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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 18:13:07 GMT -5
The small town grew in mass as it spilled over the countryside. Earthly made and colored buildings of straightforward design rose from the ground, shadowing the ground against the setting sun. Bright red flags swayed in the gentle breeze, signaling the end of a long day. In the growing darkness, Byron could make out the shapes of people rushing back and forth across the streets, making their end of the day purchases and trades. Zyroxi was not a striking city of any sort, but it held a kind of effortless majesty and beauty. I was not the most prevalent city Byron had ever laid eyes upon, but it was a fair good size with a well-established population.
Near the center of the city lay a few of Zyroxi’s most glorified features. A large citadel with turrets towered over the houses and buildings at its feet. A long outline of its forms stretched out past the city limits and into the outskirts of town, dimming and meshing with the coming night. At the base of the citadel, lay the towns more political and religious locales. Inside the citadel sat the ruler of Zyroxi. Lord Nicolae Paresha presided over his subjects with a taunt mind and a peaceful array of ruling predicates. He was adored and well thought of. Beside his citadel, stood the town’s single religious structure. It was the worshipping center for the Valar, Valier, and, of course, Ilúvatar. Mostly used by elves passing through, the construction was mainly a visual eye-pleaser and nothing else. Few humans half delved into the elven religion. It was not of their nature.
Huddled in the shadows, near the citadel, stood an elderly woman holding a clear bottle filled with some liquid. She smiled and walked back into her house. She knew they were coming. She had been expecting them.
~:---------------:::---------------:~
Byron had been at a steady jog for the past two days. He had not slept nor stopped in two days. His sides aches from the pain of running burdened. Rowen’s weight was beginning to vex him. It was not that he minded carrying the dying body of his love, but his muscles were straining to keep up with the pressure. Byron was beginning to think that he would never reach the city and hope would be lost.
The journey to Zyroxi had been a trying one. He was so tired. So exhausted. But this is the lowest of what Byron deserved for what he did. His thoughts wondered of that fateful day, paining his with memories of death…
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Rowen wore an expression void of any describable emotion as a pain shot through her back, and reverberated through the entire form of her body. She was standing face-to-face with Lerris, the hilt of a dagger sticking out of her mid-back. Her figure was forced against Lerris, her own hand wrapping around his clothing. She could feel herself losing poise, barely able to hold herself up. Rowen had thought that the saying, the idea of one's life flashing before their eyes close to death was just a figure of speech... but it was true. Childhood, growth, all up to right then... everything. Her wide open gaze almost seemed to look past everything, her mind a haze. All she knew, was that she was ready. She was ready to die for Lerris.
"Why... why did you do this, Bryon? Why?"
Why was it so necessary for all this to happen? Why must Byron try to kill someone she so cared for? What was meant to happen in the end? Why... everything? Rowen's legs had started to give way, and she could feel herself begin to fall.
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The look in the elf's eyes pierced through Byron at the fire in the ice. Yet, something stronger pulled Byron to do what he did. Byron lifted his sword high above his head with both arms. With his eyes closed at head bowed, Byron struck. The sword fell through the air as the Bringer of Death, falling, and sinking into contact with flesh. The bowed head lifted as the task was accomplished. Blood began to seep from the fresh wound on the elf, spilling over onto the ground. The elf wailed in agony of the blow.
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The dreaded memories flashed through Byron’s head until a stumble awakened him to reality. He was almost there. Life streamed through him and Byron found himself rushing faster than he had thus far. He needed to find that healer before it was too late. But he did not know where to find them.
In the streets, Byron was swallowed by the housed shadows. The buildings were larger than he anticipated. Three…maybe four housing units stacked on top of each other. It would have seemed the town expanded since Byron’s last visit. Which, as usual, was on unpleasant terms.
In a panic through the streets, Byron searched frantically for the healer, yet to no avail. Sighting a man not twenty paces ahead in the street, Byron rushed towards him, startling him slightly.
“Can you please show me to your healer!” Byron gasped out. “I must find your them, my friend is injured.”
Seeing Rowen clutched in Byron’s arms, the sightless man, by the name of Godric, pointed north, towards the center of the city. “Head for the bastion,” was all Godric’s raspy voice said and he continued walking.
Byron rushed down the crudely fashioned road, keeping his eyes on the twin towers of the coming stronghold.
---
All that remained about in the world around her was darkness. Darkness and the biting silence, fingers without feel, save for the inescapable cold, tongue without speech, save for the silent lament of the mind, eyes without sight, all but for the repeating scene in her head. Rowen had been stabbed. She had been stabbed by one she had called her son, blood equating to nothing in the matter. And she knew why... she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to understand, but rather, to remain in childlike ignorance until the point of death. Death... that seemed so close, now. The last moment she shared in the world of light and movement had been with Lerris, with whom she had been bonded by marriage. She had told him to get Byron... be it so that he did not run away. To run away... like she had.
The frozen wind scoured her face and neck, as her cold silvery gaze looked upon she scene, a scene to be shunned away for ten years, lamented for the rest. Rowen was younger then, the time just before she ventured on her lone plight of theft and murder, hair longer, gaze like there was nobody behind them. It was the point from which a crossroad presented itself, a point from where there could be no return. It was then, when she had gazed from a dangerous distance, upon the pack of ravenous wolves, Wargs, as many called them... watched, as they tore him apart. They tore Philip apart.
But... he was her teacher, her father, her friend. Her best and only real companion, better than her own family by blood, now dead by those who they had called friend. She loved them, of course, but Philip was different. With him, it was always safe, it was always all right... but then, why would she do this?
At that time, it all made sense. It was so very clear, so very unmistakable, so utterly moronic, though she went along just fine... out of spite. Earlier that day, she had walked out on him, visage angered and hurt, and all because of a misplaced laugh. A short lived chuckle after her story, after she confessed the roots of her past, and she left his bungalow, and later returned to a horrific scene. Philip, she saw, had made it to a clearing, dull and gray clay padded against the ground, his figure falling against the said earth. He was out looking for her, likely... a costly mistake, the Wargs soon gnawing on his flesh. The sight was ugly, terrible, disgusting, the meat under the process of being slowly torn from the bone, staining the dull floor with brilliant red. But then... he saw her. He reached out his hand, eyes shedding tears, though she knew not whether it be from sadness or pain. He called out to her,
‘Help, Rowen!’
It was the last thing she would ever hear from him in life, she herself merely standing by, watching, back straight, eyes as cold as the evening frost that encrusted every breath. Philip would die because of her--a thief, though true, his nature was that of kindness, empathy, joviality, all such things one would want to find in a teacher, or parent, or friend, anyone. And yet, it was the laugh that plagued her ears, the single laugh from the moment she had shared a piece of herself, when she watched him scream and wail in tears for her aid. Out of spite... she did this.
No. No, she didn’t want to see this... she didn’t want it! Rowen had known her fault, years after the fact, she knew it was her doing... but to relive it?! Was this her punishment? Her due scourge for a lifetime of bearing death and pain wherever she went? Her penalty for hurting so many, for living out a lie, for driving away those she loved, for drinking beyond her fair share, for being such a d**ned harpy?! Or... because she had been a coward? An abandoner? A traitor?
Guilt consumed her form when she turned her gaze to the darkness, the darkness she had become so accustomed to, the darkness of her mind. She yearned to remain in its grip, lest she come across that memory, the memory of her teacher’s end, the death of her friend. But... there was only one thing worse than this. Silver eyes, once basking in darkness, came to those of blue and brown. The words were clear in her ears, sharper than all in reality.
‘I told you this would happen.’
---
The elf's eyes popped open and looked around the large room he lay in, he tried to sit up quickly and found it right away it was a bad idea. He groaned in pain and slowly lowered himself back onto the bed, he instead of investigating where he was, started to look about the room. Sunlight shone through an open window and the Elf wished he had the strength to get up and look out to see where he was and figure out what he was doing laying in a bed all bandaged up. Atop a small table sat a vase a few flowers in it and next to it a tray of bread and various cheeses, the elf groaned again but not in pain from his wound, but on how hungry he felt. Nothing in this room looked like any place the elf had ever been, and he figured it was just another place in Aryan he had not bothered to look at…..
The elf's mind froze in mid thought, and suddenly he remembered everything. Byron’s coming, their fight, how he had run Lerris through with his sword, Rowen’s death.
Rowen….
She had been hit with a dagger, and he had saw her die telling him to go get Byron…That is how it happened, then without a knock the door swung open. She smiled a warm smile when she saw he was awake, and came over and gently laid a hand on Lerris’ head. “Your fever is down…oh thank the good spirits your alive…we thought we had lost you.” "The good spirits don't bother helping me..." Lerris finally realized who now sat with him.
“Talia, how did I get here…where are we…?” She smiled and nodded, “Ty found you out in the woods and brought you to me, I bandaged you up and tried my best to keep you alive.” Lerris frowned, and dropped his sight from her. “Something wrong?” Talia said, still smiling, Lerris shook his head, for he could not find words, so after a moment of silence he finally decided to tell her simply “I should of died, that was my time.” Talia’s smiled faded and she sighed, “I’m so sorry Lerris…Rowen is nowhere to be found…”
Lerris nodded, “She died, the man who tried to take my life….and should have…has taken hers and most likely decided it was his d**nable duty to bury her somewhere.” Talia nodded, and gulped through the lump in her throat, so instead Lerris spoke again. “Go find Ty, I need to talk with him..” She nodded, and left Lerris alone in the room.
A few hours passed, and Lerris knew Ty must have been out in the woods looking for tracks on where Byron went. When the door finally opened, in came Ty with a frown. “You are not going to find tracks of his…” Ty nodded, somewhat realizing that Lerris would already know. “I’m so…” Lerris cut him off, “Sorry? For what? For not finding my would-be killer? For not getting there sooner and helping me fight Byron? No need to be sorry for that…just be sorry that I am still alive.” Ty sighed, “I couldn’t just have let you die out there.” The elf became furious when he heard this, “You should have! d**n it Ty, I have nothing else to live for…My life is already over, my time to die was then.” Ty hung his head, and after a few moments looked back to Lerris.
“I don’t know how it feels to lose a wife, but I do know how it feels to lose a friend…and I wasn’t going to leave you to the wolves.” Lerris shook his head and went silent, and finally through much effort sat up. He simply nodded to his friend, and Ty smirked, and nodded back. “Get some rest…You will need it.” Lerris raised his right eyebrow, “He left Aryan’s woods and went west, thing is, I’ve never been that far west, no idea what’s out there…No one goes that far out of his way to simply bury a body..” The door shut behind Ty, and Lerris lay back onto the bed.
A few hours passed, and Lerris was finally up and walking about. The wound had almost healed fully, the elf was out behind Ty’s inn and was chopping wood for Talia when she opened the back door to greet Lerris with a smile. For the first time in a long time, the elf smiled back. “I thought I would bring you something to drink..” she set the mug of ale on a nearby stack of chopped wood, and Lerris smirked. “Sorry Talia, Don’t drink the stuff…” She smirked, “Ty says otherwise.” Lerris stopped chopping wood and imbedded the axe in the ground nearby, “Well, your husband is a liar..” He said with a smirk, Talia smiled and took the mug of ale in her hand and headed back for the inn. “Talia, I would love simply some water…” She turned her head, and nodded with her still ever present smile. “No problem….” Lerris nodded, and just as she entered the inn, Ty exited.
