| 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 |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
| The Burial; Open~ | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Mar 28 2014, 01:02 PM (1,166 Views) | |
| Juul Shaepah | Sep 17 2014, 02:50 PM Post #26 |
![]() ![]()
|
((TW - war'n'gore)) The response she received from her errant host was cutting, almost as she had expected. In all honesty, it had been half her intention to pick a fight - her lack of sleep had left her drowsy, and she didn't want to fall asleep in the presence of such a man, although concern for the ragged healer kept her chained to the place. She railed against the trapped feeling blooming in her gut, along with her writhing stomach. What did she owe that healer, anyway? Other than a process which obviously she hadn't the strength to perform without becoming a shuffling automaton. She whirled from her ministrations at the pan, her eyes nevertheless flashing with anger. What did this pudgy fop, scared of his own shadow, know of war? He hadn't been in Loniar at the initial advance, the Ashokan tribesmen leaping from the murk with ululating warcries, killing droves of good men in cowardly ambushes. Those that they captured were nailed to trees on the main paths as a warning to succeeding columns. He hadn't seen the running battles on the dunes, spilling the blood of men and camels, losing old comrades to barbed arrows and lances, while the voracious paymasters followed safely behind. Hah! To retrospectively cast the Ashokans as helpless victims left a sour taste in her mouth. The kettle on the stove began a low whistle, rattling a little on its moorings as the water began to boil. Her guts seemed to follow with it, as her mind worked as fast as a courser, seeking some outlet for the severe slight. Her eyes raked his face - the pointed features, the smooth hair, the soft lines around his hips and torso. The kettle reached a fever pitch, and her heart thudded with the anticipation of the lashing she was about to give him, her tongue a tipped whip against this damnable sorcerer's slovenly comfort. She opened her mouth, and almost took a half step forward. A cry checked her advance, from the sitting room. She stood there, mouth slightly agape, her eyes still fixed to the face of her grinning host. The sound of shuffling feet moved slightly under the piercing cry of the kettle, and after a few heartbeats the healer had rejoined them. The atmosphere was thick with tension, so much so that the soldier felt she could draw her knife and cut the air itself. "Oh aye. Everything's... fine, Nev." she spoke slowly, her tone even, her eyes not leaving the pointed, flame-framed face "About as bonny as ye could hope. We'll be eatin' soon, which is a mercy. Did ye have a good nap?" Edited by Juul Shaepah, Sep 17 2014, 02:51 PM.
|
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Phaedrus | Sep 18 2014, 04:58 PM Post #27 |
![]()
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.
![]()
|
He saw the anger flash in her eyes. A snarl threatened to rip across his face, a cutting sneer that dared the woman to advance, lash back at his words. In a few sentences, she had crumbled worth less than the dust at his feet -- a filthy mercenary in my own home, employed by the Moghul himself, devils below… Thought of Ashoka ate through his guts like a hot stone; sudden visions of sand whipped his mind, the dry scrape of desert breath and far off screams of djinn. The sprawled chaos that awaited in Eldahar. The sight of shuffling refugees, some manacled hand and foot, bent like trees whipped by wind. Corpses thrown to the dunes and littering the city walls. Anger, poignant, personal anger -- it bubbled up in some cauldron of memory, frothed and spilled into the displeasure searing through his polite veneer. He held himself tense, fixed Juul like an effigy awaiting the torch. Saw the woman's mouth pop open, dared her to speak, dared -- The rictus on his face shattered at the sudden cry and reappearance of the healer. She looked like a frightened deer-- a glimpse of wide, bruised eyes and her hunched form gave Phaedrus pause, caught his viperous tongue. White fingers tensed around the handle of the kettle, unfurling as he straightened and folded his arms, gaze returning to Juul. An eyebrow arched as he shifted his weight to one hip, features skewed dangerously. A slight curl of the lip, a narrowed stare, head tilted as if regarding the best place on Juul's throat to thrust a dagger. "…Ah, nothing." His wave, intended to be nonchalant, became a whisking dismissal. He didn't care to embroil the healer into their conflict -- nor did he care for the thought of a soldier in his house, a wildcard of potential drunken violence; but for Nevneni, he wouldn't have waved her indoors at all. "A conflict of religion, as it were." Not entirely a lie. Phaedrus grit it through strained teeth to make it all the more convincing, nose threatening a disdainful sniff. "There is tea and cider upon the table, if you care for either. Do sit… breakfast will be along shortly." The rashers gave another hissing crackle, spitting their disapproval across the kitchen. They smelled cooked by now, and the necromancer whisked to the stove, shuffling the contents of the pan before forking them out to a serving dish. Juul he watched from the corner of his eye, half-expecting the flash of a dagger. I am not fond of an enemy paces from my back… Forcing another smile, the necromancer pinched an egg between his thumb and forefinger, one hand wagging the fork idly. "Why don't you sit as well? I can take care of the rest. Undoubtedly you've had a trying day." His tone sounded jovial, but his eyes made it a threat, whispered the hidden promise that things could get far worse. He smiled. |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Nevneni | Oct 22 2014, 01:50 PM Post #28 |
