Javax
The Shadow
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Fantasy The Kingdom of Shadows
- Thread starter Melpomene
- Start date
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- Tags
- action adventure dark fantasy
Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
Ember lit up the darkened night. Light that had been fighting for purchase, a burnt orange sun pushing against the horizon and steadily presenting them to morning. A hand came up, Maedor slid his hand across his eyes, letting them fall under shadow for a moment as he recentered himself, catching the horizon beneath his gaze and holding the reins in one hand. “One day? Perhaps, if I live that long.” A blithe chuckle escaped him. Then he quieted as he inclined his head forward.
“Neither. She’ll demand payment, but I have earned her trust in regards to magical relations. You need not trust strangers, they are not strangers to me and if you feel yourself untrusting then simply ride away while I face their wrath. But I presume there has to be a level of trust between the both of us if we plan to see this through to the end.” He flicked his fingers. “I have a feeling I know what she will demand of me, and if not that, then gold and I have enough to cover costs.”
It was not meant to be soothing. Such words of sweet nothings would not work on her. They never worked on those that were dragged through the muddy waters and left to die. But it would serve its purpose. She knew who they were meeting. What to expect.
He dug his heels into the horse’s sides urging it forward as the guards galloped by them. Black smoke still clung to their clothes, stained them, told the story of the massacre that had just been brought upon the people of the winery.
Tilting down in the saddle, Maedor said nothing, only urging the horse faster before the men caught wind of their scent and brought them to the darkened pits of a dungeon. With an urge, they were off.
~*~
On the edge of society, lost within the black bay that undulated with dark churning waters. Salty and filled with nothingness, they reflected back nary a hint of light, taking it all within and letting it ebb and flow within the depths. It was surrounded by the overgrowth of trees, thick and tall, covering it.
It was not truly a bay, but a lake that had taken on the name when the first King had come across it, overwhelmed and taken breathless as he looked at the near-boundless area that it covered, he had swept his arm up and called it must have reached the ocean. A piece of a natural wonder, cut out and haunted. Forbidden it laid untouched. Untested.
A path unknown wound in secrecy through the brush. Dappled light fell through the cracks of leaves, letting light dance across the grey watered puddles from the last rain. It brought upon it muggy temperance, the air thick and hot. Frogs sang their song beneath the shade, by the deadly waters where they dared no enter.
Upon the edges of the waters was a mosaic of lush foliage. A cacophony of greens acted as a backdrop to the brightened colors that bloom against it. The red of the roses, circled by their thorns, the yellows of daffodils, the tall grass rustled against one another, shedding winter brown for spring green.
An idle mosquito passed Maedor’s head lazily spinning its circle, excited and searching for the next meal. Something new. Something fresh and sweet.
He caught it in his hand before it came to close and cursed as he wiped its guts off on a handkerchief. The muddy ground caused the hooves of the horses to be sucked in deep and stick with every step. The buzzing of insects was enough to make Maedor curl his lip in distaste. He wished she could be like other witches and hide in plain sight.
A gentle Mew took him from his thoughts. He looked up, catching sight of a cat that walked along the branches of a tree. It sat, licked its paw. Then jumped down to land in front of him. Wide green eyes stared up, then it turned and flicked its tail as it began to walk.
“We’re close,” Maedor said as he rubbed his brow. “That one is her watcher, she is saying she welcomes us to her home.”
He forgot how many cats witches tended to own.
He really hated cats. On the edge of his vision, for the briefest of moments, he caught sight of a figure, a visage. That of a woman, buried in cloths of yellow, red, and blue. Body covered from head to toe, a veil slid over her face, one of a distinct red. Then it flickered. And left altogether.
Maedor kept on riding.
Esadora de Levoran
Trepidation was thick within the small tavern. Tyslath wore a mask of confidence, words flowing freely from his dark lips, like paint from a brush. The air was his canvas, and how he filled it with sweet nothings. One dark eye glimmered, unshed tears seeming to be brimming within. Narrowed, as the glint of sun cut hard across, it seemed the night sky had begun to form within, behind. He was otherworldly in his own way. Yet, so afraid. His hands held a slight tremble placed on the grainy wood of the table. Soft.
Idly she slipped her hand over his own, letting fingers brush his wrist, the flutter of a pulse beneath her fingertips, the soft fingers of a man who had never worked, was hardly a beggar. She smiled, that same knowing smile. That unending winding deceitful smile that a man could never know to find trust within or to fear.
“Who are you?” she asked, her wrist flicked to let the wine tumble.
“I have told you, my lady, Tys--”
“Ah. A name is what you are then? Or is there more beneath that?”
He swallowed thickly after a moment, the waved the question away. “Is what I am of any importance? I am nothing more than a merchant searching for my next treasure, one which I foolishly believed I found within you. But treasure you are. Mine you are not. I envy the man who has laid his claim on you.” Esadora allowed a chuckle to escape her, warming her pale face into a light pink.
“Yours I am not. I am no mans’, Tyslath.” He cautiously looked between the two men Esadora had entered with. Esadora lifted her fingers, stopping him before he could continue. “No one in this room loves anyone. Our hearts are far too frozen. Now… I accept your lie. It was a wonderful attempt. And I do not feel it important enough to find the truth.”
Tyslath pulled back, for a moment his lips seemed to waver, and then he stilled himself. Fingers interlaced, he shook his head.
“Lady Esadora…” he began carefully. “What truth is there to find and how?”
Esadora tilted her head, brow cocked but she never let her expression waver. “I am a witch, Tyslath.” barely a whisper, her words hung delicately in the balance between the two of them. It was gentle, edging on demure. Her eyes lowered as a virginal maiden, cheeks pink in a naive innocence. “Did you forget what power you attempted to steal so quickly? Did you forget how I could reach within the mind of man, into those delicate dark folds with my own nimble fingers and pluck from him the very memories he holds closest to his heart? Learn of his darkest secret, his barest memory. Laid bare like a babe is a man under my fingers should I wish it.”
Violet eyes flickered upward, holding hard on Tyslath. “It feels like fire and flame burning through your mind, I’ve heard. Like a jagged knife slicing through your head leaving behind ember in its wake. Men wake up from it changed, sobbing, soiling themselves and begging you to stop.” A bead of sweat on Tyslath’s brow. His guard was slipping forward, mouth pressed in a line as he watched between the two of them. Yet, he hung back. Perhaps knowing there was nothing to be done.
Esadora laced her fingers together, letting her chin rest on them, batting black lashes like a simple young girl looking to impress her first love. “Do not look so pale. I said I did not find you important enough to do such things. Well… I am sure in certain regards and in certain places you are important, but you are of little interest to me. I care not for the egos of men, nor their penchant for measuring the tool between their legs rather than learning to put it to decent use.”
Tyslath shifted but soon sat straighter. “Let it be known, my Lady,” his voice wavered, edged, unsettled. Esadora felt her lip flicker up. “Let it be known… I-I do not know whether to feel blessed or cursed to know of your disinterest in me.”
She perked up. “Oh… Oh, that was the correct answer. Look at you. Oh… Aeren pay close attention. You are a smart man, Tyslath.”
“I like to think myself as such. But in the face of such wit, such beauty? My Lady Esadora when I laid eyes on you, I knew you to be a picture of perfection.”
Another lyrical laugh filled the air. “Oh? Perfection? I can never get my hair to behave.” she patted the raven locks that had pulled free from her chosen hair style.
“It matters not what your hair does, your beauty remains.” His color was beginning to return. His confidence. He thought he had escaped her clutches and she had discarded him, bored. A prey believing itself safe. Brows ticked up.
“You always have such wonderful answers… I wish to hear you speak more, your voice soothes me.”
“I wish to speak to you more, your pleasure brings me the greatest of joys.”
Esadora tapped her chin once. “I never told you my name was Esadora, how did you know of it?”
His mouth twitched, his lips parted for a brief moment, then closed.
“I suppose you could claim you discerned it from Pretyr referring to me by my nickname, however, you are foreign from this land and my name is foreign to you. Further, my nickname could allow many to use it. Esmeralda, Estera, Estelle… Yet with such profound confidence, you said my name full and correctly. And by your paleness, I assume I am correct in my postulation.”
The silence was thick, Esadora let it hang there. Moments carted by, and she waited patiently, letting time find its own way. A man would talk soon. No matter how tense, his choices had sealed him to a fate he was not yet prepared for.
“I…” he began, words slow and careful. “I had heard of your beauty. She of raven hair that sparkles like the dark sea. Of violet eyes like amethyst--”
“As much as I love lamentations to my beauty,” she interrupted. “I am growing weary of you thinking me so shallow that only compliments will make me forget transgressions. What is it that you know? Speak plain and speak true. Should I feel I know a single lie…” A spark of flame edged on the tips of her fingers. “I think it better if you speak naught at all, never again.” The guard rose then, his hand slipping to a knife before Tyslath laid a hand on his arm to settle him.
