Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
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.