices whispered to him in the warded circle to the Gate. I don't want to go down there. Who the devil would?

    Perhaps you are the worst necromancer to walk the earth, and that explains your current predicament.


    A sigh withered off his lips, and the man slowed his pace, dawdling in the time it'd take to get back to his house. Nothing was… open yet, exactly -- he had no excuse to loiter around, even less with dripping pig between his fingers. Some company would be nice, he found himself thinking, almost stopped himself with a sardonic laugh. Who in the hell is out at this hour, besides the butchers and burglars? You are mad, Phaedrus.

    And perhaps only moments after he'd thought it -- for the world loved to spin in grand ironies -- the man saw two figures melt into appearance, disengaging from the shadowed streets. "…I won't push ya, lady," he heard a woman say, directed towards her slumped companion. There was something familiar in the slouch, he thought, in the way she looked much like a pile of rags, clutching something to her chest. His mind skirted the previous day's events -- the forest, that girl he'd…

    He stopped in his tracks. The necromancer turned, eyes wide in his surprised face, flicking from the scarred woman to the smaller one clutching something to her chest. "Devils," he thought aloud, suddenly, gruesomely aware of the bloody package in his hands and the dark cloak swirling at his heels. I look like I've stepped out of a cult ritual, not my own house. "…I know you." It took him a moment to place the name to the weary face, but now that he was looking closer in the half-light, there was no mistaking it. "…Nevneni?" He looked from the weary girl to her strange companion, leaning his weight on one hip and flicking his hood down so he looked less like a wreathed horror.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Nevneni sniffed wetly, scrubbing away at the dampness on her cheeks with a thumb stuck into her long sleeve. When she spoke, her wavering voice was a tad too light. "Sure, I'll come. I don't know the place well either, but I've got some water with me. Then maybe we can find a public fountain..."

    She turned around slowly, her joints protesting at every movement. That was something that was hard to explain to people who asked about her state; there were just some times where her weighted body refused to move as fast as it ought to and there was little to be done about it. The cold robin was still pressed to her chest, its tail lying along her wrist. Carefully, Nevneni, looked the red-haired woman over, carefully avoiding her eyes. Her gaze was one of a healer, for she was suddenly removed from emotion and merely controlled by a clinical, practical interest.

    A voice sounded softly nearby, a person came striding first. Her impression was of a stark, white face, a few escaping wisps of red hair. Nevneni saw him clinically as well, recognising the heavy shadows under those eyes before she even recognised who he was. The pronouncement of her name came as quite a shock, then, and it wasn't until he flipped off his hood that Nevneni realised that it was Phaedrus, the man she'd stumbled across nearby some forest road in the very dead of winter. Arguably, he had saved her life, or at the very least her toes, because she otherwise would have let them freeze off before building herself a fire.

    She said his name in return: "Phaedrus?" Her mind was momentarily upset, but one glance at the woman's haggard state put her back into the mode of the healer. "Do you know where the nearest fountain is, Phaedrus? This one needs some care for her hangover." Then, to the woman, briskly, "Here, hold this." She held the robin out and gently entrusted it to the woman's bigger hands. She'd considered giving it to Phaedrus, but as he was somehow covered in blood (something she hadn't fully explained to her yet), she thought better of it, even though she had an inkling that he would somehow know exactly what to do with a dead bird.

    Nevneni swung her pack off her shoulder and rooted around in it, saying, "This is Phaedrus, and Phaedrus, this is...who are you?" She only then realised that she had no idea what the woman's name was. Her hand clenched around a soft water skin and she withdrew it, finding it to be maybe half empty. She uncorked it and handed it over to the woman. Fiddling with the cork as she waited, she asked Phaedrus"What're you doing in Madrid?" Then she added vaguely, "I'd tell you what I am doing here but I don't know. Helping her I suppose." Then her tired voice was strong once again: "I can fix up you hangover some, if you like, but it'll require magic. Is that alright?"
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    The soldier resisted swaying back on her heel again, focusing her balance as she keenly watched the woman before her as she moved. Her head appeared to be evaluating her, although for what she couldn't be sure. Her hauberk covered her, from shoulders to knees, so physically she gave little away, save from her profession. Their eyes never met, the soldier noticed, but her words seemed to be kind. She still clutched whatever it was to her chest.

    Her ears pricked up at the sound of another approaching - ringing clear from the muted surroundings. Her soldier's sense was not that impaired, it seemed. The figure appeared, cloaked and carrying... something. She couldn't tell what. Did today mark some Sotoan gift-giving ceremony? Everyone seemed to be clutching packages. The gait of the stranger was rushed, but was not threatening. Her hand slowly, clumsily, drifted to her dagger, her thumb resting lightly on the hilt. You never knew.

    The soldier blinked, and it seemed that the scene had changed dramatically - the healer had turned to the new arrival, thrusting her clutched article into her rough hands, forgetting their duties at her dagger and shield - the latter clattered to the ground with a metallic ring. It was soft, downy even. She blinked and examined it, her scarred brow furrowing. A robin, a dead one at that. A bad omen. Not as terrible as a dead crow or a magpie, but a bird was a bird.

    "Erm..." she mumbled, a little lost for words, her eyes slowly swinging back to the healer, questioningly.

    She was cut off by their exchange - they had obviously had a previous encounter. The stranger had removed his hood, and she was struck by how pale he was, contrasting with both the dark of his cloak and the odd radiance of his hair. She was further distracted by a waterskin appearing in her free hand. She thought to discard the robin, but decided against it, instead drinking greedily. The demonic blacksmith inside her skull had not ceased with his incessant hammering - the water would undoubtedly cool his forge.

    She took a long draught, half draining the water before she stopped and smacked her lips, which were suitably moistened now. Damn, that's good! The taste of ash and bile was diluted somewhat, though was still present on her palate. Her attention was grabbed yet again, this time by the words of the healer. She seemed a little more together now.

    Ye gods, I can't concentrate...

    "A fountain... magic? If't gets me walking and talking right, I'm aboard for't. I've not much coin, mind." she found herself saying, unable to focus on either of her companions and instead staring dumbly between them.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    A hangover, hmm?

    After his initial surprise at running into the healer again, Phaedrus' eyes drifted to the swaying woman. A shock of red hair fringed her scarred, pale face -- her build and assortment of weapons shrieked soldier. The man's eyes flashed as he noted the woman's movement towards a dagger -- memory of a blade piercing his jaw shot, unwanted, through his mind.