“I… Heard of your story. A witch prepared to be hanged, burned for her transgressions against the most holy order. Caught between the balance of life and death with nary a hope for escape, yet still…” he breathed. “Returning alive and fully formed. Rebirthed into something far more powerful, overtaking the king that once held the leash and becoming a devil unbounded.”
“Is that how I am spoken of? I was hoping for succubus or vampire… Nevermind such, you know quite a bit about me, though I cannot say how much of it true. Tell me, how do they say I escaped my fate?”
Tyslath shifted. “They say you… burned the judges with a flick of your big toe. Others say you brought torrential winds leaving pieces of all those who wished to see you dead scattered across the way. All say guards feared for their lives more than they feared keeping upright the law.”
Now, Esadora cackled. “Oh, what fun!”
“Is the story true, my lady?” Tyslath questioned.
“What does it matter if it is?” she asked. Let him think… Let them all think her always such a great power. Never a scared little girl but rather born a fully developed woman. A woman of powers beyond their meager understandings. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Aeren. And she hoped his spine chilled with an unerring understanding of the devil that lurked beneath the skin of the woman he sat with.
She slipped back and tilted her head. “So, for some reason, you look for me across the land and attempt to take me as your own? You’re too incompetent to be acting on your own, who--?”
“We did not search for you, My Lady!” he breathed. “We simply stumbled upon you, I swear such is true, it is simply that--.”
“Interrupt me again and you shall lose the ability to do it at all.” Her gaze narrowed. Then she waved again. “Actually… Nevermind. I do not care. I do not care who may have sent you or what you want with such power. I only care that you are foolish and you attempted to try something so foolish. Let a fool speak to you as only a jester can speak sense to another jester.” She turned to Aeren, tapping her fingers against the grainy table surface in some unbalanced tune.
“Aeren… Dearest Aeren, my lovely client. You speak now, you speak plain, and you speak true. You know of witches other than I, whatever your background be, I know you know of sorcerers, witches, spell slingers. Tell me of the calamities you have seen them bring. The destruction.” She leaned forward. “The curses. Of the consequences that may come from burning a witch when her ire turns against you in death. Speak plain Aeren, speak true, lest you prove yourself a bigger fool than you already are.”
~The Hawk Prince~
A hawk stroked across the bright blue of the sky. Long shadows of wings cast over the sun, dimming the brightness which once was and bringing forth shade for the briefest of seconds. A beat passed. And then the bright rays touched upon Vesilir, molded his skin, and lit the shadows of his head with its warmth. Wings spread in the isolation of the forest, he was silent, grasping at nothing other than his own desire.
A golden strand curved down, shaped against the edge of his cheekbone in a perfect coil. Mouth parted, the silence felt too loud.
Kingdom lost and heir found. Deluged by pestilence and sin, cursed by the blackness far beyond his own reach. Sinking. Drowning. Caught between the furrowing waves of life and death, set on the edge of insanity. Ever since the blackened sun had brought upon the cursed sands drought and plagues there had been naught a hope but to push forward. To push through.
Forever. It had been an eternity. Fighting a prophecy that would never come. Begging the fates to hear his cry, to hark to his diligence. Let live my people, he had begged. Let live my people and let mine own heart still. Let it fall. Let it die within the grips of blackened shadowed fingers, crushed for the nutrients of a God far older than he knew.
A hand stretched, searching, landing on a hardened chest. Muscle. Flesh. Skin. Bone. All protecting a beating heart.
It felt warm. It felt alive. So very alive and never had he wanted to part with it. Yet, there he had been, at the edge, knowing, feeling the sacrifice upon the edge of his skin. The madness his father that had descended to pulling at the strings of his mind.
The thrust up into the air was sudden. Powerful legs pushed off of the ground as his wings spread, catching the air before beating hard until he was far up above them. Above the humans who understood not what greatness sat within their land. Not what prophecy edged to fruition within. What the land had been so long ago and who had crafted the land that produced their fine goods. Balanced between fragility and diligence, what could they know?
Balance. What was balance? Forever spoken of, all had demanded he find it. Demanded he help the world find it.
As a dream, there came his answer. Sitting within the recesses of wanton abandon, waiting idly to be plucked from the ground from which it grew, nursed as a flower and kept alive within his own garden. The curse had begun to disperse, darkness gone, chased away by the pure light of the sun that resided within. A torch brought down into the deep, dank dungeon. All had been well. All had been well…
Snuffed out like a candle, one day it was gone. Disappeared. Chased from his very spirit like a twisted trick pulled by the Gods, dangling before him the salvation of his people, his kingdom, and taking it away just as quickly.
His wings dipped, spread he crossed over the sun. It warmed the back of his neck. He casted shadow onto the land below, denying the rays to reach the ground and instead making his body prominent against its backdrop. Arms lifted, legs readied. It was what his enemies often saw before he struck against them. The Glory of the Empire. May Lady Eshanigal judge them kindly.
The window was child’s play. His landing moreso. It had been second instinct to dodge the stream of lightning that flowed from tan fingers to strike the wall by Vesilir’s head. He smiled brightly as he spread his arms, gazing at his younger brother.
“That could be called high treason, you know?”
“Why are you here?! Get--”
Vesilir did not let him finish. Pulling him into an embrace, it was like when they were children. Small and fragile little brothers beneath his strong arms. Protect them. Know them. He was their emperor and he was their guardian. Khnum struggled against his touch, but Vesilir did not let him pull from the embrace.
He missed his brothers. He missed his father. His sister lost to the war. His children casted into the flames.
He missed being a child, galavanting through the city excited to lose his virginity to the whore that seduced him with her naked breasts and promising smile when he did not need to worry of perception and playing into the very folds of the Gods.
But those times were gone.
And now the world forced him to be a hero. And thus, he was.
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
Maedor could not help the gentle chuckle that escaped his throat. Glancing back at his companion, trekking through the mud and dirt against the pull of the dense forest that caught on their bodies and attempted to pull them back from the goal that was resting so easily before them. He shook his head and let his shoulders rise and lower. "I'm afraid I can't help where they choose to live - it's a place most people wouldn't come, eh?" Most people would not want to both making the journey, sinking their boots and trousers into thick mud made sludge by the ebbing and flowing of the bay bank. It resembled a swamp more than a fine bay, thick and muggy with insects constantly buzzing around their head.How she could stand it, Maedor did not know. Then again, he never knew how the muggy heat of the jungle seemed to come so easily to Mierda when he had watched her transverse it with nary a hint of exhaustion crossing her face. Perhaps it only took getting used to. Perhaps Shajar was from a similar region. He would never know. She was private about herself, spoke little, and revealed less. It would suit Roxii more than Tara, even if her magic may have been offputting she would no doubt annoy the woman much less.
Another snort left his nose. "Eh? Now out of all the animals of the world why would I choose to learn to speak the language of actual devils... Gods... I hate their little faces."
A loud hiss came from in front of them, and the cat was sitting, tail flickering haughtily as it glared up at Maedor with its large green eyes, pupils turned to slits. Maedor let his hands raise up in a defensive position. "Eh... Sorry. You're... beautiful?"
The cat stood, flicked its tail, and began to walk again. Maedor swore it put its nose in the air. So high maintenance. His dislike was not unprecedented, never had an animal demanded so much of his attention and gave so little back for it. No matter their size they acted as the rulers of the world around him, practically demanding his constant obedience.
"You must stop antagonizing Neridina, Azbin." A smooth voice danced across the air, heavily accented from a land not their own. It was a sweet voice, near sensual as the veiled figure stepped from out of a small hut. Every part of her was covered, the light blue and green fabric covering her body and a red veil that descended from the top of her head and fell over her face. Even her eyes were covered. She opened her arms and the cat jumped into them, exposing dark hands, and as she walked the wind whipped just enough to raise the skirts to showcase dark feet that were covered in ink, ankles wrapped in silver bands and flowers.
A crackle of magic and mysticism followed her every movement. She was smiling, even though they could not see it. None ever saw under her veil.
Maedor had, however, long ago. He could not remember her face, and he had no doubt she had plucked the memory to ensure it kept that way.
"Do not be rude, who is this you have brought, my darling Arinakatel. What a beautiful flower she is."
"Ah, apologies." Maedor said as he pulled from his horse and turned to tie it against a tree, reaching to take Roxii's reins soon after. "This is Roxii, we are trying to figure something out and--"
"Mm... I already know myself your best hope." She dropped her cat and opened her hand to Roxii, beckoning her forward. "Come, little wolf, come. You are welcome here, as well as Azbin."