![]()
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
![]()
|
They both said everything was alright but Nevneni knew it wasn't. She would've had to have been utterly senseless to not see the tension ridging their bodies and the anger thickening the air. She felt like a child, pathetically so, who had seen her parents fighting only to have them swear that that wasn't it at all. Mingled guilt and apprehension tainted her; if it hadn't been for her interference with the course of the world, these two never would have come together, and there would have been no fight at all. If only she was one of the gregarious people who could erase a disagreement with a smile and a joke. She had nothing, only to say, "I dreamed of a tree cut open by a woodsman. It kept that man bound up with roots, but he was still alive. That's why I cried out." The dream was too chilling to not share: it left her feeling unsettled, like some part of her organs had been placed too far to one side. She turned her wide eyes onto Phaedrus, feeling her stomach gape at the thought and smell of food. She took a few steps forward, feeling like an idiot for the dead robin still clutched to her chest like a suckling child, and she grasped his hand, forcing herself to look into his eyes sincerely. "Thank you for everything," she said. Well, it was the best she could do. She turned around and took Juul's hand has she walked, leading her out of the kitchen and to the couch where she'd fallen asleep. She sat, feeling needled by the discomfort that sometimes follows a rest that is too short. The robin laid in her chest and she stroked its feathers absentmindedly as she tried some of the tea. It felt sour in her empty stomach. Her eyes stung and she stared at nothing in particular. She put the tea down and sunk back into the couch, only to allow herself to slump over and rest her head on Juul's shoulder. "I'm sorry that you argued," she whispered, as if it was truly something she could apologise for, "I suppose I caused all of this to happen somehow. I don't know you, I suppose, but I like both of you. I met him before. He saved my life, in a few ways. I hope it is not too big a problem. At least there's food?" Her mouth felt dry and thick for the want of it and she closed her eyes, willing herself into patience. |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Juul Shaepah | Oct 26 2014, 10:08 AM Post #29 |
![]() ![]()
|
An atmosphere of strained calm settled on the proceedings, the whistling of the kettle having subsided and the wings of the fierce argument having been clipped. The soldier stood, her gaze fixed on her foppish adversary, her very pupils burned as points, as if they were to pierce the soft folds of his skin by their look alone. He stared back with equal venom, and the room fell away from her, with only Phaedrus continuing his existence. They were like the bulls they used to have on the farm, their gazes locked as viciously as their horns, wrestling psychologically before the physical contest had begun. A voice sounded to her as if from a great distance, almost as if the wind carried it to her ears around the bend of a great peak. Her waking mind barely registered its pealing cry, though deep within it came an automatic response, as if she were a bored actor. Her voice was light, but flat, and utterly distracted. "Oh, that sounds nice, f'sure." She remained transfixed by his gaze, statue still, but with an air of restrained violence - should he make a wrong move she'd stove in his head in with that boiled kettle, then move in for a decisive blow. Her nostrils flared as she expelled hot air in an exaggerated huff, as if it were smoke building up inside her skull from the fire in her eyes. Go on, ye fat prick. I'll bust ye so fast... She felt a soft grip enclose the bare flesh of her hand in a warm clasp, and was brought back from the surging charge of battle, the imminent clash of lines. Instead, the warmth and comfort of the house, and of company, began to seep into her bones anew, slowly dispelling the numb quiver of adrenaline. The little healer led her away from the kitchen, though as she was so yoked the soldier couldn't help but shoot a poisonous glare and a half-sneer back at their eldritch host. Away she was led, back down to the couch, her almost-overwrought companon cradling the dead bird like a tiny child. She picked up her cup of cider, forgotten in the heat of argument. Gratefully she took it up, emptying it into her gullet before snapping it back to the table. It aided the warmth, helped cool the fire in her breast, and she began to relax, reclining into the couch gratefully. And then the healer's head was upon her shoulder, stilling that which moved within her. The words of the other woman trickled over her, like a gentle stream, a little chill with the self-abasement. A little more relaxed, a little less focused on conflict, she responded, her voice a little thick with regret. "Ent nothing for ye to feel bad for, girl. Not a thing. I don' like sorcerors, an' he don' like soldiers. Tha's all there is to it. We coulda met wi'out ye just as easy. I'll respect yer opinion, and hold m'tongue." She laid her head against that of the healer, taking air into her lungs before exhaling in a deep sigh. She was exhausted. Truly, she'd half a mind to doze off right there, and the vague movements she had made towards it only made it more alluring. Edited by Juul Shaepah, Oct 26 2014, 11:33 AM.