    The necromancer's boots scuffed the cobblestone as he stepped back from Juul, a mirthless smirk peeling his lip upward. "…I do. Right on the main square. I can lead you there, if you'd like." I just came from there, he thought with some irritation, swiftly pushing it aside. And? What else is there to do? Look, the gods-- in their sudden grace --have answered your wish for company. He noted the exchange, wondering what the tiny bundle was -- and tore his gaze away at the mention of his name, a friendly smile at his lips. It didn't quite touch his eyes, though, looking at the soldier. She didn't dignify them with a name in response -- of course, she looked to be obliterated out of her mind, not quite focusing on either of them. A titter spilled off his lips.

    "A pleasure," he responded with some veiled amusement, not altogether benign. What is she doing with a woman she cannot even name? Perhaps his time in Madrid had left him altogether untrusting of soldiers and mercenary types -- it was no secret that the Argos Guild thrived here, working in subtle or not-so-subtle ways, leaving bloody heaps on the doorsteps of those who didn't listen. Or, perhaps, he simply did not appreciate the readiness to stab him. Tilting his hip to one side, the necromancer examined his bloody fingernails.

    "I live here. Just came from the butcher," he added by way of explanation, gesturing at the package. Not much had changed since they last met -- she still looked crushed by a world's burden, tired until she returned to the business of tending a total stranger. "…Well. Have you been to Madrid before? Found an inn alright?" She'd mentioned she was from Soto, but it was a vast, sprawling country. From the look of it, both didn't look rested or settled at the least. A moment passed where the soldier slurped at the water, deciding to go along with their plans.

    Shrugging, the necromancer whisked on his heel, cloak swirling against the pavement. He put his hood up again, shivering against the pre-dawn chill. "Right this way," he gestured, striding in the direction of the square. "…And, just a word of warning. I would not wander Madrid too late at night. The Argos Guild operates here, among other criminals." He turned to look over his shoulder, eyes glittering inhumanly in the poor light. Perhaps the healer was well-aware, but the soldier didn't sound Sotoan, from what he could tell under the slurring. Even foisted together, neither looked well or sober enough to fight off a petty band of thieves. A few liked to roam at this hour -- disorganized groups that formed and dissolved just as quickly under the government's heel -- but still an irritation nonetheless.

    His brisk gaze tore off them and returned to the street ahead. As he walked, the sound of voices and tents groaning became apparent -- wood working, scraping, the smell of fires being bellowed into life. A few pigs squealed in the distance, promptly cut silent.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Nevneni's eyes travelled down to the oozing package in Phaedrus' hands. She nodded vaguely, then answered bashfully while she rolled up her sleeves: "Well, I only...just got here. Haven't needed an inn."

    She gestured to show that they would follow in a second, and then turned her attentions to Juul. Standing up on her tiptoes, she extended her arms to touch her fingertips to the woman's temples. This particular position wasn't entirely necessary. but she thought it fitting for the soothing of a headache. After a moment's focus, she was able to find the hidden spot of energy in the dark hollow of her body. She let it pass through her veins and breeze into Juul, putting her pain to sleep.

    Then she focused on the woman's blood and organs, burning out every last bit of alcohol that remained there. After a few moments of this, she pulled away, swaying back onto the balls of her feet. Her eyes momentarily clouded with spinning darkness. She put a hand to her head and waited for a her sight to return, saying, "There...that should feel...better. I imagine you're still tired and thirsty and maybe dizzy but...that'll do for now."

    The geometric darkness boiled away and she looked up at Phaedrus, her head still tingling. "Alright, let's go to the fountain. I could do with some water too." And some food too, she added silently, becoming suddenly aware of the hollowness in her stomach. So it was exactly the same as it had been when she'd stumbled across Phaedrus in the forest: she'd neglected herself for far too long. Maybe he would be able to guess this time as well.

    Gently, she retrieved the soft, limp bird from Juul, cradling it in her arm like a child. Thus prepared, with her pack still hanging off one shoulder, she followed Phaedrus, saying, "I'll keep that in mind. I've gotten through Orl'Kabbar unscathed before. People tend to look at me and realise I have nothing worth stealing."
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    The soldier swayed back on her heels slightly at the approach of the dainty healer, her eyes struggling to focus. They were close now, the hot smell of sweat and alcohol emanating from the soldier undoubtedly filling Nevneni's nostrils as she set about her task. The days of marching and riding, coupled with the drinking had left her reeking hotly of a cacophony of smells, none of which were pleasing. The soldier wasn't embarrassed, she couldn't afford to have a hygienic attitude with her constant travelling, but the fact remained.

    She didn't flinch as the healer gently placed her digits upon her temples. She gave a small sigh, choked slightly at it apex, trying to retain some composure as the power of the small woman before her washed through her body like cool water. It was all she could do not to drop the robin, and all but forgotten her momentary suspicion of the red-headed man. His association with the slip of a girl was enough for Juul to not narrow her eyes at his presence. Their close proximity afforded the soldier the opportunity to look closely at her emancipator, despite the haze on her vision, either a result of the hangover or the magic now coursing through her.

    Her face was rounded, her eyes benevolent but sad. Her frame was harder to guess at due to her flowing robes, but she seemed small. So sweet, so opposed to her own form. The soldier looked into her eyes, and couldn't resist a wink. She handed over the robin, gently, as she heard the words of caution from the flame-haired man. She stepped back, and stooped to pick up her shield, which rattled with a metallic ring as it scraped against the cobbles.

    "Thank you," she managed, her voice slightly breathless from the relief she felt. Her headache had lessened, and her stomach was still in revolt, but her aches had disappeared and the haze around her vision was slowly dissipating "I'll take you drinkin' wi' me next time."

    The soldier straightened up, and made to follow her newfound companions, the mechanisms of her mind slowly beginning to work into some semblance of cognitive ability. Gods, she was tired. Her brain managed to process a reply to the gaunt man's local knowledge.

    "Argos? I run into 'em before, couple years back." she spoke, her voice steadier "Don't much like foreigners, especially non-Guild sellswords lookin' for work. I didn't have much trouble runnin' 'em through last time. Only real danger is if they get the drop on you."
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    Phaedrus watched with interest as Nevneni performed her healing magic. An entirely foreign field—though he could feel the hum of energy, the shift in aural properties, it was the very opposite of exchanges he'd done before. Watching the life still from creatures, plants wilting as their warmth crept up his fingertips... that was much more his forte.