"It's Maedor here if you don't mind," he said as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Maadanor? Mador? Maedor? Azbin? Pale Panther? What does it matter what I call you? You shall remain who you are within. Stop being silly, you are wasting time, and I can tell Roxii is not one to waste time. Come, you must gain reprieve from his constant prattling, no?"
"Oh, I don't prattle..." He paused. "That much."
She simply chuckled near affectionately. "I have made tea. Come."
Esadora de Levoran
It was in the way they cowered. Like men faced with an impossible task, looking upon a dragon rather than a woman. A reckless monster that would strike at any point should it please her and destroy every last one of them with the snap of her nimble fingers. A power like no other, unnatural and able to make its own forces of nature. A shallow edge of light touched lightly on her brow, illuminating the pale skin in the orange of the setting sun. Her eyes turned for a moment, catching that light and becoming aflame with the burning coals of the underworld, waiting and watching the men that surrounded her, the men that thought themselves elite, stronger, better. Silly stupid men that she could kill.
A smile touched her lips, listening to how Aeren spoke, a near affectionate look crossing her. But it was his words that had caused such pleasure to build. He knew that. The men across from her knew that. The feeling of being feared, of being the monster, it was so powerful it was nearly addictive. To have the lives of men balancing between nimble fingers and holding them tightly, so tightly.
She could feel the way their pulses quickened from here, not even able to touch their throats. She could feel it. So loud and so clear right against her own body. Reverberating through as her own heart thundered with a force unknown. Intermixed with excitement and power.
"Mm... I know you men fear that. Something that acts like you but is so much more powerful." The others were silent as she spoke, Tyslath's eyes trained on the table. He was sweating. Esadora linked her fingers together, sitting her chin atop of them as a table. She giggled. "Oh... Oh, are you realizing who I am? What I love."
She reached and sunk her nails deep into his cheeks to force him to look at her. Before his bodyguard could move, Pretyr had him by the throat.
"I love taking power from stupid men that think they deserve the world. Stupid men that own everything and think they should own me too. This world is filled with stupid men, their stupid things, and all of their things should be mine. And I will take it from them, easy as that." She snapped her fingers to punctuate her point. "And they know I can. They know I'm more powerful. That's why the men of this nation hate me. Hate us."
"Men really hate what they can't control, hm? And that's why you wish to control me? And you think it should be so easy? Would you like to see what my magic can do?" she asked as she let it thread between her fingers, a spark of magic coming to form just in between them. She leaned across the table, letting her lips hover as though about to press them against his. But he pulled away as though she planned to bite him. A single finger placed against his chest and she could see panic set in. She had not even done anything yet.
"Would you like to know the edge of death? What it feels like to have your heartbeat slow... Ever so slow. Your breathing begins to stop as the blood that was once inside of you all comes out. How do you think it would feel for all of your blood to seep from your body. Slowly, coming from your very pores, something unstoppable. Inevitable. A curse."
"I..." He began.
"It's too late for apologies."
The door came open, a tall and slender man dressed in rich robes came in. Those robes were disheveled as was his black hair that fell to his shoulders like a lion's mane. He rubbed his eyes roughly then turned them to the only occupied table.
"I was told there was a problem?" he asked. "Oh! Miss Esadora, what a delight!" he said as he came striding over. Esadora smiled and let go of Tyslath as Utred came to place a kiss on her hand and then her cheek. "Are these men...?"
"It was a false alarm, Utred." She giggled. "They were just leaving... unless you two would like--?"
"We were leaving!" Tyslath said as he practically threw himself back from his chair. His bodyguard followed.
"Essie... darling... what did you do to them?" Utred asked before peering over to Aeren with a reserved disdain. "And who is this?"
"I just scared them, Utred. They tried to tether me, and I decided to put the fear of Gods into them. And this? This is Aeren, my dear companion for the moment. Aeren, this is Utred, the wizard of this region. I am sure you two shall get along just fine. Why don't we share a drink?"
"Mm... So they deserved it. You should have let me handle them. Did you curse them?"
"No, just pretended like I did. Will keep them scared for a few months..." She said and then tapped her cheek. "At least I hope so, I pretended to curse someone before but then they--"
"Seemed to really be cursed? Yes, yes, it happens all the time." Utred said as he took his seat and then flicked light eyes to Aeren. "Now, I have been told your name but I do not know who you are. Aeren, I will let a man make his own introductions." He said as he steepled his fingers and watched with a stern expression. "I hope you will not be bringing any trouble into my town."
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
The wind whispered of coming nightfall. Within the breeze came the coveted sweet scent of blooming flowers alongside the sickening overripe fruit that had fallen hard to the ground and burst open letting free the seeds that had grown within its womb. There was a calming disposition brought forth on the grounds of that land. There had been tracks, signs of man having one day traipsed along the edges of the bay, dipping their fingers into the yet untasted water and holding the sparkling blue coolness against their breast.
But in their desperate attempt to control, the battle had been lost as nature overtook and grew stronger. Choking out their attempts to cut away the trees that had grown large and tall, massive roots having sprouted from the earth making laying down roads impossible. Nature always proved more adroit in places such as these where the God's hand held true and hard against the unyielding passage of time.
It was beautiful, untethered forces of nature.
But Maedor preferred the fine offerings of civilization. With shielded awnings that protected against harsh winds and overhangs that shielded the overwhelming power of the sun. Pools kept clean and floating with flowers that could be used to cool themselves.
The wet heat disgusted him, quite frankly. Missing the dry feel of the desert sun against his cheeks as they traveled from one land to the other, horses in order avoiding the desert Dirks that often hunted the lone traveler. In the company of Baydek and Mierda he never did have a thing to fear, as most of them went running the moment the two pulled their weapons loose.
He pulled away from the horses, turning to join the women walking towards the house, the soft tinkering laugh of the Arunia.
"Then I hope I can provide you with some reprieve," she said. She waved her hand, and as though it were attached her door drifted open. Within was a small space, consisting of a singular room. A table stood in the middle filled with different jars and a vase holding the delicate flowers of the region. Against the wall a hearth smoldered, still warm from flame come past, a large couldron hung over it, and by that a kettle. From the outside the hut was windowless, but from within there was seemingly no left wall, looking out over a well-grown garden and letting light from the sun stream in. A bed rested in the corner, small and filled with feathers, covered by a singular blanket. Various daggers, knives and sets of bows and arrows were strewn out along the walls seemingly at random. Overhanging everything were dried herbs that brought with them the tender scents of the outdoors in all its glory.
It would have been nice. If it was not for the cats that also littered the area.
Maedor stepped in behind them as Shajar let the cat in her arm pounce from it to greet its feline friends.
A deep breath in...
Maedor immediately began sneezing, covering his nose with a handkerchief as he roughly coughed as well. Cats were cursed, he swore it. Everytime he stepped around them...
"Tch. You are so weak," Shajar said as she waved them to step further in. "How do you survive cold temperatures being so sickly?"
"I'm not sickly," Maedor said through an obviously stuffed nose. He rubbed his eyes that had begun to water and lightly coughed into his handkerchief. "Now about why we're here--" He fell into a series of sneezes again as Shajar clicked her tongue and took the kettle from atop the hearth, pouring tea into the strewn mugs.
Throwing down his satchel, Maedor dug through it to find the vial before he waved to Roxii to finish for him.
Esadora de Levoran
Utred had a face of ice. Cold and unmoving it often sat in one expression, light eyes wrapped around with dark lashes that darted and looked about. Thin lips pulled into a perpetual tight grimace as though always disdained by the words spoken from the mouths of others. His mane of black hair cascaded wildly down his neck, coming to form a jungle at his shoulders. Coils and curls jumped this way and that, brushing just against a shadow of a beard that was beginning to grow on a pale and angular face. Slender, it seemed he had hardly worked a day of labor in his life. His limbs were so lanky and skinny. His hands bore scars and marks, however, thick calluses atop knuckle and finger tip that now clung together as he made a ball to rest his chin upon.
Unreadable.
Even after so long of companionship, there lied a chasm between the two of them. Unrelenting and unyielding as though the very creases and lines of his own face were ancient tomes hidden under the ash of time come pass. There was a breath, pulled deep within her chest. Utred hated the men of law more than Esadora herself did. They had taken more from him than they had from her. And they had taken everything from her.
But she knew enough. Utred leaned back, letting his arms fall relaxed against the table and tilted his head back. Dark curls tumbled away from the sharp line of his jaw. A sparking of distrust still danced just behind narrowed eyes as his gaze fell to the man's armor, swelling and metallic. Like a gong singing their lies. The air stood still for a moment. Utred tapped his fingers heavy and hard against the wood of the table.
"A hired hand..." he murmured.