“I sent a few of my extra men who were sitting around to go and scout out West of here. Lerris looked up and tossed the axe aside, since he had resumed chopping. “They said they saw nothing, but one of them knew the name of the closest town.” Lerris took a step closer to his friend, “What is it…” Ty smirked, “Zyroxi” Lerris nodded, “I’ll be needing supplies, I don’t have much money..” Ty cut him off, “No need, this is something I’m willing to help with for free…Money is not as important as finding Rowen.” Lerris smirked, “I had an old friend that used to say "If you accept the possibility,then you make it real" I'm not going to accept her death, I believe in her and until someone proves it otherwise to me, I will keep believing she is alive...I forgot that, thank you Ty...for helping me remember to have faith…”
Zyroxi…Finally, he had a name.
---
The physical form of Rowen shifted uncomfortably, though it had nothing to do with the state of her body. It was all of mind, as though that was all there really was, her body nothing but a shell to hold what went on beneath the flesh. Beneath the flesh... was all that really mattered when Rowen stared, on the brink of tears.
‘Philip?’ was all she managed to say when she saw him, her teacher, master, friend. He looked as he did when he died, he and his skin of harvest gold, tawny brown hair, age of something in his forties. And his eyes... Philip’s eyes were strange--one of brown, and one of blue. Eyes he was known to abhor, for they made him obvious, made him easily recognizable for who he was. As a thief, he was lucky that he was seldom caught, and never captured... though, in the end, that didn’t matter. She did.
Don’t look at me like that, he said in a voice lacking all forms of emotion. No anger, no indignation, no resentfulness... no love, no empathy, no affection. Nothing to signify a command or request, just words, floating in air, though even this made Rowen’s mental image twitch, eyes watering, though she fought down the tears. No... the images of the past were not the worst that could happen, not the punishment for all that she had done, it couldn’t be, for this was worse than any memories or pains could do. It was her murdered friend, the companion she killed, staring back at her, speaking to her, words cold and lifeless. It was worse than hearing him yell at her. It was worse than hearing him pity her. It was the embodiment of all her fears, trepidity, and terror. There was nothing she could think to describe it... but even as pure untainted horror consumed her, she could not look away from those eyes.
‘But you,’ she stammered, frozen in her place amongst the darkness. ‘You’re...’
Do you remember what I said the last time we spoke? he ignored her sentiment, or there lack of. Before she could respond, and with a ‘false’ statement at that, he went on, I said, ‘And I never asked you to pick it up. Besides... look where I am now.’
The wording was precise, though Rowen would not believe. It had been many years since it all happened, since she had heard those very sentiments. It was just after Rohan. Just after she almost lost Byron, when she found a pub and had too much to drink. She had begun to... see things. Come to certain realizations. Lost certain pieces of herself. Gained worries... that was when the fire died, the fight in her took part, the will to continue her path dissipating further with every sip of her ale. It, too, was then, when she realized stopping was not an option.
‘I was drunk,’ Rowen said to him, her voice shaking like a child. In his presence, she felt as no more than this, no more than an inferior being not worth conversing with. She had killed him... she had ended his life, of course she wasn’t worth it. A part of her wished he would just give up on her, forget her, leave her alone. He was... dead. And Rowen, as anyone else still yet gripping on to their sanity, remained in disbelief, events slowly sinking in, still reaching her brain, said mind rejecting the possibility, though eyes confirming everything that lay there to behold. There was little else to describe how she felt, but bewilderment, awe, fear, inferiority, and grief.
Your point? Rowen... his tone became more sympathetic--she hated it. She didn’t want to be felt sorry for, didn’t want to be pitied... but, eyes remaining wide, she could not speak. She could not speak to a man who had been dead for so long, was supposed to be dead, and yet, stood before her, talking to her. She had to fight against the tears that threatened to spill over to her cold-numbed cheeks, she herself shaking beyond control. I told you, my livelihood wasn’t meant for you. I also told you the only ways out--to run, or to turn yourself in.
‘But I found a third,’ she started, voice still yet trembling, mouth twitching, poised for the lamentation, she stopping short of her statement at the thoughtful tilt of his head. Yes, perhaps there were, indeed, different paths to travel, alternate roads to be taken, other decisions to make. Rowen... wanted just one. To merely reside in a single place, and to be happy. A warm drop of water, the first sense of heat to be felt since the darkness engulfed her mind, slipped down her face. She abhorred it, wishing not to look weak... but there was no hiding what was. A lonely tear slipping down her face in the physical world, while deep within, she knew Philip was right, and that she was going to die.
---
The elf tossed the bandages into the nearby fire pit and the flames quickly took the thin pieces of cloth. He inspected his wound; or rather what was left of it, all that remained was a large scar across his abdomen. Lerris ran a finger across the scar and frowned into the darkness of Aryan’s nearby forest, he picked up a stick and started poking absently at the fire as he starred out into the nothingness of night. After a few hours of simply sitting and thinking about where on this Middle-Earth Rowen could be, Ty sat down opposite from the elf and simply nodded his greeting. The two sat in silence, Ty sat without a sound not wanting to interrupt his thinking and decided Lerris could just use a friend to sit with. After a long time of stillness, the elf spoke, “I think I should head out tonight, I already have enough ground to cover and can’t afford for Byron to gain anymore on me.” Ty sighed and nodded slightly, “He won't be able to move as fast as you would be thinking carrying all that extra weight, Perhaps Lerris…You should stay at the inn tonight, the common room is full, but it’s just a bunch of fools from the boats…A room is always open to you.” The elf nodded and stood with the help of a hand on a nearby tree, “Then let’s go inside, it’s freezing out here.”
The inn, as always, looked to be a cozy little place on the edge of Aryan. But Lerris knew that inside it was a place with too much drinking, too much noise, and too many drunken sailors. The elf could hear the yelling and gambling before Ty even opened the door, and when Lerris stepped inside he could finally here the music and see the drunk’s dancing with the waitresses. Why people wanted to dance whenever it got dark was beyond him, somehow, the two seemed to go together, like bees and flowers or flies and dung. Darkness….and dancing. People sat all around eating, drinking and a few simply smoking pipes and having a quiet conversation away from the other drunks. Ty offered Lerris a mug of ale and Lerris declined the offer with a smile and a shake of the head. The inn keeper yelled something at Lerris and pointed upstairs, Lerris shook his head indicating he heard nothing, then suddenly someone grabbed his arm and he was on his way upstairs. Half way up he noticed it was just Talia and Lerris smiled over at her, “He said find a room, and get some rest…I’ll have supplies ready for you in the morning…” Lerris nodded as he opened the door to the first room on the right, “Thank you dear one…” The elf said as he gave Talia a peck on the cheek, “Go tell your husband I owe him one..” Talia gave him that ever-present smile, and vanished behind the door as Lerris swung it shut.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 18:24:46 GMT -5
She had been running, fleeing from the scene of her teacher, someone she had gone as far as to call her uncle, her one and only family, dead by the Wargs. Rowen did not race away from the site at great speed, branches scratching against her face, because she was ashamed, or guilty, or hateful of her own failure to a friend. She was running because of the wolves themselves. She was none too keen on dying that day.
It had been quite a ways before she’d come across town. She cut her hair, and went the distance, quite different then from what she had come to be. At that early time, she was young and reckless, though woman by age, nothing more than a child, but as with infant vipers, she was indeed dangerous. She came to the village, finding a brief allegiance with someone in order to go back. She told him of the recent event, that she wanted revenge for her teacher, to provide retribution against those who killed him. It was all a lie.
Rowen did go back, briefly. She and the warrior killed all Warg in sight, so that none still stood in her way. It was then, when she turned on the one who helped her. She lost. He and Rowen agreed to go their separate ways, but before such a pact could be carried through, Rowen performed her last act of treachery before setting out on her venture, before severing all ties to her past, the last thing done before that segment of her life was over. She took Philip’s things. Rowen knew that he had kept certain items hidden from clear view, kept safe from thieving eyes like his own. So close... in that very place he died. She took his sword, Marrok, and sold it. She took whatever money there was to be had. She kept, finally, the sword he had prepared for her, the Xakaryas, a weapon of elegance, a phoenix carved onto the blade. That phoenix would flush a brilliant scarlet many times before the end, stained by the blood of her enemies, stealing that which sustained life in order to bring death. So many times... before it was lost to her.
By the time the memory had taken its course, Rowen found herself in tears. For such a time, she had wanted nothing more than to look strong, and there she was, no more empowered than a child. If she could just... wake up. If she could only die already, whatever it took to be rid of the moments forever. To be rid of this past she thought she had come to terms with, but in that deathlike sleep, there was no escaping it. There was no escaping the truth.
Philip held her close as she cried. Her own legs were curled into her chest, the world reverting back to what once was every time she closed her eyes. If anyone could have stepped into her mind and viewed the image of her sobbing form, heard the wailes of she who had been so arrogant in the past, they mightn’t have believed. Even through all the tears she had shed in her lifetime, she hadn’t been like that. She had never been broken before.
And then, Byron came to mind. It all traced back to him, really. The memories, her own tribulation, what he had done to her, and what may happen to him as a result. The pattern went on, forever as far as she could see, with every one she could see. She had left Philip for death, and death did claim him... and now, death had come for her. Death, coming to her because of what Byron had done. The cycle was doomed to continue. She had run when she should have stayed... she failed to remain when needed, to help her teacher and friend. If she died, it didn’t matter--but if Byron repeated her act, if he escaped...
‘Do you think Lerris got to Byron?’ she questioned, voice uneased. Philip wore a somber face, knowing look in his eye.
Perhaps.
---
The room in question was of a sort unknown to Byron. He walked through, past the perhaps hundreds of bottles, covered with corks or not covered at all and piles of various parchments with notes scribbled on the hard wooden tables and shelves. The dimmed room clogged Byron’s throat with its musty spell and dusty atmosphere. This room was distinguished by the pure cluttered state of it. There was no direct path to follow. No end in sight and seemingly no one there. The man stumbled for a second on a rope coiled loosely at his feet. His heart jumped through his body and his nerves shook as he regained his balance and grip on Rowen. A rat awoken by the disturbance hissed at Byron and scurried across the, what seemed like, pure dirt floor, but Byron knew better. He felt wood under his boots, and they echoed through the small room with eerie intensity. Spider webs and bits a straw, were strewed throughout the room. A rustle in the rafters, signaling a sparrow of some kind, startled Byron and he back up against a table of some kind heaped with papers and vials and bottles, mostly empty. The mountain of useless information he stumbled on rumbled and the table shook faintly and a fair bit of parchment and bottles tumbled to the ground, crashing and the bottles shattered to pieces, scattering glass all over the floor, some burrowing in the dust. Byron looked up, afraid he had broken something of importance. He hoped not.
“Who be there?” came a fragile, yet vital voice from the darkness, unseen by Byron. The dimmed room soon slowly uncovered a short woman, not even five feet in height. He stout exterior was covered by a dirty maroon dress, ruffled somewhat, just because she seemed not to care. Her step stuttered a bit as she limped on the floor, a solid clunk every other step. A wooden leg Byron chuckled.
“My name is Byron Kole and this is my friend, Rowen Blackhawk. We…she…is in desperate need of your aid. Can you help her?” Byron stared at the woman. She limped right up next to him, right in front of him. She lifted her aged and ancient face to look at him. Her paled pupils bore into Byron’s head. He could not take his eyes away from them. Encircled by wrinkles caked with knowledge, her eyes began to take hold of Byron and he lost his train of thought. He had not met a person like this before. Intensely frightening, but in the gentlest of ways. He suddenly snapped out of the state with her raspy voice reverberating off the walls, shaking dust from the beams.
“I be Veera.” She paused a moment, presumably pondering the situation. “She was stabbed. No?” Byron looked at the woman. Byron still had the cloak covering her. How did she know? “Yes…” He replied.
“By none less than you, I imagine?” She countered.