    From the way the soldier perked and straightened, though, it seemed to have worked wonders. That is something I most definitely need to learn. It's a wonder I haven't died in a bar yet.

    “Bravo,” he tittered, watching the exchange with some amusement. “That... is extraordinarily useful. Right this way, then.” As he turned, the movement caught his attention—his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of red, a splayed wing, as Nevneni cradled the robin in her arms, wondering at it. A pet?

    “Is that a... bird?” A hesitant inquiry—tapered off at the sight of her weary face and sunken eyes. He could not even begin to guess why she was carrying around something that looked thoroughly dead; out of sentiment? Out of madness? Were the two so different, truly? As he walked, he kept an easy pace, given one or both of them looked like to keel over at a moment's notice.

    “Orl'Kabbar?” He turned with some surprise, eyebrows raised. “I've not been, I confess. Stories of it do nothing to encourage a visit. Kinaldi, however...” A smile broke off his next words, in part because the soldier had jumped into the conversation as well. “How misfortunate that you had to tangle with their ilk.” Phaedrus sniffed, flicked a nonexistent crumb off his cloak. “You're a sellsword, then?” His eyes flickered keenly over his shoulders, taking in the battered armor, the sour whiff of stale sweat and alcohol. Interesting. I myself never developed the propensity of stabbing things for money. “What brings you to Madrid...? The brothels?” A knowing curl dragged up his lip. That wink did not go unnoticed.

    He stopped as the sound of gurgling water became evident. A large fountain dominated the cobblestone square, its streams catching the watery daylight. Specks of mists dotted the air, and small puddles of ice had formed around its base, shining with the dawn. A pretty sight, with the sun finally peeking through the dark, early morning sky. Gesturing, the necromancer waved vaguely at the fountain.

    “Is there anything else you need help finding? An inn? Food? More alcohol?” His pointed look darted between them.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Time stretched back a little. Nevneni's mind put together events from moments before slowly, until the image of the soldier's winking eye shuttered into place at the forefront of her mind. She stared vaguely into the distance, missing Phaedrus' compliment. It felt like Juul had always been in the background her entire life, winking. She almost convinced herself that Juul, winking, or the thought of her winking, would always be there for the rest of her life, but then the question came to her and she snapped out of that dream, forgetting it entirely.

    It was about the dead bundle in her hands. She looked down at it, her mind slowly coming to a thick-tongued answer, "Yes, I suppose it was. I need to find somewhere for it."

    Phaedrus started walking and she followed, her wide eyes glancing furtively around the marketplace. The stalls were now more populated with those selling their wares. A few early risers were making their way to specific places, those places to be, and Nevneni had nowhere to go but a fountain. Was she heading to Orl'Kabbar? No, she had just been asked about Orl'kabbar, and Orl'kabbar had never been an end destination anyways. "Well, it was on the way," she explained, or really didn't explain. They had been on their way to the mountains, her and Vorkael, just because they could and because they had a freedom together that she failed to give herself. Then Beinv had forced them to separate, and then she had been alone for a while, and now she was somewhat alone again, except there were these two semi-strangers walking alongside her.

    Scraps of information about Juul floated into her ears and settled somewhere on the empty floor of her mind, waiting to be put away somewhere. They were not put away. There was more light now, streaming across the uneven cobblestones and the grime that spilled up between them. The light was caught in the water of the gurgling fountain and forced its way out again with shining blades. They were at the fountain, and this surprised her a little.

    She sat down on the cold stone, letting the robin rest in her lap, and held out a hand so the soldier could give her back her waterskin. Her brown eyes rested placidly on the woman's cheek in a way that felt like a deer sleeping on a field. She didn't really see much. Without looking away, she said, "I don't know. What am I supposed to be looking for?" A bed, probably, though if she'd wanted that she should have stayed out of the city and collapsed somewhere in the woods, far away from rooms and people who could get into rooms. Food, perhaps, if she suddenly remembered that her stomach was there. Solace, most definitely, but where did you get that? Not at a store, not at a home, and definitely not in someone else, unless you didn't want it to last.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    The soldier marched, keeping in step with the two figures ahead of her. In her hand she clutched the half-drained waterskin, her greatshield strapped loosely to her opposite forearm. She felt herself standing straighter, restoring regularity to her gait - her shield scraped and rattled on the uneven cobbles no longer, and instead was raised, covering her left side from shoulder to knee. Her vision was clearing, and the demon blacksmith had ceased his thunderous hammer beat, liberating her thoughts from his sulphurous rhythm. Her lids felt heavy, the skin of her hands and face felt hot and dirty, as though covered with an irritating film.

    As they approached the fountain, the shining light of the new day illuminating its soft watery mists, she loosened the straps of her shield, setting it gently against the carved stone of its outer lip. She then reached behind her, clumsily untoggling the first two ties of her mailshirt, before pulling it forcefully over her head, ignoring the small tufts of ginger torn from her scalp in the process. She folded it roughly, and laid it next to the shield before pulling off her leather gauntlets. Next, she rolled up the sleeves of her gambeson, revealing a lattice of scars across her pale skin, and, waterskin in hand, approached the fountain.

    She gently placed her hands in the bitingly cold water, allowing the waterskin to fill, before she plunged her head into the pool, the shock seeming to resonate through to her spine. She stayed submerged for a few heartbeats, before she arched her back and surfaced with a gasp. She shook her head wildly, as a dog might, sending tiny droplets to scatter over the cobbles. She turned to her new comrades, pushing back the sodden folds of wild hair over he scalp. Her eyes were wide from the fright of the cold, though they softly narrowed as they settled on the flame haired man, and her lips cracked into a grin, with thick water droplets hanging from her lips and nose.

    "A sellsword? Aye, somethin' like that." she spoke, her eyes taking him in freshly, only now noticing the bloodiness of the package he held, and pointedly ignoring his comments around whoring "The name's Juul Shaepah. You'll have't remind me o' yours. Phaedrus, was't?"

    It was then that she had noticed the healer sat, almost defeated, on the doubtful comfort of the cold stone. She saw the weakly outstretched hand, and the healer somehow seemed even smaller than she did before. She took a step, and crouched down next to her, leaning into her as she gently placed the now-filled waterskin in her slim hand. She kept her callused meat hook there for a moment, before she withdrew it, looking into the small woman's glazed eyes as she softly spoke.