"Yes," Esadora spoke then, she reached and covered his hand with her own. He was cold beneath her touch. "He hired me. To find someone for him."
"I did not know you now work as a common hound dog now."
Esadora bristled, mouth twitching into a frown as her eyes narrowed but she did not do anything against him. "I do as I am paid for, Utred, do not belittle me for it."
Utred watched Aeren a moment longer and then finally inclined his head.
"Hired hand." He said tersely. "That tells me very little, Aeren. You answer the question but now with the answer I search for. Who are you? Or if I must be more clear, what are you? Armor is not often worn by simple men looking for simple people for simple pleasures. And my town is delicate and I refuse anyone who will bring trouble."
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
A tense quiet followed. For a moment Shajar stood. Face hidden, eyes hidden, her ability to see seemingly impossible yet she watched the both of them with such an air of clarity it seemed that she could see through them and reach to scratch at the thoughts that rattled against the back of their skulls. The faceless woman picked up another cat to gently pet as she stepped forward examining the vial that Roxii currently held in her hand. After a moment's pause, she stepped forward, reaching out and skimming over the glass with her bare fingers. A crackle of magic seeping, and then she snatched it hard from Roxii's palm.
"This is dangerous. You were just carrying this around? In your bag?" Accusatory, her head swung between the both of them. "Strinyolah! Shame on the both of you to be so careless. Especially you, Azbin. Did Sarbi teach you nothing?" She clicked her tongue, turning on her heel away from the both of them.
Maedor was not yet at liberty to reply, coughing roughly into a kerchief and seeming on the verge of fainting as he continued to sneeze. After a moment he lifted his head, roughly wiping red and puffy eyes. "I don't think-- I would have noticed if either of us had caught something--" his nose was stuffed, he coughed again and Shajar waved for him to sit on her bed. Stumbling around mewing cats, hanging herbs slapping his face as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Shajar came over and placed a cool hand on his brow. He could have sworn he saw her wrinkling brow and curling lip.
"You certainly seem sick."
Maedor waved his hand. "No. This isn't even close to--" Another series of sneezes followed. He groaned and rubbed his face. A small orange cat jumped up, riding on its right side was a grey. Both of them rubbed against his side as though attempting to soothe him. Maedor was beginning to have a hard time breathing.
"Mm... You have no fever. I suppose..." She pulled her hand away as Maedor continued to wipe his face roughly.
"It isn't the plague. These aren't the correct symptoms. To be diagnosed with such the affliction you must be experiencing--" He began a series of sneezes again. "High fever," A cough. "Gross indigestion - I haven't asked Roxii about her digestion but I assume it is fine --" Another cough. "Pockets of puss which arise around the body and especially the face. Grievous cough which produces both phlegm and blood to be expelled from the lungs." He hacked again and Shajar waved away his words.
"Alright, stop your prattling, Azbin. Breathe. You do not have the plague." She rubbed his back in tender circles and then patted it. She turned to the far wall and began rifling to pull out various items to help her. "This may take me a bit of time - there is magic, certainly, but the source feels strange and dangerous. I do not like how it feels. I do not like this, Azbin. Are you safe?"
Maedor waved his hand again. "Always."
"Mm..." Shajar said as she produced different vials and glasses and placed them on her table. "Well... I will take your word for it." She flicked her hand to the both of them. "Stay away from this. I do not wish for you to get sick."
Esadora de Levoran
In truth, there was little faith to be had in Aeren.
Perhaps it was simply Esadora's own preconceived biases, though through the time spent riding alongside the knight and hearing how his mouth would slip and words unmeaning would tumble to think him a bad liar was rather obvious. The delicate art of dancing along the lines of ink which formed that which was true and the figment pulled from the recesses of the mind was prone error, and to dominate it there came a life which was built upon indelicacies and conniving calculations. Cruel arithmetic, some would even call it. But Utred was too sharp for Esadora to spin a tale on Aeren's behalf - at the very least he would not accept it.
But the story Aeren spun was not... unimaginable. Tilting her head back she assumed the poise of a woman listening to story she already understood - already knew so closely and with such a sharp and pinpointed heart that nothing he spoke surprised her. She turned to Utred, a calm smile as though to ask him if he was going to continue with useless interrogation.
"You..." Utred cocked on dark brow. "You are helping this man drag a young wily woman back to her family? I though--"
Esadora raised a finger, forcing his words to die down. Like that she had taken command from his mouth to her own. She tilted her head back and let shiny black curls tumble away from her pale cheeks and highlight the beauty of her face, violet eyes catching his own as lips quirked up. It was a practiced manuever, quiet and subtle to let his eyes fall more to her rosy cheeks and pale bosom even when he attempted to parse truth from lie. There was an air of innocence around her then, large eyes blinking behind dark lashes and lips pulled into a pout. She clasped one of his hands with both of her own.
"Oh... You know I have my reasons. There is a difference between a girl chasing her own ambitions and a girl falling into bad people through one wrongful connection. Oh... I am sure she thinks she is in love but..."
Her expression darkened like that. "You know how men are. Liars and cheats - claiming their love and devotion and then raping you against very tree he professed his love." She scoffed and turned her head away. "I am happy to do such a service - more bright and talented young women are lost to these petty love chasings with men than witches are burned by buffoon knights."
Then, Utred smiled. It was wan, thin. But he believed them. Or at least believed they had little intentions to bring harm enough. "That... does sound like you."
He stroked a finger along his nose and then shook his head. "I... I apologize I just..." He pinched his nose, all at once he looked tired again. Near exhausted. His shoulders shifted, heaved, and then fell.
"It's hard for us nowadays." He said lowly. "Its like snakes lurk in every blade of grass - waiting."
Esadora placed a hand on the man's arm, feeling his muscles tense beneath her fingers. "It's a war you don't need to worry about at the moment." She tilted her head slightly towards Aeren, seemingly snapping Utred out of some type of vision that had overtaken him.
He sat up straighter and bobbed his head in a nod. "Yes... Er, Aeren, was it? Do you have any questions about this... town?"
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
The dull aching pain formed within the back of Maedor's throat, followed closely by the burn in his lungs. He took deep breaths in, struggling to maintain his composure with a handkerchief pressed hard to his mouth and nose. He pulled up, wavering as he slid from the edge of the bed and turned towards the door as Roxii chose to leave. He felt Shajar place a steadying hand on his bicep. Her grip was loose, pinching just above his elbow. Her form slight beneath his height, she looked down at her. For a moment he got an image, shimmering before him in a brevity that made him dizzy.A fleeting image of her dark face, nose arched beneath her veil and wide dark eyes staring back with such intensity it caused Maedor concern. He pulled back and she stepped forward, reaching across for his other arm and holding him against her tightly. He could almost feel her breath as she glanced behind her, watching Roxii step out the door. Then she turned her face upward.
"I know she's here." Shajar spoke quickly, a quiet snap that caused Maedor to lose his balance. His hand shot out, gripping the post of the bed. He swallowed hard, a sweat not natural to himself touching his brow. "I know... you know," Shajar said quietly. She slid her hand up and caught Maedor by the hands.
"People are searching for you, Azbin." She said quietly. "I don't know why you have taken this job but... You are in danger, Azbin. The Medjay Assassinanis have been looking for you for years now. But... Andulin's Great Halo, Azbin, let them find you before the Hawk Prince does."
She pulled back as Maedor stumbled away. His illness was momentarily forgotten as he shuffled towards the door, mind reeling as he gripped the doorframe and doubled over in another fit of coughs. Breathing harder as he pulled out into the fresh air and let it cut through his troubled mind. Wiping at his face and eyes he leaned against a tree next, bracing himself on it for balance as he began to take deep breaths.
"Be... Ready... In a moment... Roxii..." He huffed out.
But breathing was slowly becoming easier. And soon he stood straight, erect as he reached for the waterskins filled with ale and took a brief sip.
"Alright. I'm fine now." He said as he feigned a look of serenity, though Shajar's words still worried him. The Assassinanis he knew of. The Hawk Prince, he did not. His mouth turned in a grimace as he slid his eyes about the horizon. "Shajar will tell us how it's done... but... There must be a way to get to the root of this faster." He muttered as he went to gently stroke the snout of his horse.
Esadora de Levoran
There was a long moment of pensive silence. Uhtred leaned back, the pale skin stretched across his sharp cheekbones as he thought hard on what Aeren just asked. His thoughts were muddled and stories mixed with one another. His absent mind was hard to discern, Esadora had known him for years and it was difficult for her. He seemed to always be lost in his own thoughts, mind drifting from one thing to another. His everlasting shadow coming as he refused to sleep in need of work. A man dedicated to his craft, wants, and dreams holding within him a hidden altruism that Esadora could not understand.
Uhtred slid his thumb across his lips as he tilted his head back.