|
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Phaedrus | Oct 26 2014, 04:24 PM Post #30 |
![]()
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 woman looked ready to explode-- a coiled spring of boorish violence, veins popping on her neck, breath bulling out her nose like some animal. Stupid peasant. Coldness threaded to the tips of his fingers, hunched at the base of his tongue. His eyes narrowed, a sneer curling his lip. One word, and Death would snake around her filthy boots and drag her out by her hair. Fighting hadn’t been planned for his morning -- annoyance seized him, whittled away his patience; annoyance at her ignorance, annoyance at his snubbed hospitality, a dangerous trying of his nerves. He waited for the flash of steel, the familiar hatred driving the knife. Go on, you godfearing twat... Nevneni punctured the silence, hovered on the brink of conflict like a frightened child. Her comment was disturbing, adding to the ill-ease in the kitchen and underscored by the need for comfort. Phaedrus spared her a glance but felt his tongue catch, unsure of what to say. He was no stranger to nightmares, either, but... “How wretched.” Half-directed towards the soldier, carried on a withering sneer. He didn’t care to take his eyes off Juul, lest she pulled out a dagger -- by all appearances, she seemed ready to, locked in a vicious stance. If you spill blood on my floor, I swear to the foulest hells... Touch broke the stalemate between them. He looked down to see the healer’s wide eyes fixed on him, her hand warm against his cold flesh. The sincerity rang in her voice, a rare thing -- to be thanked at all, for that manner. It thawed his mood a bit, made the sorcerer dip his head. “It is no trouble, really.” He managed a smile, still tight with the earlier strain. I was lost and starving once, too. Out of his periphery, he watched the soldier, reluctantly tearing his eyes off the healer to shoot a poisonous glance Juul’s way. Through touch alone, Nevneni defused the situation -- he watched as she led the soldier away, sharing one last bitter glare before Juul turned. Phaedrus turned his lip up at the woman’s retreating back, fork wobbling in his hand; after a moment’s contempt, he turned to the eggs and cheese, shifting the pan to rest easier over the flames. *** Soon the smell of cooking filled the air, hissed out and sputtered by wrought iron. Phaedrus threw a final pinch of salt on the eggs before scooping them into a large center dish. The Sotoans liked to serve everything on individual plates -- a rude absurdity to him, really, given that only a psion could guess how much they wanted. After rummaging briefly, he’d found some bread that would go hard by next morning, cutting it into thick slices. The necromancer squinted, appraising the table, then wiped his hands on his tunic, sauntering towards the couches. Perhaps he was interrupting something. Averting his eyes, Phaedrus crossed his arms, gaze glazing over the bookshelf and open tomes scattering the table. “...Ah. Breakfast is ready,” he announced shortly, swiveling back into the kitchen. |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Nevneni | Dec 3 2014, 04:56 PM Post #31 |
![]()
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
![]()
|
Nevneni sighed softly at Juul's words and her body relaxed into a comfortable slouch. She was silent for a moment, her breath pouring in and out of her, her insides feeling warm even as they clenched around emptiness for want of food. Her tired, dry eyes creaked around the room, and drifted shut for a moment. But she was too uncomfortable for sleep, and a story crawled its way into her mind. So she spoke: "I treated a man once who hated elves. The entire time I was giving him tisanes and tinctures and soothing the pains of his illness, he cursed me as an abomination for having an elf parent. To be fair, I don't mind. There are worse things people can do, and it is sometimes the case that people who are ill don't think clearly and become full of delusions. He came close to dying; he fell into a trance and his skin was on fire, but I stayed up with him through the night and he survived." A smile bled into Nevneni's voice. "His wife was so happy. But when he woke up, he wasn't. First thing he did was curse at me, before even asking for water. So he wasn't delusional, just unkind. It was all well in the end. Another person survived at my hand. That is what matters." She finished her story with a long outwards breath and shifted to settle herself better on the woman's shoulder. After their conversation had lulled away, she drifted a little – never falling asleep but losing track of time nonetheless. Half-formed thoughts drifted through her mind, but they were of a happy, whimsical sort, comforted by the sturdy presence of the soldier. The sound of footsteps reeled her back into the world. She blinked her eyes open just time to see Phaedrus standing above them, his gaze wandering uncomfortably away from them. Breakfast was ready, he said. She sat up straight, rubbing the spot on her cheek that was sore from being shoved up against Juul's shoulder. She felt the heat of a blush rising in her face and she kept her eyes down as she stood and picked her way back to the kitchen, bird still in hand. She settled at the table, robin in her lap, blinking grittiness from her eyes. The sight of food made her stomach roar open cavernously. Her usual wilting politeness was momentarily forgotten. She served herself, trying her hardest not to seem desperately greedy. Then she ate, restraining herself with every bite, her eyes wide from the overwhelming sensation of finally eating. Within a few minutes, the dark crust on her brain cracked and let in a glowing light. The kitchen now burst with colour, Phaedrus and Juul were both utterly beautiful, the food was perfectly delicious, and she finally had a smile on her face. |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Juul Shaepah | Dec 9 2014, 01:09 PM Post #32 |
![]() ![]()
|
Warmth and comfort - they seemed to cover the soldier, like a slow cascade of water. It permeated her armour, her skin, through to her very bones. She fought vainly against heavy-lidded eyes, but felt herself sinking into the softness of the couch. The other woman next to her had seemed to melt into her physicality, but gone were the more lusty thoughts that had possessed her. Rather, she just wanted to share warmth, and be carried off to sleep and a dreamlessness. A blackness that would brook no thoughts of the future, no thoughts of obligation, only capitulation to its spreading darkness. A single spark shot from between her mind. No' while tha' thick bastard's about... She forced her eyes open, willing herself to hate the coziness blooming in her breast. They could fall asleep and wake up strung by the heels, watching their lifeblood drip to the floor and feed some summoned fiend, some horror from Below. She fought against it like one fights the seductive tenctacles of sleep that wrap around your limbs and tug at your neck in a deep cold, that heat in your breast that fools you into taking just a short rest. That siren call that, if followed, produces naught but a frozen corpse, a dumb smile decorated with frost. Those brown eyes screamed