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Post by Lerris on Feb 6, 2008 0:43:16 GMT -5
Lerris pushed himself to not gasp for air as he sat up straight, he did not need to show anymore weakness in front of the boy. “Grown?” The Elf started to laugh, or tried through the pain in his throat and chest.
“You are not grown, you are exactly as you claim not to be…a reckless, inexperienced juvenile fool.” The words came covered in blood, he wiped what was left on his chin and continued. “You can’t handle yourself, Rowen can barely handle herself without…you need her, she needs you…”
He pushed himself off the ground, he didn’t want to talk up to this boy anymore. It wasn’t the best idea, his head spun as he got to his feet, Byron became a blur before his eyes. He used a nearby wall to steady himself, he tried his best to not look to weak.
A simple question found its way into his mind, and out his lips, “What….what are you doing here anyway? Why did you backtrack?”
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Post by Rowenna on Feb 24, 2008 2:39:27 GMT -5
Rowen's eyes slanted slightly averted, cast down and dark, shaded by the shadow of the room as a grim gripped the long line of her lip.
"I didn't backtrack," Byron grimaced, the elf made him shiver at the thought of him... of her. He burned with the satisfaction of the bronze that drained his lips as he spoke, the blood that was also on his very first. "I wouldn't--I don't have to answer to you, he swallowed the spit he would have rather ejected, but found himself too big. He mentally finished with dirty elf, as he found himself too big for that too.
"Maybe I don't need you."
Byron's eyes flicked to the woman who looked at them none at all; body sideways, the slender of her form like an S or a snake. A burn blazed in her gaze. Her eyes took them in, both in turn.
"Maybe I don't need either of you." Venom. Dry. Spit. She wanted to turn. She wanted to walk, leave them both, she felt as to stand and be provoked, to fight, to feel the throe in her wrist as she flung her fist. Byron looked at her; she didn't look back. He stalked past to the door, dodging her, don't touch, she might make you salt. Her hand sung and seized a handful of his cloak, and she flung him against the hard of the broken wood.
"We're not done till I say we're done."
"I've got none more to say," a bear rising full in her face.
"You're--not--done!"
"You godd*mned drunk!" his fist at her neck, and he jarred her so her head slammed the adjacent wall. They stood there, the corner, her hand white on his cloak, his hand broad on her neck--heads knocking--her teeth grit with hate, and her heart hurt with...
Note: it has occurred to me that, last time, we resolved this largely out of Lerris' tendency to be the voice of reason. I'm not saying now, if you don't think Lerris would react that way, but soon, I should think--if you like, that is. Let me know if I can edge the situation.
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Post by Lerris on Apr 9, 2008 23:50:43 GMT -5
The elf grimaced as he pushed himself to try and stand up straight, and all he could do was glare at the two of them as he watched from his slumped position on the wall. “You cannot solve this that way…” Lerris growled between gritted teeth, “You may be partially right Byron, you don’t need me, matter of fact, I’m the last thing you need…”
He pushed himself off the wall, and limped towards the both of them. “But you need Rowen more then you can possibly know, a time may come when you are ready to be on your own, do not take this as me calling you inexperienced, by all means you are not a babe still clutching his mother’s apron…” He stumbled, and caught himself on a nearby wall, letting out a grunt of pain. His whole body burned with anguish, and yet he pushed himself up, and walked towards them.
“But you are not ready, I have seen what this world does to those who leave their mast….their friends to early.” He reached the two of them, and gently placed a hand on Byron’s wrist, “Do not be so quick to abandon the ones who care for you,” His eyes moved to Rowen, “….The ones who love you should not be thrown aside so easily.”
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Post by Rowenna on May 11, 2008 23:18:18 GMT -5
Byron grimaced at Lerris' touch, every atom of his body repelling the rot of his elven skin. He put the elf out of mind, and turned to Rowen—dear, sweet, domineering Rowen, softened slightly by her dear-one's speech. The eyes connected, his like a pointed beak, hers like a well to be lost in forever.