    "I reckon ye need some food, lass. Yer in a state. Get some water down and we'll find somewhere an fill our bellies. My treat, owed for ye service. Ye could gimme a smile after, mind." She smiled a little, before she straightened slightly, and craned her neck to look back at the slight man with the flaming red hair "Unless that bloody mess ye got there is a hank o' bacon, or some steaks. All we'd need then is a few eggs an' a fire."
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Jun 16 2014, 08:55 AM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    “May I see it?”

    An odd request, perhaps, though no odder than carrying around a dead bird—a pet, then? Though he'd noted no such thing when they'd met in the forest; could not easily imagine where she'd gotten a robin, other than picking one up and failing to save it, perhaps. He wasn't sure what to feel, if anything was meant to be felt at all—pity? Curiosity, for her strange state? The familiar itch picked at him, the temptation of reversing death to life; the blandness on which he looked upon corpses, knowing that with the proper binding, they could walk again.

    Once again, that knowledge wedged itself between him and the healer, him and the flame-haired soldier. Something subtle, insidious.

    A similar smile forced its way to his lips, trying to ward off the sudden alienness he felt. He watched, idly, as the healer sunk onto the rim of the fountain, and the soldier shook herself like some kind of... dog. Memory of the foul creatures brought a little sniff to his features, a twinge of disgust—he waited as the woman did her business, flicking some invisible thread off his cloak and shuffling his feet to keep them warm.

    “A pleasure, Juul,” he tittered, adjusting the hood about his neck in lament of the cold. For a moment he envied them, the warm blood splashing in their veins, the flush of life in their ruddy cheeks and nose. Come off it. He pushed the bitter thoughts aside, shifting the package so it rested easier. “Yes, I am Phaedrus.” For now, at least.

    He kept his distance as the sellsword bent, offering words of kindness—the healer looked even worse than before, though at least she was in the confines of a city rather than the forest. A thousand recommendations for food and shelter had sprung to his lips at Juul's words, finger tangling idly around the twine.

    “Well, that stall makes appreciable hotcakes,” he pointed helpfully, then singled out a cheerily painted door. “Or, if you fancy a good steak or kidney pie, that inn...” The topic had suddenly shifted to him, settling uncomfortably at the bloodied package. Is this a sudden invitation to be a host? “Well. You're in luck. Do you care for bacon?” He shot a forced smile at the sellsword, then stared behind her, at the slight, miserable-looking woman. I never did fulfill my promise of sharing my stew. “I've some eggs, and a fire, and food besides, at my house.” Some quick mental arithmetic confirmed there'd be enough hank for the lot of them, and he craned his head to better look at the healer, given she'd hardly had a say in anything.

    “I still owe you lunch. Do you fancy breakfast instead?” His smile was meant to be encouraging, but with a face the pallor of death and a dripping package besides, he would not fault her for turning away.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Phaedrus wanted to see the dead bird but something about him having it while he had a package of meat in his hands seemed strange. She wanted to keep holding it anyways: something about its tiny weight and its soft feathers gave her a sort of tragic comfort. "In a bit," she said softly, her eyes flickering towards the package, "When your hands aren't so full."

    The soldier had washed her face and her vivid hair was darkened with water. Nevneni wanted to say, in her automatic way, that wet hair in the cold was a perfect way to invite sickness, but she realised before she said it that such chiding would be unhelpful. The soldier sank down next to her and, for a moment, the woman's greater weight rested against her, but so gently and warmly. Nevneni looked over at her, her face as bland and sad as ever, and her eyes flickered over the woman's face. She was close enough to see her pores and all the little spots and hairs on her skin and the film of water that covered all of this.

    Juul pressed the waterskin into Nevneni's grasp and let the weight of her hand hang there for a moment longer than necessary. Something about the woman's closeness, and then her words, finally convinced Nevneni of something she'd been denying for a long time: she needed food. She nodded in agreement, more as one accepting orders than as one who had given any thought to the matter. For a moment, brown eyes met brown eyes, and then Nevneni looked suddenly away and stared at her knees. She put away the waterskin in her back and slipped both hands under the robin to cradle it like a tiny child.

    Perhaps she wasn't an alone person with two semi-strangers. Every now and then, something like this happened and she remembered that people did want to help her sometimes. Such realisations were always accompanied with mixed feelings of tearful gratitude and a sort of counterintuitive guilt. She felt both now, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her eyes from welling over. She felt bad for putting herself in such a place of helplessness that these kind, though strange, people had felt that they ought to help, and she felt bad for not letting them do it earlier. A paradox turned over and over in her mind: she needed to be strong enough to never need help, but weak enough to just accept it when offered. The two things were so hard to reconcile; she flipped the whole issue over like a hot rock picked up off the ground in the summer, handling it gingerly and with no small amount of pain.

    Phaedrus spoke to her and she looked up, her head hinging from a hunched back. Her eyes were just slightly wet, despite her best efforts, and she hoped he didn't notice. Crying in front of these people would make the whole issue of avoiding being burdensome even worse: the last thing they needed was her tears and snot and heavy unhappiness. "Of course," she said, hoping he wouldn't hear the tightness in her throat, "I would love that." She meant it.

    She slipped her pack back on properly, cradled the robin and stood, her legs shaking a little under her skirts. "Which way?" she asked through her tight throat.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    An odd moment seemed to descend on the little gathering - the gentle burbles of the fountain water became dominant to the ear whenever there was a lull in their spoken engagement, and they were surrounded by a haze of misty water droplets, occasionally shimmering as they shifted in and out of union with the light of the cresting sun. It was a lulling atmosphere, but was sharply contrasted with the immediate cold stone and freezing wetness in the air, which added to the vague sense of obscure trepidation to the words and steps of the assembled coterie.

    The soldier remained at close quarters with the healer, her eyes drawn back to the other's face after her words to the tittering man. Nevneni broke their shared gaze, her face retreating behind her hair once more. A shy girl, then, afraid to show the chasm that yawned behind her eyes. The soldier broke the closeness of the two, standing up straight, and shivered slightly. Her wet hair was slowly precipitating over her shoulders and down her neck, forming dark, slowly spreading patches on the light brown of her gambeson. The feeling of the cold rivulets running down her back was delightfully abrasive, the shock seeming to resonate into her very bones and helping to purge the sluggish weariness from her.

