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Fantasy The Kingdom of Shadows

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Maedor Taellaris​
It always left a bad taste in his mouth.

Killing was directly against the healer's creed. To take a life made the hands of a killer not a doctor, malice and violence was not the way to go. He was supposed to take no sides, but rather hold down the side of medicine. Where others found their power in strength, he found his in a gentle stroke. With the lifestyle, he had sacrificed respect from much of his family, lacking the masculine power that most seemed to expect from him. Like his father always expected of him. How could he have purposely sacrificed so much and then descended into the mindless drivel or murder, as what other name was given to killing someone, even if it was out of mercy? Even if he was saving them from spending the rest of their lives in pain and suffering? Jenia would have left the world peacefully, holding on to the lie of being loved and wanted by someone.

Maedor would have given anything to believe in such a lie.

To be told that his sister was recovered fully, his mother was alive, he would have loved to be able to hear it and believe every word without an ounce of world-weary cynicism. When had the boy left and the man come? Had the man come? His father would say there was no man within him, just the folly of women put into his head.

'Maybe people would actually like you if you acted more like a woman...' Maedor would always imagine saying that to his face. But he always felt his words catch in his throat whenever he looked into his father's fiery dark eyes, the little boy in him returning even when he thought about the man.

'I was a good boy, daddy, let me out, please.'

'Good?--' Maedor felt his heartbeat begin to accelerate, a cold sweat touching his brow despite the damp coolness of the air. 'You kid yourself. You acting like you're so much better than I. Look in the mirror.' He didn't want to. 'You may have your mother's feeble head, her feeble body, her feeble skin, but look in the mirror, your eyes, your hands, your heart- It's only a matter of time, boy. You're no healer. You have a killer's hands.'

Maedor sucked more aggressively on his pipe, feeling his breath hitch and his chest tighten as though bricks laid upon him. The thump of his beating heart resonated loudly in his ears. Abruptly, he fought to simply pay attention to Roxii as he took the glove from his hand and held it out palm up, feeling the rain spatter on his palm, cool and nice. Distracting. As was Roxii's voice. It was not a lilting lullaby, but he clung to her words and let her unknowingly act as his anchor to the realm of reality and not let him get lost in memories he did not like thinking of. He would take the simple understanding that she would hurt him worse than his father could keep him alert. Even if he knew that was a lie.

Roxii, at least for now, needed him. And he could take a solace in that as well.

He cut off his own thoughts, roughly running his hand through his already mussed hair. The golden strands flopped about his head, growing damp from the rain but still seeming to defy gravity no matter how he ran his hands through it. Then he caught sight of his hand. His killer's hand, and he just as abruptly chose to shove his clove back on, dump his pipe and tuck his hands back into his pockets where no one could see them. He nearly laughed at himself, he was sure Roxii must think him an indecisive bastard.

Kerth. They were speaking of Kerth.

"Hm. Then I suppose I should worry about it as well. I have only heard of it through my family- some of them passed through there but I never questioned them on their ventures-this Karlson, however, if he plans to stay there..." Maedor nearly commended himself for sounding so put together when he spoke. A visage of understanding and wisdom was all he needed. The rest could fall in place behind him. "Perhaps he has business there..." Maedor murmured. "Our dear Karlson... what does he want..." he murmured more to himself than to anyone else.

"Townsman... hm... If he has connections there, we may need a plan of attack. If he, somehow is giving people the illness, you should not get too close to him so if you are capable of doing things from afar, eh, I don't know with a whip or something of the like, but he... he is an odd one. What he could want in Kerth is beyond me, noblemen are fickle people..." Someone passing the plague from one person to another, yet he had not died of it himself. Then again, neither had Maedor. Something about him had kept it from destroying his body from the inside out. Ever since he had heard tales of it randomly manifesting, he had become too lost in his work to even touch a woman. When was the last time he had a nice night? Years upon years ago when he was still a young lad. Still, Maedor doubted it was an accident that this man passed it off. Something in Jenia's voice, something about the hope he gave her. "I believe he is at least, in part, a sadist or following odd moral principles from what we have heard now." Maedor looked to the grass at his feet. "I believe we should not fear giving him hell, however, his type are always cowards in the end."

Maedor's mind quickly turned to the horses when Roxii brought it up. He, too, tired of walking. "Yes, transportation." he liked horses. They were one of his many solaces aside from books whenever he was younger. He brought a hand up, shoving his worries behind him as he smiled at the man manning the stables. The moment he entered, Maedor felt his eyes drawn to a brown mare.

"Two horses, good fellow!" he said with as much friendliness as he could muster. It was more than he expected. The man seemed to be put at ease by Maedor's demeanor. Maedor drifted to the mare, his hand running up its nose before he ran his fingers through her shiny mane. In truth, that may have calmed him more than anything. Perhaps he should have thought of getting a pet. "This one," Maedor said as he took his pouch and began fishing out the coin. More than anything he felt tired at the moment, and he would like to spur them to the next place they could rest. Perhaps the rest of the night would be better than this had been. He could only hope.

Esadora de Levoran​
The anger was palpable even as Esadora reached her room. For the first time in a long while, it was not directed at the likes of Gregor, who had bounded up and practically threw himself to the other side of the room the moment he saw her.

"D-darling?" he asked cautiously. "What did-?"

"Oh calm yourself, it wasn't you but that damn elven knight-," she snarled. "Who does he think he is?"

Esadora swept herself into a chair and soon felt strong hands on her shoulders beginning to gently knead her tense shoulders. In times such as these, she began to see more merits to keeping the man around. It would be quite troublesome to teach another how they were to touch her when she moved on. The benefits, however, seemed to outway the consequences. But for now, she allowed him to continue, pressing her fingers to her brows, purposely avoiding her eyes to keep from smudging her make up.

"What did he do? I'll have him arrested, drawn, and quartered- Did he try to take advantage of you?" Gregor asked fervently, his hands grew tighter. Esadora rolled her eyes. As though he did not know he could make him suffer worse than any of those things if she so wished.

"He would be dead if not-- No man lays a finger on me against my wishes, you know that. No, no, he is just an idiot and I have little time for idiocy." Another thing Gregor must have known well by then. "Ugh, stop that, now you're too tense, damn it, you'll bruise me!" she hissed as she swatted his hands away. "Go down for breakfast, I'll meet you there, you have a meeting today," she said as she checked her make up in the mirror. "I'll be gone for a few months as well."

"What?!" Esadora rolled her eyes. Her temper was waning again.

"I said go to breakfast!" she snapped, and he quickly scrambled to follow her order. Esadora rubbed at her temples. That knight had managed to destroy her entire morning with a single swipe of his tongue and that made her blood boil all the more. How quickly would he like to ruin it with the swipe of his sword? That was all knights understood it seemed. She had to stop her worrying, it would cause her to gain weight. She stood from her chair and slipped on a dress. The day would be interesting.

***​
The fire was endless.

Like the gullet of a dragon, it had grown so warm, encompassing everything around them, growing taller and hotter with each breath, each step. She couldn't breathe. She had not been able to breathe for hours now, locked away in this inferno, ankles chained to the floor as she was forced to endure every strike of the whipe which rained down on her back as quick as the demon's arm could swat. And there he stood dressed in his black armor, his ugly visage, scarred and old, hidden away by the helm which he bore on his head, and on his brow the mark of the beast below.

Yet, on his chest, he bore the marking of a holy knight.

She had gotten a good look at it, as it was all she could see. It was all she could remember from the fire. The blaze. The heat. Hands descending upon her neck, choking her, bruising her. The bite of a rope as they dared to try and kill her.

"Witch!" they cried out. "Burn the witch! She causes all of your sins! Your impotence! Your infidelity! Burn the witch!"

She would burn them all in an inferno. Destroy their bodies until nothing was left but ash. Even as she tried she felt her magic only fizzle upon the tips of her fingers, leaving her shuddering and twisting away as the rope suddenly tightened and she could no longer feel air fill her lungs.

***​
With a start, Esadora had awoken. She pulled herself from her damp sheets, her back arching as she cast a glance out towards the sun.

It had been long since she had been forced to suffer through those visions. For a moment she stared down at her arms, legs, torso, ensuring it was not aflame and charred. Her hair was not singed from her head but rather fell about her face and shoulders. She bit her lip for a moment, taking in a sharp and shaky breath, rubbing her arms. It was nice to feel the cool prick of the afternoon's air on her flesh. Her breath slowed, she slowly opened her eyes and leaned back against the wall her bed rested against. She let out a soft sigh, then she pulled herself up and from the bed. It would not do to stay in the bed thinking of the past. She frowned when she noticed her make up had smudged and she would now have to redo it. But it would give her a chance to calm herself.

It was a bit later than she had wanted, but if she ate a light lunch she would be able to make it. Her day had been a bit better, as Aeren had not come to the breakfast he was invited to. While she did not wish to see his face, it was a bit disconcerting he chose the cowards way of not facing her again. She was unsure if she preferred him to stay away from her or to come and look her in the eye, and perhaps apologize then and there for making such an unsavory comment before. Though, she had to admit, remembering the look of the fear of Gods within him was truly nice.

Perhaps she needed to learn how to not jump to such lengths. Men usually did not get to her so easily. A knight displaying is blatant hatred, however...

How long before he chose to slit her throat in her sleep? Shove his sword through her belly? Because his honor demanded it? That, somehow, was what it always became about. Honor, justice, valor, claiming they were upholding some illusion of faith when, in truth, they just feared what was more powerful than them. And they burned it for simply existing because how could something different from them exist?

Esadora stared back at herself in the mirror, her black hair cascading over her shoulders having been brushed and decorated with silver thread. Her cold white skin clean, her make up done sharply well.

'You're right to fear me, little knight.' She stood and took a dress from her wardrobe, a navy blue, richly embroidered and decorated. She would wear fur atop it. 'I will rip out your heart and play with it as I please. I shall suck the blood from your body if you cross me, little knight. I have faced more powerful men than you.' When she was prepared she stepped out of her room, her trunk having already been loaded on to the back of the carriage.

"Tell Sir Aeren that I am prepared to leave when he is, and I shall be waiting in the carriage for him," she said, and left detailed instructions on how to run the household in her absence. Then, with a sharp breath as she stepped into the cold afternoon air, she went and did as she said she would, and waited within the carriage. And she looked as she wanted, which she hoped continued to intimidate her little knight. A small smile twitched on to her lips. Perhaps it could be fun. As long as she taught him how to watch his damn mouth.
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer | Vulen
He was distracted, and she wondered if he'd even listened to her response. There was a momentary pause, hardly noticeable, before he replied with smooth words that hid his stress. But she could see past his ruse; his voice was calm and collected, but his body language betrayed his true feelings. Maedor's muscles were tensed, breathing uneven and forced, desperate drags on his pipe as he sought out the blissful release of the drugs within. Fingers dragging through his rain-soaked hair, as if he were trying to grasp at the thoughts running through his mind to cast them aside. A lingering of his gaze upon his ungloved hand, a look of fear passing over his features before shoving it into his pocket. The same hand that had administered the poison to Jenia.

Roxii wondered if he was always this rattled after an unsuccessful session. Surely this was not the first death he's had to oversee, especially with the plague running rampant throughout the land. If he believed that he would heal and save every person that fell at his feet, then he was a fool; even the assassin knew that. There were just some people that could not be saved, and there were even some not worth saving. The world was a cruel place, and there were no such things as fairy tales full of "Happily Ever Afters". The rich stole from the poor and the poor killed those that wronged them. Sicknesses took to the streets and destroyed the noblemen and peasantry alike, and only those with enough money could cure their ailments. Women and children were taken from their homes and forced to watch the men of the household slaughtered. True love did not exist; only petty infatuations, lust, and ulterior motives. Criminals escaped and succeeded, guardsmen were ruled by selfishness, and doctors and healers failed.

Such was the way of the world.

And yet it intrigued her that this man—one who probably practiced the ways of medicine as long as or longer than she'd practiced the way of the bow—seemed so bothered by his failure with Jenia. Perhaps there was more running through that mind of his, the killing of Jenia acting as only the catalyst for something bigger. Nonetheless, the death bothered him. The L'yrathi woman wondered what he was like with his first death, the first person he couldn't save despite his best efforts. How long had he forced them to suffer before the inevitable slapped him in the face? Did he even administer the first dose of poison, or did one of his mentors have to do the dirty work for him, looking upon him in shame?

Her mind lingered on her own past. Killing felt natural to her, ingrained into her very being from years of contracts and punishments. She'd never killed someone before she was inducted into the Crimson Shadow, had never even crossed her mind. She was but a child, young and innocent, but she was no stranger to death, her parents having succumbed to that terrible demise when she was just ten summers old. But Master Damaer had taken what he could get and molded her into a killer. She could still remember the first life she took, for it had haunted her for years.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

It was silent in the training room of the Crimson Shadow Manor. Not a soul was in the room save for the young girl, clothed in only wool trousers and a linen shirt. Her bare feet pattered lightly against the marble flooring as she entered, two other assassins closing the doors behind her and locking it with a soft click. Master Damaer had sent for her, one of his assassins waking her from her slumber and leading her to the training room. Though it was not unusual for the Crimson Shadow velahr to want to train with the young L'yrathi in solitude, she pondered why he had her fetched in the middle of the night.

Roxii sent out a pulse of shadows, trying to see if there was anything in the room. It was small, weak, and didn't give her much to go off of, which frustrated her. Master Damaer had begun teaching her his Xiad Oban technique a few months ago, and it was extremely difficult for the wolf-elf to get the hang of. Her mentor from before the accident had always told her that her shadows were an extension of herself, but it had never made sense until Master Damaer explained how his Xiad Oban worked: to gather her shadow energy within herself and send it all out in the form of a wave, washing over her surroundings whilst simultaneously staying connected to that energy to draw up an image in her mind. The hardest part was maintaining the connection with her shadows, to not be overwhelmed by the darkness spooling within her and pouring out of her, to not be overwhelmed by the overload upon her senses.

Nevertheless, she'd been ecstatic to learn how to see again, albeit not truly. The first time the blind girl successfully sent out a pulse of darkness that returned an image to her head, she'd cried tears of joy. A pang of sadness for herself threatened to turn those joyful cries into sobs at the realization that she would never truly see the colors of the sunset or the beauty of artistic masterpieces, but she could see her surroundings, see the face of her savior. Though she could barely make out his expression, one that looked upon her happy tears with disappointment and irritation, she didn't miss the tug of a smile at his lips.

It had been some time since that first success, and she'd been using the technique every day since. It was tiresome and draining to do it continuously, and she had originally ignored the exhaustion, but that stopped when she'd passed out in the middle of a training session. Master Damaer had punished her for her stubbornness when she'd come to. A chill swept through her at the memory, feeling the ache of his beating in her very bones.

The door slammed open behind her, and she jumped at the sudden noise. There was scuffling and screaming and crying, and the L'yrathi stepped away as fear and confusion crept into her. She forced herself to focus, to gather her shadows and send them out in a wave, but it was weaker than the first, her concentration disturbed by the sudden intrusion. It did reveal to her three men, two of them forcefully dragging a third into the room. His shrill cries and pleas slammed into her like a punch to the gut, because his voice was familiar.

She jumped again as a hand settled on her shoulder, but she recognized the strong grip and the scent of Master Damaer.

Roxii asked the man, "What is going on, Shalafi?" The words felt odd upon her lips, the common tongue feeling broken and unnatural unlike the flow of the L'yrathi Elvish she'd used all her life.

Master Damaer didn't answer her. Instead, he just gave her shoulder a squeeze before letting go, lacing his fingers behind his back. Another small pulse of darkness revealed his face, and though it was clear of any emotion, she could feel the thick waves of anger emanating off him. He only looked ahead, glaring at the man—no, boy—the two assassins shoved to the ground.

"Master, please!" the boy cried. The velkyn girl could practically hear his tears falling in waterfalls upon the flooring. "Let me 'ave another chance!"

A flash of recognition passed through Roxii, knowing who the voice belonged to now that he was speaking comprehensible sentences. "Vulen?" The fog of confusion thickened within her mind. "Master, what is going on?"

Vulen was just two years older than her and had joined the Crimson Shadow a little under a year before her. He'd taken a liking to the L'yrathi child almost instantly, feeling a sort of sympathy for the girl whose sight was ripped away from her. He'd sat by her side when she was recovering from her brutal healing sessions, attempting to keep her mind off the lingering pain. He made fun of her for her wolfish characteristics, but it was always childish banter. They trained together, the wolf-elf teaching the lanky male how to properly wield a bow whilst he taught her how to use dual daggers, which was his specialty. It was rare that they would have time to do things together outside of training, lessons, and when he would take on missions, but Roxii appreciated his companionship in such an uncertain and scary time.

But he had disappeared about a month ago. It had been a lonely time for the wassik-kesir, but she was more worried about what had happened to her friend. Had he perished on a contract? Was he captured? Did he run away without confiding in her? No one seemed to care about Vulen's sudden disappearance, and Master Damaer never answered her when she inquired about him. He always avoided the question or downright told her to mind her own business for she had her own trials to face. So she'd accepted that Vulen had perhaps been killed or captured, making her stricken with grief and sadness.

And now he was groveling on the floor before her and Master Damaer, tears flowing down his face in waves and snot sticking to his upper lip.

"You should know by now that I do not give second chances." Master Damaer's voice was cold and unyielding, sending a wave of fear through the young girl. Before Roxii could ask again, the assassin velahr continued, "You have betrayed my trust, Vulen. I had expected better from you."

"Master Damaer, please..." Vulen's voice had reduced to a pitiful whimper, his face pressing into the cool marble flooring as if he could make himself more insignificant before the Crimson Shadow leader.

"Stealing from my vault and handing it off to some peasant? I trained you to be an assassin; not a thief."

"My younger sister– She was hungry. I needed to feed 'er–"

"Those people are your family no longer! We are your family, now!" His voice rose in anger, rivaling that of the thunderous boom of a raging storm, and even the wolf-elf shrunk away from the master assassin. "I scooped you off of those dirtied streets. I gave you clean clothing, a place to call home, hot food, and this is how you repay me?!" Vulen only whimpered in response, repeating his pleas for forgiveness and mercy. "I have no patience for thieves, and no mercy for those who have wronged me."

Master Damaer's hand rested on Roxii's back, and she tensed. "Dos eru indalsa dost usa aquryth, mia daja." The lack of flow at which he spoke her native tongue told her that she already knew who her first target was before he spoke it. And yet she was not ready for it. "Vulen, nehahnra a vell Crimson Shadow."

"Nae–" The choked denial escaped her before she could contain it. And despite not knowing a lick of L'yrathi Elvish, Vulen must have understood the command because his pleas became more desperate.

"Master, no! I'm sorry! Please!" Vulen came up onto his knees, hands folded together before him like she remembered the priests would do when overcome during prayer. "It won't happen again! I promise! Roxii, please!" His voice cracked on her name, and she could feel her chest tighten.

Roxii could feel something being pressed into her hand. "You had best run, boy. Make her work for her place." Her fingers wrapped around the object Master Damaer had put in her grasp; it was a bow, the smooth wood familiar in her shaking fingers, an arrow already notched.

"Roxii– Roxii, please, don't do this."

"I–"

"Do it!" Master Damaer's voice overshadowed all other noise, and the wolf-elf raised the bow in fear. She heard the scuffling of feet as Vulen pushed himself off the floor and sprinted to the other side of the room, trying to put as much distance between the blind archer and him as possible. "Make him suffer. Aim for his leg."

Her arms shook, and she could feel her own tears streaming down her face. "I– I cannot."

"You will."

"I cannot see!"

"You don't need to see! Now do it!" The wolf-elf let go of the arrow, and it bounced off the floor next to Vulen's feet. A stinging pain erupted across her cheek, and she cried out at the pain of Master Damaer's magic slapping across her face. "You are better than this!" he growled at her, the words sounding louder than any yelling he'd done. "He is your quarry, and you do not have time to miss! A hunter does not cry over killing his prey; if he misses, he may very well not eat. If Vulen was anyone else, then he would have alerted the guards already. You would be dead or captured. Do you want that?"

Roxii only choked out a sob, cupping her stinging cheek.

Master Damaer reached forwards and forced her bow back up, an arrow slipped back between her fingers. "Now take down your prey."

The L'yrathi could hardly focus, but she could hear the shuffling of Vulen on the other side of the training room. Without another moment's hesitation, she released the arrow, and it was followed by a cry of pain. Vulen crashed to the marble floor, moaning in pain. Roxii lowered her bow, body shaking, and Master Damaer put his hand on her back again and guided her towards her fallen friend. She did not fight back for fear of being punished herself. The two silent assassins hoisted Vulen up to his knees and held him in place between them. Master Damaer took the bow from her fingers and put a dagger in its place. "Now kill him."

"Shalafi Damaer, synthra... Vi nod nid tuon an."

"You will either kill him, or I will. And you do not want that. If I kill him, his blood will not be the only one staining my floors tonight." A sinister edge laced the master assassin's words.

Her blindfold was damp with tears as she approached Vulen on shaky legs. "I am sorry, Vulen," she choked out before thrusting the blade into his gut. He let out a gasp and fell forward into the young L'yrathi. She caught him and laid his head in her lap as she listened to his heartbeat slow to a stop. She began crying, sobs racking her body.

Master Damaer only looked at her, disappointment in his eyes. "Clean up this mess. Contrary to my previous statement, I do not want blood staining my floors." He turned on his heel, and the two assassins followed him. He called over his shoulder, "Lessons will begin at dawn." And with that, he left the young assassin-in-training in the room alone, sobbing over her friend's body, his blood on her hands. Blood that did not wash out for weeks.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡​

Roxii chose her own horse, a dark gray stallion. It was one of the smaller horses, but its toned muscles relayed its ability to run hard and fast. If she and the healer needed to make a quick getaway or get somewhere quickly, then they would be able to. Not to mention that the shorter horse would be easier for the assassin to mount.

Horses had never been a big thing with the wolf-elf. When she was a child, she'd done horseback riding to feel free, but it had terrified her after her accident. Her blindness forced her to wholly trust in her steed, but there were times when it was dangerous for the horse to try and navigate by itself. The safety of its rider was not its first priority; its own safety reigned above all else. So Roxii had given up horseback riding as a hobby. It was only in recent years that she begun to ride horses again.

After Maedor and she paid the stable-hand, the duo mounted their new steeds and rode down the road towards Kerth. By then, the storm had fully lightened up, the clouds beginning to disperse. The sun's rays were heating up the air, and it started to become humid outside. A sweat broke out upon the wolf-elf's brow, and she wiped it away, pushing her hair off her sticky skin. It was beginning to reach the hottest part of the day by now, the healer and her's meeting having occurred some time after first light. If they were quick, they would be able to reach the Breava River before last light and perhaps settle in one of the riverside towns for the night.

Her mind returned to Maedor and his inability to stay focused for long periods of time. Back at Jenia's home, she noticed the blissful release he'd allowed himself to settle into after tending to the worst part of the woman's sickness. Though he'd snapped right back into action when she'd stirred and answered the velglorn's question without too much of a pause, it bothered her. Would his emotions get the better of him and whisk him away at the worst possible time? Would he jeopardize their mission because of his morals? It worried Roxii, and she hoped she could count on him, especially since they were to work together.

She remembered the steel collar circling her neck, and a shiver ran up her spine. Her chances of getting the restraint removed hinged on Maedor's ability to cooperate. If Maedor failed for any reason, then she would fail her mission and Master Damaer would punish her. She could feel the tingle of electricity dancing on her fingertips, remembering the energy that had rendered her immobile and breathless. It irritated her that the man who rode beside her was just one other obstacle keeping her from the freedom she'd worked so hard for.

After a particularly long comfortable silence as they rode away from Thrakeld, she finally spoke to the healer, "You are distracted." It was not a question; an observation. "Will every morally conflicting event drive you to such an unfocused state? As much as I hate to say it, we must work together here, and I must be able to count on you to watch my back and not be lost in your musings."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Esadora de Levoran

    Mentioned: Queen Alannis Vaneiros | Vaneiros Sister | Uncle Rychell
It had been a few hours since the knight had retreated to the guest chamber and finished his breakfast. He'd reveled in the memories that haunted him, his heart yearning for what was and what could have been if everything hadn't gone to shit. It was all so long ago, back when everything had felt perfect, but as with everything it had to end. He sat there, reminiscing in feelings of old: happiness, lack of stress, pure contentment. But soon enough he was growing anxious, so he'd decided to fill his time until Lady Esadora sent for him.

He'd first taken the liberty of using the desk and some of the laid of materials to write a letter. It was simple: an update on his search, having found a sorceress who could get him in touch with someone who could find the Vaneiros sister. He lit the candlestick and allowed it to burn for a few moments before dripping some of the wax on the rolled parchment and stamping his seal upon the exterior. He'd gazed seal that portrayed the royal Vaneiros House sigil: a running wolf, curled around the Elvish runic symbol for "eternal loyalty". A sick feeling churned within him, feeling as though they did not deserve such a bold claim.

Aeren then stopped one of the servants to ask them to send it back to Felnethyr and also inquired about somewhere to train. They'd led him to an interior training room, most likely used by Master Gregor when he wished to feel like a knight again. The High Commander took the liberty of giving it some use, and now he was in the room, sword unsheathed, going through the motions Uncle Rychell had taught him when he had first begun learning the ways of the swordsman and, more importantly, the knight.

He took slow, deep breaths as he meticulously moved from one position to the next, feeling the burn in his muscles as he held particularly difficult stances. And then he was at the end of the routine, releasing a steady breath as he returned to a relaxed stance. But then he was at it again, repeating the motions for the umpteenth time. It had always calmed him when he was feeling anxious and confused. The act of forcing the body into a set of routinely set motions gave him a sense of purpose, allowing him to clear his mind so that he could organize his thoughts when it came to the end. Even the memory of Uncle Rychell put him at ease. A sharp pain of sorrow coursed through him at the memory of the weapons master, but he pushed it aside and continued the motions.

The de Levoran woman made him uneasy, and he nearly feared her as much as he did the Queen of Felnethyr. The way she exercised her power without fear of repercussions; how she flaunted her unnatural abilities to make others fear her; how she showcased her body like a common whore, entrapping the men who laid eyes on her. It unnerved him, sickened him, that this woman could freely do as she pleased when she was a danger to all. Sorcery and witchcraft was not natural and definitely not meant to be practiced; it was too unpredictable and powerful for a single person to wield it.

And yet here he was, in the midst of a sorceress'—no, her master's home, eating the same food and sleeping underneath the same roof as her. Yet here he was, working alongside the sorceress to fulfill his civic duty, allowing her to take him gods know where to find another criminal. Yet here he was, angry with himself for letting his terror overcome him once again as she lashed out at him for his words, when he was the one who was supposed to be in control. He should have been the one to be feared. He should have the reins in this investigation. He should be the one in charge.

And yet here he was, instead thinking of the best words to say to her, the best apology he could muster without angering the woman further. No matter how much he hated her, how much he wanted to bring her to her knees and force her to face the transgressions of her actions, he needed her. He had no other way of finding the Shadow of Thiyalia any faster without sending a request to her that she would surely ignore. Esadora was, begrudgingly, his only hope. He needed her to help him find the assassin so that he could find Queen Alannis' twin sister.

And then there was the discovery that the Shadow was a woman. Aerendal was conflicted. He thought he was prepared for anything, for whether he met a man or woman made no difference in whether or not they could help track down the Vaneiros sister. And yet, when Esadora revealed that the great assassin was a woman, he felt something odd stir within him. Fear of some sort? It was difficult to tell. Perhaps it was the realization that he was relying on women, women that were more powerful than him in multiple ways. If he were being honest, it made him feel small and insignificant. A bubbling anger burned within him.

"Sir Aeren?"

The knight finished another set of motions before his icy blue eyes slid to the servant standing in the doorway. Within moments, he was back in the guest chamber and dressing himself in the rest of his clothing and armor before descending the stairs and stepping outside into the cool air. His gaze lingered on the carriage as he approached, feeling his anxieties building within him again, but he shoved them down. He would not allow his cowardice and pride jeopardize the mission he'd been given. If facing the woman and apologizing for his offensive choice of words meant maintaining a good enough standing with the woman to complete his task, then he would do whatever it takes.

He would not disappoint Her Majesty.

Aerendal dipped his head respectfully towards the servant that guided him and stepped into the carriage. He forced his blue eyes to meet Esadora's violet ones as he sat across from her. "My Lady," he greeted simply, getting comfortable. He hesitated, the words he mulled on before being washed away by intimidation. He grasped at the apology before it could escape him. "I apologize for my insensitive behavior earlier. I did not think of the repercussions of my words and my tone."

 
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Maedor Taellaris​
They moved in silence. One which Maedor had become grateful for, and one which he was used to. Traveling alone was not something new to him, nor would it ever be. Often times he would leave behind his servants to step out into the country with no one as his guide, simply a healer on his own. Despite how many times he had run into thieves, bandits, soldiers, sorcerers, and sorceresses, knowing that danger lurked around every corner, he could never find it within himself to worry. Death had yet to greet him no matter how far he traveled, no matter for how long. And with every meeting he was graced with a new allyship forged. And, in truth, those times he would galavant across the countryside alone were likely less dangerous to him than riding with an assassin in a plot against the King. If anything should have caused him a spike in anxiety, that was certainly it. His lips pursed for a moment, he almost wished he could smoke and ride now that his mind was brought back to the absurdity of the mission he had been sent on.

A ludicrous mission in which he had grasped at in some stupid desperation, trapped by a cat that seemed near content playing with his prey. For all Maedor knew, after all was said and done, after his name, practice and life had all been put so harshly on the line leaving him in a state of complete discontent, dead if not worse, he may still not have the answers had been looking for. His sister may be dead by the time it was over. The plague ravaging too many and causing an uproar. And, more than anything, this man may not even have a clue as to how to stop it and simply delighted in the desperation behind Maedor's words and eyes, knowing good and well he would say yes to anything at this point. In which, Maedor had to acknowledge he was nothing more than a pawn.

Perhaps such was life.

It was only in the silence when he rode through the countryside on his lonesome was he free of it. Many times had he thought of stopping, finding some village which would accept him and simply living as an unknown healer in the middle of some forsaken village. He had no fantasies of being seen as some great healer who people kissed the feet of any longer, nor did he even expect thanks, as most could not think of such things when they were mourning those he could not save. But he would like to think he could help some simple man that needed someone to help with the pain in his joints or a woman who wished for her skin to be softer, or to be able to conceive easier. That, at least, seemed a more realistic want then to be the hero that solved the plague.

It was truly childish to hold this bitter hope.

He glanced over when Roxii spoke, though he was not surprised she eventually thought to mention it. He rolled his eyes before he could stop himself, and silently wondered if she noticed. In truth, he was unsure how she noticed most things with the blindfold over her eyes, likely through some form of training, but he did not know how personal the information was to her. He had met sorcerers and sorceresses who seemed quite private about there magic and how it came to manifest.

'I'm a doctor, not a monk.' he knew better than to say such things out loud. That would have probably earned him a silent flower at best and pain at worst.

Despite her question being somewhat reasonable, he could not help but find it incredibly rude. Perhaps he did not find administering death as easy as she, but to question his ability to maintain focus, to watch her back, to do what needed to be done when that was his entire life, that was how he made it so far as a healer, it sparked a certain annoyance within him. Though, he had to admit her worry was not unfounded. He bit back a sigh. In truth, it felt he was always in such a state of disarray, forever wanting and longing for peace in his own mind. When was the last time he had it?