in resistance, felt like they were pricked by a thousand needles, and tears welled as her face curled into a snarl. The girl spoke, but her words fell on deaf ears - she could have been cursing the soldier, and Juul would not have noticed. Instead, she steeled herself, body bunching beneath her skin, willing it to movement. Thankfully, that flamboyant voice cut through their reverie and resistance. ...Ah. Breakfast is ready. Mechanically she stood, an inflamed and too-warm hand reaching up and roughly wiping the tears from her face. She took in a deep breath, holding it her lungs for a heartbeat, before exhaling and following the healer into the kitchen. She sat, slowly, her body utterly confused, but watched with dull eyes as the healer helped herself, and tucked into the food with gusto. She seemed to brighten, her face cracking into a smile, and the soldier could not help but grin in response. She grabbed a plate, filled it with a slice of bread, a helping of eggs, and two rashers of bacon. Carefully she arranged a rasher and some eggs on one half of the slice, then folded it. Her eyes narrowed at their host, and at the healer. She had not seen him prepare the food, so she would wait a few minutes. A few moments of tumbling guts was worth it, especially with food you did not trust. Her eyes fixed to the flame haired man, baring her teeth in a smile. "A fine meal, Phaedrus." |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Phaedrus | Dec 14 2014, 10:07 PM Post #33 |
![]()
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 tension had not left him. Rather, it'd curled in his chest like a cat, waiting for the rashers to stop spitting and the guests to be served. It waited and clicked in the wooden spoon he'd tapped impatiently against the pan moments before, in the too-loud way he scraped back his chair and eased into it with a smile like brittle glass. "Well, then. Help yourselves." A breezy tone, though his eyes still drifted unpleasantly towards the soldier's like she was some boil he hoped to quash and be done with. Go on, you wretched twat. He waited for his guests to serve themselves before reaching idly for the spoon, dishing out a helping of eggs and bacon that he arranged with care. The necromancer whisked up a fork, unable to help a smile at Nevneni. At last she looked happy -- the gloom that'd followed her cracked ever slightly, her grin radiating through the entire kitchen. A small thing, all-told, breakfast. It felt nice, to make someone smile like that. And over something as simple as eggs… Phaedrus poked some daintily onto his fork along with a studiously carved square of bacon--felt that perhaps his morning wasn't entirely a poor one. Still, his triumph dimmed as he looked up and noticed Juul with refreshed distaste. Her expression was less of a smile, and more of a dog grimacing mid-shit. And she hasn't even touched her eggs. I didn't cook so you could stare at it. Don't trust me, is that it? Irritated, the necromancer twirled his fork before lifting it to his mouth, eyes flitting to Nevneni to make sure she wasn't looking. The healer seemed to be off in a happy world of her own, composed primarily of breakfast, and all the better. In a black flash, fast enough to seem imagined, his tongue whipped out and wrapped around the morsel and tines, slithering back into his mouth. Phaedrus chewed nonchalantly, taking a prim sip of cider as if nothing in the slightest had happened. He hummed as he poked more eggs onto the fork, considering the virtues of a dash of pepper or perhaps a small pat of butter. Meeting the soldier's eyes, he took a perfectly normal, calculating bite, chewing contemplatively. Watching. At length, he dabbed his lips with the frilled edge of a napkin, one immaculately manicured hand drumming upon the table. "Tad gloomy in here," Phaedrus remarked, waving vaguely at the darkness beyond the windows. Winter clawed the sun firmly to its breast and refused to let it go till the late hours of morning; devils, but how he loathed the cold Sotoan months. When it wasn't dark, it was raining, and when it wasn't raining, it was hailing, or misting, and a man counted himself lucky if he saw the sun thrice a month. As such, he'd draped his house with enough lanterns and candles to outdo a witchdoctor, and there were still a few in the middle of the table. If the growling peasant didn't yet understand there were powers beyond her reckoning, perhaps this would do it. Phaedrus lazily waved a hand; a faint breeze stirred where heat displaced itself, roaring to life atop the candles on the table and a few lanterns scattered across the kitchen. The flames danced merrily, their soft glow reflected in his strange yellow eyes. The sorcerer smiled like a snake twined around a bough, slitted eyes fixed on the soldier. "Much better," he remarked brightly, poking around at his eggs again. |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Nevneni | Jan 2 2015, 02:55 PM Post #34 |
![]()
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
![]()
|
With food came positivity; so often Nevneni somehow forgot that this was possible. In the rainy gorge of exhaustion and hunger, she could rarely ever find the path that led her out, but in truth it was so simple. She had to remember this time, she told herself, and she sealed this example of an important lesson with the image of Juul's face and the shine of Phaedrus' hair. It was like how she hadn't realised the gloom of the place until Phaedrus' conjured up a chorus of flames to light it; the moment in which something is fixed, to one's surprised relief, is the most telling. She grinned ridiculously at his bit of magic and confessed, in a strengthened voice, "Ah, I never did figure out how to perform that spell. I forgot to practice." Of course she had – she'd been hauling around the feeling catastrophe wherever she went. But now the weight was lifted, and she truly believed that she could learn the spell, that she could cast that tiny flame into the tearful vale of her life. "I must remember," she resolved, "It'll make thing just that much easier." She held up a hand and focused on it, trying to bring a flame into existence there. She thought she felt something – a tingling heat in her fingertips – but it passed just a moment later. She was too hungry to give it her full attention. She smiled bashfully, murmuring, "No, not yet I suppose. But I can still do this." With a wave her hand, she made the plate in the middle of the table rise into the air with a gentle grandeur. It revolved in place, just like the package of cake had done in the forest – the image was so vivid to her now, as was that small moment of laughter and the fleeting happiness she'd shared with Phaedrus that day, all painted now in full colour – so she smiled. She passed a glance between Phaedrus and Juul and feared that she was being irritating, so carefully sent the plate drifting back down and turned her attention back to her food, her brown eyes still warm with simple pleasures. |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Juul Shaepah | Jan 8 2015, 06:06 PM Post #35 |
![]() ![]()
|