"I can travel with you," he said, deep, firm voice that leveled out a face set in stone. "But I have progressed too far to be your student any longer. We… we can be," his voice seemed to reach the cusp of something mysterious, something unknown, softened in the enigma, though his face showed it not at all. His eyes searched her. "Mutual teachers… the things I know you never taught me… keeping each other in check, progressing together, rivaling each other, learning from one another." He flashed his hawk-nosed eyes at Lerris. "But I will have nothing to do with the elf."
Rowen fell. Not the fast, dramatic, tragic fall of a woman, no—slow, quiet, dignified the muscles of her face relaxed into finality… the muscles of her face as that of a daughter that knew her mother dying for years, then told the woman's slipped into forever sleep. Her face was ended, wounded, but done. Her eyes slipped to Lerris. Byron freed his arm, gently at the first, allowing this wounded soldier to slip down the wall, inch by inch, eyes turning away and losing sight of the world and Lerris as the rough fibers catching her cotton, till her bottom hit the floor. Her eyes, the contours of her face and muscle; such a mix of emotions, of loss, of confusion, of relief of a weary talk, the end of a long, confusing, burdensome day. The face of "What is this?" fondling the real or imagined battle wound that would be the end. No pain, but… painful. The moment before the last. The hearing the news you lost your mother and not quite knowing where to go from there.
A breath. "Lerris." Perhaps too breathlike to be heard.
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Post by Lerris on May 14, 2008 22:46:43 GMT -5
The elf sighed as he was shrugged away, and took a shaky step back to place a hand on the wall to keep himself steady. It was a shock that Byron was willing to travel once again with his former master, but not as a student. However, it was not a shock that Lerris was not to be included in those travels. He knew that his relationship to the boy would not change, and there was no way he could change his view as Rowen had.
There would be no excepting past events, and moving forward, and there would most definitely be no growing to love one another. He sighed as he heard Rowen speak his name, so gently, so without the former disdain of which he had so often heard it roll off her tongue. There was something new, and only just discovered, love.
Now, just as quickly as it had happened, it was being taken away from him. He wanted to argue, to keep her with him and tried as hard as he could to find the words. But it was all ruled out by logic, and reason, this is what Rowen had wanted…perhaps not on these terms, but she had Byron back.
“This is….this is what we set out to do.” He could barely hear himself speak the words, and he tried hard to raise his voice in hopes she might meet his gaze. “We have found your appren…Byron, and I am home. It may not be how I wish to restart, but it is a good place to try.” He swallowed a lump in his throat, and knew that he was barely convincing himself let alone Rowen. He slid to the ground, leveling himself with her, and smiled through the pain he was feeling, *“Im meleth le, Rowen….”
*I love you.
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Post by Rowenna on May 30, 2008 1:53:03 GMT -5
“Five days...” she said, did she say it to herself or to he? her voice so floated on the dusky air, rolling with a highborn passivity as her eyes glossed over in dullness. In her mind’s eye, she saw the back of the room, and a she-wolf, poised at the corner. Her furs bristled, her teeth, sinking blades and bared as the gurgle of vengeance emanated by her throat; black lips, black eye liner, piercing, frostbit eyes. And Rowen looked, and she was not afraid. The rumble subsided; the lip let loose over the long pearly fangs, and the ears flattened into the look of a dog more than a rabid wolf. “Five days, we have traversed the land, and finally we find the one we have been looking for. Don’t console me, sir elf...” the same words. The same words she’d spake for years, the elf, but now untainted by the snide ridicule that knew her tongue best, spoken with respect, with nobility, as one soldier to another. The cold canine eyes went round and limpid, the wolf-dog letting out the softest of whines. A bird chirped outside; first one, than many. It was still dark, Rowen obliviously noticed, and she knew too the light would come before she could comprehend it. Her eyes didn’t even follow the wolf-dog to the door, it’s slender body bumping the door without disturbing it, tail swooping this way and that until the fringes and fur were out of sight.