How did she know that? How could she have? He had never met this woman before in his life, yet she seemed to know all about him. Or at least the most recent of events. What was he going to do? Would she help him if he admitted to the induction of pain to Rowen? Would she still find him of high enough moral character to be worthy of her help?. Thoughts pulsated through Byron. What was he going to do? He could not stand the thought of being turned away. He could not stand the thought of her staring at him. Judging him for the ugly man he was. He was ashamed and his reddening face showed it.
“Can you help her?” he decided to change the subject.
She eyed him coolly and didn’t press him. Byron mumbled a thanks to the gods. “Yes. I be able to aid her.” She sighed. “Follow me.”
With that, she limped off to a concealed area of the room, and through a skin covered doorway. He hoped the skin was animal. Byron carried Rowen through and placed her on a wooden table, recently cleared off by the woman. Veera. Byron obviously had a lot to learn about the other areas of the land. She told him to sit, and Byron waited while Veera went to work. Byron sat, wrought with worry.
---
Rowen didn’t know how long she had been crying... she didn’t know how long she had been out. All she knew, was that she was still alive, lungs still yet full of air, blood still rushing through her veins. Alive... unfortunately. She didn’t want it to stay that way. She didn’t give herself up for Lerris, only to suffer in her own dreamlike state. She didn’t do it to end up there. She didn’t do it, feeling that she could continue on her way after. Rowen did it so Lerris would live... and now, she could die.
There’s no need to cry, Philip told her, an arm cradling her back as her head leaned deeply against his chest. By then, she had already begun to clear, though not entirely, and she herself was almost certainly still pained, the memories still fresh in her mind, and she was still afraid, afraid to close her eyes and see some other lamentable past. There was, indeed, however, some change from when she first looked into the eyes of her dead friend. Once, there was fear of him, repulsion, though love strangely in the same package. Then, she wanted to get away, run from he who deserved a better student than she could ever be, a better friend than she had ever been. Right then... she only wanted to be with him. So long, and now, she craved his presence. He had been the oldest and closet friend she had, and though she felt immense guilt over his parting... she no longer wanted to go.
‘I hurt you,’ she said, betraying this said guilt to be felt, deep within whatever remained inside. ‘How can you say that?’
What if you were I, and you were Byron? he simply stated in reply. She looked up to him, strange look in her eye.
‘We’re different,’ she said, still yet same expression on her face, identical sorrow laced through the rise and falls of her voice. ‘You raised me in your house, you took care of me... I...’
The rainfall patted against the leaves and branches of the towering trees, in that forest Rowen lay hidden... it was soon after Philip had died, since she let him die. She had been followed by a little girl, someone who wanted her company... Rowen refused. She would have no tag-a-long, some useless child to hinder her when she herself was attempting a theft. This was a profession of murder and profit... a child had no place in the equation.
Up in the trees, Rowen watched as the child made another appearance. She loathed her, that infantile kid, though she would not harm her. A child, Rowen would not do away with... but her nerves had met their end. It was then, when she saw the child was not alone. A boy was following her, older than the girl, who went of on her own somewhere. The boy... she could see things just as they seemed. He had come to be her student as well. This... she could not allow.
Rowen had attacked the boy. She didn’t need him, she didn’t want him, the useless child that approached her midst. True, perhaps death was not the answer... but, also true, in a matter of moments, Rowen had the child with a blade at his neck, threatening his life if he didn’t leave her be. It was pathetic, that a boy find her--what if someone of real authority could do the same? Stupid girl, the one who led him here. There was no solitude when she sought it.
‘I was... cold to him.’
I wasn’t talking about that, he did not contradict her statement. You know what I meant...
Rowen embraced him around the neck, the tears finally ending. Intaking a deep breath, she allowed her eyes to fall closed, seeing nothing but black.
---
Lerris was up before anyone else in the small inn, up long before sun light shone through the many large windows of the common room. He had found a bag waiting on his bed the night before and tucked inside was a few silver, a flask of water and various dried fruits. He knew Talia had put the bag there knowing he would be up early and might be wanting to start before anyone else awoke. Just when the elf thought he was completely alone in thought, the back door opened and in stepped Talia. She smiled at him and the elf nodded his greeting, “Thank you so much for the bag, but I won’t be needing the silver...” Ty’s wife shook her head, “No, no Lerris take it, Ty said he wanted you to have it just incase.” The elf smiled and threw the bag over his right shoulder, “I’ll be going now before the d**n sailors come back, thank you so much Talia…When ever this ends and if I’m still alive…I’ll come and pay you back your money I owe you…” Talia nodded and Lerris gave her a hug, “Make sure you thank him…” She nodded knowing Ty already knew.
Like an arrow the elf shot through the woods with blistering speed, yet at the same time navigated through the trees with the slow pace of a dolphin beneath still waters on a moonless night. It had been several hours since he had left Aryan and made west for Zyroxi and the elf never slowed one bit since he had started running. Finally the Aryan woods gave way to open grasslands and the elf slowed his pace to a walk. The sun was finally out in it’s fullness and Lerris had to squint to see what lay ahead. It seemed like most open land, maybe a few rocks but other then that nothing. He slid the bag off his shoulder and took out the last of his dried fruit and ate it down quickly, taking a large gulp of the water from his flask he threw the bag back onto his shoulder. He found a dead tree amongst the grass and put his weight on it, taking deep breaths for the run that lay ahead the elf smirked. He knew he was getting closer, and the next town couldn’t be more then 4 days away. He stood up straight, and took off at a jog once again.
---
Veera smiled gently as she slide her hand under Rowen, towards the middle of her back, feeling easily for the wound. Her hand covered it entirely, soiling herself with dried and wet blood. Veera placed her empty hand on the edge of the table, steadying herself. It was needed. She closed her pale eyes and fell into her mind, releasing it from barriers. Veera transferred her mind and energy over to Rowen, and the pain struck her. Right in her mid-back, sending her rearing in real pain. Byron startled, rose from his chair, but decided against interfering. She knew what she was doing. Veera controlled her pain, and refocused her thoughts to Rowen. The pain sharply piled into Veera’s head. Rowen’s thoughts and the images in her head seemed worse than her wound. Death. Pain. Emotions. Deception. Hate. Love. Torn. This woman has been through much in her life. Much more than she should be able to handle. Veera felt sorrow for the woman, yet happiness. She has had many good times also. Love. Friendship. Very good, personal experiences. A pained smile was brought to Veera strained face as she broke though the sea of madness into a calm.
The wound.
The pain of the wound was significantly less than Veera had expected. Yet, it was damaged from the traveling. There was not much time. As if her mind guided an invisible hand, Veera too skin and sealed it from the inside out, perfectly seamless. All areas touched by the dagger were cleaned out and the dirt drawn out of the body. The wound was healed, and now the problem arose.
Veera had used most of her energy to heal the woman. The task of getting out of Rowen’s mind would be no easy task. Veera struggled with the task for more than an hour, and soon gasped out of her trance and collapsed the floor of the small building. Rowen, at the same moment, sat up with lightening speed. The dual intact of air from Rowen and Veera made Byron jump up, unknowledgeable of what just happened. He stood transfixed. Rowen was awake and breathing, struggling, but breathing. Veera moved slightly on the floor, she was out of breath, and out of energy. Very tired and exhausted. That Byron knew. He picked up the woman and laid her on the table with Rowen. The two rested there, regaining their composure. Neither was injured. Just shocked or purely worn out.
Byron stood there. He had no idea what to do.
---
She was searching... frantically searching, amongst the bodies that lay sprawled against the bloodied earth, on the ground that was Rohan. Rowen had fought for him, fought for Byron... came to his side in battle, as he so apparently wished so serve his land. Rowen did not understand this fascination with his birthplace, but she would not abandon him to death... she would remain by his side, or so she had wanted. Now the battle was over, and he was lost. Despite the constant search, he was invisible to the eye. So many dead, so many gone, where could he be amongst the massacre? She saw so few still alive, fewer up and walking. The fight was a disaster... she so prayed that he was not a part of the dead.
It felt like such a time before her eyes came to him, the image of Byron’s body, bleeding from the abdomen. She couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, not until a hand pressed against his neck, blood still rushing through the veins. By the time it was established that he was alive, there still remained the question... would it stay that way? Was there anything she could do for him? Was he already condemned to death?... why couldn’t she have just stopped him when she had the chance? Hope... it seemed to far away, then. It seemed like they had no chance at all.
‘Why do I keep seeing these things?’ Rowen asked, exasperated, seated in darkness by Philip’s side. These... memories, all things she had lamented at one time or another. She didn’t want to relive them any more, she didn’t want to take the roads all over again... the ones where she had failed, caused pain, done things that needn’t be done. Just to be with Philip would have satisfied her, just be exist there, without these moments of past.
It’s everything that made you as you are now, he said straightforwardly. There was something about that which made Philip different than from before--in life, that is. But then, in life, the situations were different. He was alive. She was perfectly fine. They both were on excellent terms with one another. Now... he was dead. She was dying. And they had only just begun to speak after so many years. Well, he narrowed his eyes, Perhaps not everything.
Rowen allowed herself a soft smile, though even this faded after a moment’s notice. It was the former segment of the statement that made her frown, the piece she understood now, all too well. She had abandoned her master... chose the life of a thief... took on a student... treated him illy, as well. She had grown to care, but not enough to save him from Rohan. Why she became a drunk... how she met Grohn... how people died because she would not intervene. And all this, leading up to that boat. Leading up to Lerris...
‘Once, you told me I should give up. Turn myself in, if I really don’t want to live my life as a thief anymore. I think you were right.’
At this, Philip frowned.
I want you to see one more thing, he said to her. As he touched her face, her eyes fell closed, and there came an image to her mind’s eye. One more memory.
It was high noon, the summer sun beating down on the dirt road, and on the backs of the two figures walking down said street at a decent pace. One of the two was one in their late thirties, male, tawny brown hair all a’muss, golden skin hot from the sun’s persistent scourge. The other was a woman--no, just a girl... nineteen at the very oldest, skin pale despite what the amount of sunlight would suggest it be, long and straight crimson hair falling over her shoulders. Philip, and Rowen. The day had been spent picking pockets--disreputable, as it may have seemed, the two of them were not ashamed of what they had done. Bag full of money that once belonged to the common person, they were smiling, joking about the past few hours of the day, the ones that would soon find a few coins missing from their purse, anything that caught their mind at the moment. They were happy then. It was easier then... before the long dark came. Before betrayal and lamentation was even a shadow of a thought.
‘So it’s... funny that I was almost caught?’ Philip questioned Rowen on that day, an almost puzzled look on his face.
‘You were not almost caught,’ she had said in reply, grin catching her expression. ‘You’re not almost caught every time someone catches your eye.’
‘You’ve seen my eyes lately, haven’t you?’ he gestured to his pair of blue and brown. They were not the most inconspicuous. As a thief, it was a clear worry in terms of identification. Were he ever caught, had he ever managed to get his name or description, or both, on a list, there would be no mistaking who he was.
‘Of course... and I stand by, that you should cover one up if it bothers you.’
Still the same Rowen. Still the same sarcastic wight, in a strangely refined tone as she spoke in obvious joviality. Even then, she was this way, though a certain cynicism had yet to creep into her speech and actions.
‘That’s discreet,’ he grinned at that, reaching over in response, tousling about her hair.
Soon after, the two of them came off road, coming upon the small abode they called their home. It resided a ways off the street, deep enough in the wood to remain unseen. From the front, there could be seen a pair of steps leading up to the porch, then a door side by side with a window. It was an image Rowen knew since she was eleven, the year she had come upon the porch, and stayed there until Philip came.
It was then, when the memory changed. All things after were almost as though Philip, the current person, the living soul of a dead man had intervened. But then, to Rowen’s eyes, it was not just a dream, not almost anything, not just a pattern of imagery to forget later. To her, it was real.