At last, she dropped her gaze to her plate, satisfied that the odd man opposite her wasn't up to funny business. Nevneni seemed happy, utterly entranced by the food and having none of the soldier's reservations -still, she was Sotoan, and they were queerly accepting of such things. She slowly, clumsily, folded a rasher of bacon around a hunk of scrambled eggs, before levering it past her scarred lips. The flavours exploded in her mouth, the warm richness of the butter and eggs, the sharp tang of cheese and the salt of the bacon was utterly welcome to her. Her mouth felt as if she had spent a night face down in the Ashokan stands, but the food stimulated it back to wetness. She stifled a sigh, as she began to relax. She was managing her second mouthful when, from the top of her vision, something long and black flicked from the sorcerer's mouth. Immediately, her head flicked up, a lacerated brow furrowed, before drifting slowly back down to her food. She blinked at the morsels before her, giving herself a false reassurance that it was only her mind playing tricks - she hadn't slept and was hungover to boot, despite the little healer's odd eldritch ministrations. It was all a trick of the mind, nothing more. Again, she levered a ration of egg and bacon into her mouth, chewing mechanically and trying not to focus on anything else. She swallowed, just as another display began. Tad gloomy in here... The roar of flame startled the soldier, though she was at pains not to show it - only her eyes betrayed her, wide they became, before narrowing, a glint of anger shining through. The sorcerer's face was framed by flame to her now, smiling like a detested cat fat from scraps. They locked eyes for a moment, their shared malice palpable, before he casually returned to his food as if all were well. Juul glared daggers at him, before she did the same. Blood was roaring in her ears, bubbled within her breast like a cauldron, but her discipline rained a stinging blow upon rising rage. Eat, she needed to eat, even if it was in the company of damnable sorcerers. Another bite was managed, eased through gritted teeth, before a plate started to levitate and spin before her. That was it. A half-chewed chunk of egg and bacon sailed serenely through the air, accompanied by shining globules of spittle, to land upon Phaedrus' breakfast. It was followed, rather more promptly, by Juul's own plate, which whisked past the man's head to smash against the wall with the ringing bells of broken crockery. Fists smashed into the table as the soldier stood, an accusing digit pointed at the man, with a fierce snarl drawn across battered features. "To th'dogs wi'ye, Phaedrus!" For a heartbeat, it seemed as though violence was imminent, before the soldier fled to her things, grabbing them in a haste. Her only companion was the sound of battered shod boots on wood, as she beat a hasty retreat, amidst fears it could become a rout. The ceremonial slam of a door punctuated the end of the episode, like a tolling bell at the end of an act. Edited by Juul Shaepah, Jan 8 2015, 06:06 PM.
|
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Phaedrus | Jan 14 2015, 09:21 PM Post #36 |
![]()
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 flames danced merrily, chasing away the darkness with their red skirts. And, ah! Like music! He marked the fear in the soldier's eyes, her bearing stiffening like a cornered animal, and relished his petty triumph. For a moment his lip seemed to curl further, a flash of cruelty crossing his face with the shivering light of the flame. Satisfied, the necromancer returned to his breakfast, marveling that so simple a displacement could strike such horror into a grown woman -- Devils below! Here was a mercenary, the very scum that slit throats and marched over corpses to slit more, frightened by a candle. What a positively stupid existence. Their shared malice sat like a third guest at the table, poised to strike. It didn’t. A sort of hideous gloating filled his eyes. Phaedrus forked his eggs with prim aggression, one ankle crossed beneath the shivers of tablecloth. Some part of him almost wished for an altercation — an excuse to throw the grunting sow out of his sight, but none came. Instead, he dabbed his lips with a napkin, pulling the white cloth away from a fresh smile. “Ah?” Nevneni’s grin lit the table, radiant in her dirt-streaked, tired face. He could not help but beam back. “Well, if you’ve a free afternoon, I can teach it to you.” Truly, what better things did he have to do? His half-packed trunk waited accusingly in his room, gaping like a hungry mouth, but he couldn’t face it yet. He shivered to think on the journey ahead, the roads of snow that would thin to dust, swallowed eventually by dunes. He did not want to face his return to Eldahar, the uncertainties that burrowed through his guts like maggots and sickened him. If he could foist off the responsibility for a few more hours, he would — whether that meant suddenly remembering an errand in the market square or thumbing through a book of household charms. “I’ve a book of useful spells here— ah, hm, somewhere—” Around twirled his fork, wobbling with a spot of egg. His eyes swept the bookshelf in the living room, grazing the counter where a recipe book was propped near a small, leather-bound handbook. “—If you should like…” A contemplative hum was muffled by the mouthful of breakfast, and the necromancer chewed absently, still trying to recall where he’d placed that blasted thing. Where the devil… When Nevneni lifted the center plate, the movement broke him from his reverie, eyes fixing bright and alert on the rotating dish. A lazy smile began to curl his mouth, and the necromancer reached for his cider, suddenly struck by the memory of the cake. “You know, that’s really quite good. Y—” A glob of half-chewed eggs splattered his plate. Horror curdled his face, but he had no time to be properly outraged. The necromancer flinched as a white blur showered him in eggs, exploding in a shower of crockery. Forks jumped as Juul slammed her fist into the table, making his plate shiver—the necromancer’s shock boiled over into wrath, lips peeling into a snarl. How dare—how dare a dog of Moghul come into his house— The woman roared—the air crackled with imminent bloodshed, and the sorcerer barreled to his feet, eyes burning murderously. “Bin'nt himaar!” An Ashokan curse exploded from his lips, foul and guttural, shrieked in rage. All of the warmth sucked from the house in an instant — the fire was swallowed, candles extinguished, kitchen plunging into a murky gloom. The tips of Phaedrus’ fingers distorted with energy, his gaze burning yellow through rippling, charged air. Every muscle in his body coiled to release a blast of fire if she so much as brushed the hilt of a blade. “Son of an ugly bitch— Moghul’s cocksucker!” But she ran. Boots pounded against wood, a scrape, a scuffle—and then the door slammed, a thunderclap in the silence. Devils piss on her! A flurry of furious Ashokan left Phaedrus’ lips, barbed with clacking phlegm and throaty spit; his temper flared like spirits poured into a fire, roaring up in his breast and filling his mind with murderous intent—then banked to a cool flame, sullenly licking and spitting in the hollows of his chest. Dimly, he remembered Nevneni still sat there, rooted to the chair; his violence faded to a buzzing in his skull, hands