Byron paid no heed to the wolf, the strange outlandish thing standing in a corner of the elf’s house; Lerris paid no mind either. This struck Rowen not at all, and right then, she made herself a promise...
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Post by Lerris on Jun 2, 2008 18:01:43 GMT -5
He dropped his gaze, his head hung, his whole body hurt, his mind hurt, his heart hurt. After several moments he had to remind himself to breathe and as he realized he gulped hungrily to get air into his lungs. Lerris was not sure what more there was to say, and although he could not figure out why, he knew that she must go with Byron.
It was at this moment that this elf felt not only his physical and mental pain, but the weight of his own words, and the weight of his former sins. It pained him even more to come to the realization, and a brief scowl passed over his features as he did. Lerris hated that he was right, this was the spot where not only Rowen and Byron must restart their lives together, but this is the moment where Lerris must atone for his own misdeeds and restart his life.
He knew that if he did not seek forgiveness he would not only lose himself again as he had the day he lost Abbot, but he would lose Rowen as well. Lerris drew a breath through his open mouth, his nose no longer able to perform that function at the hands of Byron. “You must go, for the both of us.” He knew they were cryptic words to someone who was not inside his mind, but he spoke them anyway, “We may both barely see the reason, but there is one. It began with you Rowen…”
The Elf raised himself from his position against the wall, a small wave of calm came over him accompanied by a smile, “…I have no doubt that it shall end with you as well.” He turned, and limped from the room leaving the two of them in silence, hoping they would find a way to move on together.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 4, 2008 2:05:11 GMT -5
The moment Lerris moved from the ground, Rowen’s attention was had. What he said, those words, she had no comprehension for it. For an instant, lost, and wandering gaze, caught on his body like a snag, a line, a fish drawn on by the hook, her eyes, hollowed and bewildered, like a baby’s in comparison to his. Her body bade her move, but she did not. It was something inside her, some pull, some line directly through her ribcage, and tugging and painful, sucking her breath and squeezing the life out of what was she. She had to move. He made for the door. She had to speak. His body was disappearing in the oncoming sun, the morning sun, still mostly blackness and darkness outdoors, and the birds sang sweetly with the crickets, the orchestra of animal sounds, together, till one went to bed and the other sang on in sunlight.
The moment the last disappeared of him, she moved. In a single, fluid motion, she almost flung herself at the doorway, though stronger than thus, holding the frame with her fingers, good grip, lifeline, hold back, exert force, keep her in contact with what was real, hold on to the world or forget what was finite. She saw his back, the white of a light being born.
Wait. Stop. A moment. Farewell. “Amin mela Ile.” I love you.
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Post by Lerris on Jun 4, 2008 23:44:38 GMT -5
He stopped, the smile still upon his face as he moved to her with quickness that he thought was gone from him, and suddenly, she was in his arms. Lerris kissed Rowen upon her forehead and his lips played upon that same spot as he spoke in a breath, “I will always love you...”
The elf placed a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to his own, he still wore a smile mixed with joy and sorrow. There were no more words, because there were none to be said. He kissed her, and forgot where they were, forgot Byron standing there arms crossed with a sour look upon his face. Forgot his broken-down house, his injured body, his injured heart.
There was no one else but Lerris and Rowen, and that was just fine with him. He could of stayed there forever, despite the fact that he could not breathe through his nose and would sooner or later have to part in order to live. But that was just the thing, Lerris Saphire did not need air, he had Rowen, and that was good enough
He did not know how much time passed, but sooner or later the two broke apart. His smile lingered, but was slowly fading. He spoke, more exhaled, “Always…”
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 6, 2008 2:04:35 GMT -5
It was hard.
If only he would turn away; if only she coult shut him out. If “I love you” was the cordis tongue for goodbye, and the civil thing was to say “I love you too” and leave, and then she could let go. But he didn’t make it easy. It was hard, but not the hardest thing.