Rowen stood there, staring at the house, expression transfixed. It all seemed so clear to her gaze, the wood solid under the incandescent light, the heat coming down on her face. It was then, she could feel that it was all more than a memory, more than the reliving of that memory. More than the repetition of action long since past. She was in control... and she could not bring herself to move, almost in awe at the image of a place she had not seen for over a decade. Philip embraced her around the shoulders from behind, he himself whispering into her ear, the woman’s eyes still yet wide.
‘Do you remember what I said the first time we spoke?’
‘Of course,’ Rowen replied, almost as though in a trance. ‘You said... hello.’
Just a word. It had all begun with a single combination of sound, but it wasn’t what he said that made it so different, so important to her. It was the way it was said. A voice so soft, so gentle, so kind, when he reached out his hand to a young waking child on his steps, so long ago. To a child whose parents had only just sent her away, they themselves standing by for their death, she had been immediately drawn to the sound.
‘I won’t lie to you, Rowen... I’ve always valued your life more than your happiness. Maybe I was wrong... but we’ll see soon enough. Until then...’ he pecked her on the cheek. ‘Goodbye.’
Rowen soon found herself torn from one nightmare to another. She awoke to the world with a piercing scream, the name Philip emitted through her mouth in broken cries, she herself struggling for air, as though her lungs were pressed upon. Sitting erect, she cried dry sobs, exhausted from blood loss, confused beyond the capacity for one to understand. Shaking in hysteria, her legs were raised to her chest, arms wrapped around her body. She didn’t understand this, this strange surrounding, this place so foreign from anything she knew. Rowen forcing the air through her lungs with terrible effort, she just... she just wanted to stay with her teacher. A thought--could it all have been a dream? No... no, she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t want this to be her reality. A visage as though ill, face deathly pale, red marking beneath a pair of tormented eyes, she only wanted to remain in her corpselike sleep. She only wanted to die.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 18:28:46 GMT -5
Lerris had been rideing at an easy pace for the last day, The elf had took the liberty of taking a horse he found at a nearby barn just outside the Aryan woods and figured it would be better then running.Finally as the sun set a town came into view. The elf stopped, and swung the flask of water off his shoulder and held it over his head to pour the last of it onto him. The first thing that caught the elve’s eye was a large citadel and immediately Lerris knew royalty of some sort lived there and most likely ruled the small town. He frowned, hating the idea of a dictatorship residing over him and finally figured these people must enjoy their ruler, for the town looked beautiful. As the elf entered the town, people came into view running back and forth buying last minute things before the merchants shut down for the night, Lerris sighed at what he saw next. The building that stood in front of him was something he had not seen since he was but 60 years of age, it was the worshipping center for the Valier, Ilúvatar and Valar.
Lerris walked by the large building and walked up the steps to stand next to an elderly man who was looking up at the large structure as was Lerris. “Saesa omentien lle…” (Pleasure meeting you) Lerris looked down at the old man and smiled, “Aaye...” (Hail) The elf simply stated, as he looked back up to the structure again. “You look like you have not been here before on these old streets…you seek something don’t you my elven friend?” Lerris brought his eyes away from the building and down to the man who had now turned to smile back. “Yes in truth I am, just arrived her a few hours ago…” Lerris decided to not mention that he searched for Rowen even though the old man looked and seemed harmless. The man’s smile faded and he looked at Lerris with no emotion on his face, obviously knowing Lerris had not answered his question fully. “No need to tell me all your secrets my friend, if everyone knew each others secrets it would prove a very strange world, besides it would take all the fun out of telling them.” Lerris smiled in full and shook the old man’s hand. “My Name is Lerris Saphire, I’m here to find someone I love.” The old man smiled again and nodded, “My names Rubien Amrun, a pleasure meeting you Lerris.” The elf and the man parted from shaking hands and Lerris pointed at the cathedral “You come here often?” The old man chuckled “No no, just admiring the beauty of the city before I head home…Care to join me Lerris?” The elf thought on it for a few moments and smiled, “I would love to.”
As they entered Rubien’s house Lerris was greeted with heat from an already burning fire and the smell of fresh bread. “Your houses always like this?” The elf asked with a smirk, “Only if I’m lucky…my daughter probably did this before she headed home because she knew I would be hungry.” Lerris nodded and took a seat by the table as Rubien sat opposite him and began right away to snack on the bread. “Tell me your troubles, and who you search for lad…perhaps I can be a bit of help, I know almost everywhere and everyone in this city besides the inside of the citadel.” Lerris smirked and finished the last of his slice of bread he had been nibbling on. “I’m searching for a…. man, named Byron.” The elf said taking another slice of bread in his hand, Rubien had raised his left eyebrow when he had said “a man.” Lerris smirked, “He is not the one I love…He is…pure evil.” Rubien frowned and looked down at the table in thought and after several seconds looked back up. “"There is no such thing as pure good or pure evil, least of all in people. What did this lad do to you to make you hate him so?” The bread was being crushed in Lerris’ hand and his grip relaxed he realized what he was doing. Rubien smirked, “He hurt the one you love did he not?” Lerris looked up from the bread with a puzzled look on his face. “Sometimes your body tells more then your words…” Lerris nodded and said little more for a few minutes as Rubien changed the subject and spoke about himself. He was a scout for the military, he had retired twenty years ago and Lerris figured Rubien had to be older then himself. He has lived alone near the Citadel for several years and every once in a while his daughter would come and help around the house since his old bones were not much use to him anymore. Then like an arrow it hit him; this man was of half-breed. He could see it in his eyes now; the old man was really half elf. “That’s how you know Elvish…” The man smiled, as if he thought Lerris had known all along and that he had told him straight out. “Yes yes, I am of half elven blood…but I will die just as every other human does when the time comes…” Lerris frowned; he felt sorry in a strange way for the man. Rubien sighed, “Don’t give me that look, it was not my right to gain that immortality by being a half-breed…Fate does not always seek our consent and my fate was that the spirits wanted me to look at life from a different perspective and I’m glad to do it for them.” Lerris shook his head and bit into the bread.
---
Philip? Who was Philip again? A friend of Rowen’s?Byron stood rooted to his spot, thinking about what had just happened. His friend was alive! Rowen lived! Oh he was so happy! His life was rejuvenated! But what was to happen? To Rowen and Byron? Too many questions. The thoughts burned into him. This was a moment he would rather not forget. He stabbed at his mind of what to say to her first. There was so much. More than Byron could believe had happened in the past three days. Just to think, Rowen and Byron had been having a friendly conversation not hours before…before Byron destroyed everything. Before he brutally mortally wounded his friend, and killed her lover. Now, when Rowen sought refuge from the pain of her past, she could only really turn to herself or Byron. And whenever she looked at Byron, she would see the murderer. The one who devastated her life and brought even more pain and sorrow to it. Byron was ashamed. He acted too much on impulse He acted selfishly and without thought. He acted misleadingly. Byron kicked himself for it. His whole life he had thought through his opinions. Made them with reason, and just because of one stupid emotion, he lost his sensibility. The situation challenged Byron and he failed. He failed miserably, and Rowen would never forgive him. It pained Byron. His pierced at him.
Byron shook out of it. He needed to focus on the present. The past was the past. He could not change it no matter how hard he tried. Byron sought for Rowen’s eyes, and found them. They scared Byron. They were, as he had never seen before. They were filled with panic and trepidation. It shocked Byron.
Byron looked past that, and looked at Rowen’s thinned hands. He reached out his own and brought them to grasp her hands. They were cold and clammy. Ever dead-like, no matter how much Byron didn’t want to think like that. He gripped them, and gave her hands and firm squeeze, and tried to warm them up.
---
At the moment Byron touched her hand, Rowen’s silvery eyes locked to his, as though she had been violated by the brush of hand--though this barely lasted a moment. Her panicked gaze soon softened, though still yet crazed and sickly, though now of a different nature. It was almost like... she depended on him. She herself, scared and confused, needed him--she had wanted him, at least to know that he was all right. Though, now, in the realm of the living, it was more than wanting to know that he was still there, still had yet to repeat her own mistakes. It was wanting someone to be with as she broke through death itself. She would not have chosen any other.
“Byron,” Rowen said in a voice still yet consumed by alarm, as though she had already tipped the bounds of sanity. In a way, this was true. In a way, she had already lost herself, the woman breaking from his hands in order to pull him closer, a slight smile crossing over her face. “Byron... you’re here. You’re all right, you’re...”
Voice scratched, face still yet pale and ghostlike, marked by red under the eyes, she embraced Byron around the chest. Rowen was different from before, from anything she had felt, from how she had ever acted. She had been sad before... she had been intense with ire. She had been cold. But demented was not amongst those things she had been, never in the real and honest sense. The voices to be heard in her sleep, the visits of past, the images... had done their damage.
Pulling away, the smile faded into an unreadable visage, almost questioning, almost concerned, though something still yet could be factored in as nothing other than ignorance.
“Where is Lerris?”
---
The embrace startled Byron. More than startled, it made Byron one of the happiest men in the land at that very moment. He smiled his most joyous look ever, and returned the hug. Byron chuckled in his head and thought of the possibilities. His mind roamed over the thoughts and predictions. An explosion of ecstasy arose in Byron, and he doubted he would ever stop smiling!
But all was shattered by the second thought that came to her mind. Lerris. What was Byron going to do? He knew she would be hurt. Devastated. Disappointed. That last was the worst. She had taught him better than to let emotions take the better of him. But was she any better? He decided to leave that out. But he was still left with the predicament of the Lerris question. Was he just supposed to tell her that he killed her love? That he stole away his breath and was still on the verge of happiness about it? No. That would hurt her worse than anything else Byron could do. He had already inflicted enough pain on her.
He decided to just avoid it. He could think of nothing better. He did not intend to tell her so soon after she regained her life. It would encumber her more than it did Byron.
Byron sighed and smiled. He laughed, and shook her hands and squeezed her once more, longer for more moments like this. He released and kissed her cheek. He was so happy. He quickly forgot her inhibition with their mother/son love, which Byron often took a little too far.
“Rowen! You’re alive! You have no idea how overjoyed I am!” He said and embraced her once more. He was overzealous, and enjoyed it. He looked into her gray eyes and hoped for a smile.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 18:30:10 GMT -5
WHAT IS MISSING
Two pages lost. At the end of the first section, Rowen is still shellshocked over the turn of events. She asks for Lerris, and Byron refuses to comply. He takes her outside, and she continues to look for Lerris. Byron eventually admits what he did--or, what he thinks he did. Rowen, shocked and saddened, runs off to the nearest bar, where she stays for one to two days, living off of everyone else's leftovers, completely drunk.
Meanwhile, Lerris stays with Rubien. They talk of many things, apparently about Veera at some point. She is described as a witch, and Rubien does not seem to like her.
Later, Rowen is eventually kicked out because she is scaring off the customers, when Lerris is passing through. He looked at the bar, thinking she might be there, but hoping not, thinking of her alchohalism. Lerris sees her, and approaches. She thinks she's seeing things and runs away. Lerris contemplates the possibility that this is someone else, but reasons that no one else he knows has red hair like that. He runs after her. When she stops, she's on the ground, rocking and crying, declaring that he's dead and can't be there.
Apparently, at the same time, Byron is wandering about town and finds Rubien's home, enjoying the craftsmanship of the house.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 19:03:43 GMT -5
Lerris sighed, he didn't know what to say to that. Something was wrong, very wrong with Rowen and he had no idea what. Some how she thought him dead, and believed it more then anything, he needed to find Byron, he needed to find someone, anyone. "I'm not leaving Rowen, I followed you here from Aryan, I stole a horse to find you...Rowen please, I'm not in your head, I'm here right infront of you!" He put a hand on her shoulder, "Please Rowen, why can't you see that?" The elf ran both hands through his hair trying to think of anyway to convince her, he thought about finding Rubien, and having him tell her that it was him, that Lerris had told him the whole story and he knew about her also...that he promised to help look for her.