"We called this town Mercy." Uhtred said as he let his eyes sweep around as though seeing it for the first time. He leaned back on his elbow, reclining as his hair danced around his cheeks, falling to the edge just on the top of the table.
"I have always been the head of this town. I built it with my own two hands from the backs of the fallen that could no longer hold up the society that had abandoned them. There used to be a council..."
His head tilted back, eyes misted over as memories unbidden returned. "I and those chased down by the law... struck for our very gifts and dragged out until we were on the edge of life." He swallowed thickly. "We built this place from the ground up. It is our sanctuary." He slid his fingers through his hair. "It is a sanctuary for all those in need of protection from the tyranny that now controls these lands. The fucking knights thinking they're here doing Gods' work by sweeping their hands through the hair of an innocent witch and bringing her breasts over the fire." He turned his head and scoffed.
"Animals. Absolute animals." He pulled back hard, his hands tense against the table. Esadora placed her fingers atop his wrist. She could feel how his pulse sped as though within a battle. He let out a breath and then lowered his head, rubbing his eyes and then pinching his nose.
"You all are welcome here. I have much to uphold. The town's people don't take kindly to strangers. I recommend you stay close to Lady Essie here," he nodded. "But... it is a safe town. Don't make trouble. And none will make trouble with you."
"Well... I am not worried about anyone making trouble with me," Esadora grinned.
Uhtred smiled back. "No... I think that would be mighty idiotic of them, would it not be Aeren?"
Esadora snorted. "Yes, Aeren, it would be idiotic wouldn't it?"
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
As the days waned, blurred, and melded against one another they walked across the land. Distractions were few and Maedor's mind drifted as the ever-adding pieces began to fall into place. A riddle that was etched into the wind. Like dogs, they had to sniff at the scent that ghosted about their heads and run to where it had settled. In a singular night it seemed they became no better than hounds being unleashed at the horns of war against an invisible enemy. Yet, that charade was slowly dropping as the sheets pulled back and the visage was smoothed to reveal the delicate build of the pretender standing at the precipice of godhood.
Consultations were few. He was a doctor - he liked to speak of possibilities and ailments with clinical precision. A problem-solver by nature, he looked at this plague as one of his patients. And he counted himself lucky now. It was not often that politics and fanaticism became so intimately entwined with the laws of the body and pestilence. Roxii was a victim now of his nightly mutterings as he scratched through different diagnostics matching with the facts they had come across. He asked her rhetorical questions that were quickly answered by his own mind. The plague was being purposely spread by fanatics. But he stretched the consensus into two distinct endings.
Either this was a political machination of the King's own doing and thus a far more dangerous dalliance than they had originally thought. To assassinate a king was one thing. To go against a King's plot and uncover his own sins was another. To do both? Well, that seemed to be asking for trouble. With the facts gathered, however, it was possibly a simple fanatic that took root in his charisma and infectious desire to spread the want to see such... massive destruction. Either way, he and Roxii had much to do.
Dagh Farum was new, but not in name. Many a patient had traveled from there. And many of his shipments were directed to Dagh Farum whenever he needed replacements of his medicinal supplies. It would be a good time to stop at an apothecary to replenish the more common items kept in his satchel. Bustling, the epicenter for trade. One of the few places where race didn't matter. An oddity amongst a nation divided. War and division defined every history Maedor knew. Though... he did not expect to see much different than any large city. Especially a port city. Swindlers and others under the black spot of society... They were plentiful everywhere.
As they walked, free of horses (and with Maedor hoping the handler heeded Roxii's wishes because he did not wish to clean the man up after an altercation), as they walked through the city Maedor let his eyes drift. Observing what he could. Though the figure that disappeared as quickly as it came was not lost on him. Or Roxii. He raised a brow as one side of his lips curled upward.
"Why, Roxii, I am beginning to think you plan to rob and leave me for dead. Quite rude." But he had many adventures in dark allies. Some more fruitful than others. Stepping forward he shifted to stand in the opening of the alleyway. Throwing caution to the wind - handling himself had become second nature. A look of arrogant promise was often enough to keep others from acting unseemly.
Esadora de Levoran
"Don't cause him so much distress, Essie." Mercy. It came to Utred easily. Severe yet a bleeding heart residing beneath such a hard exterior. Or perhaps there wasn't. How easy he had brought forth the mask. As though he were a performer about to take the stage, he wore it well. She did not know how much their lie had taken root, but it had come to head enough that he would not question them further. And he knew Esadora hated knights as much as he did. Esadora raised a delicate hand and swiped away her words with only that. She gave Aeren a smile.
"It seems you have another savior. When shall I meet mine?"
"You seem to be fine as your own savior. Never needed help before." With that, there came a swell of pride. Esadora was capable. Beyond that, a menace that shoved her foot deep into the carefully crafted cogs that was proper society. Many a knight had fallen to her hand and her whims. Slipping beneath her body like water and trickling until they were naught more than a corpse or slave.
"Mm... Knights always find their way beneath me... in some way or another." Her hand danced on the table idly. "I remember Sir Gunther. Oh... old and rugged, thinking he was too proud to fall to any sort of spell. I suppose he didn't - I did not use any magic on him before he was promising immunity in exchange for a tangle in my sheets." She snorted. "Men can be so silly... and stupid. It takes one type of idiot to pick a fight with a witch or displease her." She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "It takes another to threaten to burn her to death and then turn and try to treat her like an average whore. Now that type of idiocy is unforgivable."
Utred gave a sharp hark of laughter. "Oh, he did not." He laughed again, standing. "How do some of them get so far? If a pretty smile is all that it takes to make one break their vows then why become a knight at all?"
Esadora gave a simple shrug. "Perhaps I only have the prettiest."
"Well," Utred said as he stepped away from them. "I have much to do. I do hope you all enjoy your stay for the night. And find this... woman on the run." He clicked his tongue.
"Oh, I always manage to achieve all my goals," Esadora said as she waved her hand. "Long nights, Utred. We shall find our own way."
He dipped his head into a nod and turned to leave. Esadora turned her eyes down and slid her hand out to take the compasses from her dress pockets. She glanced at the moving hands and clicked her tongue.
"Mm... I think they're both moving. In the direction of Dagh Farum... Do you mind if we take some shortcuts - the roads are more dangerous but... it would be faster?"
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
Trouble was something Maedor had become used to.
There was no misunderstanding of the risk being taken upon entering the alley. It had been worse in Merava, thieves speaking in foreign tongues with black kohl surrounding their black eyes. How it was they would shift in their dark linens through the shadows as though born into them. Walking along the outer sanctums awaiting those who would come out of their safety and into their poisonous embrace. Sweet smells of jasmine the only telling as they slid knife through flesh and bone until the dark bloody stain appeared on the ground where once a person stood.
Perhaps Maedor should not have had so much trust in Roxii to keep him from harm. It was simply something he had gotten used to with Baydek and Mierda often flanking his side as the swelling dangers came to a foot. And he was often the bait in such situations. Being pressed against the hard unyielding walls was normal. He tensed when he felt the muscle bound arm against him, but he did not struggle. Calm in the face of danger, it was something he had learned on his travels.
He was more interested in the fact Roxii seemed... acquainted with this woman. Watching them with a keen interest. It almost made sense a woman so seemingly dangerous were knowing of one another.
He straightened himself out as they began to move again. Smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed from the physical movement and residing his hair into place while also trying to ensure no pickpockets took his gold. Most of it was hidden safely in the midst of his boots and jumbled with medical gear that would be useless to most who did not get the chance to have the knowledge he did.
It was not what he had expected.
He always was ready for something a bit less.... extravagant in the midst of all such chaos. Though nobility, he rarely spent time amongst others in his station. At least... others in this land.
He could not say he liked it. The scantily clad women, the high patrons.... how ornate it was decorated and all that he could imagine was the debauchery.
Though it was not as though he did not live a life of debauchery.
Their drugs were likely subpar. He was sure by the smell of it. His own was far better and now he could not help but feel annoyance at seeing so many people openly flaunting their horrible tastes in their means of growing detached from reality. Let them take a taste of some of his own brand and they would find themselves turned around.
He was, luckily, pulled away from his thoughts when they entered a secret area... with a man he felt far more unsure of. Mahämar̃i's danger was known. Strength and brutality pressed against his fragility. Catching his crimson gaze Maedor steeled himself. The vampiric strength hidden beneath him... A vampire...
Perhaps he could be useful. It was lucky. Maedor was far more disposed to talking than Roxii.
Sliding in across from the man's desk. He was ready to speak until...
That caught him off guard.
"Pardon?" he asked, brows twitching upwards as he touched his throat where he knew the blood passed strongest through his veins. A pulse the man could likely hear. He pulled back and shook his head. "I am... sorry my good man. But you must be mistaken." He raised his hand. "Only human blood runs through my veins. I think I would notice if my mother or father were... something other."