posed foolishly now that the threat was gone. Slowly, he relaxed, letting go of the magic crackling through his veins. It pulsed back into the frigid air, shooting up timidly in the fireplace; a candle flame wobbled back into existence, somehow cowed and pale in the wake of his outburst. His shoulders slumped. “…What a horrible woman,” Phaedrus hissed, arms flopping down petulantly to his sides. Still he fumed, outraged at the loss of a dish. Etrurian ceramic! Gone! Wasted on the likes of that sordid cunt — devils below! Sullen anger balled in his chest, clawed into his insides; his appetite had been kicked away, replaced instead by a welling disgust at the spit she’d flung onto his breakfast. Suddenly, he did not want to eat anymore. The rashers left a sour aftertaste in his mouth, too salty, the eggs filmy with butter. Bits of egg clung to his hair and left greasy marks on his tunic, but any humor was sundered by the inhuman horror in his eyes. For a moment, something horrible spasmed across his features, as if it might come writhing out of his skin in his twisting lips and flared nostrils— and fled, face smoothing again. His temper passed, but it was too late. The girl had seen. A thunderous silence crashed over the house, swelling in the kitchen. Dawn trickled its rosy fingers through the curtains, but the weak light wasn’t enough to dispel the gloom or the draft that seeped like poison in the rafters. The necromancer felt wretchedly self-conscious of a sudden, unable to look the healer in the eye — for a moment, he had considered making a torch of a woman. Just for a moment, but a moment too long. A long sigh tapered off his lips, as if he might exhale until he simply crumpled. He was on edge. Surely—surely that was it. Surely just nerves—but it was more than that. Juul had entered his life like a wretched barb—reknifed the wounds of the conquest, reminded him it had truly happened. Madrid was its own hazy bubble, an anesthetic of wine and bacchanals and festivals to southern gods—and the soldier had burst it open, left him in stark reality. Devils. Stiffly, as if he were a stranger in his own home, Phaedrus minced around the table, examining the damage to the wall and floor with pursed lips. Whatever eldritch glimpse was gone now, leaving only petulant features and haughty amber eyes. “Tsch.” With a scoff, the necromancer bent, pinching a large shard of ceramic between his lily-white fingers. He held it up to his face, examining the delicate glazing with a mix of indignation and shallow despair. A painted swallow was headless now, the branches of its home snapped prematurely. Two birds dead today, it seems. Phaedrus let it fall back into the pile with a careless clink, further angered by the waste of food. Soon the cats would be after it, and if Malo cut his tongue on the shards, then he would set that soldier alight. “…Keep eating. I’ll clean the mess,” Phaedrus muttered sullenly, stalking across the kitchen towards a cupboard. A bit of egg shivered out of his hair, leaving a trail where he went. Butter dripped abysmally down the white wash. This was the last time he’d have soldiers for company. Edited by Phaedrus, Jan 14 2015, 09:25 PM.
|
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Nevneni | Mar 2 2015, 08:23 PM Post #37 |
![]()
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
![]()
|
A free afternoon – did that mean she could stay here a while? Nevneni grinned, feeling too pleased to even speak. Of course she had a free afternoon – she was coming here to do nothing, with no end to her existence but to exist, but here was some goal placed before her, something she could do. But she was so tired still, it made her mind swirl, so what if she had to sleep here? She shovelled a forkful of egg into her mouth and chewed, thinking how lovely this was, how unlikely– The splat of spittle and eggs on Phaedrus' plates was like punctuation. He broke off in silence, her mind went quiet with a lack of comprehension – and then a plate shattered on the wall. Nevneni jumped, and then jumped again when the table jolted under Juul's fists, plates and cutlery rattling as the soldier's bark split their peace. Phaedrus spat out curses, rigid as an angry cat; he was poised to strike and all Nevneni could do was cower– Juul ran. "Wait!" cried Nevneni through half-chewed eggs, almost out of her seat, arm extended – but Juul was gone. She slumped back down as Phaedrus hissed, "What a horrible woman." But it wasn't so, she wanted to say. Surely Juul would come back, Nevneni had wanted to know her, and if she didn't there wouldn't be another chance...Juul had been kind, though she barely knew Nevneni. So why had she stormed out? Nevneni couldn't figure it out. She'd been so absorbed in the food, in the joy of their company, in the warmth of this house, that she'd barely noticed the tension simmering in the air until it boiled over. She stared up at Phaedrus, remembering at that point to swallow, and made to ask him what had happened. His face was twisted up with disgust, as if at an unpleasant smell, and there was egg trembling in his hair and grease smeared across his cheeks. Then his face changed, but it was more like something crawling across him, or under his skin– Nevneni looked away, fixing her eyes on her plate, full of the shame of having seen something profane. Her heart beat quickly. She was afraid to see him. She remembered how they'd met, and how, once he stopped worrying for her, his compassion and friendliness was gone and it seemed like he was hardly scared of anything. Her vision pulsated with her heartbeat; she felt overwrought and bathed in pain. Slowly, her eyes travelled from the plate of food to her hand, resting numbly on the table like a dead fish, down her arm and into her lap, where the robin still rested, feathers ruffled and its beady eyes still half-open. It was hidden under the shadow of the table, buried in her skirts. What was she going to do with it? Phaedrus sighed. Her skin prickled. Slowly, she looked up towards him. He looked as he had before: pale, flame-haired, sullen and annoyed. She looked away. He turned and stooped to look at the damage done to his crockery, tutting. She stared at the robin, lost in the detail of its fringed feathers and the wrinkles in the white skin around its dim eye. Finally, Phaedrus spoke, breaking their torturous silence: "Keep eating. I'll clean the mess." Nevneni nodded vigorously, still staring at her lap, and waited for him to flounce away before looking again at her plate. Despite everything, her stomach grumbled. Gods, she could worry about it later. It was all too much to think about now. Though she was now clothed in gloom, she fell to, and ate unthinkingly, like an animal in the wild. Some time later – it both felt like a long time and short time – she sat back and timidly stifled a burp. The ballast of food was heavy in her guts, and she was warm and heavy and just a little bit overstuffed. Dimly, she looked around to locate Phaedrus, a hand drifting towards the stiffening robin lying in her lap. "Phaedrus?" she asked, "What do we do now?" |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Phaedrus | Mar 13 2015, 09:45 AM Post #38 |
![]()
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.