For a moment his mind lingered on long dark hair threaded with gold and a kind smile. He fought off the flush that came with it and instead responded to Roxii.

"Hm, you needn't worry over it. I may seem distracted but I don't get lost in my musings. No matter what is going on in my head, I am not unfocused as you say. There will be times when my attention is split, but know I can handle such things well. I'll be watching your back, I know how to keep myself grounded. I've been a doctor far too long to not be able to do it, and I've worked in too many war tents." he could put stitches in with his eyes closed now and even through sleepless nights and intense hunger had he been able to continue to work as though there was nothing there to bother him, after every death, every lost limb, tongue, or eye. In that way, he certainly believed in himself. "Failure to complete this fucks me as well as you. I have a feeling there is something worse than death waiting for both of us if we fail."

He sighed.

"But you are right to bring up concerns. In truth, I do not completely understand Damaer's reasoning, but I assume he understands it well enough to believe it sound. A doctor and an assassin is nearly poetic. And for that difference we will face... quite intense opposition I already know. When it comes to morals, my distraction does not worry me as much as how much we will likely clash out of our own compasses guidance. For any similarities we may hold, we do follow opposite lifestyles. But... we'll face those hurtles when we come to them."


Esadora de Levoran​

Esadora tapped her fingers against the pane of the window, the wood was rough beneath her fingers. The coverings of the carriage protected from the sun, though the chill of the air was still present, which she could feel against her cheeks. It had been a long while since she had gone on a trip such as this one, in some ways it was exciting, to go out into the world and run through the unknown reeds of a paradise she could not find trapped beneath the watchful gaze of Gregor. It was near torture to have to live with him day after day, even if she was in charge in every way but name, even if Gregor practically kissed her feet, the fact she was trapped to this one title, to this one way of life. Even if this was a job, the simple ability to leave from Gregor's home, to be able to build herself up, in truth she could do much for herself and her name. It was chance, a business venture, in which she could earn and at the same time forge new friendships which would help her step up further in life. She had heard whisperings of mages working in castles, and that much had caused her interest to be piqued.

When Aeren stepped into the carriage, she looked up and raised her brows, her hands clasping before her, resting on her lap. The anger had, luckily for him, seeped out throughout the day leaving the moment behind her, though she had not forgotten it. The realization that he thought such things had not been something which had surprised her, though the disappointment was palpable. He was a knight. A man, or rather elfish, knight. He liked power. He liked control and in the time he had been with her, Esadora had taken those two things away from him and made them hers. He had not lashed out, but his colors had shown, he did not believe in the inherent strength of women, perhaps the virginal damsels were to be protected, and the whorish witches such as herself were to be killed. A false dichotomy made from the minds of men that could not stand to see a woman in a state which was better than their own.

So when he apologized, so easily and cleanly, referred to her as his lady, submitted to the fact he was in the presence of a powerful woman and he should be, in fact, showing her respect, a smile came to her lips. It was small, though it was true. She crossed one leg over the other beneath her dress, letting her heel dangle precariously off the tip of her toes.

"Hm... Many men would have called me a bitch and a whore and been done with it, whether they required my services or not. You have at least proven yourself capable of chivalry and gentleman-like behavior, so I shall forgive you, and we shall continue on as though the transgression did not occur." She turned to look out the window, waving Pretyr forward, he stepped into the carriage to sit beside her, his bulk taking up most of the space but it was still comfortable for her.

"While you are a noble and wonderful knight, Sir, Pretyr will be joining us as my guard as he always has. If I am ever unavailable and you need something, simply ask him. If he cannot do it, and it is urgent then he is the most likely to be able to find me in the rare case I have left your side." Though, depending on where the stopped she may leave his side often. She reached up and knocked on the roof twice, and then they were taken off in a trot.

"We will first be going to the town called Meriiva. I know someone there and it seems to be in the direction of the Shadow. We will be able to stay with him while we are there and I will strengthen the spell there before we go on towards the Shadow again."
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
There have been many things that Roxii had to learn—and even relearn—after she'd gone blind. Learning how to wield a weapon was one of the more obvious tasks; she'd been forced to rely on her other senses for some time before she learned how to see through her magic, listening to the scuffle of her opponents and scenting them to figure out if they were up- or downwind of her. Sometimes, she'd just use her innate sixth sense, something that she was glad she'd acquired from her wolfish side. Archery had proven quite a problem for her for a long while, and though her expertise in the weapon before the accident allowed her to pick up the skill again easily, she'd been forced to learn how to aim true towards something she could not see. It was terrifying for a time, but she'd picked it up easily enough.

But then there were the simpler things, things that she hadn't thought would be a problem until she encountered them. Forgetting where she was was something that came up frequently in the beginning, as she would panic when stirring from her slumber, disorienting her own senses. There were times that she would be so entranced in something—thinking and reminiscing, learning how to read via touch—that when she would pull herself out of her own head and back into reality, she'd forget which room she was in and become confused. She'd also learned that eating, as easy as it seemed beforehand, required much more of her than she'd expected. It took some time getting used to so as to not jam herself in the cheek or chin with a utensil, frustratingly so.

But one thing the wolf-elf focused on immensely over the many years of her blindness was how to read body language and tone. She could hear the sneer behind someone's kind voice, the sarcasm behind a person's answer, the lie within their compassionate truth. But there were some people—people like Master Damaer—who could hide any lie or underlying motive within their smooth words. With the honing of her Xiad Oban, a whole world of possibilities opened up to allow her to call out liars, traitors, and cowards. With this heightened capacity of sense, Roxii could now feel the tensed shoulders of someone ready to spring into action. She could feel the twitch of their fingers as they reached for the dagger hidden at their side. She could feel slight protrusions of their jaw just below their ears, the muscles clenched as they bit back their anger and irritation.

And she could feel, could see the slight raise of Maedor's brow, the brief lift of his eyelids as he rolled his eyes, no doubt in response to her observations.

Disrespectful swine!

Roxii bit back harsh words and stayed her hands. If it were up to her, she would have reprimanded the man for his blatant impudence, stomping out the action before it became a habit. But the steel collar around her throat reminded her that she was not in control here. She couldn't harm the lorethven, especially since he was to provide support for her when necessary. Not to mention that Master Damaer would be disappointed in her for harming his property. Though Maedor may not know it, he accepted to be under the control of the assassin velahr the moment he agreed to meet with them. At least until the contract was completed, if he were lucky.

But what of her? Would Falaern let the velglorn go so easily once she completed this task? As much as she wished it to be true, a part of her deep down knew that the Crimson Shadow leader would never relinquish his hold upon the L'yrathi. The realization created a pit of dread within her, yawning open like a dark chasm. Would she forever be bound to Master Damaer, eternally loyal to the mysterious man and his assassins guild? Would she ever be free again? The sadisla encircling her neck whispered that she could never taste freedom again, not truly.

The hybrid grit her teeth, the only evidence of her vexation towards the healer riding next to her and the silver-tongued man pulling the strings.

Her half-ear twitched towards Maedor as he responded. His defense was just and understandable, as healers and doctors are generally forced to be emotionally intense whilst grounded in their work. It sounded like too much work to the assassin, as all she had to do was dissociate herself from any sort of emotions and sense of justice and simply act. Her job was to end lives, not save them as the men like Maedor felt compelled to do. But she'd seen how he acted, how he seemed bothered by a simple peasant woman's unlucky circumstances. The contract they were forced onto was to be much more harrowing and distressing than any sort of spur-of-the-moment in-house healing session that he'd partaken in. Would he be able to handle the stresses and guilt of committing high treason and murder?

Roxii grunted in response. Master Damaer was indeed an unusual man, and she still had trouble wrapping her head around this preposterous plan of his. In all her years of assassination work—fourteen years, to be precise—she'd never been given an accomplice that was outside of the Crimson Shadow. For what reason did he seek out a stranger to aid the young Shadow? Falaern had plenty of protégés to accompany her if he wished to provide help, all of which were skilled in combat, stealth, and, of course, the art of assassination. Maedor, as far as she knew, was not trained in any of these fields. A man whose house name she'd never heard of, a healer fighting a battle he was unlikely to win. The best he could do would be to gather information, tend to her wounds, and get in the way. Though useful in some sense, he would not help her wield a weapon against the Prime Ruler of Thiyalia.

Hell, he didn't even have magic from what she could tell. He didn't react to any of her pulses of shadow or her empowered spells as she whispered portions of Xeigin. Neither did he ask of her abilities, to see as well as he despite her disability. Nor did he use any sort of abilities, natural or unnatural, to tend to Jenia and the sickness raging within her. Was he one of the lucky ones, a Thiyalian who had not been cursed with the responsibilities of magic or sorcery? Was he free from the scrutiny of being born with the innate ability to control that which was not to be controlled, hunted by those who wished to capture and kill those who practiced the now-banished arts? Was he able to roam the land without the fear of being found by a Hunter and having to choose between fighting for his life, showing the world that magicians and sorcerers are murderers, and being captured, taken to the chopping block or hanging tree and giving up his life?

A lucky one, indeed, to not have to second guess every passer-by, to rein in his magic to prevent Hunters from catching his scent. If her suspicions were correct, then Maedor did not know the extent of her abilities. He did not know what she could and could not sense. Is that why he rolled his eyes at her? Because he believed she would not notice? If she were younger, perhaps just seven or eight years ago, she would not have noticed. But she did not have to tell him what she could and could not see. Let him live in the fear of being in the presence of someone with an unrecognizable border around their capabilities. Let him believe that she cannot see his disrespect. Let him act how he wished so that she may see what kind of person he truly is.

"Hurdles that we should address forthwith. We are... divergent, that much is true," Roxii acknowledged. "But we must complete this mission as quickly and effortlessly as possible, no matter the cost. Not only do I wish to be purged of our forced accompliceship expeditiously–" She nearly ground "forced accompliceship" out in an irritated growl. "But I do not want to leave Master Damaer waiting. He can become rather... impatient." A hand waved lazily as she searched for the correct word. The blind L'yrathi allowed the unspoken threat to hang between them for a moment before continuing, "If you do not prove to be a problem, then I will do my part and we can be rid of each other. I believe that is fair."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Esadora de Levoran

    Mentioned: Queen Alannis Vaneiros | Petyr
The knight's chin lifted slightly at her acceptance, feeling a sense of pride well within him. He made mistakes, as did any thinking person, but showcasing chivalrous behavior that was recognized was always at the forefront of his mind, alongside fulfilling his knightly duties. Though the circumstances terrified him—stepping out into the unknown, requesting the aid of a sorceress to find a deadly assassin to point him towards a woman who didn't want to be found—and all he wished was to leave it all behind, he knew that he must keep going. It was times like these, when another recognized that he was trying his damnedest to be the best knight he could be, that he felt it was worth it.

But it did not kill the worm of anxiety that coiled within him, gazing at the dark-haired vixen before him. Delicate and harmless at first glance, the de Levoran woman was not to be trifled with. She made that clear back in the study. He remembered the fear that gripped him, chilling his veins with the icy cold of terror. The fiery gaze that bore into him reminded him of the punishment he would receive if he failed this mission, which proved to be more of an encouragement than the sorceress' touchless grip on his air supply. He feared and hated the woman that sat before him now, but he feared the eloquent woman sitting upon Felnethyr's throne more.

Which was why he'd apologized in the first place. This was not for his benefit; he must please Esadora and not anger her further to ensure his task could be completed. He'd already wasted precious time thus far. To start over now would be unwise and inefficient. So when she set her violet gaze upon him, drinking in his apology like a vampire sucking the life out of a plump nobleman, he refrained from wiping the smug grin upon her face.

Her confident and fiery attitude reminds me of her.

Aerendal watched Petyr attentively as he settled himself into the too-small space. He wondered why she would need a bodyguard if she was so powerful herself. To keep her hands clean? Did she simply wish to not have to protect herself, instead allowing Petyr to direct all the blows to himself? Perhaps she just wanted the deterrent; Petyr was intimidating to most, that much was certain. Though the High Commander bore the expensive armor and weaponry of a knight—he'd left his Coat of Arms and any other distinguishing marks back at the castle to prevent others from recognizing his background—he knew he was not an intimidating man.

He braced his legs against the bench to prevent himself from being jerked around as they set off, thinking of the town she spoke of. Meriiva was one of the many places he'd heard the name of but never bothered to learn about. It was not within the borders of Felnethyr, and thus had not crossed his mind to learn about it. Perhaps something had happened at the town once or twice, but it was always spread as a passing rumor or story from travelers; Meriiva was a place that did not have much significance to him. He was a citizen of Thiyalia, yes, as well as the woman sitting before him, the large man next to her, and the nameless people of Meriiva, but they were not of his concern. His loyalties lay with the people of Felnethyr first and foremost; if he could not tend to their needs, then he could never hope to serve the rest of the land.

"I know not much of this town: Meriiva," he replied honestly. "But I trust your judgement." He leaned back against the wall of the carriage, forcing his body to relax and his hands to rest in his lap, to show that he was comfortable in their presence. No matter how truthful that actually was. "I appreciate your efforts in aiding me in this task, My Lady Esadora. I will admit, I had expected you to turn down my request."

 
Maedor Taellaris​
'She is quite rude, isn't she? '

Was the first thing Maedor thought as he glanced over at the assassin he had been paired with. Perhaps he should not have expected to have a polite conversation with someone who took lives for a living. He could not forget their lives diverged to dramatically that neither of them could look upon the other with certainty of why they behaved the way they did. He knew this would be the new normal. She would think him foolish and naive while he thought her cold and overly callous. It would be an endless loop of judgemental glares and disparaging comments beneath their breaths. Maedor had thought he escaped such things when he left home, but it seemed it had returned to him with vengeance, as he could not even say such things out loud. He nearly wished to roll his eyes again, but a second time would be far too rude, even if she could not see it.

His eyes flicked to the endless horizon, upon it they would, at some point, come upon Kerth.

It would be the first step to ending this. In truth, the companionship did not bother him as much as the mission he had actually been put on, however it seemed that Roxii wished for him to be as far away from her as possible, likely valuing her solitude, but also pre-emptively deciding he was a useless burden who had to prove his worth to her in order to be given any semblance of courtesy. He certainly did not feel guilty at all for rolling his eyes now, knowing how lowly she thought of him.

'Just like home, eh?' He knew how to endure, at the very least. Even if he would spend the entire way hating both the situation and himself for complying with it. He let out a hearty sigh then an amused chuckle came right after it.

He rubbed his face tiredly, wondering if she could see it. He wondered how well she actually could "see" him, as he knew to some extent she had to be well aware of her surroundings if she was able to guide a horse well enough and walk so surefootedly. It was undoubtedly some type of magic, as even the warriors of the desert, the Ver'Lada Kan, did not seem so sure of themselves despite the rigorous training, forced to go years wearing a blindfold until they could win a battle with ease while their vision was impaired. When Maedor had come across them, he had been lucky enough to be there for a battle between a lightfooted young woman, whom he had come to know well, wielding dual swords against a horde of men. He remembered Mierda well. It was not her real name, he knew, but he remembered it fondly.

A sudden longing tugged at his chest, he rubbed his face. He missed his friend.

~*~
​
The inherent idea of caring for the woman was terrifying.

Dual wielding swords, she had singlehandedly fought off four men while blindfolded. Even now, with an arrow in her thigh and bleeding from various cuts and scrapes he felt a certain fear running through him, for if he so much as spoke to her in the wrong way, could she not slice his neck as easy as she sliced through butter? Those men were trained warriors and they fell at her hands, what could those powerful hands do to him? Would the laws of the land even protect him from a member of the Ver'Lada Kan? They were practically worshipped in the lands of Merava, whispered about when they passed through gardens or down the street, their backs straight and the marking of the sun on their bared shoulder. They were said to be the warriors of the God Anludin, he who pulled the sun across the sky and had eaten it, cooking himself from the inside out to protect it from his murderous sons who had quickly feasted on his flesh.

He never once got close them, only hearing rumors, though Merava itself had been a strange rumor when he had first thought to come.

Merava had been told to be a place of sensuality and hedonism. It was where the sinful man fled, across vast lands and the seas, in order to come into a seemingly endless paradise where women were allowed to walk with their skin bared for all to see and men, could partake in bloodshed, thievery, and gluttony. It was sinful and it was addictive. A place where it seemed all responsibility had gone to die, leaving only fat men and whorish women. The books Maedor had read about it had tugged between the two extremes, consistently causing a man to either feel a sense of otherworldly attraction to the unknown of the desert, to the exotic women which walked the land and the idea of otherworldly freedom from responsibilities lost in this illusion of paradise, or it caused him to fear and hate this unknown land, only knowing of their practices and nothing else. It was a place of hedonistic sin where they suffered no consequences for their disgusting display, the women presenting themselves as whores and the men as fat lards who only concerned themselves with their next meal and their next bedmate, whether she be willing or not.

Maedor had, mistakenly, suffered under the former illusion and was bitterly awoken when he came to find himself miserable in the desert sun, walking the hot sands with a poisoned mind, barely holding on to his own sanity despite having ultimately chosen to make the journey in search of answers for his medical wonders. He was young still, barely twenty-four summers old on the day he had set foot on the sands, and it was that same day he had cursed himself for having hopes. The one good lesson his father had taught him was to have none so he may never be disappointed. The land was far from free of consequences, it had strong laws, in fact, threatening castration for rapists and thieves, death for murderers and frauds, burnings were the capitol punishment reserved for those who had wronged the Avra'dun , who was, from what Maedor could figure out, the Duke of the section of Merava he was in. Worse, somehow, for those who worked against the King, the Karlada'din.

It was true they were freer with their women, letting them wear what they pleased, even allowing them to run businesses, households, even take positions of government. However, unlike the paintings made, most women were not walking nude in the streets, though even when Maedor was stupid and fifteen he had known that could not have been the case. It was simply that Meravans did not take such displeasure with promiscuity. But that was boring and far from the sensual place of pleasure he was promised.

All in all, it was nothing as it was supposed to be. It was lucky that was not the sole reason Maedor had come.

He had been formally invited by Avra'dun Veran ben Ashalik who he had gotten in contact with upon a passing merchant mentioning his poor wife having come down with a skin condition that Maedor believe he possesses salves to treat. In return, Maedor had only wished to speak to his personal doctors, not only to better his knowledge on sickness, but he had heard these men had perfected the art of removing the blindness that old age could cause. Furthermore, there had been rumors that Ashalik's doctor- a woman named Sarbi besit Dranlor - had managed to give birth to Ashalik's son, though through no natural means, but rather by cutting the mother's stomach. The moment he had heard such things, Maedor had felt both exhilarated and terrified of this woman's knowledge and courage. And upon meeting her, he simply was awestruck.

Ashalik offered them both an abundance of food, wine, and certain people for company as well. The wine was rich and tasted better than anything he had ever had. The goat was savory and best paired with sugary dates. And more than anything, the mentorship of Sarbi besit Dranlor had led him to stay for years rather than the months he had planned.

He acted as her assistant, her confidant. He would carry patients she could not, as in truth most of his muscle had been built from putting men on his back or shoulder to be placed on a bed or mat. Now, after the Trial of Nalaanasan he was charged with caring for this young woman.

"She is not troublesome and hardly injured, I must look after these men... they need hands with actual talent." Maedor had taken the insult in stride, knowing it was simply the woman's way, and quite frankly, he was complimented she saw potential in him. But now he questioned her judgment as he peeked into the Hurfras, Hall of the Champions of Anludin. Crafted deep in the walls was glass which, at dusk, allowed the golden light of the sun to stream through as it did now, bathing the white walls in its light. Beside the sun, stood both Anludin and his sister-wife Breasi. They held each side of it, holding it up high as Anludin drank from the nectar that slowly seeped out. Other stories were told along the walls, jewels, carvings and art all present on ever surface. He was lucky. Healers were the only ones allowed to enter other than the champions themselves. Not even whores could come, nor holy men or women. And he believed himself to be the first foreigner to have access, so as the guards eyed him up and down and he simply showed the seal of Sarbi, he felt a certain level of excitement run through him.

He fought the urge to take out his book and begin sketching and writing his findings. That would be frowned upon, they hated their rituals being shared with outsiders, already the guards were cautiously watching his back, as though waiting for him to do something wrong. So instead, Maedor first caught sight of the woman's back, her hair still tugged into a long braid decorated with gold, her dark skin marred with cuts, and the lines of tattoos. She had taken the blindfold off, one she had worn for a year or more he knew. He swallowed thickly and turned, dropping to his knees by the statue of Bearsi, her emerald eyes sparkling in her golden head as she looked upward, red blood seeming from her eyes and pooling into a bowl below her. Maedor did not understand their ability to do such a thing. He assumed they used magic, but Sarbi and Veran refused to reveal their secrets.

Maedor dipped his fingers in the goat blood and wine mixture, flicking it to either side of the statue before cringing and on to his own tongue, drawing a pattern on his brow, he stood and dipped his other hand before walking to the woman. She was looking down. He was surprised, she was younger than he had expected, but nevertheless, he repeated the process on her, at the end pressing his fingers to her brow and murmuring a single prayer. "Bedan af ishae."

"And let her heal the broken."

A prayer they said before any type of medical work, one which he did not understand, but who was he to tell others he would not practice their rituals in their homes? And it put patients at ease as well.

When she looked up, he was startled to see golden eyes staring back questioningly as her good leg swung back and forth, she tilted her head to the side, brow furrowed. And he realized she had likely been expecting Sarbi.

"Ibn Kaf Sarbi-- Azbin resir Maedor." It was broken, but he was still learning the language. He spoke it well enough, it seemed, but he was far from fluent.

"Aedor?" she asked, eyes narrowing as her lips twisted in a frown. Her face was growing flushed through either frustration or embarrassment, he was unsure. "Mador--"

"Azbin," he said kindly as he touched her shoulder before moving to her thigh, testing to see where the arrow had entered and how deep it had penetrated. Luckily, it did not pierce the bone. "Avre?"

"... Ekli?" she said, her features questioning and he realized she was likely wondering how he could think otherwise. How could it not hurt? He rubbed his face as he felt his skin grow hot. Unexpectedly she chuckled and placed her hand on his arm.

"A lot," she said in Maedor's own language, though it was thickly accented and she was obviously struggling. "Yes. Hurt. Like... Like... Demon Home?"

"Hell? I should have figured."

"'ell?" she asked latching on to the word. "Hell." she said again, then smiled to herself as though learning a new word was more of an accomplishment than what she had done in the sand pit. Perhaps this only happened once in a while and that happened daily for her.

"Strange words." she looked down. "Stranger." she put her hand to his chest. "Strange land."

He nodded. Then she leaned back, pressing her hand to her own chest. "Stranger." she said. "Strange land, not home."

As he looked at her, he did begin to realize her features were not quite in line with those of Merava, though he had a harder time distinguishing between nationalities than he wished to admit after all this time. "Alik fen bresi al vernala."

"Better home?" she asked surprised. "Yes... Home... home hell."

"Home is Hell." Maedor agreed as he touched the arrow now that he had tied her upper thigh tightly and braced himself against the bed. He shivered, knowing well it was going to hurt and not wanting to disturb the little peace they had found, enjoying their talk despite having little understanding of what the other was saying. That, and she seemed interesting in learning the language of the West as much as he wanted to learn the language of Merava. Unexpectadly, her hand brushed a piece of hair from his cheek.

"No scared. I... En... Endure pain," she said. "Endure pain, always."

"You could endure it a bit less," he said as he fetched out the wine that he had taken to carry in his small flask from his sleeve and handed it to her. She attempted to push it away after figuring out what it was.

"Ah-- No. Taste- feel unbalanced."

"You may like the feel more when getting an arrow ripped from your flesh." it seemed she had picked out the right words because she soon chuckled and then held out her hand, taking a deep swig. He took it back and took a drink himself, then he yanked the arrow out, hearing her sharp gasp through her nose. He swallowed his own wine.

"Ahh." He said, then smiled she narrowed her eyes, but a certain mirth still hid behind them. He began to wrap her thigh feeling much lighter than he had before.

~*~​
Sometimes Maedor did wonder if destiny and fate existed, their strands weaving themselves into the lives of every man and women that lived as they seemed to constantly do in his own life. They had worked in Mevara and he had ignored their inkling tugs on his threads, instead fleeing in fear of what could happen rather than remembering what had, denying himself of a traveling friend who had become one of his most trusted partners in a long while. Now what was his life? Aimless riding from one place to the next, attempting to fight a war against an enemy that could not even be seen? Perhaps it was fate that brought him and Roxii together, for what purpose? He was unsure. And he would likely remain unsure until they saw this to the end, whether that end be bitter or it be favorable. And if it was less than favorable... perhaps that was his punishment for ignoring the happy endings to the fairytale he wished to live and now he was forced back into endless bitter reality rather than achieving a better purpose.

"Well now, you sound like you already hate me, it takes most people at least a week." he waved a hand dismissively. He, thankfully, did not care about how well-liked he was by most people despite him always holding to the value of kindness. It certainly was not kind to try to make someone like him.

"Impatient? All men like him are." And Maedor had met plenty. "We'll do what he wishes, and no I will not be a problem." Whatever the hell that means. Rude.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously, she decided to hate him already, which was fine but it made this even more difficult. But he could not blame her, even now. Even he was confused as to why he was brought on, but was it truly necessary to treat him like a burden despite them barely doing anything yet? Was he not the one that got the information about Jenia? Was he not the one that saved her enough so they could get information on where to go from there?

'If this is how the entire mission is going to be I would rather take my chances swimming back to Merava. At least the fish I would die with wouldn't be rude.'

"Fair enough, but I don't think fair matters nor exists with Damaer's hand in anything if the little I have seen of him tells me anything about him..." He let out a sigh through his nose. Though, soon, he perked up as he clenched the horses with his thighs, having learned to guide with his legs from Mierda a few years ago, he fished out his map and looked to it, clicking his tongue as his eyes landed on Kerth. "Hmm... Kerth. I cannot say I know anything about it, but... I have friends who travel around about this route regularly, or at least close enough they may pass by here. Some live a few towns over. Duke... few sorcerers. Sorceresses, but they- eh, I don't have the product I usually give them so they may not talk as much, and I don't think it smart threatening them with violence." He had to catch himself, as he sometimes forgot not everyone was alright with their existence, or as fine with it as he was, at the very least. But... being that she was a L'yrathi he did hope she would be the last person to judge someone for such a minuscule thing, especially if he, someone who never had to run from the prejudice, was fine with it.

He put his map up after that and took the reins as his thighs began to shake and ache from being worked for too long. "You... you're fine with that, right? Talking to sorcerers and sorceresses, I mean." he shifted uncomfortably, hoping he did cause something to stir. He would hate to be problematic. "They may be our best bet, most of them are nice enough and they have had to learn to be rather observant so they tend to keep tabs on what is going on in the kingdom." And they were usually open with him, at least. He made a good enough impression it seemed to make up for his lack of use in other ways.

Though perhaps Maedor should learn to not speak as much.

He would not want to be perceived as a problem, after all.

Esadora de Levoran
​
"Not many know of this town." Esadora glanced out the window, first at the passing houses as the horses pulled on and then at the trees as they took to the beaten path that had been made through the thick woodland. Her eyes lingered on the treeline, memories of a happier time came when she was but a girl and the greatest thing she could do was to stow herself away deep in the woods, frolicking as she ran from her brothers, giggling as though they could not see her. She would get scolded at home, because she got her dress and shoes wet when she chose to hide herself in the stream. But the girl would never listen. That girl was far too innocent to think of any punishment beyond a basic scolding which always softened whenever she looked up with her large eyes and begged with a pouted lip. But that girl had died quite a long time ago. Esadora did not like to remember her, as she did not know whether to look upon her fondly or scornfully. Sometimes it was hard to tell, and as she turned back to Aeren she knew she could not afford to let that little girl come close again anytime soon.

Because little girl's got burned by knights such as him. So she kept her back straight and her chin high as they road, acting as though she felt no discomfort, though in truth the cushioned seats of the carriage was enough to provide a minimal amount of comfort, and unlike some carriages they could not feel every single jolt and rock on the road. She briefly touched the necklace that wrapped around her neck then nodded at Aeren's words.

"It is not a large town, most people would not have heard of it. I only truly know of it because of an associate I have there. It is by a river, they mostly live off the land and fish, they do have very good fish there, I must say. My friend runs the town, he is the Lord in charge and I have done much business with him before, he may be able to help give a more solid direction to point in as well, depending on what he has heard from his little part of the woods. He would be absolutely eager to share news about anything, I tell you, he is quite the gossip and often lacks people to speak to other than his servants, so prepare for your ear to be talked off while we stay, and yes, I will say now that most of what he speaks of will be meaningless drivel that you need not pay attention to, only nod to let him know you are still listening when he asks."

Her friend lacked her magical disposition, so hopefully, that meant Aeren would take to him fine enough.

Esadora let out a soft chuckle, however, thinking on Aeren's second statement.

"Do not assume, Aeren, some things may surprise you. I may be a witch but I am a woman of business first. While I admit this is one of my more ambitious ventures, it is hardly enough that I would think on letting you drift from one town to the next in search of that elusive witch or warlock that would help you on your venture-- Finding the shadow will be hard for anyone, especially if she does not wish to be found. Assassins are particular and quite private, they do not like people meddling in their business if they can help it and I do hope we come at a good time, though... Aeren you may wish to have another plan in case of the real possibility that this one is simply rejected."

As cold as she wished to be to him, she could stand offering him a few words of advice on conduct, as he seemed to be in desperate need of it. Perhaps it would make it more bearable.

"Are there any other assassins you could turn to if this one rejects your mission?" Esadora herself did not know many, she was not the type to send someone else to kill her enemies, but she knew enough about the world itself to be able to tell what could be found within. She chuckled. "This is... a bit funny though. A knight chasing an assassin through a witch. Hm. Pretyr remind me to make that into a song, do not worry, Aeren, it sounds so ridiculous no one will believe it to be true."
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
She spoke without a filter, she knew. She had no time to skirt around the truth nor instill false pride in others. It had gotten her into trouble in the past, and she'd been scolded and beaten for her lack of control of her tongue, but now she knew when to speak out, when to speak her mind. She could not retract the filter when around royals nor around targets and the like. And she definitely could not speak out against Master Damaer; she'd learned that the hard way. But people like Maedor—what would– could he do to her? He was no match for her. But it still made her wary; she was toeing a line, speaking to her accomplice like that. She needed to set boundaries, that much was true, but Master Damaer needed him, which meant that she couldn't run him off. Not yet.

The wolf-elf snorted, the closest to a laugh he'd gotten so far. "I do not hate you, per se," she replied, a lazy hand gesturing towards the lorethven. "I have been paired with worse. No, I hate that Fa– Master Damaer has paired me with someone that I do not know, much less heard of. Imagine that: Someone that I do not know." There was a hint of humor in her voice, but it was a dark humor, one that was as sharp as glass and cold as ice. "I do not hate you, Maedor dariosa a vell Taellaris Coralenni. I hate the circumstances." It was the truth. Though she disliked Maedor—more so because Master Damaer paired him with her instead of someone she knew, and because he was rather naive and chatty—she knew that it was not his fault. Placing blame on him would do nothing in their current situation; Master Damaer was the one to blame because, no matter the reason Maedor accepted this suicide mission, Roxii knew for a fact that he had no choice but to accept. Master Damaer was a sly character, and she knew that he always got what he wanted.