"Rowen, I don't know what else to say..."
---
“Stop it, stop it!”
Ther were not words that could adequately describe Rowen’s confusion, hands now clasped around her ears, drowing out the sound of Lerris’ voice, gaze falling to the ground all in the same motion. She couldn’t allow it all to penetrate her mind, to destroy her like it did in the dreams. This... was just another one, just another memory, just another figure already dead who came back to haunt her... and she had to fight it off, she had to.
“He said, he-he...”
Palms fell open to the ground, gaze meeting his once more. It was just a recollection, wasn’t it? Just another dream, no, more than a dream... she knew what happened with Philip had to be more than just a dream, and yet, it was reality either. Somewhere in between... but, really, wasn’t Lerris just that? The elf himself coming back for God knew what... that was it, wasn’t it?... wasn’t it?
Rowen shook her head, mouthing something not to be heard until her voice grew in volume.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
Her breath heaved, body visibly shaking, as water burned down her face, Rowen finally giving in to Lerris’ claim. She slid her arms around to his back, holding him in an embrace, repeating his name over and over, in the same quaking voice as before.
---
Byron stood at the man’s door stunned. He knew Lerris. This old man knew the man he killed. But how? Why would Lerris’ name come up what the man said? Lerris was dead and for all Byron knew, Lerris had not been here for quite a long while. Had Lerris been there recently? Was Lerris alive? No. Byron said, jolting his mind back to reality. Lerris was dead and Byron was sure of that. Only a master of the healing arts could have saved Lerris. Byron left him lying in the woods with a large gash in his side. If Lerris was alive…hell had just frozen over. Byron dismissed the thought entirely and looked back at the man staring at him.
He wanted to know who Byron was. Well… Byron thought, I guess he has right…I did knock at his door.
“My name is Byron. I am neither from the Citadel nor am I any elf.” Byron settled on that and let the man contemplate what he said. He seemed like a deranged old fool, but then again, Byron needed to remind himself not to judge so easily. “I have come just at random to ask a question of you about your fair house. It just intrigues me. I may ask you one more question, but I have yet to examine the reasoning behind it. Would it be okay with you if I can and we could talk?” And Byron left it as that. He was sure that the man would let him in.
~--------------------:::--------------------~
Veera sat at her messy desk, her brow scrunched up in thought. These three people are connected somehow. I already know that Rowen and the rude elf Lerris are either spouses or lovers. But the addition of Byron confuses me. Is he Rowen’s lover too? Her son? Student? Teacher? Apprentice? I-I just don’t know. Veera continued, What could possibly be the relationship between these two? They are quite the confusing pair. The spat they had outside my house earlier somewhat rules out the question of them being lovers, but I guess lovers often quarrel. But they had a keen relationship toward each other. Like they had known each other for their whole lives. Maybe they did? I just don’t know. I need to do some investigation on them. The trio just interests me.
With that, Veera set down her parchment and put on her light cloak and grabber her crutch. She turned to exit her home.
---
Lerris
Lerris nodded, hugging Rowen tightly to himself as she muttered his name he knew something at that point was terribly wrong. “It’s ok Rowen, I’m here…I’m here.” The elf sighed, looking over his shoulder towards the direction of Rubien’s house, perhaps he should take her there and see if the old man could do something to help. But first he would need to calm her down enough, he was not sure what had happened in the time since they had been apart, but apparently it had damaged Rowen psychologically. He kissed her atop the head and glared at anyone who stopped to stare at the two, “Rowen, come with me I know someone who I must talk to…She can help…”
Rubien
Rubien looked up at his house and shook his head, “Just a house lad, an old one at that…lived here all me life, since a few years back alone, but never the less I have resided here.” He smirked; glad to know the man was not from the citadel, or to collect money. He had acted oddly at the mention of Lerris, perhaps the man knew him? “I don’t usually do this…what am I saying I did it earlier today!” The old man threw up his hands and muttered to himself. “Yes, yes lad come in come in, if there is something you need answering I will try my best.” With that Rubien Amrun opened his door and herded the man who had almost killed Lerris' wife inside, and prayed the elf would get back soon.
---
Byron smiled at the man’s kindness. He slowly stepped into the house after Rubien and he led them both to a quaint dining table with four chairs and offered him a seat. Byron readily accepted and found it to be quite comfortable. The chair was of a dark mahogany wood, the agedness of the chairs and unique lines from the wood on each interested Byron. He traced it with his fingers as Rubien busied himself in the kitchen area. He offered Byron a spot of tea, and Byron received it happily. He looked through out the room and it was just as simplistic as the outside. The main attraction was the fireplace against the wall. Though there was one other room encased behind a door, but Byron did not ask. He did not feel it necessary. The soft, earth-toned room was suddenly brought more alive with the gentle humming of Rubien in the kitchen as he placed the kettle on the fire. Byron smiled at this.
“So…” Byron began; he thought he should really start this show, seeing as how he wanted to obviously more than Rubien. “When I came to the door, you happened to mention a certain person…an elf…by the name of Lerris. Lerris Saphire. May I ask why you mentioned him? Was he on your mind? Meaning you maybe saw him recently? I-I know this may sound strange, but I am worried about him…see…I thought I had…maybe…kil…never mind. But have you talked to him or something recently?” Byron awaited eagerly for an answer.
---
Rowen calmed, small levels at a time, as she cried against Lerris’ chest, slowly bringing herself to a less hysteric plane. As long as Lerris was there, she shouldn’t have had to be like that. She shouldn’t have had to be a crying mess on his shoulder, though ‘better’ was all she could muster right then, rather than just all right.
She straightened, releasing Lerris from her embrace so she could wipe away her tears. He spoke of someone to help... with what, she didn’t understand. She looked to Lerris with childlike eyes, gaze still yet full of a madness she didn’t recognize, or would admit to if anyone and everyone said it was so.
“All... all right,” Rowen said to him, holding her arms as she gave a confused look at Lerris. Albeit whatever appearances may have suggested, there was one thing to be glad for. She had him again, after she thought he had died. There couldn’t have been anything more worth while than that.
---
Rubien
Rubien emerged from the kitchen area and placed the tea and two cups down onto the table. "Lerris Saphire eh?” The Old man rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger “Never heard of him, the Lerris I speak of is Lerris Needa, my daughter's fiancé. He was here a few moments ago and I was thinking he may of forgot something of his in my house.” Rubien took his seat across from Byron and poured the tea, “Might I ask…who is Lerris Saphire? A friend of yours?”
d*mn it Lerris, now’s your chance.
Lerris
Lerris took Rowen by the arm and began walking towards Veera’s small house, he wondered the reason why he was taking her there, and it was not like he and the old woman were on good terms. The elf began to doubt him self, as he began to see Veera outside her house.
Perhaps I should of just gone straight to Rubien…Too late now.
He could tell she already knew he and Rowen were there, and shook his head knowing it was the wrong decision to have brought her here. “Veera…” The elf nodded his hello and brought Rowen to the side of the house. “Stay here for a second Rowen…” He let go of her arm and wandered up to the old woman. “I may need your help…” He simply said to the old healer.
---
Veera’s? No... she didn’t want to go there. Rowen didn’t want to get anywhere close to that hag--there was something wrong about the woman, that Rowen could feel. In truth, it didn’t venture far beyond unfamiliarity, but at that time, it was enough. In moments of madness and insecurity, it was more than enough. How was this woman supposed to help with... whatever? Rowen didn’t understand, not any of it. And she didn’t want to.
“Lerris, I don’t want...” she had started, but he had already begun to speak to the woman. Rowen stood on the sidelines, watching as he addressed her, she herself poised to run. She looked about the space apprehensively, from Lerris to Veera, knees locking as her hand brushed against the side of the house. Strangely submissive to Lerris’ will, she stayed in place, though her body bade her to flee.
There was no sense of curiosity as her eyes went to the old woman, no wonder as to what she was meant to do to help her, with whatever was the problem. She just wanted out, though at the same time, she didn’t want to leave Lerris--not just after she had recieved him again. In terms she would have used, not just after he had come back from the dead.
---
Veera turned to see two of the people she was looking for coming for her. Well…that was easier than I thought to find them she thought to herself. But what did that elf want of her? Didn’t she just recently have him leave her house in a huff, pouting about not getting his way? Yeah…now he wanted her help. Ha! He’ll get it like, but he does not know how much
“What do you want you dirty elf? Can’t you see I’m busy?!”
~---------------:---------------~
Byron could see a glint in the man’s eyes. This was to too old to have a daughter just recently getting married. He was lying, and Byron intended not to get caught. He just wanted this man’s help on whether the man he may have killed was alive or not. It frustrated Byron that humans could be so submissive to the idea that everyone was out to get everyone. It was obvious that Lerris, Lerris Saphire, had talked to this Rubien. Why else would he lie? To protect Lerris. There were other tracks outside the man’s house. They were slightly smaller feet than Byron’s or Rubien’s, but still large enough to be a man’s. No. Not a man’s – an elf’s. Byron gave a smirk.
“Okay…thank you sir.” Byron chuckled as he took a final sip from his tea. “If you cannot help me then I must be off.” Byron set down his cup and stood up, pushing in his chair. “Farewell for now old man.”
And with that, Byron walked towards the door.
---
Lerris
Dirty elf? Dirty Elf!
It had been a long time since Lerris had harassed another about their race, but with two quick words everything came back to him, this elf was infuriated. “Lle holma ve' edan, (You smell like a human) like any human would, without respect or intelligence. I ask for your help and you greet me with Dirty elf? Is that what you want? To call each other childish names, so be it witch.” The elf glanced at Rowen, now knowing for a fact he should of gone to Rubien, With a sigh Lerris turned back to Veera, “Amin n'rangwa edanea” (I don’t understand these humans) The brown haired elf muttered under his breath.
Rubien
“You’re smarter then you look lad.” Rubien said standing from his chair, “Come sit, I’ll tell you what you wish to hear.” He pointed to the chair across from him and re-took his seat. “Lerris came early this morning, and I found him staring at the cathedral. He told me he searched for a man named Byron, and to my guess…You must be that man.” Rubien rubbed his hands together, “He seeks you almost more then he seeks his wife, finding her is only part of what he wants before he goes home. I could see it in him, the way he talked about you with such…hate, I feared he might simply lash out at me for compensation. You have hurt him before…that I have heard about from the Elven mouth.” The old man leaned forward in his seat, “So I have but one question, I see before me the one fated by the elf to die, where is the one he loves?”
---
Rowen flinched when the old woman first spoke, quailing back at the sound of a voice that insulted her spouse as first greeting when Lerris came to her. It was not so much the words, or the intent behind such sentiments, that made Rowen cower so, but the voice itself, the voice of one who somehow posed a threat in such a way she did not understand. There were many things she could not grasp, locking inside that realm of insanity. Rowen just understood she wanted that which she already knew--Lerris, Byron, home. To be someplace with someone, of which she felt safe and secure. After that... she didn’t know. She didn’t care. But Veera most certainly posed the vice, as did Zyroxi. And then, when she thought it was already bad enough, Veera and Lerris... began to argue. Could it get any worse?... but that wasn’t really the question, was it? Could it get any better?
This was her chance, her one and only opportunity to make things right, even if only in such a small way, for only a little while. But, yet... this was it. Her chance to get away. There was no question that she loved Lerris more than she could adequately explain, but Veera instilled a fear she could not ignore. Rowen forced movement on her legs, treading back a ways before she turned around began to run.