![]()
|
Where the devil was the broom? Phaedrus stared at the cupboard as if to demolish it by sight alone, harassed by its absence. His skin prickled. The silence gathered in the kitchen and hung over them like ominous rainclouds, reforming after his tentative grumble. He could not bring himself to look at Nevneni — her presence swelled at his back, pressing, growing only more obvious with each wordless moment. The broom. His fingers itched for something to grab, something to do — a few snappish thunks of his cabinets at last revealed it, and he gripped it like he forgot how to hold one, bristles tickling his boot. A few heavy footfalls punctuated muttering — ceramic tinkled as he swept, pushing the mess into a pile with none too much conviction, annoyed at the smear of butter it made upon the floor. For a moment the task surged to monumental efforts, and the necromancer breathed deeply, more unnerved by the silence than any blade or threat at his throat. Outright hostility was easy, honest. It was silence that hurt him, the pause before the verdict; the widened eyes and hesitation that weighed his soul, tipped him from a friend to something to be feared. Then, tremulous— Phaedrus? What do we do now? His fingers twitched on the broom, wrapping around the handle. The necromancer forced himself to look up, dodging the weary eyes and settling on her scraped plate. Dimly, he registered the rest ought to be cleared as well. One fingernail tapped against the wood, and he leaned it against the wall, slowly nearing the table. “Well,” Phaedrus began, feeling as if he approached a skittish rabbit; he started with his side first, scooping up the cutlery and clearing some smaller dishes. “That is entirely up to you. If you need a place to stay, you are most welcome to sleep here. If business takes you elsewhere, though, I understand.” He picked up Nevneni’s plate and added it to the stack cradled on his arm, terribly aware the healer had come to Madrid with no plan. But let them pretend, if she wished to leave. Again he did not look at her overlong, gaze drawn to the robin in her lap, the dull blush of feathers. He was surprised she still held it — funny how the little thing had caused all their paths to cross in the first place. “Was that a pet of yours?” Phaedrus inquired over his shoulder, desperate to keep the conversation going. Plates scraped and chittered as he placed them carefully in a sink, too bothered to make an attempt at scrubbing them. The Hands can do that later… Instead he set aside his mug and promptly refilled it with cider, squinting at the sun climbing self-consciously outside his window. How early was it? Ah, piss on it. He raised it to his lips anyway, leaning against the counter. Somewhere in the tangy alcohol he found strength, eyes languid as he watched Nevneni. “We can… bury it, if you’d like. Send it off properly.” |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Nevneni | Mar 13 2015, 05:37 PM Post #39 |
![]()
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
![]()
|
“Was that a pet of yours?” Nevneni heard the slight strain in his voice; she understood in it the unmistakeable desire to patch up the gap that had suddenly opened between them. She shifted in her chair so as to see him better, looking up at him with moonish eyes. He stared out the window, avoiding looking at her. The sheepish sunlight rubbed his pointed nose and touched his soft cheeks. Nevneni felt her heart fold up like wet paper; how could she hate him? How could she sustain a fear of one with so much self-conscious concern? Whatever he was, he was not dangerous to her. She had known a monster like that in Vorkael, and maybe she even knew another now in Juul, so why not him? A horror could be manifest in the heavy shell of a creature's flesh, in its outwards actions, and yet live alongside delicate kindness. So it was for Phaedrus, she thought, and for those others. "No," she said after that sustained pause, her gaze dropping back to the rumpled corpse in her lap. "I just saw it and...oh it's silly." Her morning's mourning was ridiculous; she felt it acutely, like a sting in her guts. Why had she been crying at all? Face rumpling, she stared at the robin's folded feet and said, "It was such a small thing, and so sad. I like robins, they're nice. They bounce about and sing little songs and I remember once I saw a lot of them in Kinaldi, flying in and out of a holly tree, eating the berries and making noise. But why should that make me cry? It is such a small thing, but then death is not so small." She fell silent, unable to unravel that knot any longer. Nevneni's head drooped over her little burden; a tiny fear trembled in her chest and she could not look at Phaedrus. But then he made his quiet suggestion: “We can… bury it, if you’d like. Send it off properly.” She nodded, her head feeling heavy like a stone, and said, "Yes, that would be best." She looked up, a rare smile flashing across her face like sparks from a flint: "I have been carrying around the damn thing this entire time." She cradled it in gentle hands, ready to stand, its limp head lolling on her thumb. Edited by Nevneni, Mar 14 2015, 05:50 AM.
|
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Phaedrus | Apr 16 2015, 04:58 PM Post #40 |
![]()
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.