And yet that one question continued to gnaw at her: Why did Master Damaer choose Maedor? It still didn't make much sense to her. Yes, he was her polar opposite—a healer where she was a murderer, compassionate where she was cold—but why not a healer from the Crimson Shadow? The healers in the manor were not only trained in the ways of medicine and magic, but also in the ways of the sword, the bow, of stealth, discretion, and charisma. They were as deadly as the trained assassins, so if Master Damaer wanted someone to watch her back and infiltrate areas which she could not (without alerting someone, of course), they would do just fine. So why seek out a man, one Master Damaer no doubt had to promise something rather lucrative in return, to take up this position when he had loyal followers to call upon?

It continued to puzzle her.

Her brow furrowed slightly, a dark look overcoming her features. "No, it does not." Her voice had grown cold, but it was not out of anger. It was something else that made her chest tighten and her voice drop to a sinister tremble. "Master Damaer is a ruthless man," she told Maedor. "He does not care what is fair; only that which is deserved." She paused, a memory flashing across her mind's eye, of a merciless hand bringing the rod down, cracking her bones to splinters. Roxii mumbled hatefully, "At least what he believes is deserved."

The L'yrathi woman wiped away a new layer of sweat that had accumulated upon her brow. The heat was becoming rather bothersome; she never did like the heat. Though she didn't miss trudging through waist-high blankets of snow, she enjoyed the crispness of the air and the energizing nip of the cold. Hot weather drained her, and though her training with the Crimson Shadow included forcing her into boiling hot and blistering cold climates to survive, it made her feel heavy, as if the very air were weighing upon her shoulders. The air was cooler than the echuir months that had passed not long ago, but its heat lingered. She couldn't wait for hrive to make its entrance.

She pushed her hood off her head. They were far enough from civilization for her to ride freely, and, from what she could tell, there was no one traveling the road they rode. Not closely, anyways. She did not have to hide her identity, the fact that she was a blind woman traveling by horseback—no doubt by magical means—and a L'yrathi. The heat underneath her hood was becoming unbearable, and she did not fear the man that rode beside her. If he decided to act out—or even speak out—then she would put him in his place.

Roxii cocked an eyebrow at Maedor's question. "I am a L'yrathi." She spoke the words as if the obvious statement answered his question. Whether it did or not, she continued, "I am hated because I am alive. Not only for my heritage, but also because I am a killer." It was stated bluntly, no skirting or toeing around the obvious. No filter, indeed. "For someone so intelligent, you are not very perceptive."

She exhaled swiftly through her nose. Out of agitation or humor, it's unclear. "Yes, I am fine with speaking to people of their ilk. I am not trapped within such schematic beliefs to condemn those that have done no wrong."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Esadora de Levoran

    Mentioned: The Shadow of Thiyalia | Queen Alannis Vaneiros [Vaguely] | Unnamed Vaneiros Sister
The elven knight listened intently to Esadora's words, drinking in the information like a parched dog at a stream. He wondered what exactly this woman considered "business". Did it include her illegal use of witchcraft, traveling from town to town and granting wishes that should remain as such? Or was her business of a more promiscuous manner, sating the desires of men—and women; he didn't judge—to build her customer base and perhaps make ends meet? He highly doubted it were the latter; she'd grown rather agitated and offended when he'd offered her more gold back at the tavern. So he settled on the former idea.

He didn't know that there was much of a business in sorcery and witchcraft. From his experience, the majority of Thiyalia despised people like Esadora. They would not condone the use of such dangerous practices so close to them, much less pay for them. But if Esadora had a client, then that meant she had more. She had a customer base, newcomers that were trying something new and regulars that were addicted to the results. She had support. Support of her destruction. Support of her unnatural practices. Support of her illegal practices. It unsettled him that there were more people than he'd expected who would willingly invite someone like Esadora into their home and allow them to perform sorcery in their midst without alerting the local guards. How many people actually despised witchcraft? It made him wonder:

Am I in the majority or the minority?

He supposed he should've guessed that not everyone jumped on the bandwagon. Though he'd never say it out loud, Aerendal didn't wholeheartedly agree with the ban on magic throughout the land. He harbored magic himself; it could be deadly when his life was in danger and lifesaving when he was desperate. Water had healing properties; it was a natural element that could speed up the healing process in wounded individuals, and he'd used it on himself on more than one occasion. His magic had also saved him. He'd used it to get to the shore of a nearby island safely when his ship had been attacked by pirates on his way to the Lourvista. And it had kept him from dying from dehydration when he'd been stranded on the island for more than a week, awaiting the aid of his Queen.

His magic was not evil, and he felt that it was wrong to prevent Thiyalians like him—people with the in-borne ability to bend one of the eight elements to their will—from practicing that which was natural. The raven-haired beauty across from him, however, was not blessed by the gods that looked over him. She sought her own means of magic, falling into the darkness that was sorcery. She did not bend the elements harmoniously; no, she forced them to do her bidding, gripping the very essence of life with her claws and squeezing out results. It sickened him, a sour taste building within in mouth.

"Are there any other assassins you could turn to?"

He blinked. The knight knew that there was no guarantee that this Shadow would accept his proposal, but he'd never let his mind wander to what he'd resort to if she rejected him. Esadora was right; the possibility of being rejected was very real, and he had a sneaking suspicion that there would be no way to sway the assassin once she set her mind to a decision. What would he do? He could search for another assassin, yes, but there were none as skilled as the Shadow—at least as far as he knew. The world of assassins was a private one, and he was positive that there was at least one or two in the field that were just as deadly but more secretive. Her Majesty's personal assassin was of no use to Aeren; he had no idea where to even start looking for the Vaneiros sister.

He could ask the sorceress for her direct aid, but that still posed the original problem: driving the Vaneiros sister deeper into hiding at the first touch of magic. But from what he'd seen back in the study, Esadora would be fully capable of tracking down the woman. Would she be able to lead him in a true direction after some time? How long would they have to chase her before they caught up to her? It would be a long, arduous chase that Aeren wasn't entirely sure would produce results. And he knew for certain that he couldn't track her down by himself; even when they were children, she was skilled in the art of Hide 'n Seek. He never won a game against her, and he'd refused to ever play it again with her.

The High Commander's gaze slipped to the window, watching the landscape roll by, and he sighed. "I better hope that she does not reject my mission. I do not have many options at my disposal."

 
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Maedor Taellaris​
"Heh," he ran a hand through his hair. "Not the worse? Then I have to assume all better accomplices were purged and killed which is why he turned to me. I don't even know how he heard of me, I have a clientele list, sure, but at the core... I'm just a healer. He needs no babies delivered, or hearts soothed. I am lost as to why he chose me just as you are. The only thing I may have another healer does not, at least if they are from this nation, is my ability to speak Mevaran, but even then there are plenty of talented Mevaran healers- between you and me they are far far ahead in medicine- to choose from." He pinched his nose and shook his head. "Nevermind. I should not try to make sense of the decisions of men like him. I'm just some cog in his plan, I shouldn't be thinking so much."

However, the mood began to somber as the discussion turned to prejudice and injustice.

Prejudice was nothing Maedor was new to.

It had started when he was a boy, continually hearing his father rant about the Vra'sali, speaking of the elusive and exclusionary people as though they were there, taunting him in his own home. At frist Maedor simply assumed it was because their kind was from across the seas in the desert lands and beyond. Every day, Maedor had listened to him drink and rant angrily, enough for Maedor to shift his thinking to it being some business venture must have fallen through badly for him to feel so strongly. However, Maedor wondered if he simply felt threatened, as Maedor could remember clearly the first time he met a Vra'sali, towering over him, wings wide and poised for flight with flowing golden hair, looking beautiful and dangerous at once. Though, the beauty was quickly put out of Maedor's mind when he ended up with a silver gauntlet wrapped around his throat.

He was lucky, in that he was never truly subjected to the trials and tribulations of others, however, he had managed to forge enough relations and let himself slip for only a moment into their lives and understand their pain. He had been with the Lady of Gray Water Bay when the soldiers had come in, and he had watched her as they hid beneath the floorboards, cramped and dirty while she bit down on his leather belt and choked back every scream and sob while he treated her face and abdomen after a guard had chosen to deface her before attempting to go in for the killing blow. It had been one of the most fear-inducing nights of Maedor's life, sitting there, cramped while he attempted to keep the process speedy and focused, only having the light which filtered through the floorboards as his guide. He was surprised she lived, though he had a feeling part of that was the magical healing properties of the water and the superiority of the tools she had on hand, it just so happened he was the most skilled doctor who was present after the soldiers had stormed the house and killed her own, leaving them both scraping for the meager chance at life.

Knowing that the experience he had was likely what they felt every other day of their life, he had always been in awe at their resolve to continue on, especially the sorceresses, all of them walking with grace and poise as though they were the princesses and Queens of the world despite that world being one which hated them, spat on them, and tried to grind them beneath their boot. It was one thing that had stood out to him when he treated all of them. Never once did they cry or show any type of weakness even when they were at their worst. Sometimes he wondered how they did it, how they managed. But the only one he had managed to get the confidence to ask simply chuckled at his question as she ran her fingers over his cheek in the same fashion she had done over that week in a near fond manner.

'We do it because we have to. And anyone like us will say the same.'

Funnily enough, the only other person he knew like them, from over the seas, part of a race which man had attempted to erase and destroy, succeeding in every fashion except for overlooking her very existence had said the exact same. A race which time and the very world was working against coming into existence despite their power of foresight, and being natural-born oracles, they had been wiped out and forgotten, with only one inscription left behind. It was well put in a Meravan proverb: Bedan als leten af alcorin devit lyre ostuden.

And she walks among the wicked with light and fire.

It relayed to the greater tale of the daughter of Anludin and Breasi, walking amongst her murderous brothers with a bit of her father in her mouth, letting it scorch her tongue, but never screaming and or yelling even as they did all they could to harm and defile her, she still held her mouth closed and held herself as though she was still the princess of the Sun Kingdom until the day it was time for her father's rebirth, knowing well then she would have her revenge, as righteous and as hot as ever.

It was hopeful thinking, in Maedor's opinion. But he supposed it was needed.

Despite all that, he had still managed to mee those that continued to have those unseemly biases.

He waved a hand in the air and shook his head. "I suppose that is true... though I have found it best not to assume, so forgive me if my question seemed unnecessary. I have just seen... too many people that ought to have a semblance of empathy that had none to think that just because you should understand meant you do."

Esadora de Levoran​
There seemed to be a certain innocence that was there alongside this knight, a type which by all means should not have existed, yet had somehow festered and bloomed right before Esadora's eyes. It was strange, as she was used to being overwhelmed by malice and destruction when it came to his type. Their minds consumed by the simple want for bloodshed and control, taking what they could get and crushing it in their hands until nothing was left but a bloody husk of what was. She had no doubt, that under normal circumstances he would be the same way, with her bound at the stake or to a chair for torture, a public display of the law overcoming the wicked, the evil magic being put down and destroyed. It was intriguing to see them outside of that, and outside of the mindnumbing lust she sometimes managed to cause to overcome them. It was, perhaps, the sadistic part of her that took the most pleasure in shoving them down, dominating them in every way, making them bend to her will and her will alone until she left them broken and trembling as they wished to leave her. Especially the pretty ones. They always felt her wrath the most.

More than anything, it was then that she dared them to attack her, when they were isolated and alone without any of their motley crew to back them up, having to face her power at its full force and acknowledge that they were weaker than her, they could not take her in. Not alone. She could knock them on their ass, play with them as a cat does before it killed its prey, let them be her entertainment until she grew tired of them. That same lesson had been forced on Aeren in the study, and it was one he would not forget, she was sure. As long as they were alone with one another, he was aware of who held the power.

But they always were. That was why they wished to see the sorcerers and sorceresses dead and gone, buried in a place where they could not make any more trouble, where they could not threaten the order.

Though... Esadora knew some truth could come through some forms. An untrained sorceress has a fit and she could kill her mother or worse. The sorcerers possibly had the most dangerous form of magic, especially when it was left wild and unchecked, it became chaotic and untrustworthy. It was a delicate balance to hold all the power in their fingers, letting their bodies become vassals to this strength and then using it, grasping at it, bending it to their will as no other could. It was a truly miraculous display, one which should have been revered, but men could not stand being the lesser power, and thus anything which threatened them was wrong.

It was a shame, really. And it was lucky that a few had managed to see the light, of what sorcery could truly do for a person. Esadora felt a teasing smile slowly spread across her lips, a mischievous glint came to her eye.

"You have so much hope on this, Aeren, I do hope it works out for you, I am sure if you have the right pay the Shadow will do it for you, like me, she runs a business and you do not run a successful business by turning away fruitful clients. Though... I don't think it bears repeating, but be sure not to antagonize her when we come. Assassins and sorcerers, we are a bit of kin in some ways, working on the same side of the law, hated by many--" she poked her toe out, teasingly letting it move along his calf, stopping at the knee and pulling back. "But you don't hate us, right, sweetie?" she asked with a slight pout on her lips. "That would be quite disheartening-- Such handsome men always looking away because of a simple difference."

The smile quickly returned, she was unable to keep it off her face, as she had mostly done such to see his reaction to her flirtations, especially ones so open. It left most knights confused if she had the time to take such measures with them.

"We may be meeting more sorceresses along the way, so I do hope you don't hate us, they may just love you, darling, and you don't want to disappoint them. My friend Josephina, she has a love for elves in particular, if we come across her I would prepare for a long night." Esadora likely should have felt bad for teasing him like so, but she simply decided to leave it at that, for now. If he did not run after she had suffocated him, he would not run at light teasings and it simply lightened the mood for her in a way that did not involve injuring him, it seemed to be beneficial to all. Even if he did not quite understand that.
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
"I'm just some cog in his plan."

As am I.

It was a bitter thought to accept. Much to her displeasure, Roxii knew it was the truth. Like a puppet-master, Master Damaer towered above them, pulling their strings to make them do what he desired. Like a game-master, Master Damaer set and moved them where he wanted them. Like a master, he controlled their every move, their every word, threatening punishment for disobedience and dangling an impossible reward just out of their reach. They were puppets, pawns, slaves, and there was not much they could do about that. Except for killing Falaern, but Roxii held no desire to face off against the mysterious master assassin. She knew that there was much that he had not divulged to her, information and techniques alike. The wolf-elf had a sneaking suspicion that he would squash them like insects.

A ray of sunlight brushed against her exposed cheek. Though the air was heavy with moisture and heat, the sunlight was gentle and light. It reminded her of her father's gentle hand, brushing away tears of anxiety. She missed him. He was a warrior, but the same hand that slew his enemies to protect his family was also the same hand to guide the young child along the right path, one full of success and prosperity. He was a kind and humble man, and he helped her become the best she could be.

Up until his death.

After that, her whole world began to crumble around her. Things moved too quickly for her to keep up. Before she knew it, she was scrounging around the streets for scraps blindly, and it wasn't long before she was Master Damaer's newest protégé, forced under his hand to become a killer-for-hire. She wondered what her father would think of her now, continuing down the path of a murderer for the rest of her days. She did not allow herself to dwell on it.

Instead, she thought about her mother. Her mother did not like her. Though she never said it outright, Roxii had noted the way her mother looked at her, disdain evident in her eyes. There was hate coiled around her mother's heart, but not for the child herself. No, it was for what she possessed. "She is soiled by a curse!" she'd heard her mother scream at her father. "Her darkness will destroy our family!" Her father had refused to listen to another word. He believed Roxii's shadows were a blessing from the gods just as the other elements, but her mother's words still struck the young child to the core. Because it sure did seem like she was a curse upon her family. Perhaps that was why they were all dead now.

No. It was not my fault.

The L'yrathi hummed in reply. It was a sound response. One could never be too careful. Still, she had her own injustice to worry about. The blind velglorn had no time to fault the choices of sorcerers and sorceresses. There were still droves of Thiyalians that hated her muddied blood, hellbent on eradicating that which should not exist. "It is indeed disappointing that so many are trapped in such facile beliefs, refusing to develop their opinions through experience rather than by what is shoved down their throat."

When she was a child, she had asked her uncle why they were so different from the other elves—the high elves, dark elves, and the like. He’d told her that long ago, there lived a wood elf named Naetnrel in the Penegus Woods. She’d held a special connection with the forest and its animals and opted to make friends with the creatures of the forest rather than the citizens of Arynidra nearby. Her best friend was a large gray wolf named Marzax, and the wolf stayed by her side through everything.

One day, Marzax revealed that he was not a wolf at all; at least, not entirely. He was a human, and he held the ability to shift between a human and a wolf. He was a special shifter, able to change between the two forms at will rather than waiting for a specific event like a lycanthrope. He was afraid to reveal his identity because he had come to love Naetnrel and only wished to be close to her. Naetnrel, having felt a unique connection with the wolf-turned-man, admitted that she loved him as well.

They mated soon after, and to them bore the first L’yrathi. They were met with backlash from the other elves, condemned for their sins of breeding and creating an impure species. The couple and their children were banished from Arynidra and the surrounding lands, but the damage had already been done. By the end of the next decade, L’yrathi were roaming across Thiyalia, and the next decade after that, they founded the Kingdom of Felnethyr.

Her uncle had gone on to tell her the history of Felnethyr, but she had dismissed his history lesson by asking more questions about the forbidden couple. He’d told her of the rumors that the other races believed, that Marzax was not a shifter after all and Naetnrel had sexual relations with a beast, or that Marzax had cast a curse on Naetnrel after she rejected him, condemning her to never be able to love her children because they will always look like him. There were many speculations regarding the birth of the L’yrathi race, but Roxii always liked to believe her uncle’s tale. He always was a good storyteller.

It’s been a long time since then.

Her attention returned to Maedor. It was rare to find someone so considerate and caring towards the general population, much less someone who took the time to learn before formulating opinions and beliefs. A majority of people she'd met were deeply set in their ways, dismissing the possibility of anything that competed or disproved their beliefs. Prejudice reigned in their hearts, turning their nose up at truth and understanding. Roxii knew she could be a prejudiced person, but she'd been working on that flaw. Though she held a certain dislike for specific groups of people—the upper-class tended to be greedy and narcissistic—she forced herself to try and understand individuals before throwing them into the pit with the rest of the despicable Thiyalians.

But then there came along someone like Maedor. She wanted to believe that he was like all the other nobles—pompous and conceited with a love for money and an inability to work hard. She wanted to believe that he had a home to go to—perhaps not a welcome one as most wealthy had some sort of home troubles—with someone waiting for him. But... No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite pin that lifestyle, that attitude to him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a doctor, the fact that he got to see the world and its people for what it was and plunged his hands into the thick of it, pulling them back out with blood coating him up to his elbows. He was unlike any she'd met, and it intrigued her.

She began speaking before she could stop herself, "You are different from others that I have encountered." Roxii shifted herself on the saddle, attempting to get comfortable again. "Tell me, Maedor; what makes you so different? Why do you hold such controversial beliefs in this day and age? I am curious."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Esadora de Levoran

    Mentioned: Unnamed Vaneiros Sister
He was surprised by her honesty and offering of advice towards his venture. It was almost as if she'd forgotten the incident in the study but just one look into her piercing gaze, and he knew that she had not and would never forget. Perhaps it was her professionalism, the fact that she was a "woman of business." He hoped it would stay this way, the sorceress doing her job and the knight staying out of the way. A mutual understanding, a neutral temporary companionship.

And then the teasing began. He tensed at her touch, the brush of her skin against his leg. A chill ran down his spine, and he couldn't decide if it were fear or something else. Her soft words penetrated him, and his brow lowered a bit in confusion and disdain at her smirk. She was playing with him, and he didn't appreciate it. It confused him, the way she teased him suddenly. She was supposed to hate him, to want to be rid of him as soon as possible. Yet, here she was, doing the opposite of "keeping things professional." Was this her way of reminding him who held the power? Surely she'd already made her point at the manor.

"I– Uh–" Despite himself, he could feel his face heating at the mention of her friend and the innuendo of something more, his mind trailing. He shoved the unwarranted thoughts away and hardened his expression. The thought of having a lone night with a sorceress both disgusted and fascinated him. He should be wholeheartedly repulsed by the idea, by the simple idea that he would put aside his duty to the Crown to satisfy his own desires. But there was something tantalizing about going behind the law, doing something he wasn't supposed to with the risk of being caught. Just the thought of it made his heart race.

But now was not the time to think about what he might and might not want. He had a job to do, one which was imperative to him, the Crown, and the kingdom. He had no time to satisfy the desires of his flesh. He'd already gotten one step further by finding Esadora. Now all he had to do was find the Shadow, have her find his cousin (if she even accepted his proposal), and bring her back to Felnethyr.

But that was easier said than done. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd get his cousin back to Felnethyr. She wouldn't go down without a fight, and he knew that she wouldn't have spent her time away just sitting around. No, just like him, she would have been training to become stronger, honing her skills. He hadn't seen her in over a decade, and a lot could have changed in that span of time. He had gotten stronger, that much was true, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was still more skilled than him in combat. It was one of the things he envied most about the Vaneiros sister. The art of combat came naturally to her, and he was jealous of her ability to trump him in sparring matches.

Even if he did somehow best and capture her, he would have to lug her all the way to Felnethyr by himself. She would make the journey a living hell, he knew. He would have to keep a close eyes on her for the duration of their travels, and it was quite possible that she could escape again. If that happened, he could always track her down again, but there was a small chance that she would lose him again. He'd have to scour Thiyalia again and continue to find her over and over again until he got her to his kingdom.

There was a twisting in the High Commander's gut. His mission had only just begun, and he felt as though he was being torn apart. Not only was he going against his values and the oaths he swore by hiring the aid of a sorceress, but he was also fulfilling the wishes of his queen by searching out his cousin. He was unquestioningly scouring the world to find her, to bring her back to Felnethyr and face the ultimate punishment for her crimes. He had no choice but to meet Her Majesty's demands—she ordered him to find her sister, so he would do so—but he knew that he was caught in the middle of a feud he didn't want to be a part of.

Because he was the only one who knew the truth.

His blue gaze studied Esadora a moment before flicking back to the window and back to the sorceress. "I... I'm sure your friend is a delightful person." He could still feel the blush heating his cheeks, and he tried to cool the water in his bloodstream to drive it away. It always felt weird to change the very temperature of the liquid in his system, but it helped him survive both freezing cold and burning hot climates. Unfortunately, he was having a hard time focusing. "I would prefer to not be distracted, however. After all, I have someone waiting for me back at home." It was a lie, but he hoped that she bought it and left him alone. It wasn't like she could tell he was lying.

Well, he hoped not.

 
Maedor Taellaris​
The world they lived in was bleak, cold and demanding.

Maedor's own home had proved that, and his ventures outward had proved in further. It was a constant unrelenting whirlwind that posed a threat at every direction he turned. There was no such thing as calm before the storm, nor was there a time after it. His life was constant motion, from one atrocity to the next whether it be brought on by nature or by man. A plague, a sickness, at times seemed no different from a sword injury or knife impalement. In both cases, he was always looking to fix an atrocity, it was just a matter of whether it be brought by the wrath of Gods or the wrath of man, in cases of infection it was often both. And in every case the chances of success were as balanced on his skill as much as it was on their luck. While he could make remedies, salves and creams, he was not a miracle worker in any imagining of the word. With every leg successfully amputated, one would become infected. With every babe successfully born, one would slip out cold and still with not the slightest hint of life. With ever plague victim, so far, he had only succeeded in bringing their suffering to an end through a peaceful death rather than a cure.

Some may have thought him naive, attempting to become a hero in a world that rejected the very notion. He lacked self-preservation in a world that demanded exactly that, some would say. Or he was simply weak and hid it behind his meager attempts to be useful, as his father would say. Everyone questioned him and his decisions, so much so he should not have been surprised when Roxii did. Though, in truth, some of that surprise came from the fact that Roxii wished to know anything about him other than his apparent usefulness to the mission, as if he was her, in truth he would be greatly questioning that as well. But at the same time, he knew his... ways were not normal.

Sorcerers and sorceresses had been the first to comment on it, and question it. Some could not believe he was not some sort of trick, a man posing as a sympathetic doctor in order to expose them for the witches they were. Those who had come to know him, however, eventually did turn their lines of question to such.

Why risk it? Why be the way he is?

"I assume you are comparing me to the usual nobility, I lived with them, I know how they can be-- My father particularly had an aversion to anyone non-human, perhaps part of it is that I am simply so rebellious that my subconscious has even decided to act out in order to annoy him," he waved a hand lazily, as he knew that answer was far from satisfactory, though it could be an easy truth to part of it. He wished to be everything his father was not, the thought of being anything close to the man he was angered him and frightened him at once. To be so dispassionate as to let the woman who had birthed his children die without a hand to hold, without anyone to say goodbye to and then turn and marry the next young tramp as soon as the funeral was over.

"I... I can't pinpoint an exact time or place to tell you of why my differences exist. I know they do. I have always been an oddity, in both my family and in society." he chuckled. "From the sounds of it, I was an oddity from the moment I was born, I suppose that is why I have a certain... sympathy. It helped a sorceress actually was at our home regularly, apparently I was a sickly child and she would help, but... Where I come from, well... healer is not a man's job." he scratched the back of his neck. "Views are a bit different across the land, but the act was supposed to be left to the holy women, the few men who chose to do it, namely me, were seen as, oh-- how to put it? Failures of masculinity? I believe that works? I have always been more of a scholar in a family where men are supposed to be more... I suppose you can say physical? Violent and mean- even the women could be such, though it was more acceptable for them not to be.

"I, however, was suppose to be a powerful and capable warrior who would show no mercy in battle. As you can see, my prowess knows no bounds and I can defeat even the most egregious enemy on the battlefield." he gestured to himself, assuming she already knew his obvious lack of tact when it came to any type of physical fight. "My only saving grace was that I ended up being rather good at archery- could pinpoint just about any target no matter how far away-, but I came from being a scrawny, annoying, know-it-all to become a slightly less scrawny, more annoying man that understands he knows nothing, at the very least. No one was pleased, obviously, so I chose to wander after my studies were finished. I was probably, hm... sixteen when I began? Still quite stupid, then, but wandering was... it was something which kept me from getting lost in the aloofness many scholars do, I suppose. I had to make my own way and was often as hungry and lonesome as any other on the road, but I was stubborn and stupid so I refused to crawl back to my father.

"And I suppose wandering was where it really started to come to... one of my first well-paying jobs- was a sorceress. She had found me and seemed desperate, willing to pay for some snot-nosed child to help her, she must have been. And- it was the first time I had to treat someone underneath floorboards with only the light that streamed through the cracks to be enough to light my way. It ended up not being her, but for a friend who was a sorceress as well, she had been hit with some sort of poisoned arrow-- likely Versan, based on what I can remember, it is a Meravan based one that I did not learn about until I traveled there, but the woman had needed help as it was rather obviously an assassination attempt, and she was already half way to the grave, everything had been swollen, even her tongue-- her face had broken into hives, the poison is painful- it makes you feel as though fire is burning through your veins- she was in pain, that much was certain. She was in pain and in trouble with the law and... I suppose I saw her for what she was.

"A woman who was in the most agony she had ever been in her life not even allowed to express it because her very existence was illegal. And there we were, cramped in a small room under the floor where I barely could stoop let alone give her proper medical assistance because her existence was illegal.to be hated for your existence- it's... it's a horrible thing. And no one needs me refusing them service when they are trapped in such a horrible predicament as she was. She wasn't my first lost patient, but she was the first one I had lost when I was on my own. It was rather sobering, and I suppose it is when I started to become a bit more... extreme in my "do no harm and help all that need it" oath that had been taken.

"And when I went to Mevara, well..." his head dipped forward, he messed with his reins for a moment. "I... befriended a woman there- she is quite a close friend of mine now, absolutely deadly with a weapon and dangerous to battle, but quite kind when not being threatened. She was from a race that is now- basically extinct, so far she is the only known survivor after the Beran Ak Lodun, great day of fire, though that happened when she was only a babe... They possessed foresight, you know? They knew they were all about to die, they were a close-knit community, they did not like being away from one another, they had so much knowledge and understanding that is now lost under their temple. Between the Vra'Lasi and the Human Bersuvan zealots, well..." he shook his head, he did not need to think of such things now, he had already lost his nerve once and he needed the leaves in his pack to last him until he either found or bought more.

"It also helped that my worst patient was fully human- after leaving Mevara, my master there had taught me how to give birth to a child by cutting the woman's stomach. She was the first I knew of that managed to do it and letting the babe and mother come out of it alive. Well, I spoke of it and certain Lord's wife ended up being in need, as there were complications with her birth. I helped, of course. My reward? Instead of death for looking on her nakedness, I would only get my eyes and tongue cut out. I, I am sure you can guess, decided to forgo this most gracious reward and instead ran, which is why we should, I beg, avoid Jarsal, because it seems I have lost my chance to claim that reward and am instead to be put to death. Let me tell you- No sorceress or sorcerer or elf, or Vra'lasi or Mevaran or Dwarf ever did that to me, so I really have no reason to fear them any more than I do humans."

He wanted to leave her with something a bit more light-hearted after all of his... rather somber talk. "Forgive me, I have rambled a bit, haven't I? Apologies, many of my patients like me to talk to fill the silence if they are not up to saying anything, I grow used to such things."

A sweat broke out on his brow, Maedor glanced up at the warm sun that hung lazily in the sky, it was better than the drizzle that had dampened his hair and clothes which were now mostly dry, though his hair was mussed and would need to be rebrushed and set before the spoke to the next person they came across, as he always found looking decent tended to get people to think him more trustworthy than if he had just come from the mud. That, and he simply did prefer to be clean, and now he was beginning to feel sticky and unpleasant. The warmth was nice, however, after the desert, he had come to enjoy the heat, though it felt nothing here could compare.

Esadora de Levoran​
His reaction was precisely all that she had wanted. She bit her lip to stifle a laugh and then looked to the window, pretending to be checking her reflection rather than to be hiding her look of mirth from him. Non-existent bits of hair got put back into place before she turned to face Aeran once more. His weak protests, his expression, he already disliked being here but she knew her teasing made it so much worse. It was torture to have to sit across from someone you believed deserved righteous retribution and instead have to treat them as equals. After all this- he may be one she needs to watch out for, as he would be the most fervent in his efforts to bring down the evil sorceress Esadora de Levoran. What stories would he tell of her when he returned back to his knightly order? What thoughts ran through his head?

Would he call her the promiscuous whore that lured men back into her dungeon to take all the energy from them? It would not be the first time she was called a vile succubus. Usually, the insults came down to three things. Her promiscuity, her seduction, or her spite. She could say all of them were true and she was more than proud to put it all on display before anyone willing to listen. Aeren just so happened to be her captive audience, one which she had practically now locked into a contract. She would make sure she never scared him away, but she knew he would need to be reminded from time to time who cradled whose life in their hand.

"Oh?" she said, her lips quirked up into a smile. "A lovely lady is waiting back for you, Aeren? Oh, how sweet. I do enjoy hearing tales of romance. Especially from men like you who take their loyalty seriously. I cannot tell you how many married men still tried to bed me- the nerve, as though I was some sort of common whore. But you are kind and loyal- my friend will be so disappointed, sir knight. She does love a man with a sword as much as she loves elves."

Whether he was lying or not was irrelevant. Esadora had no doubt he would be able to pick up a woman where he was from, though he seemed so duty bound she felt sorry for whoever had promised herself to him- they would have a long life of being put in second place. A life Esadora had no plans on living. She demanded to always be someone's first and only if she ever devoted herself, though that had only happened a few times. It made Gregor displeased, as she had left him to his lonesome in those times, but Horus had been worth it. An absolutely delectable man from the South, he had come to make money as a bard. He had loved her voice and demaned they make duets with one another, he was lovely.