The light of the sun had begun to take its course by then, much of the sky a deep blue, all but for the west, where a glimmer of red light still yet remained for a time. Rowen slowed, venturing in circles as though she was a lost child. She wanted something, anything familiar to her eyes, but this place was strange to her. There would be no acquainted faces, no place she could go that wasn’t foreign to her. Well, perhaps there was just one place.
Every pub Rowen had been to was the same. The raised murmer of costumers, voices meshed in to one another so that few words could be distinguished, the myriads of visitors, the counter, the barkeep. There was little room for alteration... right then, how Rowen prefered it. The only difference, that day, was that she wasn’t going in for a drink. Just... to be somewhere where she could be without constantly worrying, or worrying as much, rather. She came in, under the sign that read The Trap, eyes darting back and forth at the people inside. She just wanted a corner, somewhere she could wait out Lerris’ visit. For the moment, she didn’t care if the keeper tried to throw her out again. Just a place to stay for a little while...
---
Anger emanated from the curved, aged women leaning on her crutch. She turned slowly, the butt of her wood leg grinding at the dirt beneath it angrily. She pulled her can from the earth and slammed it down a couple feet ahead of where it was. She glared at the elf with an intensity known to her only from her training. Nubia was the only one Veera ever allowed to call her that. And Nubia used it as the worst insult she could think up. For a witch, Nubia told Veera, was the vilest creature in the cosmos. Brewing her potions and creating her spells. That is all a witch did. A witch was a loathsome, low, contemptible thing. A thing not even deserving of a name. But a name it was given. And it was not a name that Veera merited. She had worked too hard and had been through too much to be slandered by a worthless, brainless dolt of an elf who knew nothing of what he spoke. The Vixen gritted her teeth, shaving what was left of them less. The earth seemed to shake as she began to limp for the elf. Each pound of her cane on the ground brought new life into her. Soon she appeared to glide across the land.
“You…you immoral, lewd, squalid dog of a creature!” Veera’s voice resonated off the walls of the square. It strengthened with every word. “You do not have any bantam of a clue about what you speak. Close you sickening, sinful mouth before I batten it down for you! Speak one more word of me in that way and it shall be your last, on my life you cur.” Veera was nearly right up to the elf’s face by this time and was shaking with animosity. She was beginning to hate this creature more than the one of which she was called. Mark her words; Veera was not going to let him go with his. Veera stretched herself out of her curved state up to the elf’s height. “What say you, troll?”
~---------------:---------------~
Where is she? Where is his love? Who? Oh…Rowen. Byron’s thoughts were wandering. He could not seem to focus his thoughts on anything he wanted. He wanted just to learn more about this man’s house for some reason. He did not want to care about Rowen…or that elf. But this plain and simple house just seemed to fascinate Byron for the time being. He stared at the walls and fireplace, and then at the man. Rubien. That strange man. Am I drunk? Byron thought to himself. He felt like it, but he had not been able to have any liquor for quite some time. But Rowen…they were talking of her. Byron tried to focus on Rowen for a moment.
“R-Rowen…I last saw her in the…I mean out there” Byron pointed, “Out in that square…where I just game from. She headed off in tears for I think that bar over there.” Byron pointed aimlessly again somewhere outside of the man’s house. “I don’t know where she is now. Maybe the elf has her. I-I don’t know. But…wow. Did you ever know that your house is just enthralling?” Byron smiled dim-wittedly.
---
Lerris
Lerris was almost taken back by the women, but his glare never faltered from the old woman’s. “Llie Yaar Thaur Agaryulnaer Glamhoth!” (You ancient abominable Blood sucking Orc!) The Elf spat back, he was not about to be talked to like that by some old hag on a stick. “Get out of my face old woman, I have had enough of you…You would be no help to Rowen anyway, something has damaged her psychologically, but apparently you are already crazy and need help yourself…” The elf turned around to take Rowen to Rubien’s, to find she no longer stood by the house. The elf panicked and searched frantically for her, but saw no trace. “d*mn it Edan, now she is gone again.” The elf muttered.
Rubien
Rubien lifted an eyebrow at the young man, “Yes…yes, my house is no much grander then the rest on the streets of Zyroxi.” Either the man was drunk, or he had lost his mind…
Perhaps a bit of both…
So, Rowen was out at some pub and Lerris was wandering who knows where. He had to leave, to find Lerris and go find Rowen, but he could not just leave Byron there…not alone in his house. The man was a thief, and not to be trusted! “Byron…” Rubien placed a finger under Byron’s chin and brought the young man’s gaze to his own, “My house lad is the last thing you need to think about, I want you to take me to where you think Rowen is…now.”
---
“You…” Veera glared at the elf, “Are more human than me. For your bloody information, your precious love would not be here if it were not for me. She owes me more than her life. Saving her life nearly killed me. You owe me. You owe Byron. If it were not for his act, she would be dead. The exhaustion of carrying her almost killed him too. I could see it in his eyes.” Veera spooked up and looked around. “We need to find that girl now and Byron needs to get some help too. He needs this medicine.” She held up a bottle. “You go find the girl. I need to talk to an old friend.”
And with that Veera walked off near the cathedral.
---
The scent of ale in the thickened air was strong, even tempting, as Rowen put her back against the wall in a secluded area in the back, arms wrapped around one another. True, there was little tangible subject to sulk over, and perhaps it was through this she resisted the urge to visit the counter. Or maybe it was because the barkeep didn’t want her there. Or perhaps it was because she had no money to speak of. Whatever worked.
Eyes went down to the floor, as she stood in silence for some time, moments escaping her one by one. She didn’t know how long it was, though it didn’t feel as though more than a moment. Whatever the time, Rowen didn’t think it long enough to shift uncomfortably, leave, and seek out Lerris.
Gradually, the tables about her grew strangely empty, so it was only a matter of time before the barkeep caught her again. After all, it was entirely possible that these boards were bare of costumers because Rowen had happened to be there in the first place. There was one or two companies, however, that risked braving their stay in the midst of one so crazed as she. As she remained, she paid little heed to the few, though with time, it became difficult to block out their voices. The sound penetrating her blockade, she came to know of the matter they discussed. A matter she could not bring herself to ignore.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 19:04:17 GMT -5
WHAT IS MISSING
Four pages lost. Rowen overhears the Assassins at the pub. The rough her up and shove her out, and she finds the others on the outside.
Before that, Lerris walks out on Veera to find Rowen (again). He meets up with Rubien and Byron--he and Byron come to an understanding of sorts. They both want to find Rowen. They are all out looking for her, and they pass the bar. Rowen come out--she may have met Rubien first--and she's spewing nonsense about 'traps and high noon nights'. They take her to Rubien's place. They speak there, but they don't actually believe her. She's to go to bed. When she does, Rubien follows her to talk to her, because he believes her, and she explains what she heard. Rubien communicates it to the others while she goes to sleep, but they don't believe him either. Rubien goes out to talk to Veera (I'd like to omit Veera's place--she was actually there, in the house, but in Hex's absence, I do not want to write in his place).
Byron and Lerris get to talking. The exact conversation is a blur, but we can stand to be creative. They're drinking. It dawns on Lerris that Rowen did not want him to run after Byron to hurt him, but to make him stay. Here, he quotes something about revenge (Kyle, I leave it in your hands.) He is sorry. They talk about both loving Rowen, and Lerris says he is sorry Rowen does not feel the same way for Byron.
Eventually, they are both extremely drunk. They find Rubien's old swords, decorations if I remember correctly, and they go out to duel. Rowen wakes and hears the swordplay and if afraid they are hurting one another. She runs out, and stands in front of Lerris to protect him. Rubien is coming back at the same time. He laughs and pushes the points of the weapons down, and Lerris explains things are all right now. She is glad for that. Rowen and Lerris go to bed, and that is where this section ends.
Then the Assassins come into play. They take Paresha and leave a ransom note. Word gets out. Lerris wakes up early the next morning, and goes out to hear a man announcing the ransom--half of what everyone owns. He bolts back to Rubien's place, frantic, and that is where the story is intact again.
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 19:47:48 GMT -5
Eyelids somewhat failing him, Byron slipped up in his chair, and turned around to see Lerris panting with exhaustion and spurting out random words. What about Rowen? Assassins? Byron thought. Lord Paresha was taken? This was not good. This meant that Rowen was right…and everyone else was wrong. What was she going to think of them? They could have saved Lord Paresha. They could have listened to Rowen and saved lives. What have they done?
“You mean to say,” Byron’s low voice said from the other end of the room, “that if we had actually listened to Rowen…that Lord Paresha would probably be safe up in his comfy bed right now? But no…we had to disprove her just because she is a little crazy? Wow have we messed up.” Byron said as he shook his head in despair. What were they going to do? Would Rowen want to go after him? Were they going to have another inane adventure just when they all became friends?
~---------------:::--------------~
Sunlight poured though the fogged windows of Veera’s bedroom. The sunlight was just breeching the horizon and casting somewhat eerie shadows with what broke it’s light. It soon crept knowledgably across the floor of Veera’s room. The ray of light ran into cloth expelling from atop Veera’s tiny bed and up the quilt it traveled, finally reaching the top and finding the being under those pale blue covers. It soon made it’s way to her eyes, shining brightly as they stuttered into an open look.
Veera lazily brought her arms up to her face and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and she yawned with relief. It always feels marvelous to wake up to the sun’s glory. Veera pulled the covers off of her lightly covered body. She slowly pulled on a clean, brown tunic with a correlating brown skirt. It suited her. She satisfied herself in the mirror and limped briskly out of the room. On her way out, Veera grabbed a slice of bread that Rubien had gotten for her. It was delicious bread. She grabbed her inky cloak, cane, and out the door she strolled.
The town seemed all in an uproar when Veera exited her home. The populace was everywhere around her house, all either whispering to another or making their leading voices known to the crowd. Veera hobbled over to one of these people addressing the crowd, although she could not get terribly close, at the crowd around the speaker was quite large.
“Let is be known to all,” the speaker, by the name of Nathan preached loudly, “that the city of Zyroxi is under attack! We are being forced to publicly give our money, our hard earned money, up for ransom for our quite recently abducted Lord and leader, Nicolae Paresha. He is being held somewhere near the outlying woods. Now do we want to give our money for this? Do…”
By this time, Veera was out of reach for the speaker’s voice to come to her ears. She was already making her way to Rubien’s house. She was bearing bad news.
---
Rowen’s eyes turned toward the door as another voice had entered the equation... Byron? Yes, that was the one. He was the one... what were they talking about now? Rowen could not say, words too low to decipher when walls stood as a blockade between her and the others. Leaning her head back, silver eyes went to the ceiling as she contemplated just giving up. Give up on sleep... it was too late, anyway. She was already too awake to be claimed by darkness once more. What was more, when she did finally raise herself, the journey home would have been almost certainly faster than if she halted the operation by her remaining there. Pulling the coverings from herself, Rowen was raised.
Boots soon strapped to her feet, Rowen timidly made her way to the door, footsteps silent against the floor. Though he had proven a help, she was not eager to see Rubien again. More so, she was anxious for home, with both her friend and husband. Even so, all three were there when she minutely opened the door, just enough to steal a glance of what lay beyond. Though calm, she was not quite what one would call completely all together. Mind as that of a child who didn’t enjoy the company of strangers, she entered reluctantly.
“Byron... Lerris,” she smiled tamely at the two, nodding to the last. She missed the conversation that had been held, contents a mystery to her. By then, it didn’t matter. It was clear that Lerris and Byron were not trying to murder one another, so it was fine. Her thoughts before, her paranoia, just a stupid suspicion that apparently held no weight. Everything was all right again, and so she thought this as she came up behind Lerris, letting an arm slide down by his neck, as she questioned, “when do we leave?”