![]()
|
[[boooo sorry for the lame post. ;c]] Such eyes. All the old sods of poets had beaten the cliche to death, scrambling at every word for mirror and passage and door. Still, there was the truth of it: in the heavy circles and stare was her soul, a blushing glimpse. Dark. But placid, reflective. He could see the flicker of sun in them, of candlelight, a mirrored little world of his kitchen. Living, changing pools, rippling with every emotion, capable of such warmth. Honest. Too honest, perhaps. As Nevneni spoke, the necromancer sipped his cider, musing. One brow arched, though his stare was not unkind — rather, one of curiosity, of observing some exotic bird glimpsed in the middle of a city. How could such a person exist in this sort of world? The way she spoke of the creature weighed its frail body the same as any life. In another, he might have sneered at the sentiment. But in her it seemed fitting, unpretentious. In a way, he understood. That was the way of grief, after all — it came in the little things. The mind had ways of building great walls and battlements, mounting against the leviathans, the tragedies. But it had no answer for the small reminders of things lost. Old scents. Tunes rather forgotten. The certain cadence of a laugh, the answering chirrup of birds in a well-walked grove. Grief made its home in the mundane. “No,” Phaedrus agreed, half a murmur. “Death is no small thing.” The necromancer took another sip, seemed to be lost elsewhere for a moment — then the kitchen swam back to him in slats of light, motes dancing above the healer’s bowed head. For a moment he thought she’d begin crying again, wondered how much of herself she saw in the robin. Carefully, he cleared his throat. “I don’t have a holly tree in my yard, mind, but there is an old oak.” The smile encouraged him some, coaxing one out in return. He fiddled idly with the grip of his mug before setting it down, pushing off the counter with a catlike stretch. “In the spring, all of the flowers bloom around it, and the bees go mad. A fine place to rest, I think.” So. That just left a spade and some gloves, he supposed. He wondered if the snow blanketed his gardening box, scratching at his chin in thought as he walked, planks creaking under his boots. When he opened the back door, the cold struck like a sudden blow. Phaedrus scowled. He’d forgotten about it in the warm, crackling heat of the kitchen, freshly annoyed and frustrated at the persistence of winter. Well, that was one perk of leaving Soto. At least the deserts had sun. The frail light limned patches of snow with a morning glow, sparkling off patches of slush. Without flowers and the low hum of bees, his yard looked oddly bare, gave no impression of summer teatimes and burbling conversations over the fence. A stately oak thrust in the midst of it, watching like a faithful sentry. Normally everything would be shaded under its boughs, but winter had diligently plucked each leaf, exposing its black skeleton. He kicked open a small box by the door and drew out a spade, holding its hilt out to Nevneni. Reluctantly he took a second for himself, despairing at the thought of ruining his freshly clipped nails. Getting the dirt out from his previous digging venture had been an irritating task, but his petulance vanished at the sight of the healer, so shrunken and troubled. Ah. No matter. “See a spot you like?” Edited by Phaedrus, Apr 16 2015, 05:02 PM.
|
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| Nevneni | May 18 2015, 06:33 PM Post #41 |
![]()
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
![]()
|
The cold struck her and she shivered up against it at first, but then she saw the oak tree ahead and she relaxed a little. "Yes," she murmured, "That look good." She could indeed almost see it as it would be in the spring, when flowers would unearth themselves between those crooked roots and draw a joyful crowd of birds and bees. She drifted a few steps forward, conscious of the her heartbeat thrumming like the chord of a lute through her chest. Phaedrus offered her a spade, and she took it, thinking for a moment that it was a lot like taking the knife from him in the cold winter frozen just before... But not now. There was death enough here, in her arms, and she could not bear to think of it now, tired as she was, and still a little hopeless. She went forth and walked about the trunk of the oak until she found a likely spot just nestled between the long fingers of tree-root. She scraped away the patchy snow with her foot, and then, satisfied with that spot, laid the robin down on a root so tha wat its out of the way. Then she dug in. She thrust the spade down vigorously, pressing it with her foot. The earth was hard, and frozen enough that it seemed dry. She had to slide her weight down the shovel to lift the chunk of earth, but she wheeled it out of the way and dumped it aside. Thus she worked at it for a while with Phaedrus' help, her face furrowed with determined concentration. When the hole was big enough, those furrows faded and she laid the spade aside and swooped down to take up the robin one last time. She looked down at it calmly, at its head lolling back, its eyelids defiantly staying half-open, at the delicate holes of its nostrils, at its downy feathers. An urge to cry prickled her, but she felt dry. That urge was more of a dramatic wish, a desire for the scene to be right, as in a drama. No tears came; she felt instead a little better already. The worst of the day was over, and the sun was rising, and here was a friend with her, and maybe another still striding angrily through the city who she might see again. All this brought on by a twist of chance and by her own half-madness, and if that could happen, then surely greater things could happen too. Gently she laid the robin down in its grave and looked up to Phaedrus, tilting her head, wondering what this nonsensical event meant to him. "Thank you?" she said, or asked, and then again: "Thank you." |
| (OFFLINE) PROFILE | QUOTE GO TO TOP |
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Roleplays · Next Topic » |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2




