Until he decided she was not enough and he 'was so sorry but Harla's legs enticed him,' and 'Charlotte was to prove I couldn't possibly like anyone else more'.

Esadora wondered how he fared now. Her rage had quieted and she did hope he had come to terms with being a eunuch after all this time.

It was his fault, really, did he truly believe he could do such a thing to a sorceress and leave intact?

"Tell me of this woman?" Esadora asked, her eyebrows raised. "I love tales of romance, how did you two meet? Hm-- please do tell me she was a human, that would make for a lovely ballad, I can feel it."
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
The assassin had been considered a multitude of negative characteristics. Heartless. Ruthless. Inconsiderate. Haughty. She'd been called every insult under the sun because of her addiction to taking lives. Even when she'd tried to show a softer side, a side in which she would listen to others, offer advice, and simply act empathetic towards others, they'd turned their nose up at her, their gaze transfixed upon the blood that stained her hands. They ignored her attempts at humanity, hearts hardened against her acts of generosity and love, and focused only on the fact that she was a killer, a murderer—an assassin.

That was the only name they gave her. Not healer—when she'd saved her partner from the brink of death whilst out on a high risk contract—, not giver—when she'd been starving and lost in a foreign land, but she'd relented and given her stolen food to an orphan—, and definitely not kind—when she'd offered aid to her target's whore, offering her a newly redeemed life of freedom. They all laughed at her, spat at her, called her horrid names, and reminded her that she was nothing more than a cold-hearted murderer. An assassin.

They were right to fear her, but it still irritated her. She'd tried to keep an open mind, believing that she could make a difference in the world without killing, but it wasn't long before she'd stopped trying. She'd put up impenetrable walls around her hardened heart. There was no point in trying to help those around her, especially since they could hardly help themselves. She'd tried to do something better with her life, to do something that her father would be proud of, but it had failed. She had failed. She was not good at much else other than taking lives.

But listening? She'd always been a good listener, even before she was training to be a skilled killer-for-hire, before she'd become blind. So when Maedor began talking, Roxii listened. She kept her mouth shut, remained attentive, and kept her face neutral as she drank in the answer to her question. The L'yrathi was a calculating individual, and, like Falaern, she valued information. She never did something without a reason, and though the question slipped out of her before she could restrain it, she really did want to know the answer. He was intriguing to the assassin.

But she also knew nothing about him nor his house. An encyclopedia of information regarding all Thiyalians was what she was supposed to be. So as the lorethven spoke, Roxii filed away the information he divulged to her, tabbing it underneath the name Taellaris. Perhaps it would not prove useful to her in her line of business—not many contracted the murder of a healer—but they could be useful as a jumping off point for other contracts.

And as she listened to his explanation—one that, admittedly, went on longer than she'd expected—she couldn't help but feel... envious of Maedor. The way he framed his life made it seem like a cakewalk compared to the obstacles she had to endure and overcome. A hatred for his father was what drove him away from his home, whilst Roxii fled her home in fear for her life. Freedom allowed him to wander and find suitable work, whereas she was tricked into a line of work that she regretted believing in. He'd been able to make a life for himself when he was ready, and Roxii was thrust into life of fear and death before she'd even had her first bleeding.

It made her realize how quickly things had changed for her. Maedor claimed that he began traveling at the age of sixteen. The velglorn thought on where she was when she was sixteen. Memories flashed across her mind's eye, of a whip digging into the flesh of her back over and over, blood and chunks of skin spraying across the courtyard in a display of gore confetti; a scream filled with anguish and pain aimed towards the sky as the metal pressed against her skin, branding her as a prisoner; heat and exhaustion dragging her down, tempting her eyes closed to never open again; dust from the dirt and coal they mined filling her lungs and choking her airways. A shiver ran through her at the memories.

She was sixteen when she'd been sentenced to life in prison at Sanguine Isle. They charged her with the murder of over one hundred Thiyalians over the course of her four years with the Crimson Shadow. She was surprised, but she believed the numbers as she'd proved early to be a natural at stealth, combat, and trickery. But her days at Sanguine Isle, those three long years... She never wished to relive those days, which was why she'd become more patient and refused to work with accomplices. Treachery was what sent her to the fatal prison in the first place; she did not plan on ever going back. Roxii found her thumb running across the brand on her right hand and forced her hand back into her lap.

The wolf-elf resisted the urge to chuckle at his story of the ungrateful nobleman and instead a corner of her mouth curved up into an amused smirk. She'd dealt with her fair share of thankless, bipolar men. There were just some people you could not please, no matter what you did. Like Falaern. When she succeeded at something, his malice seemed to only ebb momentarily, but it was never gone. It made her feel as though her attempts were fruitless, but she knew better than to disobey or fail. She supposed her reward consisted of not being punished or worse.

Roxii was silent for a moment as she processed the healer's answer. "Do not apologize for who you are. I suppose it works well, you and I. You are... loquacious, whereas I simply listen." She paused to turn slightly, lips curved into a sly grin. "Though you could serve to prattle on less often." The grin was wiped away, but her features had visibly softened. Despite the circumstances, the tension of being forced under Master Damaer's thumb once again gripping her by the throat, there was a certain calming effect the doctor beside her gave off. Perhaps it was from years of having to fake being calm around his patients, and now it had become a permanent part of him. Whatever it was, she did not feel threatened by the man. But her guard remained standing. "I appreciate your honesty, Maedor. It is difficult to find nowadays."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Esadora de Levoran

    Mentioned: Mystery Redhead uwu
One would think that with as much time as he spent in court, conversing with other officials, noblemen, and the like, Aeren would have been a better liar. But he was still terrible at it. He could try his damnedest to spin a web of lies to protect his ass, forming a faux alibi to preserve his pride and reputation—and at times someone else's—but he could never make a lie very believable. He always panicked, forgetting what he'd said before, and there was many a time that he contradicted his own statements. It was the main cause of his stories falling through. As a knight, he could think on his feet to ensure his head stayed upon his shoulders and his platoon lived through a battle, but forming a story in his mind on the spot always threw him off guard.

So when Esadora gripped his lie in her clawed grasp and took advantage of his weakness, the half-elf's face heated even more, if that were even possible. He was sure his face was redder than a ripened strawberry. All he'd done was dig a hole for himself, and if he continued like this, the hole would only grow deeper. But he couldn't stop himself.

"I– I–" he stammered hopelessly. "Y– Yes. Yes, I do. She's absolutely wonderful. Gorgeous. Perfect." His blue eyes flicked towards the window, attempting to avoid the questioning gaze of the sorceress. He hated how Esadora made him feel small, as if she could grasp him in the palm of her dainty hand and crush him. He wished he could disappear into the seat below him or throw himself out the door of the carriage, but that would not only jeopardize his mission's success, but it would also relinquish the victory to the de Levoran woman. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Think of something, Aerendal, he thought angrily. Don't allow her to play you. Beat her at her own game. His brow furrowed as he thought. He did not need to conceive something that was even remotely true; Esadora would not know the difference between a real woman or a fake one. As long as he formulated some woman that was believable, he'd be able to escape the sorceress' grip. You cannot hope to win. He sighed internally at the revelation, but he didn't give up. He knew plenty of women back home, but there was only one that came to mind...

"We met on the battlefield," Aerendal finally spoke. The tension leaked out of his body like a hole poked in a bag as he recalled the day. "The Battle of Frozen Harbor. It was a quick one, fighting the pirates that attempted to take the northern coast of Felnethyr, but it was a bloody one. There were wounded everywhere, and I was trying to save as many of my men as possible. My healing capabilities are... subpar compared to the real healers, but I did what I could.

"There was one woman that was helping the injured to the healers. All while bleeding out from her own wounds." His lips tugged into a small smile at the memory. "I ordered one of my men to take the man she was carrying and forced her to sit. She tried to fight me, but I refused her protests. I used what little knowledge I could to tend to her wounds. The stubborn woman had a hole punched through her stomach. Her fiery red hair should have been my first clue of her spirit."

Aeren paused and raised his brow at the sorceress. "And aye, she's human, if that makes you feel better." His gaze locked with her violet ones for a moment, and he suddenly remembered who he was talking to. His eyes slid back to the window, not particularly looking at anything beyond. "She is a skilled fighter. We spar often, and drink together when we're both free. She has freckles that make her look more innocent than she is, but I know. I know that behind her ocean blue eyes is a spirit that can never be broken, a perseverance that rivals even mine."

He squinted his eyes slightly, brow lowering again. She was not a figment of his imagination, for if it was it would be the most comprehensible woman he'd ever made up. Every word he said was the truth, and he could picture her perfectly. But she was not waiting for him, not in the sense that Esadora believed. They could never be together; she'd left Felnethyr months ago on an assignment, and she would probably never return if she did well at her job, which was likely. It made his chest hurt to think of her. He'd forced himself to forget about her in an attempt to stay focused, to keep his full attention on addressing Her Majesty's every whim.

"She is flawless in my eyes," he admitted. "Where others see stubbornness and anger, I see persistence and passion. She has a scar– right here–" A finger traced vertically over the right side of his jaw. "–from when she fought with her father. He refused to let her join the guard. She has others, and it was common to find us sharing the stories behind our scars. I do miss feeling her skin against mine. I have not seen her in some time."

 
Maedor Taellaris​

It was oddly easy for Maedor to share much of his life, though he usually avoided the fine details with every story which he shared. He had learned both the art of listening and that of babbling in the time he spent on the road. Being a traveling healer, it was lucrative he learned how to speak to people, as they tended to prefer going to the healer they already knew- provided that person had not proved unsuccessful or simply lacked charisma. It was, possibly, the only benefit that was brought to him from being of nobility other than the fact he did not have to grow up impoverished. He understood what it took to get people's attention and respect, knowing when to shut his mouth and when to speak and fill the silence in the air, whichever would ease the patient or client he was with the most. Of course, things became easier when he began to somewhat make a name for himself, especially among sorcerers and sorceresses as a loyal doctor who would see to their wounds, illnesses, or any other occurrence in which they may have the need to consult a medic. Though, most were interested in the salves and oils he provided that he found could soften skin.

Though, Maedor could never say he had worked with an assassin before.

It was certain he had worked on those who had brought harm to others before, had killed others even. Politics, nobility, war, empire, none of which was he a stranger to. Maedor had seen man at its lowest, from the wounded child who had been dragged in from the battlefield to the sad one-legged man that had suffered the loss of his family in a raid and now hobbled homeless on the streets with only the hope of someone would toss him a coin for a drink in the local tavern. But, Maedor had seen much more than that, having brought the sick back from the brink and holding a newborn child in his hands. At times it nearly dumbfounded him that such things happened in the same week and at times the same day. It felt as though he was older than he actually was with the amount of time he spent traveling, however, he did not think himself a master, knowing all his mentors would strike him and claim he was too young to have such cynical views.

Roxii proved to be far more attentive, even accepting, than he expected. He expected to be told to shut up halfway through, likely with a well-placed threat to help it along, though he had not been in the presence of many assassins, he was in the presence of mercenaries and the like before, he thought them similar enough, and the mercenaries never liked listening to him prattle and had more than once threatened to throw him in the mud and often proceeded to act on that threat. It was, truly, a filthy life. But, at the very least it seemed Roxii was willing to put up with it for the time being without threatening him or causing him trouble, so he offered her smile, knowing she would probably see it somehow, and a slight chuckle.

"Loquacious? That's one word for it... You're quite kind, then, eh? I expected you would have cut me off halfway through. My life is certainly somewhat... dull, likely especially so compared to yours. But... if or when you ever wish to speak of yourself, I can listen as well as I can talk, even if it doesn't seem so..." If mercenaries and assassins were alike, then she likely did not like sharing her secrets and past, no matter how intriguing it may be.

It could not have been happy. The end result, after all, was this.

He was not naive. The world was cruel to those who were different, especially those who were seen as powerful or deadly forces, along with being different. He did not know much of the L'yrathi, as he knew most did not care to learn of them for more reasons than simply to hurt or kill them. To walk in a town likely felt close to a death sentence, if anything his presence may help just because he could walk into a tavern with nothing to cover him and no one would offer him a second glance. Well, perhaps if he was shorter no one would offer him a second glance. As it stood, him standing tall above most people seemed to give many pause.

"If I talk too much just say the word. That is not too much honesty for me." Though, something told him she did not need to be told. He decided to be kind and tread along in silence the rest of the way. They were not far from their destination, being able to see the town upon the horizon rather soon. It was not necessarily bustling, though it was obviously alive. The first thing they came across were farms, of course, the owners standing outside, eyes barely falling on them as they rode past them, but it did prove the ground about the river was fertile. It was likely what kept the town afloat. It was both hot and humid close to the river, the air thick with moisture and the sun seeming to be hellbent on ensuring they were warmed and tanned on their rise, as it shone brightly even when a puffy white cloud passed before it, offering them a single moment's reprieve as it went about in the sky.

Maedor shoved a lock of blonde hair from his damp forehead as he looked ahead towards the bridge that led over the river and into town. A wagon rattled against the boards and then slipped past, guards stood at the entrance, they were better dressed than Maedor would have expected for a town he knew so little about, and the swords at their hips were likely enough of a deterrent for the wanton rabble that struck. They seemed hot and miserable, leaning against the wooden pillars and waiting for the moment they were told it was time for them to be relieved. They likely were not watching for anything other than mysterious strangers who seemed to promise to bring trouble. Though he was wrong, as they quickly stood alert when he and Roxii rode up.

"What are ya?" the first asked, squinting against the glaring sunlight, his arms were crossed firmly over his chest. Maedor peeked past him and into the town they were about to enter. It seemed richer than it should have been. The buildings were well made, the wood, though weatherworn, stood strong against any gust or blow of the wind and the signs were brightly painted and well kept. An inn, a tavern, an apothecary- it seemed like a rather well-made town. Surprisingly so, based on what little he knew of it, especially the little Roxii knew, as she would likely know much about the surrounding area, considering her job.

Towards the center, he noticed a large stone building, likely some time of official building, perhaps where the town leader had made his home. Maedor straightened on his horse and offered a wide smile.

"A simple medic, good sers," Though, he remembered Roxii looked... marginally more threatening than he did. And of course, their eyes turned to her soon. She was certainly not a simple anything, though Maedor did not grow nervous, as he had a feeling she was used to being questioned and how to get out of situations.

"And you?" he asked, his arms still crossed. "What are ya? Something tells me it isn't a medic."

'How observant.' Maedor thought haughtily and resisted the urge to roll his eyes once more and instead kept his steady smile as he tilted his head letting a bit of his hair fall into his eyes, it was getting too long, but he found the look helped induce a feeling of innocence. Perhaps enough for them both? Hopefully so. Or at the very least, they did not think he was her captive.

Esadora de Levoran
​
It was not a well-known fact that Esadora was a romantic. It was how she preferred to keep things, as most would assume she did not care for romance or beauty or love outside of the immediate benefits it could provide her. She was a woman of business was what she told most people, and most of the time that entailed her doing what was needed and nothing more. It was obvious that laments of their troubled pasts were not welcome and the passionate hate-fueled rants often went unlistened to unless there was a specific reason for it. She was a woman of business, she demanded they got to the point or did not speak at all. With her little use for unnecessary details and her often an unabashed mockery of such things, most assumed she was purely logic and did not enjoy the finer arts.

However, they were wrong, as Esadora enjoyed a love story, especially the one that Aeren spun now. Perhaps it was fictional, in some ways. But the look in his eyes, the way he spoke, she felt it was real at least in some fashion, if not every. Esadora did like to believe it was every fashion, as already she could feel a ballad begin to form in her head. He did not give a name, but that was alright, she would not have used their real names either way when she composed. Esadora clasped her hands together and brought them to her chest.

"Oh- such a lovely story, the beautiful and perfect redheaded battle maiden, shield maiden? I shall figure the name out at some point. But you must love her so much, I imagine she misses you, longs for you. Such a lovely tale- meeting on the battlefield among all the carnage and pain, seeing one another across it all, across all the chaos and violence and love being forged which may never have come to be. The complexities of fate, the wonderful power of a battle maiden, the binding of two races as they put aside their differences to combine in the purest love- what a wonderful story you have provided for me Aeren, oh you are proving to be good company yet." She leaned back, rather satisfied with what the talk had produced.

"You should become a saga writer, dear Aeren, if you write them as eloquently as you speak of this woman, you may be successful yet. Preferably, I would like them to be of battles and romances, if you don't mind, I would like to listen to them without unfortunate implications."

She had heard one too many ballads and songs which spoke of mages and sorcerers getting burned alive, killed, knocked back, mutilated, and it being sung with the happiest, cheeriest tone while the rest sang along and treated her as the spoiled arse for not wishing to join them in their celebration of the death of a mage who was, either her brother or sister of the power, even if they did not get along. Or her friend. She looked towards the window as the carriage slowed to a stop. They were in front of a rather large manor that was cut off from the rest of the town, the sun was beginning to lower in the sky as Esadora brought a hand to her lips to stifle a yawn. She turned to begin to leave the carriage.

They were parked on a cobblestone walkway, squeezed between a large fountain, at the top of it was a statue of two nude women, embracing with the water spitting from their mouths. The land was lush and well-tended to, each bush, tree, and piece of grass was well placed, though no servants were out at the moment, Esadora knew they likely had perfected the landscape this morning, as she knew Erlen and he did not waste time with imperfection. Before them were steps, winding and long which led up to a palace type structure.

It was not as large as a palace, and it reflected the ancient structures more than modernity, but it proved to be elegant and rich without coming across as gaudy. The marble stayed cleaned and polished no matter what dirt or grime was whipped by the wind, the pillars were spotless and held up the overhanging balconies that looked over them. There was no doubt they were in the lap of luxury and opulence. Two statues stood at either side of the stairs, luckily these were of clothed women. It was, a bit less gaudy. The Goddess of power and the Goddess of fertility, likely his own way of offering his prayer.

"Essie!" Esadora looked up as she poked her head out of the window of the carriage and smiled broadly, waving her hand before she watched him disappear from the balcony and likely was coming to the door to greet them there, as a decent host would for someone they were well acquainted with. Esadora smoothed back her hair as she turned to Aeren.

"We're here, as you can see. He is a bit eccentric, but I believe you two will get along fine- He is not a sorcerer if you are wondering." Esadora turned and accepted Pretyr's hand, as he had already slipped out. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she straightened her back, smoothing out her dress and touching her face, hoping her rouge and kohl had both stayed in place on the ride, but she was rather certain it had, she had become very good at not ruining those things.

"Mm. We've come. Well, thank you for providing us with entertainment, I will introduce you to my--"

The words died for a moment. Erlen stepped out. He was a thin man, average height with thick black hair that was kept cropped short. He wore rich clothing made of silk and satin. A smile was on his face, his teeth were crooked, as was his nose, but his smile was bright and friendly. Enough so Esadora did feel a certain excitement upon seeing him, it was the man next to him, who had walked out into the sun. The man was tall, some would call him gigantic, while he was not bulky, he was not lanky either, though his clothing was thick it did not completely hide the muscle on his bones. His shoulders were broad, covering with the blonde hair which cascaded down like a golden waterfall. The blonde tresses framed a thin, pale face, though it was quite handsome. He had a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, his lips were thin and pale, as he smiled he presented straight white teeth. Green eyes danced with certain mirth beneath auburn lashes. It, however, did not trick Esadora. She forced the frown off her lips, choosing to play it off as simple surprise rather than loathing.

"Vesilir," she said with a forced smile as she stepped forward, holding out her hand. "I was not expecting you."

He took it, his long pale fingers curling about hers. It was like putting her hand into a pit of knives, she felt, letting him even have that much control. But it was necessary, and he simply kissed her knuckles, his warm breath dancing about her skin. She nearly wished to pull away in disgust, but did not. It would be quite unseemly to do such a thing in polite company. Her heartbeat quickened.

Esadora hated herself for it. For his power. His capabilities to cause such distress within her the moment he appeared. She hated him, he knew that. Perhaps he hated her as well, though he hid it behind his mask of faux pleasantry. Or perhaps he simply liked fucking with her. Or he wished to bed her again. She was ashamed it had happened the first time, however, and would not allow it to happen again.

The damn Vra'lasi, so enticing with a single look. With his wings hidden away, however, it took half of the enticement away.

"Essie," he said warmly. "It has been so long."

'Don't call me that!' The name was only for friends, family, those who she could speak of warmly. Not him. Never him. But she knew better than to correct him and watch him feign offense at her assertion, leaving her as the bitch who spat on his offer of goodwill.

"Has it? It feels as though I saw you only yesterday." Esadora shifted her gaze to Erlen, asking for a silent explanation. He did not know of their history, she knew, though he perhaps knew of his... true form.

"Vesilir decided to stop by- oh! Two of you in one day, and your friend, Essie? It seems Vesilir is not the only surprise here, ha! Who is this? Is this-?"

"A client," Esadora said quickly before Erlen could speak of her past dalliances. "So you can treat him as a guest."

"Good, good," he waved his hand playfully. "I was... worried."

Esadora rolled her eyes.

"Your name?" Vesilir asked, the warm smile remained. It was too warm for him. How could he manage such a thing? Esadora was unsure. He wore his mask so well. Her head was beginning to hurt already being in his vicinity, his magic was put out easily, quickly, nearly undetectable. Combatting it was not easy, nor did she do it, she simply paid attention to the two men before her rather to the heat that had seemingly begun to surround her, nor to the smell of smoke.

'Two can play such a game.' She smiled thinly, pushing down any form of panic that may have come up. If he thought he could scare her anywhere, he was wrong. Not into his bed, not into his hand, not into his plans. She smoothed her hair back once more and then held her chin up.

"His name is Aeren and he will be coming with me to settle in. Are the last two guest rooms free in the left-wing?" Esadora asked, itching to get the two of them alone for a time, at least a bit.

"Mm. Yes. We have yet to serve supper yet, you can join us if you would like?"

"Please. You do interest me, Aeren. And it has been so long since I have properly spoken with you, Essie, you always seem so... short whenever we meet."

"I'm a busy woman," Esadora said. "And you a busy man."

"Not so busy you can't let the boy make his own introductions." Vesilir turned to Aeren then. "Don't mind her, she is always rushed. Tell me, who are you? I am Vesilir of house Ashalar- you would not recognize it, these lands are not native to me, but I am pleased to make your acquaintance and I shall not be rushed." he said as held out his hand politely, waiting for it to be shook.

Esadora let out a breath, but she simply offered a polite smile in return.

Already she regretted this very much.
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris | Kerthian Guards

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
The wolf-elf hummed in reply. "Ah, do not confuse my kindness; I am simply being realistic. I asked you a question, and you answered. I intended to hear the reply to my inquiry." She was not one to go back on her word. More oft than not, she followed through on her thoughts and actions, which was why she always got the job done. If she decided to take on a low-paying contract just because she wanted a break, then she would do it. If she decided that she wanted to travel to a new land, she would do it. If she promised to "get rid of" a target whilst also promising to spare them, she would find a way to uphold both promises. And if she asked a question, she intended to hear the full answer, no matter how dull or drawn out.

But it was not a gesture of kindness. At least, she didn't believe so. Maedor must've forgotten that she was a killer-for-hire, a contractual murderer that held no care for the lives she took. Hell, one of the titles she'd acquired from the more remote parts of the land was "The Merciless." Or when she'd been under the thumb of the Esararri just a few years ago, and Dha Pyaxir, the leader of the elusive group, had referred to her as Feilxyrri. It wasn't until later on, after she'd begun learning the ancient words of Xeigin, that she discovered the title roughly translated to "merciless killer" and "reigning victor" in the common tongue. "Nalgith'ni" she would have been called in her native tongue.

She did not want to be seen as kind.

The L'yrathi's brow furrowed when his response turned towards her, albeit fleetingly. She'd never had someone openly say they were willing to listen to her troubles, much less ask about her past. Her accomplices and targets only saw her as an assassin, not caring why she strode the path of a criminal. They cared not for what memories rattled in her mind, what ghosts haunted her. And Master Damaer—he refused to acknowledge her past. He forced her to focus on the present circumstances and how great, how successful she could be. When she'd tried to confide in him, to share her worries and attempt to quell the anger that burned in her heart, he'd dismissed them.

It wasn't much later that she realized the reason behind his dismissive attitude. It was not because he did not care—whether he truly did or no, she still did not know—but because he wanted her to let go of her past, to wholeheartedly dedicate her efforts to becoming an assassin he could brag about. She could not succeed if she was always dwelling over what could have been. And though her mood had turned somber a number of times as she lost herself in the lingering heartache that ravaged her soul, by now she'd mastered the ability to swat away the sour mood and focus on something else. But she knew there was another reason behind his actions, a reason that was far more important:

He was the only one who knew.

It was a terrifying revelation when it finally hit her. Her life, whether she survived the next day or not, teetered on his silence. She'd never bothered questioning how he knew; even when she'd first met him, she knew he was a dangerous man that knew many things. The threat that Master Damaer imposed, the secrets that he could expose—those were more terrifying than the metal band around her neck.

Roxii maintained her dismissive composure. "My life would not interest you," she replied flatly. It was a lie, she knew. People were inherently nosy creatures and especially loved learning juicy secrets. And her life was certainly... interesting. But to share her life's story with a man she'd just met this morning... It would not be characteristic of her. Not to mention that she did not trust this doctor, no matter how good-natured he seemed. Not yet.

As they approached their destination, the wolf-elf began dampening her use of magic. There was no telling what dangers hid in the shadows of the town they were visiting. Already there were disconcerting things about their mission, with this Karlson and the plague he so willingly carried, so it would not surprise her if there were other odd things waiting for them, such as Hunters, bounty hunters, and the like. And as they approached the bridge and her small pulses of shadow touched the forms of a couple Kerthian guards, she rode closer to Maedor and swiftly tied her reins to his saddle, allowing him and his horse to guide her's.

She reined in her shadows as they got closer and ducked her head, having already pulled the hood back over her head. They began their questions, and the wolf-elf resisted the urge to scowl at the men. Instead, she gripped her cane across her lap tightly, the remainder of her reins weaved between her fingers, shoulders slumped and back arched as she feigned the innocence of a weary traveler, afraid of the world she could not see.

"Who's that? We 'ere already?" It was as if a switch had been flipped. Her natural accent had been washed away and replaced with that of the locals. Her chin lifted slightly, just enough for the men to see the blindfold over her eyes but not enough to discern any facial features. "Is this–?"

"I asked ye a question." The guard's tone was more demanding now.

The wolf-elf paused and raised a finger to point at herself. "Me?"

"Yes, you. What are ya, deaf?"

"No, but I am blind," she snapped.

The guard narrowed his eyes at her, clearly irritated with her lack of respect, but he only exchanged a look with his friend after they spied the cloth band. Their gaze returned to the duo as the second guard, the one who's been silent, told the blind woman, "Just answer the question."

"What does it look like? I'm his bodyguard, obviously." The guards looked between the hooded woman and the capable healer before sharing another confused look. Roxii's nose crinkled as she sighed heavily, arms crossing over her chest. "If ye must know, I'm a musician. Ain't much else I can do without my eyes. Ain't need no eyes to use my voice and press some keys."

"Oh yea? An' what er ya doin' travelin' with a medic?" the first guard asked suspiciously.

"What better way t' get inspiration than t' hear the dyin' screams of a healer's patients?" the wolf-elf countered. "He's me neighbor. A friend. Ya e'er hear o' one? Listen 'ere, we been travelin' for a while now, an' I wasn't prepared fer no interrogation. I'm ready fer a drink an' a bed. We'll be outta yer hair by dawn."

The second guard piped up, "What's with the hood?"

She crinkled her nose again as she answered, "Would ya like t' see my burn scar? Didn't think so. Scares away the crowds. So many questions... What harm could a blind woman an' a healer do t' yer town?"

"Alright, alright." The guards were obviously fed up with her attitude. And having seen the logic in her last question—what kind of threat could a blind woman and a medic possibly pose?—combined with the aggravation of being out in the sweltering heat, they waved the duo past. Roxii and Maedor rode past the guards and into the town without a second glance, and as they got out of earshot—at least for a normal human—Roxii could hear the second guard say, "Hey, I just thought o' one. So a blind woman an' a medic walk into a bar..."

The L'yrathi dropped her facade and rolled her shoulders back, returning to her straight-backed position. She kept her reins tied to Maedor's saddle, however; there were still townsfolk around that would be confused by a blind woman steering herself. "Perhaps not my best performance; I am admittedly a bit rusty... Still enjoyable."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Esadora de Levoran | Vesilir Ashalar | Erlen

    Mentioned: N/A
The half-elf kept his expression neutral as the sorceress gushed over his tale of romance, but there was a certain pang of anger and sadness that gripped his heart at her words. He hadn't meant to spill his feelings out to this woman who'd nearly killed him this morning, but once her face surfaced in his mind, it was like a waterfall of memories that could not be stopped. And the woman across from him saw it as an opportunity to draw inspiration from his fleeting love and heartache, spinning the words of a song that would soon be sung in a tavern full of drunken men that more than likely knew not what true love felt like.

And yet, he could not deny that that was how art was created, borne of the pain and sadness of the hearts of men and women. Felnethyr was not known for many things—not for their battle prowess or metalworking—but art was something that they excelled at. Like the other Elvish communities, they excelled at music, though painting and dancing were other common activities among the people. Aerendal was no stranger to the arts, but he was not skilled in them whatsoever. He was only half-Elvish, after all.

So when Esadora suggested he become an author, he only cocked an eyebrow at her before chuckling lightly. "Aye, I can have my moments, but I do not believe I could uphold such creativity for a project as large as that."

It wasn't long before the carriage came to a halt. The knight peered out the window towards the large manor they were parked before. It was definitely more extravagant and decorated than the sorceress and Gregor's manor, and Aerendal once again wondered how the owner came about the funds to acquire and maintain such a structure. It would surely not be because of any sort of business as Esadora employed since she quelled his worries, but surely that would aid in being more comfortable in the stranger's home.

Aeren followed the raven-haired woman out of the carriage, boots clicking on the cobblestone and shoulders cracking as he rolled them. Esadora seemed to be pleased to be with someone she could call a friend—the knight guessed as much due to the nickname Erlen called out—rather than suffering with the High Commander all by herself. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd remain sane if he didn't get a break from her every once and a while as well.

But then her entire demeanor changed, her eyes locking with a blond male. His blue eyes caught the traces of hatred, the disgusted frown and tensed muscles, but it was wiped away a moment later, replaced with surprise and a polite demeanor. He recognized the disdain in her eyes; it was a similar look she gave the High Commander when she discovered he was a law-abiding knight. It was obvious she didn't expect the man, Vesilir, to have been here. And judging by the tension that radiated off her, there was unspoken history between the two, history that left a bad mark on her.

His eyes flicked between the two men and Esadora questioningly. The sorceress was hiding her vexation well, but Aeren had been in enough courtly meetings with people he despised to know that she wanted to be anywhere but near that man. Vesilir, on the other hand, seemed to do better at hiding whatever he felt towards the sorceress, which confused the knight. Perhaps whatever had occurred between them in the past worked in his favor, and he felt no remorse towards the dark-haired vixen. And as he studied the master of the manor, Erlen, Aerendal could tell that he was oblivious to all that was occurring before him; he was only transfixed on the fact that he had friends over, along with a potential friend that he hadn't met before.