But it tugged. At the back of his mind he could feel it touch on the uncertainty he had always lived with. That feeling of being isolated. Divided from the normal and placed into some new sense of self. Days which he felt inhuman in his own existence. His age was not bringing aches or wrinkles. His body as young as it had been in the spring of his youth. It was different. But he was born into humanity and raised by their hand.
He was human. Through and through.
"Perhaps you can have a taste and see at some point... Though I usually ask those that drink from my neck to get to know me over a night first." He waved a hand as he came back around to ease back into conversation. "I don't wish to bore you with any of my life details - I am a mere healer after all. The plague has kept me busy. I am... sure you have heard much of it?"
Esadora de Levoran
The compass hands kept resolutely in the same position. So tight strung and pointed that as she watched them Esadora felt her lips begin to pull down in a frown. She squeezed them in her palms tightly. Aeren was correct. As much as it pained her to think such things about the knight, he had made an observation that caused Esadora's gut to shift within. It was more than a coincidence.
Vesilir and his wishes. Remembering those delicate emerald eyes shone behind auburn lashes. How they would dance for anyone and bring one within before breathing them out. He stood tall on his own castle and locked tightly in his own will. How his arms would have looped around her, convincing but with a keen knowledge that he himself kept bound tightly to his breast. A coincidence. That the man she was looking for just happened to be riding the right arm of the woman Aeren sought out. Esadora felt a twitch in her brow as she glanced back up to Aeren.
"A man so dangerous traveling with an assassin whose name strikes fear across this entire nation." Esadora breathed. "Aeren... this may be a more dangerous situation than you may have first guessed."
There was a rare sense of empathy that struck her. Or rather she worried this man would be brought into a death march and Esadora would find herself in the underbelly of a scheme far larger than she once understood. Vesilir already had pulled her into his own political machinations as he attempted to let his foot on the throne solidify. She was caught in the palm of his hand again. He knew she would not give up the tear that he offered. She slid herself back and let out a sigh through her nose as her eyes opened again and she caught hard on Aeren once more.
"You... may wish to let me go ahead for this. It may be dangerous and I am unsure what your capabilities are in combat but... Aeren if you are going to stand by my side when we find them both you must know that you are going to be in danger. A man whom a high ranking official bearing the blood of the Vra'sali royal line believes this man is noteworthy in his danger. And the assassin worse than any we have heard of. Such a horror awaits."
She pulled the compasses back.
"Or you may come with me and accept the risks. But I intend to move fast on horseback, I may have dear Pretyr go back and we'll ride hard until we reach them."
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
This was uncomfortable.
There was an obvious tension, secrets being left to become unfolded that Maedor was not meant to know yet there was in the midst of it. Somehow always caught in the center of everyone and their own problems. Perhaps it was simply the nature of healing. To be caught hard between others' pain. But it was not something that he desired. As a doctor he listened ot many bedside confessions. Unfaithful mothers admitting their children did not belong to their husbands, murderers that had gone uncaught and unpunished for years on end until they had the captive audience of a singular overworked doctor that was stumbling over his own feet trying to see to every plague victim that crossed his medical practice. Or the simple confession of a child admitting to being the one that stole butter and asking if that was why the Gods chose to punish them. Those were the hardest to listen to.
Maedor kept his lips sealed, casting a glance at Roxii out of the corner of his eye.
Cyran was his main focus. It was not unusual to find men like him. So treacherous and vile. Sadistic in their approach to all things. Reveling in whatever strings they plucked and using their own power to force those strings to come to fruition. Despite all of Roxii's threats... even Maedor knew nothing was going to come of them. Only one person held power here. And his vampiric touch was all Maedor needed to keep his mouth closed.
But he wanted to be out from under that horrible gaze quickly. He was used to being in the presence of those far more powerful than him - but he was also used to having quite powerful allies at his side that would do much of the fighting for him. From what he understood of Vampiric anatomy, which was admittedly little as few were willing to be subject to invasive procedures in the name of human understanding, they were fast. So fast the man could likely have his fangs in Maedor's throat before anyone had a chance to move. And worse still, they needed his help.
A terrible position to be trapped in.
Somehow he always ended up in terrible positions.
Rushed out the door he let out a breath as they were released from the grasp of the Vampire. He turned towards Roxii for a moment. The collar seemed more prominent on her neck. He knew she must have known Damaer from before... and he could piece together the rest. At the very least a rudimentary image of her past was formed. One that she seemed fit to keep hidden.
He could understand that.
So he simply shrugged his shoulders. "Mm..." He murmured as he reached to grab his pipe and begin to fill it with his own herbs. Something far far better than what was present in this hedonistic little hovel. Leaning back against the wall he kicked one ankle over the other as he began to smoke. "I don't recall most of what was said anyways. Bit distracted by the whole vampire who could kill me in a second's notice." He blew out and glanced back at her out of the corner of his eye. It didn't matter anyways. He could change the topic quickly. Perhaps she was some... dark assassin but he was a doctor. And doctors ensured the comfort and health of those around him.
"But we have to deal with this... masquerade." He frowned in displeasure. "Damn... I thought I escaped these things. It's been years since I've last been to a party on this side of the sea. Ones on the other side aren't much better either." But it seemed they were... stuck. "We'll need new clothes." He glanced over himself. And then Roxii. They hardly looked like they belonged in any noble household let alone a masquerade ball.
"Slippers, a new dress, you can't wear your cloak but we can hide your ears with a bow. I think you'd look nice in blue. Maybe purple. We need to find a seamstress." Clothes would likely be their most overt expense. Perfume as well. Hair ornaments. Masks would likely not be too much trouble. Jewelry of course.
"We... should probably get looking if we want to be ready in time." He said as he pushed off the wall and blew out a stream of smoke. "Humiliated as well... So demanding... We'll plan while we shop. Come, let's get to it."
Esadora de Levoran
Esadora watched Aeren for a long moment.
That was not what she had expected to hear from him. A declaration of his own honor. Something so quaint though admirable. Her hands steepled together as she let her chin come to rest on the tops of them. Perhaps it was all words now. Men did so love using their words to act as though they were far bigger than they really were. Parading around as heroes when the first sign of trouble would lean to them fleeing with the bitter winds as their ally. How many men had left her out to fend for herself when the tides turned from kind to rough? How many would drop her the moment there came danger they feared to handle? And all of them shared a singular trait which was their poturing. Acting as though when danger came she would be protected by their heavy hand.
She did not need anyone's protection. Even Pretyr was only there for show. A muscle-bound warrior to show off his power. Avert those who thought they could take advantage of a young woman walking through the streets. In truth, Pretyr saved others from unsavory situations more than he saved herself. Bitter and cruel so many came to know her as. The cold witch that would rip out one's heart and eat it without a second thought. Without one regret hidden in her heart. A bitch through and through with no signs of mercy nor did she deign to pretend there was room for mercy within.
This world was too cold for that.
And usually, it was too cold for even postured chivalry for a witch. Perhaps Aeren was looking to find himself in better standing after thoroughly earning her ire in the days come past. Either way... he was not doing a poor job of it.
Esadora pulled back and let out a gentle chuckle. "Brave. I thought I'd offer it as a professional courtesy. But... if you believe you will be fine then I am not one to tell a grown man where he shall go or what he shall do."
Then she waved a waitress over to bring her more wine. "We'll try to make a better plan when we get closer. I want to get to them as soon as possible before they get up to... whatever they might have planned with one another. Now, Aeren, I believe we should begin getting some rest before we set off again towards the city. I believe we will need it."
And she needed more wine. Whatever Vesilir had gotten her into she wanted to be done with before it could really loop her in.
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
For a moment Roxii's words were lost on Maedor. His mind was becoming increasingly entrenched in the idea of what they would be shopping for. A certain excitement did come then. He may not have been one for parties, but fine dressing was something he had come to have a passion for. Making waves in this land through the simple ability to incorporate a bit of Meravan styles in with his own had managed to make him look like a fine specimen amongst the rest. And in truth, he did like standing out and showing off his own abilities in fashion. Already his mind drifted to what outfit he would choose to wear. What mask would adorn his sharp features as they sauntered into the fine home looking to be far above the rest of the party.
He was getting ahead of himself.
It was quite exciting when there was so much money at their disposal and none of it was his own. Cyran seemed like he had deep pockets. He doubted them getting a bit... overzealous would send the man careening into utter despair. Or perhaps it would. At this point Maedor did not care. He had horrible taste in drugs to be served in his little shop, he deserved to lose a bit of business.