    She moved back to her shield and satchel, crouching as she shoved her roughly-folded byrnie and gauntlets into her satchel before placing the pack back about her shoulders. Her shield was belted to her arm once more, and she stood straight. The flame haired man was gesturing and wittering, extolling the virtues of several stalls and establishments which were probably yet to open. The cold sent her body to shivering again as she cast her eyes about the scene. It was a beautiful feeling; she felt she viewed the scene anew. As the two began to chat, she drifted off slightly as she scanned the skyline.

    "I've a few eggs on me, carrot top, should ye need 'em." she spoke idly, her back to the both of them as she watched a pair of magpies descend and settle on a slate tiled roof opposite her. Her lips broke into a smile at the grand omen, and she turned on her heel to face them both, features beaming.

    The healer had stood now, her figure obscured by her thick robes and her voice piping out thinly. The soldier's gaze lingered on her for a couple of heartbeats - she had taken a rapid fancy to her, but she couldn't quite place why. Immediately, she dismissed the thought - to overthink things of that nature was a bane to her. Her gaze drifted to the pale, bloodied man, and she licked her lips and grinned at him, before she spoke, her eyes sparkling with anticipating hunger.

    "Lead the way then, Phae. Me stomach thinks me throat's been cut."
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Jul 14 2014, 02:17 AM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    [[lemme know if i have to change anything. kinda rambled on with description, woops.]]

    He knew tears, of course.

    He'd seen them shining in the destroyed eyes of the refugees. Children biting their lips, whimpering for mothers that would never come. He'd heard his own in a thousand nightmares, relived them in sleep and inn and bottles. He always remembered them warm, though—not the sticky filth that oozed down his cheeks, not the Dead thing playing at life. He remembered them warm, and he remembered the terror that had driven them. Misery was attuned to misery. It was a cornerstone of sorts, something at least he understood. The tightness of Nevneni's voice did not escape him.

    Why she was crying was a harder question to answer—but it was as it was. He pretended not to notice, instead nodding and sweeping a hand at the streets. “Splendid,” he joined warmly, kindly as he dared. “This way.” And then, with a look at her shaking, hobbling knees—“it's not far, now.”

    He waited for the soldier to gather her things, eying the sword and shield as if he did not know what quite to expect from them. A stab in the back? A repeat of his forest adventures? A smile curved his lips, a half-moon as he turned to resume the way he'd been heading before their curious meeting.

    “Nothing some eggs won't remedy, I pray.” Crunch, crunch. Patches of snow crinkled underfoot, made puddles of mud through well-traveled roads. They thinned to residential streets, cobbled and old. The first traces of sun threaded the horizon, spreading watery fingers over the houses, trimmed and neat in iron wrought gates and walls of stone. His was further down, tucked where the great boughs had shed their leaves, and it became quieter, shadier in the summers, the houses older.

    “You might want to—ah, keep your bird safe,” the necromancer commented absently, stopping before a gate. It swung open at his touch, into a front yard that bloomed with flowers in the spring and summer; now it was bare with winter's hand, spare for the evergreens and hardy bushes. The skeleton of vines crawled up one side of the house, under the stripped shade of an old, old tree. “I have cats.” As if on cue, two stray shadows darted into the sparse foliage, into some forgotten corners.

    A few steps, and before him was a cheery red door, set with a gruesome brass knocker. Some superstitious nonsense or another, a spitting face to scare off demons. A bit antiquated, but he liked the antiquated and the strange. Whistling vaguely, the necromancer shifted the burden in his hands and turned the note to one of breaking; the ward he'd set upon his door snapped, and it swung open without his touch.

    The inside of his house was lit warmly by a fire, crackling and spitting. The smell of cinnamon and spices hung in the air, forever absorbed by the woodwork and furniture after years of baking. All told, it was inviting—despite the strange marriage of Ashokan décor with Sotoan furniture; colorful pillows upon low-rising couches, rugs, ornate lamps throwing mosaic patterns upon the walls and floor.

    A bookshelf looked ripe to bursting, and indeed, a mess of scrolls and books dominated the writing table. Strange instruments—ornaments? Antiques? Sorcery?—also dotted the shelf and various parts of the first floor, altogether betraying his occupation as a scholar of sorts. (At least, it was a useful front. No one needed to see what he kept warded and locked with necromancy under the earth; he'd chosen this house precisely for its basement's bloody history, its tenuous link to Death). And there, the kitchen was well-loved, with a wash basin already filled with fresh water and pots hanging from a low point in the ceiling. A bowl of fruit and gold tasseled tablecloth already marked the dark dining table, large enough for four.

    Phaedrus stamped his boots upon a snow-mat, sighing and crossing the distance to the counter, at last unburdening himself of his butcher's run.

    “Please,” he called. “Come in. Excuse the mess, I don't often have visitors.” That is, I never do. As he spoke, he splashed his hands clean, wiping them upon a towel. “Sit, make yourselves comfortable... do you care for tea? Cider?” There was something strangely soothing about being a host. Perhaps because his visitors were so rare; perhaps his hospitality stemmed from loneliness, but it was there, alive in the way he put the kettle to boil without waiting for a response, grabbing a skillet and pushing it atop the kitchen flames to warm it for the bacon.

    Somewhere, a meow sounded.

    A tawny shape skittered from under the table, slinking to a stop before the curious visitors. Malo only had one eye, but it was bright like a jewel—after a moment, the skinny thing brushed up against whatever woman was closest, tail flicking around their shin. The bell around his neck tinkled, and he gave a friendly mewl.

    On the other side of the house, watching from the couch, an enormous black shadow stirred. It opened one eye, a burning, fierce green, then the other. Its heavy gaze pierced Juul, tail swinging like a pendulum, draped and unmoving. It watched like a portent of Death itself, nearly blended with the darkness of early dawn. It saw, and it hated. Visitors.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Like a sleepwalker, Nevneni found herself in front of Phaedrus' house with little understanding as to how she had gotten there. She had been thinking about something as she followed Phaedrus along, but now she had forgotten. Without realising she did it, Nevneni held the bird close to her chest, her gummy eyes barely picking out the movement of cats in the garden. To the door they went, and then into the house, the warmth of which bit at her chilled face. Nevneni inhaled the scents of baking, of someone living here amongst food and books and paper. What would that be like?