His attention returned to the tall blond. There was something oddly familiar regarding the male. He was not human, that was certain. But he also didn't look Elvish in any sense, either; though the High Elves were tall, they were not built the way Vesilir was. He was not from Thiyalia, that much he could discern, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what Vesilir was. It bothered him because it was on the tip of his tongue...

Esadora's short reply, an attempt at an introduction on behalf of the knight, brought him out of his thoughts as he realized the conversation was beginning to turn to him. Erlen's obliviousness continued to amuse Aeren in a way, but Vesilir almost seemed predatory. It made him uneasy, but it also intrigued him that he could make the sorceress so uncomfortable and heated. Perhaps they could agree on some things.

After Vesilir fully introduced himself, it finally hit him: Vra'sali. How had he not noticed it before? Though he was not fully familiar with the name Ashalar, he recognized the name all the same, contrary to what Vesilir believed. Aerendal thought himself to be well acquainted with many lands, as he'd been sent out on a multitude of missions to maintain and build relations and secure trade routes. It was hit or miss with the Vra'sali, but he could at least try to cultivate a good relationship with this man. Perhaps it would bother the sorceress. "Ah, are you from Iathellan? I have visited once or twice for business. Lovely place." He gripped the man's hand with an iron grip, shaking it firmly. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Aerendal."

He refrained from revealing any house names; Vaneiros would definitely earn him a second glance that would jeopardize his mission, and Dakian could provide the same results since he was the only living son of his birth father. It was well known that he was abandoned by his father and taken in by his mother's brother. It would be easy to trace it back to the Vaneiros home, to put two and two together and discover that he was the High Commander of Queen Alannis' guard. If word got out that he was searching, he would never find his cousin. Though there were not many Aerendal's in the land, surely it would not hurt to furnish the same courtesies Vesilir provided.

Aeren turned towards Erlen then. "And it is a pleasure to meet you as well, Master Erlen. I thank you for accommodating me on such short notice."

 
Maedor Taellaris
​
Watching a switch so seamless was something Maedor did not get to see every day.

Despite having run from such a life, he was more than well acquainted with it. How well Roxii did it almost made him uneasy. It was almost laughable that her doing something so simple as putting on (or perhaps taking off) a mask was what caused him to squirm rather than the knowledge that she was a contracted killer. He supposed he had no right to judge her for such a thing, so he did not. Everyone had done things in their past to survive, out of cruelty or callousness, and he was no different. There was a certain surety in assassins, as they practically laid their sins bare to everyone who knew their profession and unabashedly accepted the criticisms and hatred spewed for their chosen way of life. They did not hide as others and Maedor did, and in that way, he had to respect them.

He had accepted he would never quite know Roxii, more than likely. Assassins, mercenaries, thieves, they were known for their secrecy, their want to keep their past shrouded in enigma. Whether it was to be dramatic or not, he did not know, as usually, they did not have much shame to hide as their forward-facing job brought more than enough to them already. Often times, it was because they had a past they did not wish to speak of, which was why Maedor had a feeling Roxii was lying when she said her story would not interest him. In truth, it was hard to have a story that did not interest Maedor unless it consisted only of wine drinking and petty complaints about not getting rejected by some woman they had met twice. It was, sometimes, a shame that as a medic he had to listen to such drivel.

Maedor, in truth, should have suspected such a thing. To be an assassin meant knowing how to blend in no matter what the occasion. Whether as a peasant, a noble, a pirate, whatever was necessary and whatever it took, and at the moment they needed to get into a town with suspicion being thrown their way and that was exactly what she was doing.

In truth, it was rather entertaining to watch. The usual well-spoken woman now taking on the local dialect so seamlessly had he not been speaking to her moments before he would have thought she was truly born and raised in this place. Maedor could never do the same unless he switched languages. His Meravan speech was impeccable, down to the lisp they spoke with in the area he learned, but in the common tongue? Well, he was told he now had one of the oddest accents ever now that he had allowed the sounds of every place he visited to sneak into his speech. Of course, the undertones of his birth town still came through strong, but between everywhere else he had been, his accent had become indiscernible leaving most people confused and assuming he was just a noble from somewhere they had never been.

Roxii, however, was a natural. So much so that when they were out of earshot, which he was grateful for as he had no intentions on hearing the end of that awful joke the guard was preparing, he brought up his hands and offering a quick, small applause.

"Impressive, you're one of the most convincing people I know to date- quite the accomplishment, I deal with many liars." he chuckled. "I could never do the same, your accent was impeccable."

It was then, he realized he did not like it because it reminded him of his father. Ventul may have been one of the most amazing actors Maedor had seen in his life. A new man was born whenever they had company, parties or anything of the like. A loving man that held his son close as well as his wife. A warm man that laughed openly at the jokes of his friends and invited Maedor out for hunts and to sit by them as they drank and played cards, one time even letting him sip with him. But the moment they were alone he returned to being a raging beast taking out every little slip up out on them when he could. He was terrifying. Like a storm that could not be escaped.

Maedor had spent long nights locked in a closet, simply wondering what he had done to caused his father to always be in such strife, and then like that he was let out and told to smile at the men and women that were filing in. And the beast would leave and a normal man would return.

And it was only made worse as he knew he had no right to demonish anyone for such a thing.

Al Vezran alni Aherban.

It was the name he had earned. The name he had been given in the time he spent in that place, a small nation by Mevara. Aherban, or more well known to those from across the sea as Azerbahn. Al, the title given, meant pale. Which made sense, seeing as he was significantly lighter than most people there. But it was Vezran that had confused him, no however no matter which way they meant it, he supposed he deserved it. It could be translated two ways. Butcher or lion. He supposed it was his choice.

Perhaps he was more like his father than he had once believed. The thought frightened him to the point he wanted to lose himself in a bottle of ale. But he did not deserve that. He did not deserve to forget for the night simply because he once again grew uncomfortable. Something needed to be done and he would do it, so he pushed the thoughts from his head and sat up straighter.

He took the reins again and scanned the cobblestone path. It was mostly empty, though a few people milled about, women in thin long dresses and men in raggedy tunics. He thought he might stop in the apothecary, there seemed to be a decent amount within and perhaps they would surprise him with what they had. He knew why not many were out, however, as the heat was likely beginning to grate on most, he imagined most of them were taking a cool bath or were standing somewhere away from the sun.

"Mm. Perhaps we should honor your word. We may find some luck at a tavern, I would like to find Karlson as quickly as possible, if he went to one in the last town I imagine he would have no qualms going to one here- let us hope he has not ruined another woman's life by then."

Esadora de Levoran
​
Esadora was rather used to there being thorns in her side.

It seemed that life was hellbent on ensuring at least one always remained there. Usually, she would get used to them, to the point the pain barely registered and it was not until she was shoved to the brink that the pain would light up once again. Most of the time, the thorns were easily removed or at least threatened into behaving. However, it seemed that fate was not content at simply offering her a wayward knight that believed himself better than her and would gladly see her on a pike, naked and burned before all with nothing hidden, all her sins laid bare. She was sure he would get some sick and twisted pleasure from it, that was how his kind acted, with some perversion towards the macabre as long as it was not happening to them. It just so happened he was laughably underwhelming in power when it came to her, and in comparison he was nothing. So, all she had to do was flick her wrist and this thorn became a whimpering puppy that knew it would do better to kiss her feet than to bit her.

Not many could get under her skin. Esadora liked control and she kept it quite easily. Whether it be the control over the conversation or the control over the household or finances, it never took long for it to fall under her belt and she would handle it with elegance and grace befitting anyone of her status. Even if her temper was short and to some, she seemed quick to anger- no. Aeren had not even seen the half of her anger. He had seen her mildly displeased and wishing to teach a lesson before a problem became a pattern. She was correcting a slip of the tongue that translated to disrespect.

He had simply been directed to what would happen when he became a problem. However, he had not seen her true unending wrath. Vesilir, in fact, was one of the only beings that existed that deserved the full unending reach of it.

But she could not deliver it to him. And it was that which had angered her the most. He stood there, unabashed and unaffected with that smarmy smile on his lips as he watched her battle against her hatred with a simple amused smile, playing, toying, waiting for her to capitulate like a good girl and offer him what he wished. But she stood resolute, with that same disdainful smile on her lips as she watched him offer Aeren a calm nod of the head. She hated herself for having been tricked so long ago.

"I need you here and here you shall stay."

'Well I didn't stay you fucking arse, and there's nothing you can do about it.'

"A good eye," Vesilir raised a brow and nodded his head. "Most people would not be able to pinpoint."

"You've brought quite the guest, Essie!" Erlen said and then he gestured between her and Vesilir. "You two already know one another? Vesilir did not-"

"Oh, had I known you had this beauty at your beck and call I would have told you a while ago," Vesilir said. Esadora bit back a snappy response that she was at no one's beck and call, everyone else was at hers. But that would be unbecoming before poor Erlen, who remained in his ignorant bliss- he truthfully did just like having friends his mother kept him so sheltered.

"Is that flattery, I sense?" she brought her fingers up to her lips, flirting as she would with anyone despite wishing to gag around every word she spoke. "Ves, you simply need to call, why would I not come running?"

"I do not know, why haven't you?" his eyes flicked back to Aeren. "Tell me, when you were there were you allowed to visit the hanging gardens? The ones in the palace of Averbenlad?"

"Hanging gardens? Why that sounds absolutely lovely, I believe I heard of them but--"

"The Vra'sali build suspended gardens filled with some of the most beautiful flowers you could ever know. Before the Grand War of the Imperium, there had been no walkways, the Vra'sali were free to fly through the gardens as they pleased. But, after the war, they put in glass walkways. Humans, elves- and well, any other who had no wings had not been allowed in before, but Grand Emperor Aravane has been rather... accommodating."

Esadora nearly smirked.No disgust was present in his voice. He presented the facts so lightly it even sounded like he approved of the change. But she knew better.

"Why the change?" Erlen asked. "Not that I am complaining- I would rather love to walk through them, they sound lovely. I have my own garden myself, but a sky garden? I would love to have it built, and glass pathways? A pain to clean I am sure but the view must be absolutely stunning!"

"It is, Erlen. Though.. your garden may rival it." A lie. Essie had seen them. No garden rivaled them, but she would not be the one to say that. Vesilir went on.

"But, the walkway was put in place because of the War-- You see, humans did not quite... approve of the Empire they had become a part of. The Great Vra'salian imperial lands were flourishing, but I suppose they disliked the people they served under. When the war broke out it had been standard- but humans, when they caught a Vra'sali as a prisoner of war they took to removing their wings in a grotesque public fashion and hanging them up as trophies."

Esadora had to give to him. He did not sound bitter whatsoever. She could not even have done that, in fact actively did not. She unabashedly showed her displeasure for anyone that spoke ill again mages. But she could admire that in him. He always remained restrained. Kind. He fought in that war, she knew. It was nearly surprising how easily he spoke of it, no matter how many years ago it was.

"The Newly Crowned Emperor Aravane had taken it upon himself to let those Vra'sali still be able to indulge in those pleasures, so he brought in mages and glassblowers alike to come in and forge the proper materials to make the walkways. In fact- Essie here was brought in not too long ago to help re-implement a few runes and strengthen it even further. It was how we met."

Esadora lifted her chin. "And I bet you could drop an elephant there and there would not even be a crack."

Vesilir smiled. "I am sure. There have been plenty of scuffles there so I imagine if it can stand up to that it can stand up to anything. I remember when they were first built- I assume you already know what I am Aeren, as sharp as your eye is- over three hundred years ago and the ability of a few runes never ceases to amaze me. And- I cannot lie- frighten me."

A lie. But Esadora went with it.

"As you should be." She brought up a hand, as though she was going to cast a spell. How she wished to rip his breath from his throat as she had done to Aeren before. But him, she would let Vesilir turn blue and grasp at her legs, begging for mercy.

"Oh! Do not threaten me so my dark Avaleena. I still must speak to your friend- Aeren. What business did you have? I do not see much that brings people so far from home- from the sound of it you are not from anywhere over sea."

"Yes, yes!" Erlen said as he stepped closer. "I must know- you look the adventurous fellow and well taught. I imagine you could take on an army by the looks of you! If you've been such places- well I must come to know of them. And our dear Essie, I would love to know how you two came to cross paths."

Esadora took her chance, seizing Erlen's arm and kissing him on the cheek in a proper greeting as she let her head fall to his shoulder and turned them towards the stairs.

"We can speak as we walk, the day is getting late. Come on Aeren, Vesilir. Are you not hungry? And Erlen do not talk his ear off- I told you the boy was a client after all. But I am sure you can speak extensively between know and over dinner."

Esadora, at least, needed a bit of time to collect her bearings. This was going to be a longer night than she had thought.
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris | Lucius

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
She enjoyed having her hard work recognized. Years of training, dedication, practice, and more grueling activities made her the successful killer she was known to be. And though others expected her to be skilled in combat and stealth, it was obvious some forgot or never even realized that she was required to be knowledgeable in other areas as well. Histories of the land, the local cultures and their religions, knowledge of foods and herbs, and the ability to discern—and at times replicate—the accents and mannerisms of various groups of people.

Having Maedor recognize her skill made her swell with pride. Copying accents did not prove easy to the wolf-elf. The common tongue was not her first language, so she had to quickly learn it before trying to tackle the varying accents across the land. She'd known bits and pieces of the common tongue by the time she was taken in by Master Damaer, but it was not enough to be able to form many sentences. He'd forced her to learn it, to take on the language as her only one and refusing to speak to her in her native language as a point. She'd struggled for a while, but soon enough, she began to pick it up easily enough.

And then she began trying out different ways of speaking. Master Damaer forced it upon her, telling her that she needed to be able to formulate any alibi that she may need, to either infiltrate somewhere she wasn't supposed to be or to escape somewhere without drawing the eyes of the local guard. She found it very difficult at first, her L'yrathi accent too thick to drop, but it soon became second nature to take on the identity of an entirely new person. Though her appearance remained the same, the way she spoke and carried herself threw nearly everyone off guard, tricking people into thinking she was a different person entirely.

She could never say she was as skilled as the master assassin, however. He was an expert at the art of taking on new identities, and though the velglorn tried her best to follow in his footsteps, she knew it was impossible to be on his level. Falaern harbored years of experience, but Roxii knew that there was another reason he was so skilled.

The wolf-elf laid a hand over her chest, as if offended by Maedor's words, her other hand maintaining the grip upon the reins and her cane. "You believe I was lying? Why, I believe I am a wonderful musician, mia abbein." Her pout twisted into a sly grin. Could Maedor tell what was truth or not? Perhaps not. She hadn't played a piano in many years, but she practiced many a night when she had access to one. But the lorethven didn't need to know that. He could believe she was lying, or he could believe that he'd insulted her. It did not matter to the hybrid; it only amused her, as it kept him on his toes.

Roxii didn't hesitate to agree with Maedor on his suggestion. "It is never too early nor too late for a drink, I believe. But yes, if taverns are his fancy, then it would be a logical place to start our search. Let us strive to put an end to his carelessness."

The duo made their way to the lone tavern. It was not difficult to maneuver their way over, as the streets had emptied due to the heat and the day drawing to a close. Already, the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon, fingers of gold transitioning into a sea of fire. Though the streets had become overall vacant, the tavern was the opposite. It was beginning to fill with patrons, people of varying walks of life drinking away their problems and allowing the alcohol to numb their senses. Song had not yet broken out, but there was plenty of conversation and laughter to fill the air. It was much more lively than the tavern they were at that morning back in Thrakeld.

The velkyn L'yrathi was sure to keep her shadows in check and kept her cane in her hand as she slid off the horse and entered with Maedor. The cane was more of a final touch on her "helpless blind woman" appearance, and though a few heads turned to take in the sight of the newcomers, they were none the wiser of their true motives. Roxii allowed Maedor to lead them through the crowd towards a vacant table, the steady tap, tap, tap of her cane following, but she was sure to stay close.

Roxii spoke low enough just for Maedor to hear, "Perhaps we can–"

"Roxii?"

The wolf-elf froze. It was not common for others to know her name associated with her appearance and to call her out so openly. Not to mention that it was rare that she ran into someone without prior planning and accommodations. An ear swiveled slightly underneath her hood, but she made sure to keep it barely noticeable as to not raise suspicion. Who called out to her? It was difficult to pinpoint where the voice had come from because of the odd way she had to keep her ears flattened against her head underneath the cloth covering. Did she even hear–

"Roxii?"

She'd definitely heard it. The voice was closer now, as if they were beginning to push their way through the crowds. The voice was oddly familiar, like a passing dream that she could barely remember but she knew she'd seen it somewhere. Could it be–

Oh.

Oh no.

"Ah, Maedor? Let us begin our investigation elsewhere. I believe I saw some tracks–"

"Roxii! It is you!" An arm suddenly snaked around her shoulders and tugged her close into a side-hug. The assassin tensed but refrained from enacting harm upon the owner of the voice. "Oh-ho! It's been a while, my friend! Come, come!"

"Ah, Lu–" But she could not reject the tugging of the man as he guided her through the crowds towards a different table, his other hand waving towards the healer as a gesture to follow. Before long, the man had led them to his own table, a vacant one away from the center of the establishment yet close enough to the bar to be able to easily order a drink without fighting the crowds.

The man let go of Roxii and gestured for her and the healer to sit as he took his own seat. "Sit, sit! There's plenty o' room. Ain't no one wanna listen to an old geezer's grumblin's." He was definitely an old man. Wrinkles creased his weathered skin, but it did not diminish the liveliness of his ivory complexion and rosy cheeks. Small, hazelnut brown eyes peered at the duo, and creases around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth betrayed his jovial nature. He had a big, bulbous nose that tended to draw the eye, and a peppered-gray mustache sat below it. Tousled peppered-gray hair sat atop his head, matching the age of his facial hair. He was not very tall when he was standing, only a few inches taller than the small rogue, but it was obvious that if he were younger and his back weren't arched like an old willow, he'd be as tall as or taller than the doctor.

Despite his age, however, it was evident that he was a seasoned traveler. He wore only simple clothing—baggy trousers, a hooded tunic belted with leather, and heavy boots. A bag sat at his feet, bulging with supplies and trinkets with a few pieces of equipment hanging on the outside. It looked as though he had showed not long before the duo, having decided to settle in Kerth for the night before continuing on his journey.

The blind woman wrinkled her nose in irritation but took a seat at the table nonetheless. "It is, ah, good to see you as well, Lucius."

Lucius swatted away her greeting as if dispersing flies. "Bah! You don't mean that." He flashed a toothy grin, even though the gaps outnumbered what remained of his yellowed teeth. "Now, what'er you doin' in a town like this? And who's this handsome feller? Did ya finally find someone–?" He waggled his eyebrows at the duo suggestively.

"What? No. Fuck off, you perverted old man." Though the words were cold, there was a hint of amusement in her tone, and a corner of her mouth tugged into a smirk. "Is that all you think about?"

He shrugged. "I am an old man, way past my years. I get bored."

If she'd still had her eyes, she would have been rolling them. "Maedor, this is Lucius. He is... er... an acquaintance."

Lucius faced Maedor and held a hand up to block the view of his mouth from the assassin, as if it mattered. "She refuses to acknowledge me as a friend," he whispered none too quietly. He grinned again at Roxii's creased expression of agitation before leaning back in his chair and waving the waitress over. "Order whatever ya want. It's on me. Now tell me, Maedor, how'd ya come to travel with Roxii? Last I checked, she wasn't one to take on partners."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Vesilir Ashalar | Erlen [Sort of?]

    Mentioned: Esadora de Levoran
There was something amusing in watching Esadora and Vesilir interact with one another. The Vra'salian was kind and warm, and while Esadora met him with the same courtesies, it was strained and forced through gritted teeth, albeit not literally. Aeren held no doubts that the sorceress wished nothing more than to throttle the golden-haired man standing in their midst, but they all knew that that would be unbecoming of the polite woman. Not to mention that it would be rather rude for one guest to murder another in someone else's home.

The knight, curious as he was, wondered what occurred between the two for the raven-haired vixen to be so uncomfortable, so subtly vicious. In his experience—and he had his fair share of it—a woman was this way with a man after a romantic falling out. Did they not see eye to eye? Did one or the other harbor different views or different priorities? Perhaps it was more along the lines of trickery, that the Vra'salian promised something to the sorceress that turned out to be false or he simply couldn't uphold his word. There were endless possibilities regarding the reason behind their blatant dislike for one another.

Whatever it was, it intrigued and amused the half-elf. Anyone that could make the sorceress feel irritated, made her uncomfortable in its presence was a welcome someone. He hated how much she'd forced herself above him, brandishing her unnatural powers as a weapon against his lawfulness, threatening his life because he simply upheld the law. It was not he who passed laws and decrees; he simply followed them. Though he agreed with the idea that sorcery and witchcraft was unnatural and sinful, even if he didn't, what did she expect him to do? Commit treason?

Aerendal's attention reverted back to Vesilir at the question directed towards him. He'd visited the hanging gardens on occasion, but it was not to marvel at the beauty of the ethereal-like spectacle. Though he'd found his gaze wandering, taking in the glory that was the myriad of plant life, a rainbow of colors and shapes and sizes that made him feel as if he were on some sort of opiates, his attention had remained focused upon the chancellor he strode beside. They'd discussed the alliance between the Vra'salian people and Felnethyr, coming to terms with the possibilities of power that could be obtained, rising up against their oppressors if it ever came to it, and to secure a steady line of trade between the two kingdoms.

But Aeren knew that their walk through the gardens, though marvelous, was not a simple stroll to consider their options as friends; it was a statement, for the Vra'salian chancellor and, in turn, the Grand Emperor to showcase the fact that though he was allowed to walk upon their walkways of glass, they could have the glass broken beneath his feet and he would be powerless to fight back.

But he didn't tell Vesilir or the others that.

Instead, the High Commander allowed expressions of fascination and surprise to cross his features, behaving as though he'd never heard of something so glorious, so magnificent. He knew the history behind the gardens and the walkways that were relatively recently implemented, as he'd been given a personal tour of the gardens, but it was still interesting to hear the recounting of events from someone that was not the Grand Emperor or his court.

Aeren was somewhat surprised that there was not a hint of hatred in Vesilir's voice as he spoke of the war and the consequences. He'd heard of how humans and their allies had mutilated the bodies of the Vra'sali people. He knew how it felt, to have others look down upon you just because of your appearance and heritage, but he'd be lying if he said that he'd had to face the worst of the discrimination that existed in the world. The Vra'salians and L'yrathi were physically disfigured and publicly shamed just because they looked different. It saddened him that such hatred existed in the world, and though the war had ended, there were still those that wished to see those peoples burn. (lol hypocrite)

The half-elf chuckled lightly as Esadora steered the group towards the manor, urging them inside. He knew she wished to be done with the conversation, to get away from the blond male, sleep away the rest of the night, and be on their way far, far away from Vesilir. He mused whether she hated Vesilir or himself more.

Aerendal matched Vesilir's step as they entered Erlen's manor. "My business was not much more than a chore," the knight answered matter-of-factly. "I am a simple knight. I do what the big men say." He chuckled, maintaining his light-hearted mood. He couldn't tell the truth, as that would draw more questions and force him to either retreat into suspicious secrecy or reveal his true identity. But he was such a terrible liar, he knew; perhaps it wouldn't hurt to tell a half-truth? Maybe he could put himself in one of his knights' boots... "I had been assigned to protect an emissary. He was arranging and securing trade relations. It was rather boring, if you ask me, as nothing of note occurred, but at least the sights made the trip worth it."

 
Maedor Tallaeris​
There would always be a hanging enigma between the two of them. Maedor held no illusion that she would deign to share all of her secrets and capabilities with him in the span of a few hours. In fact, he doubted that shroud of mystery would be lifted off of either of them in the span of a few days, months, he had known people years and still they did not know many things about him that he kept locked tight within the dark recesses of his mind. Perhaps it was his own secrets that led him to be more perceptive of the lies of others. While he was not a master of disguise, nor could he see through all, he often could see when someone was keen on keeping something secret and to themselves, or when they told a lie to cover up an inconvenient truth. Usually, it was not his business, so he let his curiosity end at idle speculation.

However, with Roxii he was unsure what was true and what was not. Perhaps she did play an instrument? Was that something they taught at... assassin schooling? What type of things did one go through to become an assassin?

Maedor glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye, swathed in dark clothing with a simple cloth encircling her eyes. Had the air of danger not surrounded her, he would have been fooled into believing she was a simple blind woman attempting to make her living going from one place to the next, gaining inspiration from death as every other troubadour was. There was obviously a certain level of professionalism and polish which allowed her to be able to so gracefully take on one life as though it was always her own. Such was something Maedor never understood and never would, as the life he had was always his own and he could never pretend he was any different. He was always a simple doctor, no matter the place or time, and he lived as one.

But an assassin, a spy, they all seemed to have multiple lives, living as every life they forged for themselves. Their webs and lies going so deep that they always seemed attached to a shred of truth. However, it all culminated in Maedor being forced to understand he would never know what the truth was unless Roxii deigned to tell him one day after he was strung about in speculation for long enough.

But now he had to take on the form of a simple man who was helping a blind woman through the tavern. While outside it was ghostly, within the people were bustling. Barmaids walked about, wooden cups filling their hands along with glass bottles of whiskey and ale. They giggled and flirted with the patrons who either spoke with one another about the stories and gossip of the town. The creak of the old dusty wood beneath their feet foretold of the age, but the lacquered tops of the tables was enough to tell of the business that must have come in and out.

Some turned their heads. A blond woman and a tall man walked into the tavern, it was bound to get some attention. Maedor was used to that attention and he was sure Roxii was as well. He was known to be near freakishly tall in some places, it was rare for him to find others bigger than he was. Yet strangely he was usually the worst fighter among them. How life could be so cruel.

What Maedor did not expect was for them to run into an acquaintance. At least not on of Roxii's. One which would so openly call her out, anyways, as the type like her tended to keep to themselves and made friends with those that understood such thing.

More than anything, he was very terribly confused. So he simply offered a polite smile and followed the both of them back to the table of the kind stranger, it was not the first time he had done such a thing and he doubted it would be the last.

And he happened to very much enjoy listening to the grumblings of old geezers.

Unless they insinuated anything about his love life.

"And who's this handsome feller? Did ya finally find someone–?"

To say his face flushed several shades of red was putting it lightly. He hoped Roxii could not see, and he really hoped Lucius did not comment on it. While Maedor was no virgin, that ship had sailed long ago, he certainly was not... consistently with a woman in his bed. He could count the amount of women he had been with on one hand, and even then he did not need more than half his fingers. That tended to surprise people because the sheer amount of women that tended to stick around him in many towns- he was a popular man, but not in the way most knew. Maedor brought his hand up to cover the bottom half of his face, forcing away a stuttered denial.

He could flirt but he could not do this?

'Yeah, because most times they're sick and nothing is supposed to actually become of it.'

Why was this old man judging his love life? Well he was not really, Maedor was judging he had just commented, but it had been brought up.

He managed another smile nonetheless.

"Oh, well, don't worry she doesn't like me much either so we are in the same standing." he knew it was likely very different, but what was wrong with a friendly jab? "Uh, a mutual acquaintance sent me this way." he was not quite sure how much information Roxii was ready to divulge to this man, so he chose to skirt around the subject as cleanly as possible. "I am less a partner and more just a... doctor that tagged along." That was... rather close to the truth in all honesty.

"Plus, she is far preferable company to being cramped in some type of study. I come back from Merava and that is the best some people think I can do, pah, I am trying to study this disease that plagues now out in the fields. Luckily traveling close to Roxii has proven a deterrent to bandits, I- er-" he laughed and flushed scratching the back of his neck. "They were... quite problematic before."

To the point he had become a professional when it came to being robbed. Luckily, most left his medical equipment alone.

"What about you, Lucius? How did you and Roxii meet?" at the moment he really preferred the attention not being on him.

Esadora de Levoran​
Much to Esadora's dismay, she realized that Vesilir and the knight would likely be getting along during this stay. She tightened her hold on Erlen's arm, letting the smile stay painted on her lips, but she felt a certain unease. Vesilir referred to her as an agent of chaos many times before, yet whenever he showed his face in her life she was always on edge on what would happen next. He always lingered in the peripheral with some plan formulating in his pretty head, sitting on the edge of a revelation or scheme, ready to talk it up to her and speak of how they would step from this life to the next as wonders in their new life. She was not stupid and he figured that out rather soon. At least now, his promises were far more reasonable.

But she still held the air of distrust as she glanced back at his slender face shrouded in a halo of gold. He looked up, catching her eye for just a moment. His smile widened, thin lips curving up and straight teeth displayed. A faint blush dusted across his cheeks as he brought his fingers up to his collarbone, for a moment, her eyes caught the glint of a silver thread that encircled his pale neck. Then she swallowed and turned back around. What did he have planned for their meeting today? She had thought it coincidence at first, however now...

'Fuck...' All was not over, however she just hated when he had such a step before her. And he had done this to surprise her, there was no doubt in that. She brought her hand up to her brow for a moment. It was beginning to cause her head to hurt. She hardly listened to whatever Aeren was spewing on about. Some sort of knightly business no doubt.

It may have been better if she had simply ignored him when they first met. Simply ignored the seduction of knowing her future and ducking into that dark room scented with jasmine and lavender.

~*~​
She had been young. Perhaps far too young at nineteen summers old, she had already begun putting Gregor beneath her belt of seduction. It was sickening, in truth, when she had began. But it was worth it to have him on a leash and thus leaving her free to do whatever she wished. Some would call what she did cruelty, letting him slobber and salivate like a wanton dog only to kick him when he grew too rowdy and shame him when it suited her. Many had commented that she had taken many steps towards emasculating him, yet that was not even the tip of the iceberg. He knew her rage as she had known his for years on end. With every time he stepped out of line he risked having one of his fine plates thrown at his head in her disgust.

But he had been attached and obsessed with her since she was thirteen and it would not stop anytime soon, so she simply took the invitation to Iathellan and fled without a moment's notice. It was not her dream, yet the moment she stepped into the land of the Vra'sali she had been swept away. The palace, made of white marble, towered above the rest of the land. Perfect. Immaculate. There was a constant wind stirring about as the residents flew from one place to another. Most of their homes had no ground floor entrance, it was how she told the Vra'salian homes from the human. The palace, however, had a large entrance guiding all into the magnificence of it.

The gardens, however, were beyond compare. The sun streamed through the clear glass, illuminating what nearly seemed like a forest rather than just a garden. Plants of all shapes and colors surrounded her, surrounding a pool with glittering water and glowing colors all about her. She had nearly forgotten what she had came for, next to some of the finest mages in the world, she had felt small, insignificant, perhaps that was why Vesilir had sought her out.

He had a smile, a way about him, as he sat by the pool, the golden harp before him as he plucked at its strings dextrously. His golden hair had fallen about his face and his wings on display, the part of the angel seemed to have come to him naturally, and while she had not been smitten, she had been attracted.

And in that, he had managed to convince her to enter this room, one which was sacred and dark, though a candle burned in the middle of the room on top of a desk. A woman sat behind it, her face illuminated by orange lighting, her eyes were golden in color, though glazed over as she leaned forward, the smoke of the can letting out a distinct scent, and she had leaned back as they walked in, still expressionless as Vesilir had urged her forward.

"Simply give her your blood- she will tell you your future."

It had seemed so simple, something she had wished to know desperately. And she had willingly let the girl take her arm and suckle on the cut and blood that welled upon her pale skin.

The beats of quiet had seemed overwhelming as the girl jerked and then went rigid, a sheen of sweat lighting her bronzed skin before she blinked rapidly, clarity waxing and waning in her gaze before she shook her head.