---
“We are not,” Byron growled as he stood up from his chair. “We, have a problem to deal with.” The man was not happy, and everyone in the room could tell, “you know why Rowen? It seems that you, in your insane state, were actually telling the truth of what you heard in The Trap. Lord Paresha was taken last night. And by who? Assassins. So I am guessing now, against my judgment that we are going to go save him. And you know why? Because we are good people Rowen.” Byron really did want to go save the Ruler. But somewhere deep inside Byron, he felt a twinge of not wanting to save him. He wanted to live his life for himself. He had finally made friends. He wanted to spend time with those friends. Not go fight some stupid assassins. Why did they have to pick now to kidnap Paresha? It was not a good time for Byron. He was in a huff.
“Should we go get the witch woman and tell her? I think I will go. I need to walk. Ugh! Bye.” Byron walked towards the front door, leaving behind aghast faces.
---
Rowen was taken aback by Byron’s outburst, standing erect before the completion of the first sentence. At first, there was confusion. Why... why not, as he put it? But then he went on. He explained, he explained things she had spoken of the night before. Assassins, Paresha. Words she had spoken of on numerous occasions, many a time trying to warn them, so many times. But they had ignored her, words disregarded. Why? And what was more,
It seems that you, in your insane state, were actually telling the truth of what you heard in The Trap.
One word in that sentence profoundly struck her mind. Insane? What kind of idiocy was that? What insolence? What audacity!
“I am not insane!”
Byron's back had already turned by the time she said her final word. She didn't understand, why would he think something like that? He had called her things before, back when she had chased after him when he ran off. Wench, if she recalled correctly... but what had she done, now? But there were other issues of more consequence to be examined.
Eyes turned toward the additional pair, Lerris and Rubien. They were supposed to take care of it... she had told them, time and time again, what would happen. They said it would be okay... Her visage took on all the grief as of one who had been betrayed. Rubien had said he would take care of it--why had this not been done? Why hadn’t all the trouble been spared from them?
“You... you told me everything was going to be all right.” Her voice was panicked as she placed a palm against her forehead. “Why, why... how did this happen?”
---
Veera was practically running by the time she neared Rubien's house. She could make out the lack of details with his house now she was getting so close. Her wrinkled hand reached quickly for the handle on the door and she pushed it in as fast as she could, hurrying in. Or at least trying to. The door smashed into something, and not even a second later, Veera could hear several gasps and an all out painful groan coming from inside. Veera crept in the house, a looks of horror on her face. She had hit Byron square in the face with the door. Blood leaked from his nose, and the bottom left of his lip was cut and bleeding.
Shaking, Veera stood there thunderstruck. "Oh my..." She gasped, "I...am so sorry! Oh my goodness!" Veera limped over to the kitchen as Byron groaned with pain. "Let me get a towel. Oh my...oh my...." Veera fretted as she scrambled back to Byron. She began to wipe him with the towel, cleaning up his face.
---
Rowen leapt back in alarm as the door slammed against Byron’s head. An already anxious look became even more panicked when it became clear who stood behind Rubien’s door--the witch. Veera. Questions once asked in such persistence fell silence as her arms wrapped around one another. She watched in quietude as Veera went around to the kitchen in order to fix the error she had made in barging in the moment Byron was going out.
Positioned in such a way that Lerris was between she and Veera, Rowen could not help but wonder why the witch had come. Why, why did she have to come? What reason was so great that the witch had to come in and make an already bad matter worse? And by that, Rowen did not mean Byron’s injury, she meant her own mental comfort.
“What are you doing here?” Rowen finally said in a small and sour voice when Veera had already tended to Byron. This was only one of a great many displeasures Rowen had to face, all in such a short time. The Assassins... Paresha... misguidance. If they had listened to her--but why didn’t they listen to her? It made absolutely no sense, no sense at all.
---
The damp towel ringed slightly as Veera placed pressure on it. She was sponging Byron’s mouth and nose, trying to undo her mistake. This was the last time. What the hell was wrong with thus woman? What was her problem with Veera? What could Veera possibly have done to make her that unpleasant towards her? Veera finished cleaning up her mistake, and helped Byron to his feet. He was looking better now. Veera was happy for that. Besides Rubien, he was the only person who was ever nice to her.
Veera straightened herself up to her full height, however unthreatening that was. She limped slowly over to Rowen, pushing her way past the elf, which did nothing, to interfere. The aged woman strode up to Rowen, a fearless intensity lacking any hindrance in her eyes. Veera was not happy.
“What is your problem!” Veera whispered with unbridled fury. “Every second that I have been around you, from the first day that I ever set my eyes on your sorry face, you have been nothing but inhibited or annoyed around me. At me! What have I done to receive such treatment? I have done nothing but he nice to you…help you even! Save your life, you ungrateful thief! Right now, all I desire from you is a little respect and an explanation for your actions. Please…”
---
Everything seemed to be happening at once, Byron almost left in anger, Veera knocked him in the face with the door, and Rowen seemed to have said something to tick the old woman off. Everyone was going crazy over one thing or another, everyone, except Rubien. The old man was still seated in his chair, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, looking oblivious to the actions that were taking place in his home.
Lerris on the other hand, was not calm, an old woman had insulted his wife, and he intended to find out why, and make her ask for forgiveness. The elf stood straight, and glared down at the small woman before him, at his full height the elf towered over Veera.
…You ungrateful thief!
“Watch your tongue Ita'istar!” The elf said still giving the old woman a fierce look of detestation.
Finally, as if realizing everything for the first time, Rubien spoke. “Silence, all of you!” boomed the old man as he rose to his feet. He hobbled over to Lerris and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Calm lad, before you rip her head off…” He gave Lerris a push toward his chair and the elf complied. “Now, Veera, you can either attended to your mistake…” He pointed to Byron, never removing his eyes from her, “Or you can get out of my house, I will not have someone come in, un-invited, and insult my guests.”
He turned to Rowen, “But she does speak the truth, she has done nothing wrong, or anything to hurt you…the moment she does, she has already forfeited her life, because your husbands temper has a shorter fuse then mine, and anyone who would hurt you would be dead before they could think about running.” He turned to Lerris again and spoke in a calmer tone, “There is two things that can be done here, we can think of some way to help, to pay the ransom to...to rescue that old fool Paresha..." The elf glanced up at Rubein finally from his seat, "Or...?" The old man sighed, "Or you can take your wife and go home...This is not your town, these are not your people, this should not even be your problem."
---
Rowen had been taken aback by Veera’s accosting, shrinking against the wall as she was questioned by the witch. What was Rowen’s problem? That would have been Veera. What had the witch done to earn that? Veera had saved her life. For quite a time, that had been a problem in itself, Rowen just wanting to go on with her teacher to whatever the afterlife held for her, even if perdition was what truly lay ahead. As long as her teacher was there, it was all right. He had forgiven her, showed her empathy. The witch had taken that away... Rowen could not trust her. She could not trust anyone.
And then, the chaos came. To Rowen’s relief, Lerris stood to his feet and defended her. Lerris yelling, Veera yelling, Byron somewhere off in the background, having had is nose smashed in with a door, and Rubien, just being there, quiet. Rowen herself looked from person to person, head pounding from all the noise. Though in her own state of panic, Rowen didn’t want it to stop. As long as Lerris stood between her and Veera, it was all all right.
But then Rubien spoke up. He spoke to her, briefly, though Rowen honestly considered little of it. She knew her justifications for her actions--or, at least, most of them. She didn’t understand what had begun her fear of the woman, or why she was apprehensive around Rubien. For the first time, she gave it some thought.
These thoughts were put on hold when Rubien went on. About Paresha... this was an issue she very well knew she must pay due attention toward. She had warned them, and now, they had to do something about this mistake. She did not know why fighting was not listed among the options... but, also, she did not know the terms of the agreement, of sorts. In a small voice, she asked after a silence,
“What is the ransom?”
---
“What is the ransom?” Veera hissed, leering at Rowen, “What kind of question is that you bloody wench! That is not the question to ask. It is of no concern, as we are not going to pay it. But if you do bloody want to know, it is half of what everyone has right now. Everyone in the town. Whether you be peasant, lord, lady or child. You give half of what money you have.” The curved woman took a break and breathed in deeply, “The questions we should be asking is; Are you and your posse going to stay here and fight with us? Where is Paresha? How can we save him? How many assassins are there? What are their weapons? Etcetera… etcetera, you get the drift. We are not just going to give in. At least I’m not.”
Veera seemed to finally come out of her protective shell around the three. It was time they learned a thing or two about the real world. All were too inexperienced to be dealing with such matters at hand. They needed guidance, and Veera and Rubien, the pair, were the two to provide it.
What a morning…
---
Rowen was, again, taken aback by Veera’s rather loud outburst, of which lasted considerably longer than the former. What had Rowen done, besides ask a simple question?... what was the ransom? After all, Rubien had only given two options. It did not appear as though a fight was what lay ahead, though if it had been in her own hands, there probably would be. If she was the same thieving harpy as before. But that was not then, that was not before the dreams, if one wanted to call them that.
“I didn’t...” she began in a soft, nearly incomprehensible tone, though she did not finish. I didn’t do anything. It seemed so childish, an infantile thing to say, though she did not stop for this. Veera wasn’t worth talking to. It was useless, the woman throwing back everything she said, insignificant or simple as those words may have been. Rowen could scarcely manage to force herself from those thoughts, the thoughts of the witch and her antipathy.
Though, even as Rowen remained consumed by ill will, that did not change the fact of the matter at hand. The money that had been asked was immense, crippling. For a brief moment, Rowen wondered if what Veera asked could be made done, or if it would merely bring about Paresha’s end faster.
If they had listened to me...
---
Lerris stood and Rubien placed a hand on the shoulder of the advancing elf, “Calm down lad, we have no time to dig a grave today.” Lerris pushed the hand off his shoulder and walk beside Rowen, glaring down at the old woman the whole time. He slid an arm around her waist protectively and took a deep breath. “Mankoi naa lle sinome? Are you here to just yell at Rowen?” He turned back to Rubien with the same glare, but only slightly lightened, “I thank you for your aid in finding Rowen, and the fact that you gave your home for us to rest….”
The elf turned his glare back on Veera, hardening it once again as his gaze rested on her. “Let your Lord perish for all I care, your d*mn city can find out what to do on their own. I am not about to risk my life for some fool who got himself kidnapped, I’ll take the second alternative.”
---
Rowen let her hand rest on Lerris’ as he put an arm on her waist, she herself all at once feeling secure in the midst of the shouting. She felt safe, finally defended after the demonization by Veera, among others. By the end of Lerris’ sentiment, Rowen could not help but agree with him. They shouldn't have had to defend a ruler that was not their own... though, on her part, perhaps for slightly different reasons.
Rowen vastly loathed the idea that she was ignored. Her warning, left in the dust, her foretelling that Paresha was in danger. Perhaps she did not know he was a man of power, but she knew someone was in danger. And now, it had happened, and they all appeared as though somehow surprised and clueless. And then, there was Veera, the force practically driving them out the door, and on the side, Rubien telling them that this was none of their business. That they should go home. Why help when persistently taunted by the one you would be helping...? Why assist when the one you would do for didn't want assistance? It was unreasonable, no, it was insane.
And then... there was home. Though, at one time, Rowen may have wanted to help, she still yet desperately longed for home. It seemed so far away when Byron told her of the incidences that occurred the night before, but now, it was finally there. Rowen leaned her ear against Lerris, muttering, “Let’s go home...”