    Her mind wandered back to the room she'd had with Euphorbia in Fairin. She had unpacked her bag and put her possessions here and there, but that bag always stayed on the floor in the corner. She had just as easily scooped everything back and set off again, without having ever set her roots in the place. As she stared around at Phaedrus' firelit home, at the dawning sunlight drifting onto the books and the comfortable couches, she wondered if she could ever manage such a thing for herself: to have a house and to stay there, to be sedentary and surrounded by keepsakes. Perhaps there would be a person to live with, but who?

    She nibbled her lip at Phaedrus' offer and glanced over at Juul, waiting for her to make a decision before murmuring that she'd have the same and adding, "–if it's not too much trouble."

    A warm thing came pressing up against Nevneni's leg and she looked dumbly down. Oh right, she thought, Cats. This one had a single gleaming eye and a plaintive meow. Nevneni bent over and dropped down one hand to scratch the creature behind the ears, a smile melting into her thawing face. When she straightened, she put her pack on the floor, near the door, and took off her cloak to pile it on top.

    Now she ventured into the room proper and her eyes fell on the dark, lord-like cat on the couch. Then she looked at the couch itself and she felt her bones reaching for the comfort it offered. She plodded her way across the room, her eyes fixed on the end of the couch opposite to the cat. She sat down, then slouched, her dead robin cuddled up into her chest. She eyed the cat warily, she stared at Phaedrus, then at Juul, and then, just like that, she was asleep.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    Boots trudged across the ground, the stiff mud and worn cobbles crunching under their stiff leather. The soldier's mind was in an odd place - though she felt utterly refreshed and awake, there was a certain grittiness behind her eyes, and her limbs were leaden. Still, she persevered in her stride - her discipline would allow no less - and kept pace with the dark cloaked stranger as her thoughts wondered. Occasionally, she checked back at the shuffling healer, who seemed more and more exhausted with each step. She thought to go put her arm under her and half drag her, but thought better of it.

    Eventually they came to a bare yard, the single tree standing like a withered colossus, and a building half covered by sickly-looking ivy. She waited as the flame-haired man opened the iron gate, and stepped through after the swaying form of the healer. As she entered the squat building, the warmth and the homely smell hit her full force - it was if she had forgotten what comfort was, as the heat radiated into her cold bones. She scanned the rooms, taken somewhat aback by the repose that the low couches offered. It was a far cry from the makeshift camps in the wilderness, or the rough cots of garrison quarters that she had known recently.

    Her jaw became set, and her hands became white-knuckled balls as the felines made themselves known, one scampering like a thief from out of the furniture to run plaintively against the healer's leg. She was beset by an early memory, violently thumping a mangy mass of whirling claws and teeth, a scrap bone in her hand. The other brute thing was staring right at her, and the soldier resisted the urge to growl and chase the thing. Happily her focus was taken up by the foppish man's offers of hospitality. She remained near the entrance, and muttered through gritted teeth.

    "I don' much like cats. I'll take a cup o' both."

    Her eyes flicked to Nevneni, smirking slightly as the folds of both the couch and her robes swallowed her up into a dozy abyss. She still prevaricated between the entrance and the lounge, one eye on the feline menaces, and became annoyed at herself. If she sat, as the healer did, then doubtless sleep would overtake her, and she didn't trust the quirky little man just yet even if the healer apparently did. She set down her shield, but kept the baldric that housed her sword and dagger about her hips. She moved to the skillet, sitting on her haunches. She drew her knife, eyeing its sharpness, before she held her hand out to their ginger host.

    "I'll slice th'meat while th'pan is heatin'."
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    The set of the soldier's jaw did not escape him, nor the sudden ball of her fist. He'd become attuned to violence, to the minutiae of anger that rippled through a person like a fly in a spider's web, signaling the lurking predator on its fringes. He'd learned them to survive, to defend himself, making sure he was the arachnid and not its hunted.

    His smile remained genial enough, his manners mild, but he was watching the soldier now, something cold in the yellow of his eyes. She seemed almost afraid of something, lingering at the entrance. He raised a thin brow at her explanation, a hair further at—cider and tea? Quite the interesting combination—her request, but a ghost of a shrug was his only response.

    “As you wish. What, are you allergic?” He could not fathom how anyone could dislike a cat, for devil's sake. Feral ones, perhaps, but those like his sweet Malo? The one-eyed thing mewed again, trailed by his feet as he crossed to pour Juul and Nevneni mugs of cider. One he proffered to the redheaded soldier; the other he held out, turning, but by the time he looked over, the healer had fallen fast asleep. Pointless, now, he lowered the hand with the mug, placing the other at his hip; the necromancer shrugged and set it lightly on the table, clicking his tongue.

    “Poor thing,” he remarked, not unkindly. The next he crept into his living room, silent as he could manage, and took a blanket from where it lay folded. With care, he draped the warm fabric about Nevneni's shoulders, moving like a fussy wraith.

    Daisy stared from her perch, tail flicking, but to his relief she made no hiss or protest to the woman being there, apparently uninterested in the robin now that the fabric shielded it from view. The cat resumed its hateful smolder upon Juul instead, ears curved like a demon's.

    Phaedrus walked back to the soldier, throwing off his cloak with a carelessness that contrasted his previous movements; he let it drape over the back of a chair, eyes following Juul to the skillet. He didn't much like the look of her sword, still dangling there; he supposed it oughtn't make him so nervous, given that their weapons were physical, at least, whereas those of mages were incorporeal and unpredictable—and had he not mingled with them? Still, there was something about steel that—

    She drew the knife in a flash, and he flinched despite himself, feeling a phantom stab in his chest.

    Piss and damn, Phaedrus. It still made him jumpy, even after all those years, and a brittle smile came to his face.

    “Here you are.” He handed Juul the meat to cut, busying himself with other things—like setting the table, for one, creaking open the cupboard and laying out three glittering plates and teacups, delicate silverware that probably belonged to the house for generations and he'd taken a liking to. He suddenly imagined the cup pinched daintily between the soldier's dirty, thick fingers, and pondered the absurdity of what guests had landed in his house—and at what hour.