"You will never rid yourself of your chains." she had spoken lowly, softly as though what she said was a secret, though clearly is Essie's own language despite her never having known it before. "But you will make them your weapon. But watch- for others will try to use them against you, daughter of Aveleena. Daughter of Death and Child of the Black. One day you will be known as queen and no longer slave."

And Esadora had clung to that like no other. And perhaps that was what had brought her to be so...overly trusting of this man.

~*~​
Vesilir speaking took her out of her musing. She glanced back again as he slowed his own strides, being taller than Aeren was he had to shorten his own strides to ensure they stayed the same speed, he seemed rather enraptured in Aeren's story. Esadora was unsure how true it was, though she had a feeling Vesilir knew much more, hell, there was a chance Vesilir had blended in with every other Vra'salian and had watched whatever Aeren was doing there. Or perhaps he was not even present at the time and had simply thought to learn more about the new knight before him, knowing many people enjoyed talking about themselves. Esadora did not know, nor did she care. This could be Aeren's burden for now.

Vesilir clasped his hands behind his back as he tilted his head back. "Big men have sent you with our dear Essie, now, eh? Where did you go? I imagine you had to protect quite a prominent person to be sent all the way to Iathellan. I don't know many who have such an honor- mm... Who was it? Perhaps I know of them. I don't mean to boast, but I was quite a prominent figure." He brought his hands to his lips and his eyes crinkled in a smile. "I apologize, am I overburdening you with questions? I simply like hearing what others think of our great country, I have been away from home for quite awhile."

Esadora turned back around as they entered the manor and slipped her shoes from her feet, letting them be put neatly in the corner.

Aeren could see himself through this. Esadora waved a maid to get her wine. She would not be completely sober getting through this day.
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris | Lucius | Master Damaer? Someone else? Hmmmmmmmmmmm?

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
Lucius was not a terrible person. He spoke a lot, that much was true, which was why Roxii was not entirely thrilled upon seeing the old man this night. She and the doctor already had work to do, and he proved to be quite the talker as well. Being smashed between two men that never seemed to shut up sounded like her own personal hell. But she'd learned that Lucius had some good qualities that prevented her from skewering the man on a sword the moment he got too close. One of those qualities was his risqué sense of humor, which was an acceptable trait to harbor according to the wolf-elf, especially when the jabs were directed towards someone else.

She noticed the way Maedor dipped his head and subtly covered the lower half of his face in an attempt to hide it. Did a blush creep across his face at the traveler's inappropriate comment? She wanted to believe so; she enjoyed teasing others, at least to make the journey more bearable. This was one of those times when she really wished she still had her sight, to actually see the discomfort on others rather than rely on tiny movements and hypotheses. There were just some things that she could not be sure of, and it was understandably frustrating. If someone were skilled enough, like Falaern, they would be able to hide any and all emotions from her.

Not to mention that she missed being able to see in general. Her shadows allowed her to discern and "see" shapes and movement, and she silently thanked Falaern for showing her the technique, no matter how cruel he could be, but she would never be able to see colors and lights or things outside of her range of sight again. She'd been rather sheltered as a child and had not been given the opportunity to travel before her vision was ripped from her so viciously. She'd never seen the human's architecture that formed Anestead, or the vast expanse of the Catiris Ocean. She'd never seen the cluster of trees that formed Bricaster Forest, the bustling and constant motion of Dagh Farum, or the nearly impossible heights of Wyntague Cliffs. In a sense, she was truly traveling across Thiyalia blindly.

But there were the people, too. The assassin had no idea what the two men at the table actually looked like. She knew that Lucius was an older man, the years weighing down upon his shoulders and wrinkles creating crevices into his skin. She knew that Maedor was a tall man with chiseled features, young enough to not have many blemishes, if any at all. But their complexion? Their hair color? Eye color? Roxii had a vague idea of what the two men looked like, and similarly what others looked like, but she could not picture their full appearance, not with any sort of confidence.

It was a fact that the blind woman had come to accept over the years but not without some self-pity. After the healers had examined her and tended to her damaged skin, Master Damaer had relayed to her what they said: "Her eyes are beyond repair. Only a miracle from the gods could save them." He sounded disappointed when he shared this information, but the newly blind child had not learned to recognize vocal cues and tones yet. It had torn her apart then, but there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing could be done to change the past, nor could anything be done to fix her eyesight. As they said, only a miracle could fix her.

The hybrid was slightly intrigued by Maedor's reaction to Lucius' comment. She'd guessed that he held no qualms regarding romance judging by the ease at which he'd flirted with Jenia before taking her life. But it was as if that facade he'd shown had been washed away by the traveler's joke, revealing a much more timid, shy man. Roxii had assumed that he had women falling over him left and right given his tall appearance—women seemed to love tall men for some reason—and his desire to help everyone. Did he not indulge in his pleasures for work-related reasons, or was it more along the lines of the selection?

Whatever it was, she was amused that he'd shown some sort of embarrassment, if she'd guessed correctly. Though she was no stranger to being bedded—forcefully, but she refused to dwell on those memories—lewd comments and innuendos never seemed to bother her, at least not a majority of them. Perhaps it had something to do with her lack of connection with others.

After ordering some whiskey from the waitress, the L'yrathi huffed in amusement at the lorethven's answer. She was grateful that there was some sort of mutual understanding between the two; that they had a job to do, and the best course of action would be to complete the mission and go on their merry way. There was no need to form some sort of relationship, as it was unlikely that anything would come of it anyways. Roxii did not have any friends—in her mind, Lucius did not count, no matter what he believed—and she felt no desire to make any. She'd made it this far by herself.

The wassik-kesir also noted the care at which the healer answered Lucius' question. Perhaps the tall man would not be as much of a liability as she'd thought, if his hesitation and skirting around the truth was any indication. She wondered if Master Damaer had scared him enough to remain secretive or if the small woman beside him reminded him of his predicament. A mixture of both, more than likely.

Though appreciated, Roxii knew that his efforts at secrecy would be futile. "Ah, I see..." Lucius hummed thoughtfully. His gaze averted to the shrouded assassin. "He's bumped 'imself back into yer life, eh?"

Roxii sighed lightly. "It would seem so," she replied. Lucius knew of Falaern through her, admittedly. She'd been drunk enough to allow some information slip past her guard, but she was grateful that the information slipped to Lucius and not anyone else. It took some time, but she realized that the old traveler was a very skilled keeper of secrets.

The gray-haired man only grunted in response. It was obvious he was displeased with the answer, but he continued to listen to the doctor before laughing at Maedor's bandit comment. "Roxii? A deterrent? Ha! Do ya see how small she is?! And believe it er not, she's a pretty nice perso–"

"Lucius." She ground out his name forcefully, but he only grinned at her mischievously.

Lucius grinned even wider than before at the invitation of a story, if that were even possible, and Roxii groaned. Why did you have to ask? "Oh-ho! Now that's a good question, a good one indeed... How long ago was it now?"

Roxii waved her hand dismissively. "A few years ago. It does not matter."

"Now now! The boy asked me a question, and I intend to answer it! Aye, it was a few years ago. I'd been travelin' the road for a while already; I believe I was headed to Saverion. Really nice place, nice people. Ye ever been there? Their mead is the best–"

"Lucius, either finish the damn story or stop talking."

The old man pouted. "Someone's grumpy." He raised his brow at the healer and smirked playfully. "Ye'know, if ye ever want her to be more pleasurable company, just get her drunk–"

"Lucius!" she snapped at the man, but despite the murderous intent in her tone, she could feel her cheeks heating. Okay, there were some things that got to her. She tended to be much more emotional when she'd let the alcohol get to her, and Lucius had been present on more than one occasion. Though she'd prefer no one else by her side while she was vulnerable—she'd never admit that out loud, of course—she did not like the fact that Lucius could tease her when she was sober. He knew that she did not like her vulnerabilities laid bare before others, not to mention that the innuendo was now directed towards her alone.

"What?" he asked innocently, hands raised in surrender. "I'm just sayin' that when yer drunk, ye can be much more flirty and lov–"

The wolf-elf exhaled heavily through her nose in agitation and stood suddenly, chair scraping against the wooden floorboards. She knocked the whiskey back and swallowed it in one go before slamming the glass back down. "I am finding the bar to be much more welcoming than your incessant babbling," she growled before storming off.

Lucius watched her leave and chuckled. "She's always been hotheaded, that one," he told the doctor, turning back towards the man. "Which makes it easy for me to finish my stories. Ya see, she'd never let me finish this one." He grinned again and took a swig of the ale that had been placed next to him.

"I'd found 'er on the road," he told Maedor. "I ain't never seen someone so battered and weak. I've no idea where she came from or where she was headed, and she never told me; probably never will. It looked as though she'd been through hell itself. Her missin' finger—I'm sure ye noticed it? That was still pretty fresh, as well as her poor tail, and that's not even goin' into some of the lashes across her back and how thin she was. She was a sight for sore eyes.

"I couldn't leave 'er there, of course, so I took 'er with me. She didn't even put up much of a fight, but I didn't expect 'er to. She was completely out of it, but as I settled 'er on my horse, she began groanin' about some 'Master Damaer,' beggin' 'im not to take 'er. I never bothered to ask; not my place. She told me who he truly was eventually, what he did to 'er, but I won't betray 'er trust. She'll tell ya when she's ready.

"I took her to the healers in Saverion. The dark elves are a reclusive lot, and they were suspicious of me bringing in a dyin' L'yrathi, but they helped 'er after some coaxin'. I stuck 'round to make sure she was okay. See, no matter what they think, even tough people like 'er need someone to watch their back. Within a couple days I found 'er at the local bar eatin' and drinkin'. It was a good sight."

The old man smiled at the doctor, this time with no hints of playfulness in it. "Over the years, I found 'er on the road or in towns. She tried to keep me away from 'er, but what was she gonna do? Kill me? There ain't many years she'd be shavin' off." He laughed heartily at the thought. "I'd seen enough of 'er kind to know what she did fer a livin', but I don't judge. I enjoy the travelin', but it's also good to see she's still kickin'. I've no idea what coulda broken a woman like her down that harshly."

His gaze flicked to the bar where Roxii had relocated herself to before returning to Maedor. His voice had quieted some. "Ye keep an eye on her, yea? And keep an eye on that Falaern feller. From what I heard, he ain't a good man in the slightest."

While the old man shared the story with Maedor, Roxii sat at the bar, having ordered herself another whiskey from the bartender. It was her one of her favorite drinks; the burn reminded her how strong the alcohol was, keeping her grounded, and more oft than not it distracted her from whatever pain she'd endured. But on nights—and sometimes days—when she decided to lose herself, the whiskey was strong enough to whisk her away without much effort. Though many did not know it, however, wine was her favorite alcohol. But she saved those times for celebration and special moments.

She would not lose herself this night; the doctor and she had to stay focused, but it wouldn't hurt to allow the strong beverage to numb the anger and embarrassment that made her hands tremble. Though she would never harm the old man, she hated how he would speak without thinking. Or perhaps he did think and thought it a good idea to share personal details with the man she'd just met this morning. Lucius had kept her from doing anything stupid back then, when she would carelessly lose herself to the bottle in an attempt to forget the horrors she'd endured, which meant that he'd also seen the vulnerable parts of her. And she hated how he was willing to share that with the doctor.

But she also didn't want to listen to the recounting of his story. It hurt her pride that she'd been beaten so lowly, and it took an old traveler's generosity to prevent her from dying on the road. She was in a daze then, having not eaten for gods know how long, and she'd thought she was a child again, being picked up off the road by Master Damaer's hand. But she knew what he was like, who he was, and she tried to struggle against his grip. But alas, the past was done, and it was just the old man trying to take her to safety with kindness in his heart.

And yet, there was another reason she'd left the two men. A presence entered the tavern, its magic touching her shadows delicately. And then, it was not just anger and unease that made her hands shake; it was also fear.

As she sat at the bar, a figure sat on the vacant stool beside her. "Uanni ebrathsa, nha sar?"

Roxii set her lips into a flat line. The man held no significant features—standard height, lanky build, angular face, pointed ears. His hair was styled somewhat neatly, and he wore standard middle-class clothing: woolen pants, leather boots, an undershirt and high-quality belted tunic. He blended in fairly nicely with the rest of the crowd. But Roxii knew who he was. Her High Elvish was a bit rusty, but she could make do. "Akh va alet desha tham? An nha nira sirketi. Kar va kol kahless tel'quiét?"

"Va eru tanil tel'quiét kesha," he responded simply. "Siilen nha kuil sal eru uannir tel'ahkir çaeliissa."

She was reminded of the band of silver that circled her neck, and she could've sworn she could hear the electricity buzzing within like a box of angry bees. She gripped the new glass of whiskey before her in an attempt to force her hand to stop shaking.

He noticed the fear that gripped her, lips curving upward into a smirk, but he did not comment on it. Instead, his gaze flicked to the table she'd left, towards the doctor. "Nha su thari?"

"Aveàn op nehr," the velglorn answered. "Revar va silia nerith iltem aveàn... ssri." She paused. "Ent curunir."

"Nha va elevasi siilen salen nha taenamin driss, salen lyth?"

Roxii was silent for a moment. "Neh, Lian."

His eyes lingered on the doctor for a moment longer before returning to the Shadow once again. By now, Lucius had completed his story. "Thar neheless," was all he said before rising from his stool and disappearing in the crowds. Roxii sighed. She was ready for this contract to be over, sooner rather than later.






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Vesilir Ashalar

    Mentioned: Esadora de Levoran | Erlen
Perhaps the route he'd decided to take was not a wise one.

Damn me.

Attempting to form a friendship with the Vra'salian seemed beneficial in the beginning, but now he was starting to have second thoughts. Would their relationship be worth it? Why couldn't he have gone with a simpler lie? He could have easily held back the fact that he recognized where Vesilir had come from. He could have easily said that he was a simple guard for some nobody nobleman. Why didn't he do that? Why did he have to try to be intelligent and cultured?

Because now he was here, listening to the blond's questions feeling very much like he was being interrogated. It was not intentional, of course; Vesilir did not know that he was lying. (At least he hoped not.) But with all of the questions being thrown his way, Aerendal now had to formulate some sort of convincing story, an unquestionable lie. He could not brush off the questions; that would look suspicious. He had to answer them, but the knight began to hesitate.

"Ah, your questions don't bother me, so don't worry."

His mind felt as though it were going faster than an arrow that had just left the archer's bow. He could not dismiss the inquiries with a lie that involved being with some nobody. Vesilir was right; if he were sent to somewhere as far away as Iathellan, he would have been protecting someone important. That was why Aeren, when he'd traveled to Iathellan as the emissary, had been accompanied by a whole platoon of men from Felnethyr's royal guard. He could take one of his soldiers' names, perhaps, to take the place of emissary. Who had come with him? After he entered the manor, he began removing his boots and allowed the distraction to give him time to think. He needed a name. I need a name! Name, name, name...

"Sir Nesterin," he spoke quickly. "He is the one I protected. We were sent to– Oh, what was the name...?" He allowed himself to mull over the different cities in Iathellan. Arventar, Grevankara, Brevalin... There was only one that he could think of that would make the most sense. "Etrucion! Yes, Etrucion. It's been a while since I last visited, but I do remember the beauty of your lands. Rather remarkable, I must say. The architecture is ethereal and the lands lush and vibrant. I envy you."

He was just spewing nonsense at this point, he knew. The knight was not lying when he said he loved Iathellan, but he did not enjoy lying to others. It felt as though his whole life was one gigantic lie. He was lying to Esadora, Vesilir, and Erlen about who he truly was. He was lying to them and everyone around him about what he was doing. He was lying about what his purpose was. He was lying to his people, for he did not deserve his title. And he was lying to himself, saying that what he did was the right thing to do. So many lies encircled him, and it made a sense of anxiety root itself deep in his gut.

His icy blue eyes flicked to Esadora momentarily. He did not like the sorceress because of her choices, but at least she did not interrogate him. She wanted nothing to do with him, so both of them were keen on getting away from each other as soon as possible. He liked Vesilir—the Vra'sali both intrigued and intimidated him—because both he and the High Commander seemed to have some sort of negative reservations regarding the raven-haired woman in their midst. He had hoped the alliance would be worth it, and perhaps there was still a chance for it to prove fruitful, but he wished he could completely skip the questions.

"When was the last time you were home?" Aeren asked the Vra'salian. He did not want all the questions to be directed towards him.

 
Maedor Taellaris​
There was a certain assurance that came with watching the banter between the old man and the assassin. It was near endearing to the point Maedor hid a hint of a smile behind his fingers. To know her like this, even if she spoke with a certain venom, there was no bite. Empty threats at most hung in the air.

Roxii did not seem the type to stop and get to know many people. But obviously this one, Lucius, had become something of a trusted confidant. If she refused to use the term friend then Maedor assumed this was the closest thing to one she could get. However, he knew mercs and assassins were types to shirk the very idea they needed something as petty as comradery. Some of them truly did not need it, and for that Maedor envied them with every fiber of his being, wishing to be able to act as though he could walk through any town alone and not feel the crushing weight of lonesomeness when he sat at the tavern bar with no one, practically begging for the town drunk to come and sit beside him and tell his tales of war and pain, love and lust, filthy, sad, wonderful tales to fill the air and put them in a state of togetherness for only one night even if it lasted for only that moment. Then it would end, Maedor would leave to act as a doctor elsewhere when his day was done and all was put back into place, and the cycle would repeat. Over and over again until he grew tired of it and finally capitulated.

Strangely the life of a traveler was the loneliest yet the most filled with people, acquaintances, friends, new ones at every bend, and every town entered. There was a certain beauty in it, but the life of stability was given up in turn. Maedor wondered if Lucius himself was always a traveler, much like Maedor, or if in his old age he had decided it was time to see more of the world than he had in his life. Either way, he knew, perhaps, there was a certain understanding which could be found between them. That likely would not come about, as it was rare two travelers could stay together for long, they always merely crossed paths briefly, if lucky they walked the same road before splitting away, but there was a companionship to be found. And for it, Maedor was grateful to feel in this blinding chaos which had become his life.

One thing which seemed to be a proper trait of every traveler was the compulsion to ramble. And Maedor could not deny the amusement at the thought of Roxii, drunk and warm towards him after their exchange on the ride there. Though he supposed he had a compulsion to be far more emotional when he was drunk, so he could not fault Roxii for such a thing, though he had imagined her to be more the silent cynic that sat in the corner, to hear that was not the case was a delightful correction. Unsurprisingly, she had found that a deterrent in itself and had chosen to leave the two of them to their own. For a moment Maedor felt the compulsion to apologize despite the fact he had not said anything, though he thought better of it and simply let her walk away to be on her own.

He always knew there was something interesting to her story whether or not she was wont to share it. And he knew it was hardly going to be happy. It seemed to be a given. No one who had felt pressured into this way of life never had a happy life. He knew that to be the story of many, assassin, mercenary, spy, prostitute, not a happy life to spare between the lot of them, but they got by. He could not judge, life did things to a person and pushed them to become things they may have never thought themselves capable of. It was a sad existence, but in an odd way, it was honest work. That was not to say he thought all of them to be unworthy of judgment. No. He knew some who were smarmy, evil in both heart and spirit, treating life as though it was nothing more than tokens to add to their collection.

While this was only a minute detail in an entire lifetime, it was enough.

"Mm. It is a shame people such as her can never have happy stories." he did not know the extent of the tragedy but he knew it was one, there was no denying that. Life was unfair, and it always seemed to seek out the most unworthy to strike. No one deserved the pain that the L'yrathi and sorcerers had been put through. "And it is a shame the world must be like this, so many wonderful people forced into hiding their true forms, it's as bad as this plague."

Maedor glanced behind him at the woman that sat at the bar. He was being given a rather... daunting task, but he did deign to nod his head. Might as well ease an old man's heart, even if it was very likely Maedor could not do much.

"I'll try my best- I'm a bit weak though. Tall, blond and scrawny and all..." he shook his head and offered a lopsided smile. "But I will help where I can. Falaern... I have doubts on his ability for kindness and feeling any empathy towards others."

It was hard to imagine how they all ended up caught in this web. Why did Maedor seem to always attract men such as that? A simple doctor always managing to get caught up in things much bigger than himself. It seemed unlikely, but here he was among spiders and snakes, a traveler in the lion's den with nothing but himself to blame.

He felt something hard press between his shoulder blades.

"Gimme yer money pretty boy, and yer throat stays intact." Maedor swallowed thickly because that was a line he was rather used to hearing. He glanced back behind him briefly, and then all at once he was in the air with strong arms coiling tightly around him. "Ha! Gotcha didn't I? Ya look funny when yer terrified. Who's yer friends? Tara's off speakin' to the lady, said I'd come and get ye."

Maedor was still rather worried about the knife that had come very close to his throat when the man, who he now remembered was Horus, picked him up. His hand came to stead himself on a strong arm. "Eh- oh. Hi. Lucius it seems you're not the only unexpected companion, though I speak definitively when I say you are surely a more valued comrade in these trying times."

"Steal from a man once and he 'ates ya forever, such is life." Horus said with a shake of his head, Maedor could feel his thick beard against the back of his neck. For the love of the Gods, the man could stand to put him down. Horus seemed to have gotten a divine love for showcasing how much he outstrengthed Maedor, stating he had never "befriended" a man so weak and scrawny. Unlike Lucius and Roxii's pretend tenuous relationship, Maedor truthfully disliked this lot because they had met because their band had decided to run him down on the road and take him for all he had. It was not a nice first impression and Maedor never quite got over it, however after he had chosen to still help them in a time of medical crisis, they had deigned to name him 'their doctor' and 'friend' despite never having actually returned Maedor's belongings, which he thought a fair stipulation for friendship.

He let out a sigh through his nose as he wriggled from the grasp, it was truly only because the man loosened his hold that Maedor was able to slip back to the ground. "Well, it has been a pleasure Lucius but I must go make sure that nobody dies... at least for now."

Would he mind Roxii stabbing Tara?

Yes, actually, he would have to be the one listen to her while he stitched her up.

The redheaded woman had come to slip next to Roxii when Horus had snuck up on Maedor. She had large blue eyes and fiery hair that was cropped short. She wore a simple white tunic and leather black pants. She was a thin young woman, slender and spry with a wide smile and pale freckled face. A scar was etched on her brow and collarbone, but it did ruin her confidence.

"Say," she said as she sidled next to the L'yrathi, seemingly unconcerned with any hint of danger that came with her. "You know tall, blond, an' handsome over there? Didn't know he settled and got 'imself a woman." she giggled into her hand as she leaned against the table, propping her head on her hand. "World is small ent it? Jus' yesterday felt like I was givin' 'im his first bloody nose. Well, at least the first-"

"Stop bothering her." Maedor thumped his journal on top of her head, rather happy to hear the hissing protest he got in response. "You owe me too much money, you, as of now, do not have rights to bother me or my companions."

"Still all stiffy, eh? Ya like to pretend ya still all noble, but ya dress like a sad merchant." Maedor did, then, self-consciously smooth down his vest. Sad merchant? He was dressed like a respectable doctor.

"Anyway, I was jus' tellin' yer woman-"

"Companion." he corrected. Not only for his sake but he felt Roxii would not enjoy being referred to as his anything. "And please, continue, I love recounting the tale of when you knocked me off my horse to rob me. I think I know the story better, though, on account of it being me getting robbed."

"Details." she waved his words off. "He's a bit testy 'bout that still. Still a nice man though, had a miscarriage not too long after and what do you know, he comes along and gets me set back up right as reign by the next night."

"Sometimes I remember graduated from school with prestige and wonder how when I look into the past and the boundlessness of my own stupidity," Maedor said as he waved a waitress over and took a cup of whiskey for himself to sip on.

"Don't speak like that 'ere, I'm one of the simple folk," Tara punched him in the shoulder, it was playful but hard enough that Maedor was quite certain it would bruise.

"Of that, I have no doubt." He sipped his whiskey. "What are you doing here?"

"Mm. Decided to set up a bit- 'parently it is a nice spot for a bit 'o crime if ya know what I mean. My band was doin' great workin' on the road, but I wanted somethin' a bit more, ya know? An' lone doctors tended to not be very profitable, 'specially the ones that dress like sad merchants."

Despite himself, Maedor felt his lip twitch up slightly. "So what are you doing?"

"Various things, ya know, we work as muscle for some rich folk, not quite noble, but ya know. See, little folk get stepped on a lot and we help make sure it don't 'appen."

"Ah, so you have given away your life of heinous crime of robbing sad merchant doctors to become a truly altruistic member of society."

"Stop that pretty speak 'ere, ya gonna get yerself stole from again an' it ain't gonna be someone as nice as me. But, if ya must know, I keep watch of this city, keep it protected, those guards at the front? My men."

"They looked to be doing a stupendous job when we passed."

"Oh don't get like that, git, jus' cause they ain't all havin' sticks up their arses don't mean they can't do their job, they just keep me notified about wants goin' on in this city- think o' me as a the law, of sorts."

"I pity the people then." Maedor ran his thumb across the lacquered surface of the bar top. "But... Perhaps then you could be a more worthy companion for this night. You know all the happenings of this fine place? Big and small?"

"Oh, yes, and lemme tell ya, this is on interestin' place to be Maedor, very interestin' indeed, if ya know where to look."

Maedor leaned back in his seat. "Then may we talk over supper? Perhaps somewhere private?"

"Mm. For ya, I think I can make time. Ya got a nice face, consider yerself lucky, Maed. Lucky indeed." Well, at the very least, they were taking a step in the right direction now. Perhaps the day could get a bit better.

Esadora de Levoran​
Whether or not Vesilir believed anything being said by Aeren was unknown. He smiled pleasantly in response, at the very least he was amused and delighted by every word Aeren spoke, it was simply unknown if that delight came from being told of the pleasures and loveliness of his own home, or if it was simply the innate joy he got from watching people scramble and panic to think of an answer for him, in truth it could have been either one. Vesilir looked down and began plucking at the buttons of his jacket, slowly loosening it and then letting out a breath as he let it fall from his arms exposing a pair of dark wings on his back. He shook the jacket out and hung it up, rolling his shoulders in relief to be free of the confines.

Esadora knew it was likely the mixture of a spell and the jacket to keep his identity at least somewhat concealed. Despite doing all that, he still had many distinct markings of the Vra'sali. His angular cheekbones, towering height, near ethereal presence, though perhaps the latter was due to his age rather than his race.The odd man, however, would never look long enough to be able to tell, most were not like Aeren and had been there, but rather were likely simply going off of what they had read in books, seeing as the Vra'sali never did like intermingling with humans.

Vesilir, however, was the exception to that. He even seemed to find a certain joy from speaking to humans.

He absently reached back and rubbed the skin around his wings as he nodded his head towards Aeren in acknowledgment of his question. "Oh... about a year or so? I have been traveling for quite a while, feels longer being away from home. I admit, out of every place I have been, I can't say it compares."

"Of course not!" Erlen said cheerily. "Nowhere else has those gardens, oh I would love to see them..."

Vesilir chuckled. "Remind me, I shall invite you home with me sometime." Essie grimaced to herself. How he managed to weasel his roots everywhere, she could never understand. While Esadora had her own air of charisma when she wished it, it seemed Vesilir's was strong and magnetizing as well as never-ending. It came as natural as the wind and he would smile and laugh easily no matter what crowd he was put with, blending yet at the same time standing out like a star with blinding lights, practically begging you to come closer.

"Erlen, we should see our rooms," Esadora said with a simple smile as she turned to look back expectantly at Aeren. For goodness sake, she just wanted him away from Vesilir long enough to, perhaps, be snapped from his wiles. Esadora knew she would simply come off as a desperate woman looking to keep her grasp if she tried to warn him. Though she realized a desperate woman was exactly what she was here, and she hated it. She was no ally nor trusted companion of this knight. She was a bitch and a witch who he would love to see suffer on her knees before others, as far as he was concerned, nothing she could say would absolve this upstanding Vra'sali from whatever pillar he had already been put on, so she could only hope to try to get him away for just long enough.

"Oh, please, you can see your room at any moment, Aeren, stay and chat with me a bit, will you? You two go ahead, we can meet you at dinner."

Esadora felt her brow twitch in annoyance. She did not wish to then come off as clingy, especially not towards Aeren, the very thought sickened her. And she would be seen as demanding if she all but forced him to come along. So instead she nodded graciously and turned with Erlen's arm linked with her own. She could at least pull one man away for now. The last thing she needed was a household against her where she had no foothold to stand in. It seemed, at least, he had not been speaking badly of her to Erlen, and as long as the man welcomed her then this home was safe, what Esadora really worried for was what Vesilir had planned for when there was no shield, and he wielded every speck of power he could muster over her.

When they were gone, Vesilir sat on the couch, reaching for a bottle of ale that had been left open, obviously shared between him and Erlen before the arrival of the other two. He poured both of them a drink and handed one to Aeren.

"I admit, your lies were amusing," he said with a hint of a smile. "I let it go too long, I apologize. You seem rather intent on keeping your secrets from everyone so I thought it best not to call you out on it earlier, I feel you have your reasons, Aeren. I cannot fault you on that. Then he chuckled. "But... you should work on lying, perhaps have a better story and life ready to explain whenever someone asks you questions, not everyone will be as... gracious as I am. I know Essie certainly never would be and you're lucky she was not paying enough attention to begin poking holes in your narrative."

He put his drink back on the table leaning back he folded a wing over and began to gently smooth down the feathers.

"Now, can you tell me why you, a lawman, are working with Esadora, and illegal sorceress, or should I be content with simply guessing? It seems a bit dangerous for you, yes? Magic such as that... well unchecked it can be catastrophic."
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: N/A

    Mentioned: Maedor Taellaris | Lucius | Master Falaern Damaer | Horus | Tara
After the unexpected check-in, Roxii was finding the desire to drink the night away much more appealing. There were many stressors surrounding her this night: having a doctor as a companion on a suicide mission, dealing with Lucius' ramblings on an unfortunate night, having the velglorn velahr breathing down her neck every step of the way. She'd finished the second glass of whiskey and was already almost through a third when she realized the night had not finished for them just yet.

"Gimme yer money, pretty boy." The wolf-elf cursed and sent out a full pulse of shadows, relinquishing her careful hold on her magic. It revealed to her the large man standing behind the doctor, blade pressed against him dangerously and Lucius staring on in intrigue, still as a statue. The assassin tensed, prepared to attack to protect her forced companion when a thought hit her: Why would someone attempt to rob a traveling doctor in the middle of a full tavern?

"Say..." The L'yrathi breathed deeply to control the agitation that rose within her, finishing her third glass and ordering another. If she'd thought these people weren't complete morons, she would have believed that the woman next to her was set to distract her while the large man completed the robbery. But the time and place was all wrong, which made no sense to the Shadow, a seasoned criminal that prided herself on tactics. However, the wolf-elf was still relieved when the stranger picked Maedor up in a bear hug. She was in no mood to have to save the lorethven literally the same day they'd met.

But she was more irritated by the woman that had taken a spot up next to her. The only information she somewhat valued was that the doctor was a blond—at least she could now better picture what the man looked like. Other than that, the stranger was nothing more than a nuisance. She was at least tolerant of Lucius' sudden appearance because she knew who he was, and that was after years of running into each other—though more oft than not she was not mentally prepared to listen to him babble. This woman sidled up next to her and just started talking, and with Roxii's already bad mood, worsened her mood with every word that left her mouth.

Especially when she insinuated that she was his woman.