"Mm? Oh well... maybe I am just a bit excited..." he said as he gently rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not every day a man hands me a bag of money and tells me to have at it. Well... it's happened a few times but... ah..." He cleared his throat and waved the thought away. Those days in Merava were far less fun than when he was riding alongside Baydek and Mierda from place to place in search of their next adventure. And he was sure Roxii did not want to hear of the times several different men chose to mistake him for a local prostitute and attempt to steal him away for a romantic trip.
Perhaps Roxii would like to hear it, but after the sound laughing that Baydek had given the story when he caught wind, Maedor thought it would be best if no one else knew about it.
"I want the finest of silks. It should feel like we are wearing clouds." He said resolutely as he already turned to go back to the streets, eyes wide open for the sign of a seamstress to begin working on their fine clothing. "Shoes that would make the Kings of Merava jealous with how richly decorated they are. Roxii, your jewelry will be the finest on this side of the seas. Oh... should I get a cane? I think I'll get a cane. Perhaps fine mahogany."
He maneuvered through the crowd with ease, watchful for pickpockets and tugging them through to the first seamstress he saw. "Ah... Right..." He muttered as he remembered the blindfold that adorned her eyes. "Would you like me to help with picking out the colors? They probably have a fine array here..."
Esadora de Levoran
"Oh Aeren... you have no idea." Esadora said. Her wine was placed before her again. She stared down into the rippling red liquid for only a moment before her delicate fingers brushed just under the bowl and she lifted it up to her lips. "I thought this was going to be a simple job. Most times finding people are. But... it seems you have a knack for always coming in when things are at their most complicated don't you?" she gave a slight chuckle into her wine as she tilted it back to let the smooth dry taste flow over her tongue. It was finely made, though not to her liking. She lapped at the stray beads that had fallen on the edge of her lips. Usually, she would catch a man's eye and saunter over to him by now. But she was not feeling in such a mood as her mind drifted back to the task at hand.
"I am sure Vesilir already knew." She said with a sigh. "About who he was traveling with. Have no doubt about that. And I am sure he knows you're hunting her. And I would have large bets he even has an idea as to why you are. Whether through intrigue or his... magic of the mind."
She didn't know why she told him. Perhaps because the man had taken her by the strings and led her into a delicate dance so easily. And he would do the same to Aeren. Just as he would do to the traitor that walked amongst them with the assassin at his side. He would reach deep into their nightmares and pluck their deepest dreams that had once only resided in the back of their minds. And then he would rekindle it. Hold that flame against his breast until he had them firm in his grasp.
He did it to her again. Again. Again. Why was his grasp so hard to shake? Why was the delicate dance he brought all into so easy to become lost in. He knew how to play with her. To call her with the simple sweet-voiced promises.
What was worse was how he hardly used force. Never. Never did he use force when he didn't need to. He was not one for excessive violence. A calm and collected man with a head that was filled with something beyond simple understanding.
She caught Aeren's eye again. "It is far more than you understand. To be tangled in royal intrigue is one thing. I have danced that ball before. To be caught in Vesilir's web - in his royal intrigue." She tilted her head back and let her black hair tumble. "We're waking more than just dogs with our movement. Hear me, he isn't done yet. And he won't be for a long time. So I recommend... We find what we're looking for and then we fucking run as far away from that man as possible. I don't care what the assassin wants - I don't plan on staying around for the massacre."
She took a deep drink of her wine again and sighed. Then she tilted her head towards the innkeeper as she pulled out a few coins. "Buy three rooms for tonight. And then go get yourself something to ease your nerves and go to sleep. Something's awoken underfoot. We should be ready for it."
Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Suddenly, there was a loud crack in the space time continuum as Damaer appeared before the wolf-elf and doctor.
"MAEDOR!" he proclaimed loudly. "after watching your PHAT juicy ass, I decided I had to have u for myself."
The doctor blushed. "How embarrassing..." But he agreed and put a ring on the evil dick's fingers and they flew away to be married happily ever after. Roxii stayed behind and drank all the whiskey in town.
The End
"MAEDOR!" he proclaimed loudly. "after watching your PHAT juicy ass, I decided I had to have u for myself."
The doctor blushed. "How embarrassing..." But he agreed and put a ring on the evil dick's fingers and they flew away to be married happily ever after. Roxii stayed behind and drank all the whiskey in town.
The End
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
Within an endless awash of decadence, the bustling crowded sea from behind disappeared. Assorted fabrics lined the walls in an array of colors and styles that ran from the darkest blue to the lightest pink. A singular seamstress stood behind a desk with wide-set eyes that darted between them, laid over her lap was a pink cloth that had begun to take the shape of a dress. Small and delicate it would belong to a noble girl of rich birth. The color was sweet and innocent as though with it was brought the soft sent of summer to carve out the edges of the hedonistic splendor that had taken over the city.
The seamstress's fingers curled into the fabric, chin raised as her brown and gray curls tumbled back from her cheeks revealing the lined face of a matured woman. Sparse light lashes drifted down across her pale cheekbones that were cut with freckles and spots. The dress was set to the side as the woman stood - tall and lithe with the grace built-in from pride found in the artistry of tailoring clothing. Already she was analyzing them. Deciding their bodies and how to flatter them with the cinch of a waist or the fine cut of a sleeve.
"Welcome," she smoothed down her skirt as she walked up to them. "How may I be of service?"
"Well, it seems we have unexpectedly been invited to a fine ball, and well... We cannot go looking like this now can we?"
"No..." She sniffed. "You cannot. I am Carmilla and I shall ensure you look as fine as a King and Queen should you so choose it. Simply tell me what you wish and I shall have it done."
"Can you do shirts in the Ianthellan style?" It was a simple but stylish cut - one that he found to be very popular amongst the desert elite. A v shape that would slice down to expose his chest and abdomen in a loose open fashion. With the right jewelry he would look like a fine traveling rogue that had seen everything - from the high seas to the deepest pits where sun could not touch.
A yearning came with the request. To feel the delicate silks of the Eastern lands against his skin. The gentle caress of the evening sun that fell to the edge of the horizon as he laid against the perfumed pools that were dotted with islands of roses and flowers. The golden strands of his own hair dancing with shiny dark as night entered and their drunken wine dinner was swiftly taken in the meeting of their own passions.
The cool waters were always offset by the flames that were built by her lips against his skin. Slding from his sternum to his mouth until they were entwined as calloused fingers gently pushed his windswept golden plaits from his face. And in turn he kissed every scar and bruise and callous until it melted away into nothingness wrapped up in their own dark world separated from the sunkissed desert. The high walls of the palace trapped and protected in equal measure.
If such a cut was powerful enough to pull him into that world of golden hearts and silver tongues as a young woman wrapped her fingers around his strings and continued to tug even when so far gone then it was powerful enough to pull him through some hedonistic masquerade party formed by an arrogant young noble who thought he knew what wealth was.
Her brow twitched up. "I... am familiar. Though, forgive me, I may need to refresh my memory. It is rare people ask for it. And especially those... well... not from there."
"Well... My wife is from around there. I believe that is close enough to my being from there."
Carmilla's head tilted to the side. A curious glance between Roxii and Maedor held for a moment before she turned her gaze away and simply hummed. "Well... I am sure one day she can attend a party and see how ravishing you will look at them. When you get home she will not be able to keep her hands off of you when I am done. Now... how about the lovely lady. Ah..." She grimaced as her eyes drifted over Roxii's blindfold. She turned back to Maedor. "A... Style in mind?"
"I think she can pick out her own style." Maedor said as he turned to begin looking towards the fabrics that hung off the walls and racks. "And we'll take your finest materials - the expensive ones that you don't keep up here. Every color, we would like to see them."
Carmilla dipped her head into a nod before her eyes flickered over to Roxii. "Of course. Sparing no expense I see... What type of style would you like, my lady, I can do any. As long as I have fabric and your measurements it shall be done."
Esadora de Levoran
The air was thick. The tavern had become something of a prison as a reminder that as of now Esadora could not simply break free from the chains of contract but rather had to end this with the meeting of danger and guile to force her into yet another tangled web that had been brought forth by the Vra'salian heir's deft fingers. Yet again alone in this mess she brought a hand up to her brow and gently began to rub there as a headache began to worm through her mind and take root right behind her eye. An unignorable pain that demanded attention as she sipped lightly at the deep wine that was sat in the chalice before her. The bitter flavor warmed her chest and bit down against her tastebuds as she pulled back and swallowed it down.
"You plan on leaving?" Pretyr spoke quietly. Aeren was gone. He had come to settle in an uneased silence by his mistress, leaning heavily on one elbow as his eyes casted around the room as though looking for another battle to be fought - another danger to be laid on her. "Alone with him? He is... Dangerous."