    “How do you take your eggs? Scrambled, sun-side up, poached? Angkarian tortilla?” Perhaps some tomatoes, onions and potatoes would go well—a sprig of rosemary. Or, frankly, they could add the bacon to the eggs. No—they could serve the eggs in the bacon, like its own cup. Full of wild imaginings, Phaedrus laid down the last cup, shrugging. “If I'd more time, I'd have made a quiche.”
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    From her crouched position, the weatherbeaten woman could not help but grin at the foppish man's scare at her drawing her knife. She accepted the proffered cup of cider, setting it on the floor next to her. She exhaled in a half chuckle, a broad hand meeting his for a fleeting moment as they exchanged the meat. She set about her task, holding the hank between a thumb and two fingers as she sliced it with her knife. With long, even strokes, she cut the meat into thick slices, keeping it pinched in her other hand so that when she had finished it appeared that she was holding ribbons of bacon. Her task done, she looked about the abode. It was well lived in, and had the radiant glow of a home, as opposed to just an abode.

    "S'a fair home ye have here, Phaedrus. Pieces from all o'er - the last time I saw couches such as those I were in Eldahar. I take it ye some kind o' merchant?" she spoke, her gaze drifting back to the flame-haired man as he pottered around, producing well-made pieces of silverware and setting them delicately at the table.

    Her gaze fell to the snoozing healer, as she wiped her knife on her sleeve, ridding it of fat, and returned it to its sheath. To be wielding bared steel, no matter how innocently, was obviously a problem to her host. Mentally, she shrugged, and focused on the sleeper as she reached for her cup. What had driven her to such a state? She had seemed as if a strong gust would topple her, and it wasn't as if there was no demands for her trade - most healers she knew lived fat and well. She sipped at her drink, enjoying its fruity sourness with a smack of her lips. Her attention was drawn quickly back to the flame haired man as he spoke to her, though her eyes danced down to the feline trailing his footsteps.

    "T'be frank, I've no idea o' what half o' those things are. I always just beat 'em in a pan, an' add some cheese and pepper if it's to hand." she looked at the heating skillet, before absently slapping three rashers down. The hiss that erupted from it was satisfying, and she took another sip of cider, waiting for them to shrink.

    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    The grin didn't escape him, either. Ah, yes, drawing naked steel in someone's home is the pinnacle of hilarity. Perhaps the dreams had set him on edge, scraped his nerves raw and whittled down his sense of humor. Still, the moment passed, subject changing; the table was set for a merry party of three, and the necromancer looked up, a small smile on his face.

    "My thanks." His smile widened to a grin, then a brief, trilling laugh. "A merchant? Oh, devils, no. Though I suppose that would be a rather cushy job. No, no, the previous owners of this house were wine merchants, with… interesting aesthetics." He waved a fork vaguely at some kind of sun disc motif. "But I used to live in Ashoka, before the Moghul took a squat shit all over the country." Phaedrus clicked his tongue against his teeth, setting down the last utensil.

    "I'm a sorcerer. Specifically, a banisher. You know, of Dead things and that ilk. But to the priesthood, all sorcery's the same. I might as well have chopped my own head off if I had stayed." A twisted smile came over his face. Phaedrus bent to scratch the little cat vying for his attention, running a pallid hand over his tawny back. Malo gave a tiny meow, closing his remaining eye in contentedness, and purred.

    "How did you like Eldahar? I've not been in a long time." A sigh escaped him, suddenly, as he straightened, dusting his hands off. That is, I have been too afraid to venture in that direction. To go back… there. But he could not keep foisting it off, could not shrink from those tomes forever. Soto was supposed to clear his head, give him rest, but instead he'd grown fat and mired. It was easy, here, with the abundant orchards and lush greenery. Easy to shrink away from the realities of the desert, the obliterating sun, the monolithic ruins that struck into Death.

    He nodded absently, then threw open a cabinet to fetch some wrapped cheese, sliding the pepper over to Juul. "There you are." A faint half-smirk played on his lips at her admission, not quite mocking, not quite friendly. He shrugged it off, whisking up his cider and taking a deep sip. Soon enough, the bacon started popping and sizzling with a smell that whetted his appetite; he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "A quiche is… well, it's rather like an egg pie. Most excellent. If you are in Madrid awhile, there is a bakery by the gardens that makes them well."
    Edited by Phaedrus, Aug 25 2014, 03:23 PM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Juul Shaepah
    Member Avatar


    Absently the soldier prodded at the bacon with her knife, alternately pressing it to the hot iron and shifting it so that they didn't stick. The fat and grease hissed loudly, the salty piquant fumes filling her nostrils in a most agreeable manner. The rashers began to shrink, and as they did so she slapped more on the hot skillet. Her mouth was wet with saliva, and her stomach began a slow, creeping groan. Her guts had certainly woke up, although it didn't seem as if it was too long ago that she had been crouched over a hot pie, leering at a barmaid. Satisfied with their progress, her eyes drifted upwards to the odd little man, as he began to reply.

    I'm a sorcerer. Specifically, a banisher...

    Instinctively, her knife-wielding hand reached out for the wood of the table, her apprehensive gaze locked to her host. She pressed her knuckle to the wood, an old ward taught to her by her mother, though her faith in it wavered. He had probably cursed the furnishings against such protection - by the grace of Vespasian, she hoped his mood remained cordial. He spoke on, of the Moghul and Eldahar, and her tired mind began to idly wonder about her part in the Moghul's ascension. Not that he had allowed any except his most loyal retainers to remain in the capital after its fall - let the grunts wade through the muck and the blood, and reward their loyal paymasters. Her mind focused - this man had proved genial so far, but sorcerers always had nefariousness behind their veneer.

    "Eldahar? Sure, I was barely there half a week." she spoke, a tiny glint of malice in her eye "I were off m'feet putting down pockets of resistance after the gates were breached. Dint have much time t'sit an enjoy m'self. Once that fey bastard took his fancy seat he had us harryin' the men runnin' to th'City of Oracles, an' then he ran us outta the country altogether."

    She might have been a little scared of him, but with that, she felt she had drawn a line. She was dangerous in her own way, especially to a man who flinched at steel. Perhaps he would think twice before he bewitched her or the healer. Or the robin, clutched in those dainty hands, for that matter - he had said he had a penchant for death, after all.

    She slapped the last of the bacon on the pan, turning those that were in need with her knife. She took the cheese from him, the nearly acrid tang of it mingling well with the hot fat of the meat, and placed it next to the hearth. The eggs should be next, but they would be quick to cook. Ye gods, she was hungry - her stomach felt as if there was something alive in it, folding over itself. There was another groan from it, slightly louder.