Not only did it bother her that she thought they were together—an idea that the wolf-elf dismissed immediately because being in a relationship had never crossed her mind—but the woman believed that she, as a female, was property of a man. Though Roxii wished to spit that she was no one's, she couldn't wholeheartedly say that. Master Damaer held the strings in this mission after all. Hell, he'd put a collar around her neck to keep her in check.

But still, she was not Maedor's anything.

The assassin allowed a subtle smirk to lift the corner of her mouth as Maedor bapped the woman on the head with his journal. Perhaps he will have my back when necessary... But as the conversation between the woman and the healer continued, Roxii increasingly became more... confused. So they originally met because her and her lackeys robbed the lone man whilst on his travels? Stealing from a traveling doctor would be an easy job, especially since it was likely he was not trained in defense and yet carried the spoils of his lucrative jobs, but... Then the doctor helped the woman? It was... odd to the blind woman.

She supposed it had something to do with the oath he'd taken when he became a man of medicine, to never do harm and to always help where it was needed. But in the hybrid's experience, when someone did you wrong, you didn't really turn around and help them when they needed it. There were times when it became a scam, a way to squeeze out every last bit of usefulness from the victim as possible. Roxii wondered if that happened to be the case with Maedor and these people; if they were simply using him because of his medicinal knowledge.

Yet, as the conversation progressed, the wolf-elf found that they could to be useful to them. And Maedor saw it, too, as he took hold of the opportunity and requested to receive more information on the town. Did this woman, her lackeys, or her Kerthian guards know anything about Karlson? Surely someone would know something. There were too many eyes in this town for someone not to. Roxii only hoped that this would not be a waste of time. The wolf-elf finished her fourth whiskey. Perhaps this night could still prove fruitful. So long as no one irritated her, everything should turn out just fine.

The blind L'yrathi remained silent, sipping on her drink. Maedor knew these people better than she, and she wished to see how he decided to proceed with the night. She would simply sit back and watch. If anything of note occurred, then she would pluck it up like a flower from a field. And if they proved to be a threat, then she would stamp them out like the dying embers of a fire. Maedor could take the reins for now; it seemed he was just as eager to get through this contract as she.

She also didn't want to say something she'd regret, because she was rather irritated. She knew how dangerous her tongue could be when unchecked.






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Vesilir Ashalar

    Mentioned: Esadora de Levoran | Erlen
The High Commander watched Vesilir carefully as the man revealed the key characteristic of his heritage. Aerendal had always wondered what it would've been like to have wings, to have the freedom of flight whenever he wished. He'd walked beside the Vra'sali on their pathways of glass in the hanging gardens and imagined the freedom and beauty that must have surrounded him before the walkways were implemented. The effort put forth by Emperor Aravane to make the gardens accessible by all was appreciated by the knight, but he could only imagine what they looked like without the pathways, with the Vra'sali, angelic in nature, perusing the sights, refusing the pull of gravity.

And yet, Aeren was keenly aware of the power they possessed. Those walkways were a choice, as was the decision to allow him to walk them through the gardens with the chancellor. With a single decision, he could have been thrust off the edge to his demise or the glass broken beneath his feet, and he would be able to do nothing. Which was why he was carefully aware of what and how he spoke to the Vra'salian chancellor then. He was sure there would be no violence between them, as that would look bad on the Vra'sali's part, but one could never be too careful.

But the knight also envied the combat advantage they harbored. Not only could they fight on land as every other man, but they had the power of the sky as well. Their wings made them large targets, sure, but they made up for the disadvantage in speed and the simple fact that they could be anywhere they wanted to be in moments. To be able to switch between the land and sky during a battle at a moment's notice, providing support in difficult-to-reach areas—it was why Queen Alannis and her council, him included, opted to form an allied relationship with the Vra'sali. If it ever came to it—which was probable, due to the tensions that came with the Prime Ruler's banishment of magic yet turning a blind eye to the half-elf's home kingdom—Felnethyr would appreciate their aid.

And these reasons were why he both admired and feared the ethereal blond before him.

Though he was surprised by the answer Vesilir gave him. A year? That sounds like an awfully long time to be away from the homeland for a Vra'salian, especially when they seemed so patriotic and harbored such a distaste for humans and the like. Aeren wondered what compelled Vesilir to remain in Thiyalia for so long. What it business-related, or was it simply a very long vacation? If it were the latter, why did he find this land so foreign to him intriguing? Was it the sights or the people? His gaze flicked to Esadora; perhaps it was the people.

Aerendal's head turned towards the sorceress and Erlen at her words. It almost seemed like she was trying to get the knight away from the blond angelian. He wondered why; was it a petty disliking, to prevent the two men that did not like her from joining forces against her, or was it more akin to keeping him away from someone dangerous? The knight was inclined to believe the former, and he fought back a smirk at Vesilir's response. He didn't enjoy the many questions the Vra'salian threw his way, but anything that irritated the sorceress was welcome in his book. And so, he dipped his head politely towards the duo as they disappeared, leaving him to sit in the opposite couch across from Vesilir.

He nearly dropped the drink he'd been given at Vesilir's first words to him. The blond was much better at hiding his true emotions and intentions than he'd expected. He was only grateful that the taller man hadn't blown holes in his story in front of the others.

"I, er..." A hand went up to rub the back of his neck and he laughed nervously. "Yeah... Charisma has never been a strong suit of mine. It is a miracle I have made it as far as I have. You know who I am, then, eh?"

The knight took a deep swig of the ale to distract himself from the nerves that made his heart pound. "I appreciate your secrecy, Vesilir, but I cannot tell you why I'm out and about. Though I can tell you that I am searching for someone. Someone... well, hard to find. The sorceress is helping me, as I have no other options." He took another drink of the ale, this time a bit more shallow. "I can trust you to keep this from other ears, yes? Even the sorceress? I'm afraid that word of my searching could make my journey more difficult."

 
Maedor Taellaris​
Tara and her men were an odd sort.

It was best described as a combination of outcasts and criminals banding together in order to take their own riches from a world they felt had gone against them. There was a certain respect which Maedor had for them, a group of people that managed to lift themselves from their beginnings, most of them from ones which were less than pleasant, and had managed to make themselves a family and a means of living. They seemed happy whenever he came across them. And they were rather welcoming when they were not making a habit of robbing people. Whenever he went by where they usually would prowl, he would often see them in taverns or out on the road, after the initial robbing and him helping Tara in the midst of her crisis, it seemed they had dubbed him an unofficial member, whether Maedor wished to possess that title or not.

His relationship with them was odd, he knew. But it felt like every relationship he ended up in was odd. The outcasts, the ones wronged, somehow always had been the people who he ended up close to. Outlaws, specifically. Perhaps that, in turn, made him an outlaw. That thought nearly made him chuckle, as he may have known enough sorcerers and other odd criminals to officially make him bad enough to be hanged or beheaded if he was ever found out. Or perhaps they would do one of those horrid torture methods such as crushing his fingers or letting rats dig into his stomach.

Maedor nearly shuddered at the very thought.

At least here there was nothing to worry about in Kerth, if Tara was truly in charge as she said. Though, that did lead him to question exactly what trouble he would be dealing with here.

He glanced back to Tara.

"Lucky's one word for it." he murmured then he motioned with his head. "You have a place in mind?"

"Hm. I'll rent us a room up at the Red Rooster Inn. Can talk there over a meal if ya'd like, got me men all o'er there so should be private 'nough for ya, since ya seem to value it so much. Come in about three hours, got things to take care of first." She grinned. "'less ya want somethin' els--"

"No!" Maedor said, flushing but keeping himself composed. "No. We will just be coming to talk. "

"Shame. So, you'll be paying 'alf the cost?" she asked innocently, batting her lovely blue eyes up at him. Maedor, very simply, batted his lovely amber eyes back at her.

"Oh, why would I when you still have not returned my vest after all these years?"

Tara rolled her eyes. "Pah! That thing? It was tacky."

"It was silk." Maedor corrected. "Now go get things done and pay for the room. Oh! Supper as well, I am going to be quite famished when the time comes and I am sure my companion can stand to eat as well. Unless you want to get me that ves--"

"Tch. So demanding. Fine, fine, I'll get all yer shit, stop naggin' me, damn it." She got up and ran her fingers through her hair. "Were you always so, I dunno, such a scoundrel?"

"Ask anyone, I'm an absolute cad." he waved her away. "Go bother others now, we'll meet you there."

"Hmph." She leaned in and landed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Nice seeing ya too, cad." And as quickly as she came she was off to do something else. Maedor was unsure what her duties were here, but he was certain she would keep her word. She had never been the type to go back on a promise no matter how rude or nasty she could be at times. At the very least they had found of his more genuine acquaintances rather than many of the ones whom, even if he liked them, he could not trust them in delicate matters, especially in any matters relating to what could be called courtly gossip. While he was on the lower side of nobility, he did not need his name in anyone's mouth or else things could get compromised.

"I applaud you for putting up with her, even if it was for a few seconds." He took a deep drink of his whiskey and then put down the empty cup. He, luckily, had a high enough tolerance he only felt a bit warmed by it. "They can be absolute scoundrels but they're honest, at the very least. But I believe this may prove a fruitful thread to follow, if he was coming to Kerth for any reason. Knowing Tara and her lot they would not come if it wasn't a bit interesting to say the least."

He let his finger slide across the rim of the cup. "Got some time if you want to try poking around anywhere else... or just get away from me from a bit, I would understand both choices."


Esadora de Levoran
​
Vesilir let out a low chuckle.

"You need not worry about me exposing your secrets to our dear friends, Aeren. Especially not to Essie, I know how she can get. I try not to let other's secrets come to light. " He brought his hand up from grooming his wing.

Vesilir had always been a man that, though not being of regal status, managed to hold himself like one, with a straight back and high held chin. The furniture in Erlen's home was noticeably small for him, the couch which they sat on not quite high enough for him to sit without his knees being forced to cant upwards, though he was able to slightly comfortably lean back.

"I had to keep my eyes on you for a while when you came to the palace. I wasn't supposed to be noticed by anyone and have gotten rather good at keeping hidden. I also had the advantage of being in my own home. So do not fret about not recognizing me, I was not supposed to be recognized. I admit, I was not expecting to ever see you again, I do hope I am making a good first impression now. I am sure Essie has her words to speak on the moment she is able to get you alone, but do not fear, she won't attempt to throttle you for simply existing next to me- or maybe she would, I don't know. She is always on edge when she cannot be called the strongest person in the household." he let out a small chuckle. "I actually must thank your presence, I do not know if Erlen would have been enough of a shield to keep her from trying to set me aflame. Oh! Now I am using you as a shield- my this first impression must be the absolute worse, I apologize again."

He took the ale back to his lips and sipped down more of the liquid. Silky golden hair fell over his cheeks as he dipped his head forward, he pulled his wing back and let it fold against his back, rolling his shoulders once more.

"Mm. Allow me to introduce myself properly, it is not fair that I know so much about you but you do not know me. I am a former High Commander of the Great Vra'salian Empire. I stepped down from that position, oh... two hundred years or so ago. And you seem spry and young, so I doubt they felt the need to mention me in any case. You probably know of my son, however, High Commander Arvinian. I cannot recall if you two met, but in any case, there is a more proper introduction of the strange winged man that now sits next to you. Correction. Old man that sits next to you, if you don't mind I will be keeping my age to myself. I don't need you thinking me senile before we even really get to know one another."

His smile fell, then he let out a breath.

"Though I do come with... a few questions. We may be in the same boat, at the moment, Aeren. I am in need of a sorcerers touch to help me find my own person. I could do it on my own but- bah! Travel is so... difficult here. I would rather not to present my heritage, I know it can make some humans uneasy, but horses, carriages, such slow means." he shook his head. "And I have other things which need to be done. So, I wished to know if she seemed-" he twisted his hand as he thought on the words. "Unhinged at all? She was not in the best state the last time I saw her, and I do worry for her health- as well as your own, Aeren's. Magic can be quite beautiful when it is wielded with benevolence, but with malice..." He shook his head and grimaced. "I need only hope you never are exposed to such an act, Aeren."
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris | Lucius

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer | Tara | Horus [Vaguely]
Though the warmth in her stomach and the dizziness in her head distracted her from the woman's rather irritating voice, the burn in her throat and her trained mind kept her grounded. It was a delicate combination, a healthy balance between numbing her senses and staying alert that she'd practiced for some years, and it allowed her to listen to the woman and Maedor's words with some clarity. Not to mention that it aided in reining in her tongue, a tool as dangerous as her hidden blades.

And yet, she knew that she'd drank enough for the effects of the alcohol to show in her behavior. Miniscule changes, at best. Looser muscles, softer expressions, a subtle slur, perhaps a change in reaction times. But she did not worry; the assassin had trained while in a haze, had fought off her Crimson Brothers whilst stumbling around in a drunken stupor. It was Master Damaer's idea. He'd thought it beneficial to train her in any plausible situation. The brawls she'd gotten into in recent years strengthened this training from her official time with the Crimson Shadow, and it had proven rare for her to lose a fight. Her reaction times had slowed, yes, but she'd fought against Falaern; she had yet to fight someone as quick as he.

Which was why she was not worried to have had a few more drinks than she was perhaps supposed to have. While the woman babbled, Roxii studied her and the large man that had gathered the attention of the lorethven. She would not underestimate their capabilities—she'd learned the hard way that that was a fatal mistake—but she'd grown to be rather exceptional at judging who she could and could not engage with victoriously. The blind woman held little to no doubts that she could win whatever fight that may break out tonight, if it ever occurred.

If anything, the alcohol would at least make the rest of the night bearable. To a degree.

The wassik-kesir allowed another smirk to grace her face at Maedor's tongue when speaking with Tara. There was a certain charisma he brought forth, one that only a select few could wield properly. They were harmless words at the surface, but Roxii had heard enough to notice the way he spoke the words to get the woman to do what he wished. It was a dangerous game to play, demanding things of a cutthroat. There was a confidence he exuded that aided in accomplishing his goal, however, and it seemed to work because Tara relented. A nobleman, indeed.

The L'yrathi hummed lightly at Maedor's words after the woman left. She sipped a bit more of her whiskey. "I hope you know what you are doing, Maedor." The end of his name slurred slightly, the crispness of her natural accent having been shaved off by the alcohol in her system. "I know criminals; I am one after all. It is not uncommon for them to harbor ulterior motives." She took another sip of her whiskey thoughtfully. "Simply be aware that I will not allow trickery to come to pass."

Her heart had been hardened from past betrayals, making her a rather cynical person. It made it difficult for her to trust people, especially those that were in a similar line of work as her. She knew what they were like, not only because she was on the same side of the law as thieves and robbers and murderers, but because she'd experienced firsthand their lack of morals. When she'd joined the Crimson Shadow, taking the blood oath and undergoing the initiation ritual, Roxii had been convinced that the assassins' code was enough to prevent those around her from wronging her. She wanted to believe that those assassins that surrounded her, those she'd called brother and sister, would never fail her.

But she was wrong to believe in such falsity, because just four years later, she'd been ambushed on a secret contract. A contract that only she and a select few of the Crimson Shadow knew about. And that ambush, those guards that apprehended her, sent her to Sanguine Isle to suffer for the rest of her days. At least until an illness or exhaustion took her in the night.

The velglorn never did find out who'd betrayed her. She had her suspicions, but she never bothered confirming them. The wolf-elf wanted nothing to do with the assassin's guild, so when she was finally free from slavery, from the suffocating mines of the island prison and from the oppressive grip of the Blackshade, she sought to build a life for herself. She'd tried to settle into a new line of work, but nothing ever quite sat well with her. The feeling of a weapon in her hand, the thrill of slinking through the night as silent as a shadow and taking lives with deadly precision, all in exchange for a sum that, in the long run, was perhaps not worth it... Nothing ever compared to it. And in all honesty, she felt she was better at nothing else.

Now that Master Damaer had forced his way back into her life, however, perhaps this was her chance to find some answers. Perhaps this was her chance at revenge.

After Maedor finished speaking, Lucius finally made his way over now that Tara had left the two alone. "Seems ya got yer hands full, eh?" He chuckled and clamped his hand on the assassin's shoulder. "I'ma go git some rest. Got a long day t'morrow."

"'Til we meet again, Lucius," the blind woman bid politely.

He nodded appreciatively before grinning at the doctor. "'Member what I said, yea? Y'all be careful now." He patted the woman on the shoulder once before disappearing into the crowd and out of the tavern. She silently wondered what the old traveler meant.

Roxii sighed and chuckled lightly, remembering that the lorethven next to her asked her a question. "Hm..." She finished off the rest of her whiskey. This time, she did not order another. "Perhaps you are more perceptive than I had assumed," she jested, lips twisted into a subtle grin. "Though I would normally elect to split ways momentarily, I do not trust the locals. You have a target on your back, mia abbein, with your sumptuous clothing and—mm, how should I say...?—conspicuous physicality, and I cannot have some common criminal harming you." Not only because he was her partner, albeit against her will, but if any harm were to come to him, she was sure that she would answer for it.

The velglorn went silent for a moment, left-hand fingers drumming a broken rhythm atop the bar's surface. "I am afraid that I may not be of much use just yet. There have been too many passing through here; I cannot discern Karlson's scent nor his prints among the dozens that have passed through Kerth in the recent days, especially in this tavern. It is... overwhelming, to say the least, to try and make sense of what I scent." Her face screwed up into one of displeasure for just a moment. "Was there somewhere you wished to visit while we are here, Maedor? I would not be against escaping this crowd."






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yjdehkk6
DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Vesilir Ashalar

    Mentioned: Queen Alannis Vaneiros | Unnamed Vaneiros Sister | Esadora de Levoran
With the Vra'sali, it was difficult to tell who someone was—separating the commoners from the noble folk from the courtly fellows. It seemed that the lines blurred together because the angelians already looked to be so dignified and proud by design. The Thiyalians that he'd found himself surrounded by for a majority of his life were easy to discern. Without looking at their clothing and appearance, though a telltale way to figure out their background, Aerendal most commonly paid attention to the way they spoke, what words they chose and how they responded to his questions, and how they carried themselves. A confident stride, rigid posture, lifted chin—all were convincing signs of a man brought up in a noble home, more believable than any words that could be spewed. Lies could be strung and clothing bought, but courtly manners and language were taught.

So the knight was somewhat surprised by the information Vesilir shared with him. He'd never even caught a glimpse of the man on his last visit to Iathellan, so he supposed he did a well enough job. He supposed he should have expected to have been watched; it was not an uncommon practice to send someone to keep an eye on a strange guest, especially in a place as important as the palace. Spying was an integral part of keeping the kingdom and its peoples safe, and Her Majesty had sent him on his fair share of stealth jobs. Though, they were more along the lines of staying indiscernible rather than staying hidden.

The half-elf chuckled at Vesilir's apologies. "You needn't worry, my friend. In my experience, first impressions are hardly worth anything. It's what you do afterwards that matters."

A knot formed in his stomach. Empty words, he knew.

Aeren lifted his chin slightly in understanding as Vesilir put the pieces together. He'd heard the Ashalar name somewhere before, and now he remembered how and where. High Commander Arvinian and he had met briefly, simply a passing introduction before the chancellor had whisked him away, but he never got to sit down and chat with him. Now that he knew the missing pieces, looking at the Vra'salian, he could see the resemblance between he and his son. At least from what he could remember.

He knew the Vra'sali lived a long time, and it had never bothered him as it did to others. Only his curiosity showed through, and as he listened to Vesilir, he wondered how old the man before him actually was. Older than three hundred years, it seemed, if he'd seen the forging of the walkways in the hanging gardens. He'd probably never get the answer, especially since the angelian refused to tell him, but he could speculate. He wondered how old his son was when he'd met him. The Vra'sali were definitely an odd sort, but Aeren admired them, though he also feared them. It was easy to be deceived by their appearance, smooth and young, when in reality that had lived to see the past five generations. An unsettling thought, but intriguing all the same.

The High Commander leaned back and sipped some more of his ale at the sudden change in tone from Vesilir. The Vra'salian had his own person to find? As vague as the half-elf's own answer, Aeren could only make idle guesses as to who he was searching for. A lost family member or lover? A forgotten friend? Someone who'd wronged him? The blond was far more skilled at charisma than he. There was no endearment or hatred laced within his words, so he could not even begin to make a solid guess by the way he spoke. It interested him more, though, that the tall man was searching Thiyalia for his missing person. Was this why he'd been away from his home for so long? Had it taken him this long to finally decide to find a worthy sorcerer or sorceress to aid him in his search, or was he simply waiting to find a specific one?

Aerendal set his lips into a flat line at his question before sipping on his drink again. His mind flashed back to the study, when those unrestrained words left his mouth and she'd reprimanded him. Though he hated the power she possessed, the grip she had over him to make him bend to her will, he knew that he'd deserved the way she'd treated him. Queen Alannis would not have stood for his unchecked tongue, and her sister definitely would not have allowed him to speak again. As he stood the two woman in his mind side by side, he wasn't sure who he feared most. He'd fought the Vaneiros sister himself, had been beaten by her natural skill in combat on more than one occasion, but Her Majesty held the power of the Crown. A shudder ran through him at the possibilities.

And though he hated the power Esadora possessed, despised that unnatural source of magic with his very being, he needed the sorceress. He needed her to continue helping him, at least long enough to bring him to the Shadow. From there, she could do whatever she wished, because then the fate of his journey rested in the assassin's hands. Provided she accepted his proposal. If she rejected him... Though he did not like the sorceress, wished to see her strung up and face the crimes of her sinful choices, he may need her help more than he may wish to admit. He could not stand to get on her bad side.

"I do not approve of her sorcery, as is expected from someone of my background," he spoke simply. "But unhinged is not the word that I would use to describe her. Testy would perhaps be a better word. She has been cross with me, has showed me her power, but she has not been malicious." He paused and shrugged slightly. "Though we've only known each other for a day, if that. I cannot say how sane we will be by the end of our journey." He chuckled lightheartedly as he sipped more ale, but there was some truth in the joke.

 
Maedor Taellaris​
Lucius had not lied, it seemed Roxii's demeanor truly did change, if ever so slightly when she was able to have the relaxant of alcohol coursing through her veins. While Maedor could not forget that the woman that sat at his side was an esteemed assassin, one which was feared throughout the realm, his fear was mitigated ever so slightly to be replaced with leisure. While he had had already succumbed to the idea of the two of them being partners, it felt as though he did have to tug himself to and fro in order to stay on the thin line between acting as a partner and remembering he was, in most cases, the weaker party that would easily be at a lost should any physical battle break out between the two of them. Seeing as Maedor tended to not be a violent person aside from a few tavern brawls when he was younger and stupid, it would most likely be him saying the wrong thing and Roxii throwing a mug in his face.

Now, at the very least, it seemed less likely he could say something which would cause such a reaction. While she could be rude at times, it certainly was not too much for him to deal with, as long as he remembered to hide his combative nature when he could. It could not be hidden all the time, however. It was simply a matter of fact that no matter what the reason the two of them had been pit with one another, they were still jarringly opposite, even a preliminary first glance towards the both of them showcased their differences, him being tall and fair where she was petite and dark. It was like a story out of a child's fairy tale book. But there was no fairytale here. Maedor was no lost prince awaiting to take his rightful place on a throne and Roxii was no knight in shining armor, much less a damsel in distress. Briefly, Maedor mused how she would feel if someone referred to her as such.

He decided he would like to be there to see her reaction to them, provided he was not between them at the time.

It was a step in the right direction in their companionship for her to trust him with the relations with Tara's band of criminals. Though, Maedor would have understood if she was less than pleased. They were not, on the surface, the easiest to trust and even Maedor would be reluctant to work with them if not for the nature of the investigation. If Karlson was attempting to keep to himself, then they would need people who knew how to keep a watchful eye on folk of the higher class, as Karlson supposedly was. And his odd behavior led Maedor to believe something stranger was going on than he had originally thought.

He let his lips curve up into a smile and politely nodded towards Lucius as he passed them by. Of course, he remembered what they had spoken of. But he did not know if he could manage what the old man wanted. It was already a daunting task to send a healer on an assassination mission that seemed only fit for a trained assassin to manage. But, Maedor would respect the wishes of an old man, while he was around Roxii, at the very least, would not have to worry about most injuries, and people like her knew how to get injured.

Upon Roxii's decision that they would not be splitting, however, he could not help but feel his brow twitch in slight annoyance. People were often quick to judge him as weak or incapable of anything other than healing. It was true he was not the most physically adept, but he had survived riding across the desert, speaking to some of the most esteemed people in all of Merava, Azerbahn, Iathellan, and more than that. He was no simple healer who was trembling and snivelling at his mother's skirt at every hardship. But he let his shoulders relax anyways despite himself. It was, in truth, part of her job according to the Master that she ensures his protection. But did she have to protect him from every hardship?

"I traveled on my own for years you know," he said as he managed a small smile and shrugged lightly. "I do know how to protect myself- provided I am not dressed like a sad merchant on a horse."

He waved his hand.

"But... as for what to do until Tara can see to us... Mm. Most things are already closed, but we could stand to scout the town a bit. I would like to know the layout well enough, in case of any... need for fast escape anywhere. You, well... you can hide easier than I can. Unless I break my back trying."

Esadora de Levoran
​
Vesilir leaned back.

"Testy... Good. I can work with testy." he hummed. "I know it is trying times here for sorcerers. They are being hunted like dogs from what I can tell. I cannot say I quite agree with the treatment, but I am biased. The Vra'salian way has not failed yet. Arzelia willing, it never will. But what is happening here... I fear it will only escalate. I... do not bear hatred for those who have an inclination towards sorcery. But, I must acknowledge the dangers that come with someone without any means of learning how to control their powers. It is a delicate balance to meet, that is for certain, as it is easy for them to become near frighteningly powerful and lour'd upon everyone else, bestriding the world as though they are a colossus. But it is not without reason that they must be given an education in the powers they have, as even untrained ones may wield something of frightening proportions.

"I knew of one case in which a young woman, barely fifteen I believe, went untrained for too long. No one knows quite what happened. The accounts are muddled, but we have discussed enough to know she had likely gotten some sort of news which caused intense emotional distress, in such, she then let out a magical burst which then caused a fire. It burned down most of the village and was terribly difficult to stop- magical fires tend- and in the middle of it all was that dear, poor dead little girl. It was not the only case, but I believe the main one to instigate the system of tethering into the Vra'salian ideology. And that is what I fear happens here. Essie- she has never been fond of this place, I know, she came to Iathellan with every intention of staying there." He shook his head and wiped his brow.

"Many sorcerers and sorceresses have fled there, in all honesty. It is getting overwhelming as we can only take on so many tethers and only so many soldiers may be trusted. So... this is my way of saying I need you all to solve this quickly." he said as his mouth split into a smile and a gentle hand landed on Aeren's shoulder. "I do hope that is not too much pressure to be put on you- at the moment it seems that being tethered to a knight is preferable to being executed- but Essie seems to like neither."

He brought his fingers to his chin and stroked. "But... if she is testy I can tell you there are ways to keep her calmed. Of course, if you cause her to be murderous only the Gods can help you then, but she does enjoy a fine bottle of wine. Or a new dress- but you don't know her measurements and should not ask- , or jewelry. Expensive, perhaps, but you can stand to spend a few coins to keep on her good side, eh?" Vesilir's eyes crinkled in a smile. "I know I surely shall.. Have a chest I brought with me and I plan on buttering her up with my goods first... Mm... would you like wine or perhaps a necklace to take on the road? Consider it a gift from me to you for being willing to have a conversation with an old git."
 

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Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer
"Then it is a shame that you are dressed like a sad merchant on a horse," the blind archer responded matter-of-factly, a hint of mischief in her tone. "Forgive me for assuming, Maedor, but from what I have learned of you so far, staying out of trouble is not an easy task for you to do." He made that fact clear multiple times already. Her first clue was that he'd even deigned to meet with her and Master Damaer at the mysterious man's behest. Perhaps that was not entirely the lorethven's fault, but surely he should've sensed something odd about the letter. Then again, Roxii never did see the letter; she had no idea how Master Damaer reeled the Taellaris man in.

But there was the more obvious hints. The fact that he was a healer betrayed the danger he put himself in daily. He willingly thrust himself into the thick of perilous situations, tending to the broken and dying regardless of their backgrounds and affiliations, as he'd told her in his story. Though she held no qualms about him tending to sorcerers and non-humans, she couldn't ignore the fact that that made him a criminal in the eyes of the law. Helping those harboring magic and refusing to reveal their locations to authorities was a crime, which in an odd way made the morally righteous man a criminal. The idea amused the wolf-elf.

Maedor had also revealed that bandits had been a recurring problem for him, confirmed by the unexpected presence of Tara. The man displayed his wealth—whether he actually possessed any or not—without any second thoughts, and his silken clothes made him a target for bandits and other cutthroats. Though the wolf-elf herself was clothed in expensive coverings, some bandits spied her weapons and sensed her dangerous aura. Though not all left her alone—most couldn't believe that a blind traveler could best them—she knew for a fact that she could take down any threats that presented themselves. The lack of weapons and armor betrayed his inability to fight against a band of criminals, or at least made retaliation unlikely. Roxii had no idea how well he could protect himself exactly, but she didn't want to find out the hard way.

All in all, her protection was not for the sake of the doctor's well being. Falaern never gave the command outright, but he didn't need to. The blond was important to the assassin velahr for one reason or another. She'd been thinking about his purpose in this mission ever since she received the contract, and the only conclusion she could come to was that there was something more that Master Damaer was not telling her, something that he would probably never tell her until the time came to reveal it. Maedor would need to live long enough to see to the master assassin's desires, and that meant that the Shadow would need to ensure that he was not harmed, at least not fatally.

She knew that would be difficult, however, especially with his attitude of not wanting to be protected. She understood how it felt, to not have a choice in the matter, but she reasoned that it was a small price to pay. Damn his ego and masculinity—though he'd already made clear that he didn't care much of what others thought of him. The blind assassin would ensure that he was protected because whatever harm befell him would more than likely be repeated upon her. The metal around her throat was a constant reminder that she couldn't fail. Whatever dangers Maedor thrust himself into, she'd have to stride beside him; it was possible since trouble seemed to find him rather than the other way around.

Though she supposed she had no room to talk.

The velglorn was silent for a moment as she allowed his words to settle in her, admittedly, fuzzy mind. It was a logical suggestion; ever since they'd been directed towards Kerth, it felt as though a weight had been pressed upon her shoulders. Her instincts told her to keep an eye out, to be wary of every passerby, and it made her cautious. If something were to occur—a fight, a trap, stumbling upon something they weren't supposed to see, or a mixture of these—then they would need to be prepared to escape, either by riding out of the town unhindered or, if the odds stacked against them, hiding from sight until they were able to do the former.

The healer was right, though; he would be more difficult to conceal if stealth proved to be their only option. The L'yrathi woman was a natural at keeping to the shadows, maneuvering the intangible substance to trick the eye and obscure her from view, but hiding a man as tall as he would prove more problematic. She had another ability she could use should the situation call for it; she'd only used it to hide herself when escaping had proven too hard, but perhaps she could try using it on the lorethven as well... If the time came, she would get the answer to her question.

Roxii chuckled lightly. "Mm, logical as well. Perhaps I pegged you as a useless kuu`datto too early. I, too, would appreciate knowing the ins and outs of this town; I am not keen on being trapped within such a nowhere location. But should stealth be required, I will take care of ensuring our escape."