And they parted. At his word, she felt warmed, and watched him disappear to the dark. She stood, not watching him go; eyes having lost the sight of him, she stood there, forgetting everything, pushing the world away that tried to drag her to follow that which she could not follow. She stood, recollecting herself, a box, a latch, a catch... the opening, and out came fire.
She turned. The warmth of a smile was crossed over her face, with eyes like the heated metal, strong and temperate, cooling clear.
“Shall we, Byron?” she said like whe were raised a highborn, speaking to a lordship’s son. His eyes widened a little, and he held out his hand--for a moment, he looked innocent and young, fingers wrapped around her arm. A short consent as they walked out together. “Perhaps... perhaps you can tell me how you penetrate an enemy’s defenses with direct assault,” she said. They stepped out into the sunlight--the white, white sun, and the wolf was really gone.
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Post by gluey on Mar 21, 2009 20:28:07 GMT -5
In a relatively distant land, on the white shore, swarmed an army of gulls. They called to one another; it was feeding time. A fresh body lay on the shore, its clothes tattered and scars covering its body. A sword hung limply from the tattered belt around the body's waist. With its head buried in the sand, there was no indication that life flowed throughout its veins. Thus, the gulls began to encircle their dinner, slowly enclosing on it. They clambored atop the body, to pick at the fresh meat.
That was when Grohn woke up.
Those sharp beaks gouging his skin, the white sand in his mouth, covering his face, in his ragged clothes in the utmost uncomfortable places. Grohn stirred slightly, to the dismay of the birds, and adrenaline rushed in as he felt the slightest threat of the birds, in conjunction with the stabs of their beaks. He stood up as best he could, hopelessly scratched over his whole body, and kicked a bird that had not yet realized its prey was not, as it had thought, deceased. "Stupid bastards," he spat, limping slowly down the shore.
He was cold, his hair wet, and his wounds still burned with sea water and bled ever so slightly. Where was he going? He didn't know. He thought he might hear the slightest sound of a nearby market, though he counted himself more likely to be delusional. His leg, gashed in the side, bled profusely still; he tore a piece of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around his upper thigh, in hopes to deter blood loss and allow it to coagulate.
The land he had reached was forrested. The woods began immediately where the sand ended. He trekked through the trees, hoping to find something, anything.
His eyes lay solely on the ground, carefully watching his placement of his feet. One wrong step could cost him his ability to walk at all; he had lost his shoes in the tide. He continued walking, even as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, even as the birds called to each other and the animals of the forest scattered on his arrival. And suddenly, he didn't realize, the trees around him had vanished. Before him - he had nearly walked into it - was an immense wall built of wood. Civilization. He smiled a twisted smile, and approached the gate.
"What business do you enter this town under?"
"Food, and shelter," said Grohn. "I have been lost at sea throughout the storm of this past evening. It is an utter miracle that I survived," he added, with a tone of falsified sincerity that the gatekeeper devoured with a fierce appetite.
"Oh, you poor sir," said he. He opened the gate, allowing Grohn in.
"Thank you," said Grohn, in the sweetest voice he could muster. Even as he did so, he could think only of one thing, in the back of his mind...he had had an opportunity to kill Rowen, and had missed it....The mere thought set him into a wave of fury.
The gatekeeper left his post. "My name is Thorngam," he said to Grohn. "I live right over here; why don't you come inside? I'll leave my son to watch the gate. If anyone comes in, he'll come get me." A few yards from the gate stood Thorngam's house, to which he gestured. And, when he did so, Grohn noticed, sparkling on his finger, a most unordinary ring.
The design, he immediately noted, was a vulture. Its head, beak open, was, apparently, attempting to devour three gems: one blue, one red, and one yellow. Its neck came down and sprouted wings. At the bottom of the wings began his legs, which wrapped around, with his talons golding the three stones that his head attempted to devour. Grohn was filled with lust after this jewelry. He would have it, at any cost.
Thorngam approached Grohn, who was lost in thought.
"What is your name, sir?" he asked Grohn, who did not respond. "Sir?" he repeated.