    "Keesh? I ne'er heard it called that before. I know't as flan." she took another sip of cider, wincing slightly at its sourness "I'll keep tha' in mind. I don' know Madrid well."
    Edited by Juul Shaepah, Aug 27 2014, 06:41 PM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    The rashers smelled delicious, put his mind into the present. The hunger currently waking him up, the crackling warmth of the fire dispelling the last of the cold from his fingertips. The simple comfort in having guests, be they strange or not, of truly having something to do and not just convince himself of it. Phaedrus took another sip of cider, watching his guest.

    Phaedrus' lurid eyes flicked to the superstitious gesture--the little wooden tap the table answered, the soldier's apprehensive stare. Sorcerers. The same realms of boogie men and wolves, foul monsters who wish to eat your heart. Is that what you are thinking? Something mocking danced in his eyes, though they were hard around the corners, glacial and unmoving. Waiting to see what his guest meant to do next -- a test of sorts.

    He'd forgotten, for half a second. With the Mystic Occult and various magic guilds in Madrid besides, people scarcely batted an eye at the mention of wizards, warlocks, sorcerers, what have you -- perhaps only to sigh at the Zaubers, or cast a nervous look at their mansion. Magic helped the plants grow. Thrummed through the councillors themselves. Was found in the hospitals and taught to understudies, young bright-eyed students scattered across guilds.

    But her accent marked her as a foreigner, her plea to Vespasian doubly so, almost laughably parochial.

    He'd meant to make idle small talk, perhaps titter a bit on the proper nature of Eldahar's bathhouses, not… this.

    The glint of malice did not go unmarked, and her words smashed all pretense of polite smiles from his face, sucked the warmth from his features. A mercenary. By most accounts, the scum of the earth, clawing from master to master, hanging innocents and pawing bloodied coins. And one that worked under the Dark Conquest, helped put that devil into power, mowed down fleeing men…

    His eyes burned, venomous pits fixed on the soldier, slithering into every cranny of her face, reading the freckles and hard lines and dirt, the pucker of scars. A slow, boiling hatred crossed his features, twisting beneath the still mask of his skin.

    "Putting down citizens, you mean." His smile was death. Nothing lived in his eyes, and there was the sudden sound of ice popping, crackling-- a slosh of cider down the side had cracked in rivulets down his tankard, melted promptly by the warmth of his home. "Then, I suppose tyrants pay well."

    The kettle broke the tense silence with a shriek, piercing the air. Steam bloomed from its spout.

    Phaedrus took several menacing steps forward, then whisked past the soldier, hand whipping out to grasp a towel and grab the handle of the teapot. The necromancer poured it in silence, measuring out enough for three people, something dangerous in his manner, now.

    Task done, the sorcerer placed the teapot on the counter, turning to face Juul. His hair bounced, expression stretched into a false smile, as if a doll had been wound too tight, ready to break at an instant. A titter left him. His voice was the very expression of brisk cheer.

    "Indeed? Well, you shall have plenty of time to explore. I am a gracious man; my sympathies are with you. I can understand a poignant need for breakfast, and this I shall not deny to anyone. But if you do not step foot outside my door when you are done, even Vespasian will not help you."

    He flashed a great, murderous smile.


    [ have some aggressive fop music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcR-H0P4Ahw ]
    Edited by Phaedrus, Aug 28 2014, 04:27 PM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nevneni
    Member Avatar
    Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.

    Nevneni slept for only a little, and even then it was strangled by a dream. She shifted and mumbled on the couch, her brow crinkled with the vision that drifted to her. She had found a great tree that had nearly died once. It laid its trunk along the ground and where an axe had once separated it from its roots, it grew a massive scar, a boll that was greater in size than her own body. Nevneni wanted to know why the tree continued to live in such a way, why it did not just give up and die.

    "Look," the tree told her, and its scar splintered open, and exhaled its substance in an ashy gust, to reveal the body it kept chained to its wound. The woodsman was alive still, but only barely: he moaned in a fitful sleep, clutching his axe to his bare chest. Nevneni came closer to him, her heart torn apart by pity and by hatred, and with a sudden shock she saw how the tree held onto him.

    She saw it clearly, too clearly: the places where the roots of the tree entered the man's bloodless flesh. They tunnelled through his veins, filling them so they pressed up hard against his skin. Nevneni's gaze travelled up his bare chest, to his neck, where the thickest roots throbbed with malevolent life, and then up to his face. The half-dead woodsman opened his eyes, showing her the mess that had been made of them by the tiniest filaments of roots. His mouth creaked open, a ragged breath dragged itself past the creaking roots in his flesh and then, tearing at himself, he screamed.

    The scream woke Nevneni, and she jolted up straight, letting out a small cry. After a moment, she realised that it was the whistling of a kettle that had woken her, and she calmed, her hand clutching at her pounding heart. She panted and stared around at the comfortable room, momentarily unable to comprehend how she had come to be in such a place. Her eyes fell on the cat that stared disapprovingly at her from the other end of the couch and she remembered coming here with Phaedrus and Juul, the cats in the garden and how the couch had called to her in her exhaustion. This seemed to have happened a year ago or more, and all that now seemed distant and inconsequential.

    Still shaking, she sat back, running her mind over that dream as if it were a bolt of fine embroidered cloth. Then she remembered the robin, and she panicked for a moment more, only to realise that it was still in her hand, which rested on her lap. Once calm, she felt her stomach open up suddenly, with such force that the room spun around her. Food, she said, They are making food.

    She stood slowly, her groggy legs carrying her reluctantly across the room. Still clutching the dead robin, she peered into the kitchen, her moon-like eyes wide. She found that Phaedrus' smile seemed forced and that Juul's expression only just kept anger at bay. "I'm sorry for dropping off like that," said Nevneni timidly, her tongue thick with that odd sleep, "Is everything alright?"
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
    ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
    Create a free forum in seconds.
    Go to Next Page
    « Previous Topic · Roleplays · Next Topic »
    • Pages:
    • 1

    affiliates


    Join us on Facebook!
    Join/follow our deviantArt group!

    Vote for Us and Check Out Our Listings!
    RPGfix Total Drama Website - The Best Role-Play Sites Top RPG Sites Top RP Sites
    RPG-D Seductive Directory
    Nerd Listings

    Affiliates
    'Souls RPG Warden's Vigil: A Dragon Age Roleplaying Community Black & White
    Tales of Illyria Tir Dearthair The Games

    Beyond the Fall
    Edolon

    Word Counter provided by Fission

    Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]