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yjdehkk6
DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Vesilir Ashalar

    Mentioned: Esadora de Levoran
The blue-eyed knight knew firsthand the perils that could befall sorcerers and the people and land around them should their power go unchecked. He listened to Vesilir's explanations and experiences with intrigue, but he couldn't stop the memories from flashing across his mind's eye as if he were reliving the days. The days that caused him to hate sorcery so fervently.

Similarly to the Vra'salian's example, he'd seen emotional girls set fire to homes, leaving only a barren landscape blanketed in ash in her wake. He'd seen the aftermath of a sorcerer who'd tried to help the local village by providing them with a new stream to draw from after years of drought, but he'd only flooded the valley, drowning everyone including himself. He'd heard of an ambitious woman attempting to gain immeasurable control by taking the reins of when the sun and moon rose and set, but it only resulted it creating a fissure in the ground, wide enough to fit Felnethyr's castle in without touching the walls and as deep as Wyntague Cliffs is tall.

And he'd seen his kin, the Vaneiros family that he'd grown up with, burned in their beds, eaten alive by the unnatural Demonfyre, created only by the hands of a sorceress.

He'd heard the stories, seen firsthand how dangerous and catastrophic a sorcerer's power could be if not controlled, if left in the hands of those who could not understand the unnatural power they possessed, and it had turned his heart cold towards the energy that they molded with their fingers. Aerendal hated that they could seemingly do whatever they want, acting as though their abilities were as just and controllable as the Elements of Exther that the gods had blessed he and countless others with. Sorcery was not meant to exist; it was a power that was beyond the capability of mortals to handle, and with every failure that occurred by the hands of a sorcerer, his beliefs were confirmed. But he knew that there was another reason he hated the unnatural power:

Aeren was terrified of sorcery.

He was sure Vesilir had seen much more regarding the blunders of sorcerers in his long life, and the High Commander found it odd that the blond did not hold the same views as himself. He would not judge—there were some that still did not agree with the banishment of magic and the hatred for sorcery, not to mention that the man wasn't even a native of his lands. He still found it interesting that the angelian man harbored no disliking for their wanton use of such an unnatural power. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that they had the tethering system he'd mentioned.

Aerendal wondered what it would be like to employ the Vra'sali's method of tethering. The half-elf, contrary to belief, was not thrilled about burning sorcerers and witches at the stake, though the idea crossed his mind more than he liked to admit. It had been ingrained into him, to harbor such a hatred for the illegal acts to feel the need to cleanse the world of their sins via burning. He'd already found himself fantasizing watching Esadora being burned, but it wasn't until now that he realized it was... barbaric, in a sense. It felt right because he was a man of the law, upholding his duties to the Crown, but isolating the very act, dismissing the fact that he was following orders and doing his job, the idea made his stomach churn. He was conflicted.

But perhaps they could employ a similar method to what Vesilir described; the common Thiyalian did not have the power to "tether" as the blond described, but perhaps there was something else they could try. It would allow upstanding citizens and loyal, law-abiding knights to ensure that sorcery would never hurt another soul, especially if the sorcerers were so hellbent on practicing their powers, and it would dissolve the need for murdering criminals. It made sense to the knight; perhaps he could speak with the council when this was over.

The half-elf cocked an eyebrow at the Vra'salian male and laughed. "My, you came more prepared than I did!" He grinned and drank some more of his ale, finishing off his cup. "I won't deny help from someone trying to keep me alive. I know my status keeps her on edge, and I can only imagine what the road ahead holds for us. And it is a long road." He set the cup on the table before them and leaned back in the couch. "A good conversation is always appreciated, especially from such a hospitable man such as yourself. It's a shame that we do not have all the time in the world. I'm sure you have many stories that I'd love to hear."

 
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Maedor Taellaris​
“I…” Maedor was, perhaps, searching for an excuse or a denial. It was a natural response to being accused of lacking a sense of self-preservation. After all, a doctor was not supposed to engage in such disruptive behavior. They were healers and wisemen, meant to stitch together what warriors and fighters had broken apart and laid bare. A doctor did no harm, so how could they be mixed up in trouble? A doctor only fixed and never broke, so how could a conspiracy or plot surround them?

Perhaps, in truth, Maedor was not a good doctor. With that alongside all his other faults, he was quite more useless than he had originally pegged himself.

Roxii was, indeed, correct. He could not stay out of trouble, even when he fled to do just that. No matter how much of a good boy he attempted to be, there was always a hand hovering just above him waiting to obliterate any sense of satisfaction that could come from his attempts.

What was it that kept him from reaching any goal he set out for? Were they not all good? To rid the world of plague and sickness? To defy the reverberations of their impending mortality. To reject it and in place put a world in which a babe would not die in the arms of their mother. There seemed to be a sin lost within it, a severe one in which the Gods have denied him of his victory against the very nature of their existence.

Every day Mierda would tell him she smiled upon him and as did Anduin, and every day he would throw himself into his work, again and again, returning with the results he had found to find himself pressed harder into a corner, trapped in his own predestined restrictions.

Sin.

It was sin that had led him down such a path of failure and disquietude. He could have been elsewhere now. He could have been happy, perhaps having just finished chopping firewood while the smoking smell of deer and rabbit filled a simple cottage.

But in his own hubris, he had denied himself of any such happiness. In his hubris, he had declared himself to be the savior of the human race and the leader of the rebellion against the plagues which had begun to overtake them. In his hubris, he had chosen the positions of such spectacle only to be crushed by the puppet master that decided the fate of all those under him. In his hubris he had forgotten the meaning of being a good doctor, or a good man.

Anduin did not smile upon him. Nor did anyone else. To smile on him would mean to offer a blessing to a man that deserved none.

‘Daddy, please, I was a good boy.’ Was he?

Was he a good boy when he denied providing joy to one person whom he had chosen to love above all others because of his petty need to discover the beginning of these plagues and their end? Was he a good boy when he cursed at the Gods as the hot white sun of the Arugna burned into his skin even though each scratch and burn on his body was deserved and only a fraction of the pain he had caused in the middle of his descent into near madness? Was he a good boy now that he still held the note which had been left with him rather than burning it in the first fire he saw?

Here he was, a doctor, having been lost in every conspiracy, plot, and plan that could exist and here he was attempting to masquerade as the gentle kind man who held on to every moral as though it was gospel. What pride had wrought was something far from what a wise man would ever be able to conjure up.

He was nothing but trouble.

How much would he end up being for Roxii was the question? He was a simple doctor, though it struck him now that he was lying when he told Roxii that. For all he knew, Damaer had tracked him through Merava, and there he was no simple doctor. His gaze dropped to Roxii again for a moment, he surreptitiously tightened his hold on his journal yet again. Stupid stupid. For all he knew Damaer wished other things out of him. For all he knew, Damaer was already aware of his name of the Pale Butcher of Azerbahn. He fought the urge to twist his lips into a frown, to glance into the shadows, the paranoia had overtaken him before but it would not any longer.

He doubted that Damaer truly cared for the knowledge of the Harbinger of Anduin. Only the Meravans would care of such a thing, and he doubted Damaer was terribly involved in the state of war or peace or disquietude of Ianthellan, Merava, and the other countries of the desert. Merava would certainly care.

Maedor swallowed thickly.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He truly did wonder how much trouble he would be on this trip.

“I…alright, ok, fine. I am a bit troublesome. But I haven’t died yet, eh?” he waved his hand dismissively. “I’m surprised I was even hired if it is so obvious.” He put his cup back down and then stood again, the old dusty floors creaked beneath his weight, he shoved the stool against the bar with his foot and straightened his vest. Imported from Ianthellan and they say he dressed like a sad merchant. For shame.

“Eh? You thought me useless? You wound me, my friend.” he clicked his tongue. “I can reach the top shelf for the both of us, after all.”

He did hope she could take a bit of teasing. He could only hold back so much.

The sun was beginning to set, bathing the sky in a soft burnt orange that would soon give way to the inky black of night. He stopped and took a breath before deciding to turn right first. They had a few hours and that would be plenty of time to scope out the town.

“Tara said this was a good place for a bit of crime.” He hummed as he glanced down an alleyway, it led to nothing but there was a fine place to climb if they were in a rut. “And knowing her band, they are everywhere. So this place is crawling with criminals.” he supposed he and Roxii were just another addition. Perhaps they didn’t have to lie about who they were.

“And if Karlson was attracted here, specifically here, I believe it is of interest why here might have attracted him. Aside from attempting to flee from his sins, and I don’t think any priest of merit is here for him to confess. Do you have any theories?”

Esadora de Levoran​
The final rays of the setting sun streamed through the crystal glass windows of the manor, casting the final shadows of the window panes upon the ground that stretched across the lacquered wooden floors. No chill followed as the hearth burned brightly keeping inhabitants warm. There was a brief commotion in the kitchen followed by the waft of the scent of roasted duck and fine spiced wine. Vesilir looked up from his lap and glanced back towards Aeren before he inclined his head towards the dining hall.

“Perhaps we shall meet one another again, Aeren. Perhaps when we both have managed to find the people we seek. We can only have so much reprieve, hm? For king and country always. It can be hard when others don’t understand that, but I believe you know what I mean, Aeren. You are a brave man of the sword just as my comrades are. One always must put aside their own wants and desires for the sake of ensuring their home will always remain just that- a home. But thank you for allowing me that little reprieve.”

He smiled teasingly. “You may have more stories I want to hear than you know. I sometimes forget the excitement of being young. Though I do probably have a much greater volume of stories to share, ask about a few centuries of history, especially in the desert and Ianthellan and I could share it- oh to paint a picture of the Empire before the war. It was far more beautiful before, though it is still stunning now.

“But, no time for that at all. Supper is ready and I am sure you are hungry after such a journey. I have taken up too much of your time already, and I am sure Erlen wishes to talk to you… And let us not keep Essie waiting, eh? Don’t need to be in any hotter water with her. The dining hall is just that way.” he said as he pointed down the hall. “Take a left then go up the stairs, it should lead you straight there. I’ll meet you all there in a moment.”

Then he slipped away.

Esadora had spent the time silently walking alongside Erlen, absently listening to him babble about the new plants he had put in his garden for the change of seasons, along with the plans for the new sculpture which would bring the colors and design together as fine as a carefully assembled tapestry. It was unintentional that she did not listen, as truthfully she did find her friend’s love for plants quite endearing, however her mind always drifted to Vesilir and Aeren alone in the front room, whispering their stories one to the other.

She felt her hand twitch against her side as a spark of magic came to life between her pale fingers.

If it was not useless against him, she may have not been able to hold herself back. The Vra’salian soldiers built a strong immunity against magic with their own blessed gifts that had been bestowed on them by the Gods. The bringers of peace and justice, the Val’savi’rin warriors could never be caught dead at the hands of someone as lowly as a petty witch.

It was only kind they would not kill her. How that had become a beacon of mannerism she was unsure.

“What of the strapping man who came with you?” Esadora looked up and back to Erlen as he hummed, carefully petting a small dog with fluffy white fur that had come to sit on his lap. It licked at his hand and restlessly moved before jumping from his lap to hers. Esadora huffed when it hit her stomach, but began petting it all the same. “Is he a new lover of yours?”

The very thought made her recoil.

“No, I am afraid not. He isn’t exactly my type.”

“Hmm… True, you never did like a man in steel. What is he here for then? I know you said he was your client…” Oh Erlen, ever the gossip. She smiled a toothy grin as she turned her head to the side.

“Oh Erlen, you know I value confidentiality when it comes to my clients.” She shook her head. “All you will know is that I find his pay good and his company tolerable.”

“Only tolerable?” Erlen asked with a slight smile, she did forget if he thought he could have something to whisper of he was capable of paying more attention than usual. Though well placed faux pleasantries tended to keep him from understanding the depth of hatred she felt for certain people, she had no doubt he always fished to get the truth from her later, if only just to know for himself. Often she was more than happy, sometimes hoping he would go as far as to tell others of her disposition towards them. Perhaps when this was all over she would not hide it from him any longer. She doubted Aeren would keep up relations with some random noble whom he had no reason to care for. Though Erlen was companions with a witch.

At that thought a certain anxiety stabbed her. She could not get through this without exposing some of her relations, as she needed to perform her magic and if it was not in a safe place they would both be run out of town before she could finish any spell. And what if Aeren proved to be even less honorable than she already believed and after she had gone out of her way to help him find this dear assassin he was in need of, he decided to then turn against her and wipe out every trace of magic he had seen.

Her mouth twitched. He would need to be watched then. She was still a witch after all. And one learned one way or another that a witch should never be crossed.

“He is… a soldier.” she waved her hand. “Rules, regulations, chatter chatter, so boring and uneventful.” Erlen let out a hark of laughter.

“Oh? I should have expected such. Oh well… I suppose he is not giving you… trouble then?”

“Only a bit, no worries of that though,” she brought her fingers to her lips and gave a smile. “He knows better now. You should have seen the look on his face.”

“Oh Essie! You must stop teasing men like this, one of them will snap!”

“I believe myself snapping is the more frightening event.” Esadora countered. And she was correct. An angry sorceress was likely the most terrifying image in the world. It was that cold and unbridled rage which could feed their power allowing those who were well trained of amazing feats. Aeren had felt the tip of it, with Essie’s slant towards the control of the breath. She found it a useful spell against those who wronged her, often it sent the best message.

“What of Vesilir?” Erlen asked. “He has been such a delight- he said he was looking for you for something. Mm… I forget what he wanted.”

Well he won’t be getting it she thought resolutely. Since the day he had sent her back on the boat to return to her prison she had not been keen on doing anything for him. A broken promise like no other. And he had the gall to ask for her help now?

“We knew each other once a long while ago, it was brief but I suppose it left its mark. Mm, did he speak ill of me?” she asked lightly. It meant nothing at this point, honestly. Many people spoke ill of her to many people.

“No, he said you were absolutely delightful! Oh, he seems to miss you a lot, you must have enraptured him quite a bit.”

The cad! She seethed to herself.

“Now, now. He is quite too old for my taste.” Besides, they had already stated their relation to one another. They spent a night in bed, but both of them were not strangers to such a thing. It meant nothing. They both had people they truly cared for waiting on the other side of the world from them.

“And you too young for his?” Erlen asked. Esadora scoffed.

“I wish, his only fault is he seems to find some reprieve in young women. Such a scoundrel… But we must be going now, Erlen, supper is ready and I must keep up my figure.” Her waist was trim enough, she did not wish to grow too thin lest her curves begin to go with it. It was a delicate balance, truly.

The dining hall was far more quaint than the other parts of the house, but still beautiful nonetheless. It was smaller, made for a few guests but not many with a simple mahogany table in the middle, buffed and shined until it was fit for a king to dine on. One the table were several delectable options such as roasted duck, hardened bread, butter, fish and blood pudding.

Erlen took his place at the head of the table, he smiled and motioned for Esadora to join him at his right. Finally, Vesilir and Aeren would be joining them again soon. Esadora felt her fingers twitch again as the resentment rose. Awful men always having to ruin her day.

She did hope this all ended up being worth it.
 

V7C8LPm.png
roxii-png.698914
Roxii, digital, 4000x3908px, 2020 by peritwinkle

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Maedor Taellaris

    Mentioned: Master Falaern Damaer [Vaguely] | Tara
There was something... peculiar regarding the lorethven's reaction to her initial response. The way he paused, words ripped from his throat leaving him open-mouthed, no doubt attempting a refutation to her assumptions, left her somewhat confused. He seemed bothered by her observation, and though he made hardly any movements or facial expressions, she could feel the strained energy he gave off. Unfortunately, due to her choice to knock back multiple glasses of whiskey in relatively quick succession, the blind assassin missed the tensed hold on his journal and the strain to keep a straight face.

But even past the dizziness that had numbed her senses, she could tell that there was something wrong with Maedor. His seemingly dismissive attitude with his confirmation of her conjecture didn't ease the suspicion that had slowly begun to seep into the L'yrathi woman. Trouble followed him, that much was true, but now she was beginning to wonder what type of trouble. Would it be a hindrance to their mission? Would it prove dangerous for the Shadow? Surely he had a past, and though her own past was not pleasant, it hadn't occurred to her that the doctor could have mixed himself into something that was bigger than he could handle. What exactly haunted this seemingly simple man that had been assigned to her?

And did Falaern know?

Roxii hummed and chuckled again at the man's humorous jab. Any other time, she would have responded with a harsh insult at the mention of how short she was, but luckily there was enough alcohol in her veins to allow her to realize that the difference in height between them was nearly comical, if the very concept of their acquaintanceship wasn't enough by itself. A memory flashed in her mind, of an old friend; would Maedor have been intimidated?

"Do not be deceived, Maedor," the wolf-elf answered coolly, the slur a bit more prominent now that the alcohol had had time to spread through her system. "I have overcome many obstacles, and the top shelf is one of them." She flashed a small grin at the man, rising to her own feet, though it was more of her hopping off the stool instead of simply standing like the lorethven did.

As she stood, her mind swirled like it were a stirred drink within a cup, but she kept the shock off her face and allowed a hand to stay braced against the counter top to maintain her faux composure. Perhaps she should have spaced her drinks a bit better... But she'd never admit that, and she continued to feign her deadly poise as she followed the blond out of the tavern.

The velglorn took in a breath of the fresh air when they'd stepped out of the confines of the building. She enjoyed taverns—the ability to drink away the stresses of the day, listening to the musicians fill the air with stories of heroes and legends and myths, relinquishing her hold on reality by renting a room and sleeping away the memories—but they had a tendency to feel stuffy to the woman who enjoyed solitude. The air was warm and filled her senses with scents of alcohol, meats, and sweat from the establishment that they'd just left, but they mingled with the fresh smells of dirt, animals, and the glorious cleanliness that came with the passing rains. But above it all, she could smell the charred bodies some ways down the road, the stench of death reminding her that the world was a cruel place.

She strode beside Maedor, her surefooted steps somehow more unnerving since she'd just downed a few glasses of whiskey in less than an hour. The velkyn woman opted to strap the cane on her person rather than pretend she was a clueless, helpless companion. Knowing that Tara and her band oversaw the town allowed the wolf-elf to drop the act and show that she was no simple blind traveler. Though she did not trust the spirited woman, the L'yrathi was somewhat eased by the fact that Maedor knew Tara. But she did not even trust the doctor fully yet... Some risks were worth taking, especially when the odds were stacked against her.

Her faern washed from her in large waves as Roxii listened to the lorethven speak. The town was simple enough, a network of a few main roads and some alleyways, and she committed the map she drew up in her mind to memory. Some alleys were dead ends, which would prove difficult for the tall blond, so she noted those. She also noted the low-hanging roofs, the locations of carts and crates, and where she could use the environment to her advantage should it prove necessary. Surely it wouldn't be too difficult to leave Kerth, but she knew better than to underestimate the possibilities; there were plenty times when things didn't go as planned.

Roxii was silent for a moment as she thought of the information they'd gathered about Karlson. The mysterious man was no simple plague-bearer, that much was certain. For whatever reason, he was singling out unsuspecting victims—perhaps only women—to bring them down with the sickness that killed them silently and swiftly. And for whatever reason, the man was drawn to Kerth, a town that the assassin had nearly no information on and that had proven to be a town rife with crime. A peculiar case indeed.

"I believe it to be no coincidence that our Karlson chose Kerth to be his destination," Roxii answered. "Men do not simply visit a town of crime for pleasure unless they possess a use for the town. A hideout, perhaps? Somewhere to conceal himself in between jobs, most likely. And there is a chance that he is not working alone. Though I am not certain on the purpose of his ventures, if his goal is to spread the plague, it would be efficient to work with others."

She paused, thinking for a moment before continuing, "The fact that this banal place is supposedly alive with criminal activity and I have not heard of it is concerning. But if the locals are aware of the reputation of the town, then innocent travelers would know to avoid the place, which leads me to believe that Karlson is no simple traveler." The corners of her mouth tugged into a slight frown. "I am... perturbed. If word does not spread far that Kerth is a town of illegal activity, then it is quite possible that there is something larger at work here. Word not spreading is not due to a simple lapse in memory or by some accident; it is often controlled."






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DURNO BASIC, digital, 1920x2921px, 2015 by Curro Rodriguez

Health: 100%

  • Addressed: Vesilir Ashalar | Esadora de Levoran | Erlen

    Mentioned: N/A
His lopsided smile faltered for only a split second at Vesilir's response. He truly did wish to have time to have a conversation with the Vra'salian, to listen to his stories of war and trouble and have him describe the things he's seen that Aeren could only dream of, and this was not what bothered the High Commander. No, it was the next few statements that struck the man to his core, the angelian man's patriotism shining through and causing a pang of guilt to stab the knight in the gut, twisting and thrusting deep within him like a poisoned blade that left a terrible taste in his mouth.

"You are a brave man of the sword."

Coward. Aerendal was no brave man; he never was. It haunted him, that fact that stared him in the face. It was like staring into the eyes of a demon, its fingers of darkness gripping him by the throat and forcing him to believe that he could do nothing. He'd tried to battle this flaw, to ignore the fear that sat and coiled in his gut like a snake, to thrust himself into a dangerous situation without any thought of his own well-being, to be fully dedicated to protecting the weak, defeating evil, and facing the repercussions of his decisions. But he never could. And instead, he was a man who skirted the fatal situations, tricked eyes to divert from him and blame to fall off like a forgotten wind. He was a coward. You are a coward.

And yet, he maintained his leisure composure, sitting relaxed within the couch, a smile painted upon his face, as he ignored the snake of fear and guilt that constricted him, feeling very much like he was going to be crushed by that invisible force that taunted him.

"Thank you, Vesilir," he said simply, having stood with the blond as he watched him slip away, before following the directions that he'd given him. There was no point tarrying; plus, the Vra'sali man was right. Aerendal had begun to work up an appetite.

The dining room was easy to find, and though Vesilir's directions helped, perhaps he could also attribute that to his familiarity with large homes and the commonalities that tended to be spread across each. It seemed the layouts always followed some sort of pattern, and when one acquainted themselves with it enough, it proved simple enough to decipher. Though Aeren had made sure to not rush to the room; he was in no hurry to be under the scrutinizing gaze of the sorceress. Instead, he allowed his eyes to take in the beauty of Erlen's manor, taking note of portraits, other framed art pieces, and even the architecture.

The moment he stepped into the dining room, he could already feel the tension in the air. It wasn't between Erlen and Esadora; no, the tension was between Esadora and him. He knew his conversation with Vesilir bothered her, or perhaps it was more the fact he was alone with him, but he didn't know why. Perhaps he could ask her later, if it wasn't too much to ask. After all, he was meant to stay in her good graces, and how could he do that if he didn't know what bothered her and why?

"My Lady," he greeted politely, dipping his head towards Esadora as he approached the table. He took the seat beside the sorceress. Though he knew they would both enjoy being as far away from each other as possible, he was still a uninvited guest on her behalf. He felt it to be a courteous decision. Before he sat, however, he dipped his head towards Erlen. "Master Erlen." He sat then, getting himself situated. "I once again thank you for your generosity and willingness to accept me into your home. Of which, I must say, is rather magnificent."

 
Maedor Taellaris
​
"Heh... I do hope for a woman of your caliber that the top shelf is the least of your worries." He was relieved that at least now, which he truthfully thought her a bit intoxicated despite her sure-footedness, the slur to her words did not lie. It did not matter, much, he would find out soon enough how many words he could get away with before something was chucked at him. He quietly fretted with putting a pin in his hair to keep his bangs from his eyes as she spoke of her own theories on Karlson. His mouth pressed into a thin line.

He did not like where anything was going, however there was no doubt it was good it was found.

The thought that someone was purposely spreading this disease...

Maedor clenched his fist at his side for a moment, then he let it relax as a breath escaped his nose. Such vile and disgusting creatures. They had no idea what they were doing, the trouble they caused. Even if trouble was their intention, they did it wildly, chaotically, with no rhyme or reason.


To say Kerth was an odd town was an understatement.

Maedor was a traveler, having settled down a few places after he had finished university and set out on his own, but at heart, he was a hopeless wanderer that jumped from one town to the next village in search of the next place his assistance was required or another's knowledge could be given. Thus, his travels tended to take him many places, often if it was not his home town he would gladly stop and visit. It was odd, then that a town would go completely off his map, one which was so filled with crime that it seemed most knew to avoid it, yet he had not been told of it by any of his criminal colleagues and contacts. Like Roxii, he could not help but find himself more than a little worried at the very thought of that. Sorcerers and sorceresses were his forte, therefore crime came soon after it. Tara had said the place was interesting, and if they were willing to hire a bunch of lowly thieves (though he knew he was bias in his assessment) to keep rift raft from their town then it simply began to raise more questions. Was this town completely independent of any King or fiefdom? Did it even pay taxes to the crown or was it essentially acting as a City-State with only taxes paid to the head?

And who was the head?

"I agree..." He pressed his thumb to his bottom lip, his teeth flashed for a moment as he gently bit the tip. A terrible habit he had done since University, though one he had never thought to change. "It is worrisome, to say the least. Somehow this town managed to stay a hole in the map for as long as I have traveled despite having been sent to crime-ridden towns many times over by my contacts. It seems even sorcerers tend to avoid this place... meaning whatever crime is happening below our feet is something even other criminals don't want a part of." He thought on it only a bit longer, he was no stranger to zealots and eccentrics, him being one himself to an extent, or at least that was what he had been told. Organized syndicates were things he was even less of a stranger to, a makeshift guild for the criminal, a self-declared King of Thieves? He was rather certain Tara wished for that role at some point. But that was not what was happening here, a King of Thieves would have no business with a plague, what good would it do them? What good would it do anyone, really, to spread it?

"To spread a plague is... an odd means of attempting to move forward with any means of production. It seems to hurt more than help and bring down the amount of people working to nil if it continues on at the rate which I have seen it cause people to whither away, though the speed at which it works does tend to vary from one person to the next. No matter what, I believe we are dealing with some form of a mentally disturbed individual, as committing crimes such as murder and theft are one thing, something which can be explained by desperation or passion, to purposely spread illness is something entirely different if that is truly what Karlson wishes to do. "

He let out a soft sigh and let a finger hover next to his temple as he shook his head. "Mm. Let me not get too ahead of the investigation, for all we know Karlson is simply a raving madman on the brink of death as we speak." Yet, Maedor doubted it. Things never were easy when it came to work, especially whenever something ended up involving Maedor. Sometimes he felt as though he ended up as a bad luck charm with the hardships that often followed him whenever he chose to join another in their work.

"May Anduin help us," he murmured his hand briefly falling to the pendant shaped in a half sun that was hidden beneath the collar of his shirt.It had become another habit he was sore to let pass. None here, other than those who had traveled from the deserts, would worship such a God and most who did either did it openly at their own discretion or kept their ideology to themselves. People were cruel and mean, those who did not agree with his chosen God often did not agree quietly, as it seemed it was a personal insult to their own to take up such a stance. But even still, Maedor wore the golden half sun beneath his shirts or hidden away in his pocket wherever he went, rarely, though, was it in plain sight. Perhaps if he ever found Baydek again he could allow it to be seen by the Gods and another's pair of eyes. He only took solace in the assumption that Roxii was too much of a professional to care.

Then he let out a rather humorless chuckle. "We may have fell into something a bit bigger than we expected, heh, wouldn't be the first time I suppose. Let's turn towards Tara soon, I expect she may be able to clear up some questions we have about Kerth. I would like to know who exactly runs this town and if they belong to a fiefdom or have any liege homage, I imagine even if they do they still operate as some sort of City-State to stay off the map as much as possible... Mm... Such an odd town..."

Esadora de Levoran
​
Esadora only glanced up briefly beneath her lashes as Aeren strode in. A brief reprieve came upon the knowledge that Vesilir had not yet followed. It was her only solace within the confines of this home to know not every waking moment would be tainted. Though she would have preferred Aeren to sit across from her, or perhaps even in the chair furthest away, it was acceptable only because his choice stayed within the confines of etiquette, and thusly she allowed her lips to curl up in a tentative smile.

'At the very least he is trained...' Though perhaps that should have been expected. A knight was still a knight after all, no matter how blithering he was fed and bathed in social instruction. His instructor must have saved the rod when it came to matters of the tongue. And no doubt matters of talking to any lady simply eluded him. It must have been blind luck that he managed to come across that lovely redhead he spoke of in his story, as she, for some reason, had no doubt that this girl was real. To at least an extent, unless Aeren was truly so skilled in the way of hiding his identity that he had made a personality wholly different from himself then as far as Esadora knew, most stories spun had a nugget of truth which trailed at the base.

As she would spin the story of Gregor being her husband, her servant, her savior, or her master. Whatever needs the occasion could provide, in a way he was all of those things and none of them at once. A feeble and weak man who had bent to her group as she aged, going from the smiling bastard that held the rod over her prone form to the near pathetic shivering ball which kissed her feet with every command that escaped her. He was hardly even a man anymore.

Aeren would never be trained in the same way. In truth, she had no desire to do such a thing. It was a waste of time and energy. Perhaps if he was more to her liking visually she would be entertaining the idea of treating him with a modicum more respect than was the bare minimum for a client, but despite him still remaining attractive, he was much too... put together for her liking. Every single part of him seemed to cry law and order when every part of her called for chaos.

For a moment her mind drifted. A finger idly ghosted across her lips at the memory which had been left there. It was a ghost of a scent, a touch, a flavor. Sea salt and steel. Roughened calloused fingers and a sandy beard against her cheeks, causing her to become raw and unhinged with his tantalizing hold. Oh... why could it not be him rather than Vesilir? She did miss him so. It was unfair she was constantly pitted with such undesirable men. She let out a soft, near unnoticeable sight before she let her eyes drift up again as the roasted duck was placed on her plate.

"I do hope you and Vesilir had a fine chat, Aeren," Esadora said as she idly broke the bone beneath her hands. She flashed her white teeth in a grin. "He can be such fine company, hm?"

"Oh yes yes, he surely can be!" Erlen cried as he took a bit of wine up to his lips. "I was given a whole day to spend with such a fine man and I feel more than obligated to say, very few men know their gardens as he does. Very few indeed."

"Such flattery, I can't stand it not being pointed at me- you know my needs, Erl." Esadora's lips were in a near pout, she batted her lashes and then felt Erlen gently touch her shoulder.

"Oh, fine, fine. You're like a cat, eh?"

A smile sly smile stretched across her lips. "Mew?" she raised a dark brow and canted a hand in the shape of a paw.

Erlen let out a soft chuckle. "Alright, alright- moving on then, how's supper? How are you enjoying it Aeren? I still must show you my garden- you cannot escape it, I planted new roses and they look absolutely spectacular. Oh! Where are my manners, Aeren I was told by Essie you are a remarkable storyteller!" Esadora flushed for a moment, then she cupped her hand and in a moment of genuine remorse she turned slightly to Aeren and mouthed the word: 'Sorry.'

"Tell us a story old chap! Of swashbuckling knighthood! Oh, you must have a good one, perhaps a great one! Fair maidens that simply throw themselves at you? A siege?"

Esadora turned her eyes briefly back to her duck and pushed it into her mouth. It was finely seasoned, wonderfully crisp, and a perfect distraction from the conversation that they had managed to get themselves into. "Isn't much swashbuckling in knighthood..." Essie managed to mumble.

"Oh... I suppose you would know, eh, Essie?" Erlen raised a suggestive brow and Esadora swatted his shoulder.

"No bawdiness at this table." Though the tale was far from it... in most places, at least.

"Alright, alright. Then... Aeren, come on, bring us up to Essie's high standards of decorum-" Esadora rolled her eyes. "With your good and just knightly stories!"
 
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