"What?" Grohn snapped, and the man recoiled slightly.
"I asked your name," he said tentatively.
"Oh." Grohn's expression softened, maintaining the act of sweetness. "My name is Iljad. I hail from Laketown, in the north."
Thorngam looked at him inquisitively. "I have never heard of it. But, then again, this far south, we are fairly reclusive. We do not know much of the world outside our bounds."
They entered the house, Thorngam supporting Grohn and holding open the door. "Thord, go watch the post," he said. His son, hearing his father beckon, ran out. The boy appeared to be no more than seven years old. Grohn could not help but feel a pang of jealousy toward Thorngam. He did not understand this feeling, however, and this evolved the emotion into loathing.
"Now, let me dress these wounds you have. I know of an excellent remedy to prevent infection."
He began to boil something over the fireplace, raising the temperature of the room unbearably to the northerner. But Grohn resisted his desire to flee. He merely sat calculating.
Thorngam spoke - something of a wife who had died and loss of his parents - but Grohn did not listen. His words floated on the air and merely died, for Grohn was much more focused on obtaining that ring from Thorngam...he wanted it so desperately - no, he needed it so very desperately. He sat in silence waiting for the man to finish dressing his wounds.
"Let me get you some new clothes," said Thorngam.
Grohn was so relieved to be fully dressed and fixed up. Thorngam had even fetched a few pail of waters and allowed Grohn to bathe. Grohn used his alone time to prepare his kill.
His sword, Ithilion, sat with his ruined clothes, in its sheath. Grohn quietly unsheathed it. He was fully dressed now, and finished bathing. His wounds were bandaged and cleaned. Thorngam had given him a vial of his remedy, to be applied in one drop per wound, per day in order to prevent infection. With all these things gathered together, Grohn was ready to run whenever he needed too, once the deed was finished.
He held Ithilion behind his back in one hand as he left the bathroom. Thorngam was cooking a stew in a cauldron. He glanced up from his cooking, looked at Grohn, and smiled. "It is good to see you without quite so much dirt on your face," he stated happily.
Grohn did not respond. Thorngam thought this curious, and as he looked up to Grohn again, he noticed Grohn's hand behind his back. "What are you holding?" he said, frightenedly.
Grohn responded by stabbing him through his back, while covering his mouth to prevent screaming. Grohn shuddered at the terrible noise his blade made puncturing the man's flesh, but he got past it. He proceeded to slit Thorngam's throat. The man lay there, bleeding to death.
Grohn took the ring from the man's finger and put it on his own. The vulture had a new master. He smiled in a twisted way, his blue eyes focusing on the bird and its dinner.
He decided that, before he left, he would have a bowl of stew. "Best not let it go to waste," he said to Thorngam with exaggerated sympathy. He poured himself a bowl and sat down at the table.
As he ate, he continued to admire the ring. It gave him solace that he had not yet killed Rowen Blackhawk as she deserved to be, and he felt as if he would be successful in this feat by the end. It gave him the slightest shred of hope.
Suddenly, he heard calling from outside. "Father, father!" cried a boy's voice.
Dammit, thought Grohn. He'd forgotten of the young boy. He immediately lept from his seat and hid behind the door. It opened; the boy entered.
"Father?" His youthful mirth had dissolved into his curiosity. His father's whereabouts were uncertain; this confused him.
"Father, where are you?" he said. And then he saw Thorngam, bloodied, lying on the floor.
"Father!" he cried out, and ran to him in disbelief. Tears began to stream from his eyes, realizing his father's grave error.
Grohn approached from behind. He stabbed the boy, even as he sobbed and wept over his father, in the same manner he had done to Thorngam. Grohn worried that the sound of the puncture may kill them both, but he was glad to be wrong.
After the boy ceased squirming, Grohn threw the two of them on the fire and finished his soup. He proceeded to steal any food he could find, just before darting out into the city. He would need to leave this place, and find another town to settle in.
He would wait for Rowen Blackhawk. She would surface.
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