Esadora lifted her head, black hair tumbling around her pale shoulders as her oval face was exposed to the orange light of the fire. She smiled. A bearing of sweet kindness that had been cut out for the emboldened knight.
"Your concern is appreciated, Pretyr. But with Vesilir's entrance --"
"Why is it that you even think to entertain him?" Pretyr tilted his head back. As he pushed back his hood she could see the wild hair that fell across his cheeks. "He speaks with a silvertongue and a false heart yet you--"
"False hearts pay well, Pretyr. Do you want to... be stuck with our current 'master' forever?"
"The house is all but yours," Pretyr snorted. "Just kick him out, what shall he do? He is too smitten to act rationally." Esadora raised her shoulders up in a slight shrug before she picked up her hand and flicked it.
"But we have the world to see. To go to. Enough and there will be nothing that can keep us from a life of our dreams... From your own dreams being fulfilled. Come on... Finding yourself a fine woman to settle down with. She'll be a wonderfully curvaceous little minx with golden hair and a sweet little smile--"
"And love for big monstrous men?" Pretyr finished with a chuckle as he sidled closer to Esadora, reaching to take the wine so he may have his own drag. "And harbor no disgust for my scars?"
"Oh poo. You know most women find that to be quite attractive. Now, don't harbor any worry for me. You know I could have that boy tied up and left for dead should I wish it. Him trying anything funny doesn't worry me whatsoever. There is idiotic and then there is having no sense of self-preservation. He is nothing but the desire to self-preserve. So, as it is, I am safe. Until this is over - and only if he has enough of his little friends around him to come and help - he won't even lift a finger to so much as disturb a piece of hair from my hairnet. Know that, Pretyr."
Pretyr leaned back, seemingly satisfied. "He ain't no bodyguard either. You're on your own in an attack too."
"Do you think my magic is for show?" Pretyr snorted again and then shrugged.
"Fine, fine. I'll make sure the house hasn't burned down. Write home - let us know when you'll be back." Esadora waved the concern away as her fingers flicked towards the bedrooms.
"Yes... But let's get some rest. The day starts early tomorrow."
The sleep was not easy. A dreamless time of awakened sleep until she came to find the gentle caress of morning light dappled against the dusty wooden floorboards. Esadora was up then. This time her dress was far from elaborate. It was safer to ride on their lonesome by not looking as though they were rich and simply waiting to get robbed. While her dress was still finely made and tailored it did not bely great riches. A simple blue cotton dress that fit her well but not overt the top. Her make up was muted and hair worn in loose tresses as though a far more simple maiden than she was.
"Aeren," she said as she came up to him. "We'll be riding through dangerous roads to use them as shortcuts. I assume you are prepared in the case of bandits and the like?" At the very least she hoped he actually knew how to use that sword with at least a modicum of confidence. She flicked her fingers to signal him to follow her to the stables. They would have a decent ride waiting for them.
"We'll ride until sundown - if we don't reach a town we set up camp on the road. If anyone asks we will say you're my escort of some type - Until we get to those two we will be riding fast and hard as though we are soldier prepared for a war. It will get us there fast enough so that those two don't have too much time to scheme... or get themselves killed. Gods... They better not get themselves killed." But... They were professionals. Both fearless and respected positions in their own worlds.
Perhaps that should not have been a worry... Either way she was quick to hurry Aeren along. She wanted out of the town and out of this contract as quickly as possible.
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
Maedor Taellaris
"Mm... Quite the choice, I must say. I think you shall be the best-dressed woman at the party, my dear Roxii." As they should be, the money spent on the clothing would cost them a small fortune, even if it was not their own. In the presence of an artist, there was no doubt about how they would be decorated. The delicate fabric falling across their arms entwining into a piece a new form that would be dazzling on its own. As simplistic as the design was, Maedor had seen it grapple him into the finest of parties, walking among Kings, viziers, and princesses. He leaned his head back and inclined towards a small pedestal that was waiting idly towards the back of the store.
"Allow me to be the first," he said as he glided towards it. "I admit, I do enjoy having something new added to my wardrobe. These medic vests were getting terribly dull here."
Carmilla had stopped by a desk, rifling through a drawer as she half-listened to Maedor with the deft ear that came from a woman used to clients wishing to ramble about their woes and disappointing lives. She lifted her head after finding her string and began to unwind it as she walked over to him. "Ah. So you are a medic, then? No wonder you seem so well-traveled. Though I admit I haven't seen many go so far overseas."
Maedor smiled broadly. Carmilla had come to sidle next to him by that point, her string sliding the long length of his body. She hummed to herself and clicked her tongue, muttering something about him being so tall.
"I like to think of myself as a much more learned man than most. If you ever get a chance to see the desert lands of Merava or the jungles of Sayyara. It is the most beautiful place you shall ever visit, that I swear." He spread his arms as he knew arm span was next. Carmilla was quick, an obvious professional with how quick she tied her knots and hummed to herself, mentally taking note of his body type and how to cut the fabric.
"And I will make sure you embody that beauty today... Let us make sure to emphasize your shoulders. Mm... Would you like if I made it a bit puffier, so you may look a bit more filled out? It shall give the illusion of a larger chest to follow alongside your narrow waist."
A sharp laugh escaped him. "Ah, calling me too skinny, hm?"
"Ah... no I just thought...""It's fine. But, no, nothing puffy. That feels a bit to reminiscent of this land's fashion and I prefer to keep with the Meravan roots."
"I see. Merava kept with you, didn't it?"
Maedor hummed as Carmilla stepped back, having just finished his leg measurements and concluded with him. "Imagine a place of the sea, expanding endless against the horizon in delicate golden waves that gives way to the soft overhang of the sapphire sky. A palace stands, kept white and crisp so that it glows with a golden and near holy light in the midst of gold. Reaching up until it scrapes the edges of the heavens and in the midst of it you see a cacophony of colors, bright and wild in reds, golds, greens, purples, and blues extending like a rainbow, standing out against the darkened skin of the people as men walk with broad shoulders bared and women with their breasts loose and hair tied with golden thread. Hold that image in your mind and remember it well. Now amplify the beauty of it by a hundred." He said as he stepped down from pedestal and straightened his vest.
"Hef Kar'we ak Imunet av ku-karewe." He said smoothly. "As you walk the sands and gaze into the sun know the beauty reflected in your own heart is of he that brings the eternal light. And let me tell you, the people reflect that beauty in ways even I can sometimes never know.
"Mm... It does sound beautiful when you put it in such words," she said. "But I think you are a bit bias..."
"Well if anyone had a wife like mine, they'd be bias too..."
At that Carmilla let out a lovely chuckle and shook her head before waving Roxii forward. "Come, I just need your measurements and I'll be ready to make your clothes."
Esadora de Levoran
The sun had come to rise in a perilous half hang, the orangey light half contained by the clouds that passed over and hid it from view. For a moment the winds whistled and that was all that disturbed the gentle peace of morn. A breeze trundled down through the narrow street, sliding across the edge of the leaves and kicking them to swirl in a spiral around the edge of the bend. Essie stood still as she felt it slide against her tresses of dark hair and down to flutter her dress against her legs. She watched it and turned in its direction where they would be heading with the wind at their backs.
Religion had meant nothing to her. Fuck the Gods, what had they done for her? Temples, churches, priests and priestesses walk among the edge of her vision and demanding her kind to repent. Magic was a sin, none could practice it. The Gods had made the world with it, why would they if it wasn't to be used? Or were they to curse people and demand them to be persecuted for the curse bestowed upon their bodies at birth?
No. Fuck the Gods.
Yet, she felt an inching touch of good luck strike her chest. The turn of the winds and the feeling of the warm sun against her cheek. She turned to Aeren, regarding him for a moment and then a stableboy came round with the horses from the carriage, unattached and ready to be ridden. She stepped forward to them, taking the dappled grey she claimed as her own by the snout and gently petting it down.
"Don't let them frighten you, Aeren." She spoke with a brief sigh. "They are still only man and woman. Vesilir would not have chosen me to go if he did not think it possible for me to contain the Panther. As for you... The Shadow is an assassin. They work for pay. Give the coin and I doubt you'll be hurt. It is bad for business to bring harm to your clients, wouldn't you agree?"
She held the reins and pulled herself up to sit on the saddle. With an incline of her head she gestured to Aeren to do the same. "But... Careful with thoughts on meddling with their plans. I was paid to find this man and essentially keep his presence for Vesilir. You just wish to have the Shadow do her job and be done with it. Let us not make enemies we don't have to. If they have a plan, stay out of it, whatever it is... it isn't our problem." She clicked her tongue to sent the horse into a canter.
"Our problem is getting there in a timely manner and finishing what we have to do. That is it. Nothing more."
Javax
The Shadow
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Melpomene
Writer of Tragedy|Art by ROYTHEART|