---
“Let’s go home…”
Yes…Let’s. That sounded like a marvelous plan. They can just sit back in Aryan and relax for a few years before their next adventure. That would quite Byron very well and probably Rowen and Lerris as well. The three could just sit back and have a few cups of tea while discussing their time apart. Mind you, not all of their time apart. Byron might just flush if they went that far.
“Yes, I believe it is time that we take our leave not.” Byron stated flatly to Rubien and Veera. “We need not get involved in this. Out lives are already at risk, there is no need to publicize or endanger them more.” He ended with. He was not going to say anymore. He doubted he could ever look Veera in the eyes again. Byron walked over to Rowen, standing tall next to her.
It felt as if a large weight had been lifted from them, and all was set to go.
---
Lerris nodded his goodbye to Rubien, and the old man returned the nod sitting back down in his old wooden chair. He did not even give Veera a look as he swung the door of the small house open and finally stepped out into the cold morning air. The elf took a deep breath and smiled slightly, happy to know that he and Rowen would finally be going home.
It surprised him to realize that it seemed as if Byron was coming with them, not a few hours ago the elf would have simply ripped him apart. His smile faded and he looked down at Rowen, “Guess the boys coming with us?” He already figured Rowen would be more then happy to have Byron return to Aryan with them, but he raised his right eyebrow as if to ask for her sanction.
---
At Byron’s movement to her side, Rowen smiled, glad that all this would soon be over. Glad that this whole scenario, Zyroxi, the witch, the Assassins, all of it would be behind them. Though, there were a few things that still caused a sense of some concern, though she gave this little thought until Lerris led her toward the outside, her arm coming around his back in a small embrace.
Guess the boy’s coming with us? he had asked, and in response, Rowen grew a look pensive in nature. There was little to consider about it, however. She did want him to come with them. With that, another problem would have been out of the way. The thieving would be behind them, too, even if only for while.
“I suppose so,” Rowen allowed herself a light smile. She was still glad to be out of the presence of Veera, safe from all that, but still yet... dwelling over what happened only moments before. The arguments, that is, and Byron’s question of her own sanity. It was disturbing, to say the least, to be accused of something that made no sense. Not so much depressing or vexing, just... unsettling. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”
---
“If it is alright with you two…” Byron meekly stated, as if he were being punished, “I would be more than happy to come with, but if you two would rather be alone, I would just like to say my goodbyes and then I can find someplace else to live.” Byron hung his head slightly, awaiting the verdict.
Byron really did want to come with. He was a friend of the elf now, which was a first that Byron never thought would be true. And now Rowen was actually happy to be around. He had not felt this happiness for nearly three years. It felt wonderful. There was really nothing else that Byron could do besides wait for what Lerris would decide. If it were okay with him, Byron would be the happiest person ever! If not…
---
“Well, it’s all right with me,” Rowen said in a quiet voice that had almost become characteristic since she had awoken. Though her voice was soft, and could have even been described as dubious, she meant it more so than merely ‘all right.’ She wanted him to come. After all they had been through in the past week or so, she couldn’t be all right with just leaving him. After Lerris and Byron were finally reconciled, they all couldn’t just go their separate ways as before. As when Byron left on his own, twice, for example. It shouldn’t have had to have been like that, right then, when everything was behind them. “Lerris?”
The decision was to be his, of course. Perhaps under different circumstances it would not be so. No... no, positively so, were the circumstances different, she would make her own decisions. However, given her current state, she almost felt inferior to the rest. Again, as though she were just a child. Even with this, it most certainly did not deter her own felicity over the subject. To just exist with Lerris and Byron, at home, that was all well enough. As for the rest, it didn’t matter.
The personality switch was truthfully nothing short of astonishing. At one point, she was that infant viper who let her teacher die, and went on to steal for her living. She was haughty, facetious, seditious, and imperturbable. And then Byron came along... and she was still haughty, facetious, seditious, but more so fastidious than anything else. Or, as the Assassin had said, a hell cat. Perhaps even she-devil would have been somewhere close to the truth. All well intended, of course... she meant it well, that is, for Byron to be the best thieving hellion he could be. And then with Lerris--something to the effect of haughty, facetious, seditious, and far more calmed in the final department. This, her then, it was a complete revolution. As for better or worse, it all depended on who was giving the opinion.
---
Lerris scratched his stubble of a beard faintly and c*cked his head slightly to the right. It was not as if after everything the elf was simply going to say Nope. He nodded slightly and closed his eyes. “Alright…but your building your own place to live, I can’t be having the likes of you hanging around my house every day...” Muttered Lerris with a slight smirk, the elf reached around Rowen and patted Byron on the shoulder.
“Try not to tell a man named Ty about what happened before we came to Zyroxi…actually, don’t tell him anything.” He thought about this for a second and placed his arm back around Rowen. “In fact…don’t tell anyone anything…
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 21:44:28 GMT -5
Byron was absolutely beaming! Beaming as if he were a little boy again standing outside of the candy shop. Of course he was never let in, being as dirty as he always was, but Byron always loved to window shop, or go “window licking” as he used to call it. He actually used to lick the windows, and he believed that if he tried hard enough, he might actually get a taste. But of course it had to be done quickly or the storekeeper would come out hit him with a broom. He loved those good ol’ days. But now…it just seemed so much better. Better now that he was accepted in society instead of pushed out with a pointy straw broom.
Lerris and Rowen were going to bring him into their house. Bring Byron, the lone outcast and befriend him. Of course he would be more than happy to build his own place. He could have his own bed…kitchen…sitting room, the whole works! And it would all be his! Of course Rowen and Lerris and whatever offspring they may have had permanent visiting rights.
Out on a whim, Byron’s eyes widened with happiness and he grabbed Rowen to give her a long embrace. He grasped her around the waist and picked her up, spinning her around, all the while laughing joyously for his good fortune. After setting Rowen down, and pausing to relieve the dizziness, Byron walked over to Lerris and stood solemnly in front of him.
"I thank you very much for you kindness and hospitality. I hope we never lose track of ourselves and our deepest emotions again." Byron reached out and gave the elf a one-armed hug, but soon made it two as he patted the elf on the back in adoration, "Thank you..."
---
“All right… but your building your own place to live, I can’t be having the likes of you hanging around my house every day...”
At that, Rowen was glad. Though she had thought the terms were without questions... she was nevertheless pleased with there this all was going. Byron would be in Aryan, with them. It would all be all right. Lerris, Byron, she... at home. There was nothing more she wanted, particularly then, after that ordeal. After being stabbed, namely, after Philip, after surviving. She was glad... but clearly not as glad as Byron.
Rowen was very much taken off guard by Byron’s reaction to Lerris’ reply. She was naturally pleased as well, but the response on Byron’s part, by far, left her own behind. Rowen gave out a sort of... squeak when Byron lifted her from the ground, and twirled her about. Highly undignified, the former Rowen would have thought...
Though at the present time, she was merely surprised. Entirely surprised. Stupefied. Once set down, it took a moment or two for her to regain her balance. Setting her hand against a house wall, she found herself grinning as Byron embraced Lerris. There was no question, at that point. That is, that it was true that Byron was not completely drunk when he made his reconciliation with Lerris.
---
Lerris gave Byron a hug with one arm, “Your welcome…your welcome..” He murmured. He glanced at Rowen and could already see the happiness in her; he figured life in Aryan wouldn’t be too hard with Byron being around. Although…he would never quite finish his….
Book.
He came away from Byron’s hug and had a feeling of joy that Rowen would be happy and everything looked like it was turning out fine. But also a feeling of sadness, that almost a whole week had passed and he had not even thought about his book. Now that he really thought about it, he wanted to change it. The way he had spoken of Byron in those chapters was….not something he wanted to remember.
Maybe once Byron was settled into his home, He could start a new book…something fictional maybe? He knew the first month or so was going to be hard, explaining to Ty and the townsfolk about Byron, luckily no one ever asked about your past there.
---
Rowen came up as Lerris pulled away from Byron’s embrace, a childlike simper still yet planted over her face. Yes... yes, this was all going to be all right. She could see that, so clearly. There would be no more running away, to say the least. There would be no more fights. Perhaps it was too much to ask... but maybe no more thieving, war, or the like of which they had faced many a time.
Rowen embraced Lerris with one arm as she looked up to him. Her head was tilted to the side, thoughtful expression on her face, a bit of red coming onto her shoulder.
“Let’s go home,” she said once more with her grin still attached to her face. There were still inside the city’s borders, after all. If they were going to get anywhere remotely close to Aryan, they’d have to start actually... moving.
---
The elf nodded and slid one arm around Rowen and took his first step towards the gate out of Zyroxi and back to Aryan. It must take at least three to four days just to get back home, at the pace Lerris had set on the way there it had been about one and a half.
After only a few minutes of walking, the three finally reached the way out of Zyroxi. The elf gave no glance at the soldiers stationed all about, knowing full well they were now there twenty-four seven. The town was still fearing another attack by those assassins….but Lerris tried to let that leave his mind.
Once outside the gate, Lerris felt a strange sense of joy. He was no longer inside the walls of such a big city, something he had been trying to avoid for the past couple years. Another reason he enjoyed the small community at Aryan.
Home sounded good…Home sounded wonderful.
---
And they were on the outside... the feeling of relief was immense. For the days she had spent there, Rowen had only longed to get out. From the very moment she had awoken, to the nights spent in The Trap, when she thought Lerris was dead by Byron’s hand. From then on, to the Assassins, to Veera, and everything that followed. Rowen only wanted home, someplace she knew and could map out in her mind. A place she had been for more than a few short days, more so, before Philip had come in her sleep. This place, it was foreign. But now, she could be free of that. They had passed the boundaries of the city, and it was done.
But, even as they crossed the line from city to the unclaimed land ahead, Rowen stole a glance from one of the soldiers posted on the outside. The woman had never had a liking for those kind of people, at one time being a thief herself, and thus constantly running from authority. But what she felt then wasn’t that kind of fear. It wasn’t any kind of fear, really. More so, it was an uncertainty, she herself dubious as to the background of some certain incidents that occurred only a little while before. Such a short time, when she thought they would not be on their way after all. It was over, of course. It shouldn’t have mattered anymore. I should leave it alone...
But she couldn’t.
“Lerris?” Rowen asked moments after they passed the walls of Zyroxi. Her mind went back to the past, when she spoke to Lerris after leaving The Trap for the second time, when she repeated her information again to Byron, and again to Rubien. “When I told you all of the Assassins... why was nothing done?”
---
What is happening…? How can they just leave like that? How can they leave and let us fend for ourselves? Can we really save him? Take him? And what about our lives? Do they really think that badly of us already? Well…I know Rowen does of me. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I need to try and figure it out, but later. Now…now is the time for my friend and I to compile a plan. Prepare. Configure. Everything. Simper looks will not work in a situation such as this. Our Lord, my Lord, is captured for ransom. I need to save him. We need to save him. There is no need to pay our money. Of course they will be stopped. No assassin gets away with something this …oh, what’s the word…earth shattering. The town may be so willing to give up their freedoms and monies, but I am not. I have worked hard my whole life. I have not bled, screamed and sweat for some schmuck to take it away as if it were nothing.
Veera was noticeably distressed at the fact that Rowen, Byron and Lerris left them. The woman limped slowly over to a nearby chair and sat herself down, its hard texture hurting her brittle bones. As the door closed, she brought her hands up to embrace her visage, covering the tear she wept. She knew her eyes were getting all puffy, but she could not help it. Could Veera and Rubien really save the Lord on their own? Would anyone of the town help them? It was not as if they had made many friends in their times here. The real question may be: would anyone want then to help? The townsfolk feared Veera and Rubien. It was common knowledge and not something the people often kept from the two, often hurling insults as the walked down the streets. Or at least more so at Veera. Humans do not question what they do not know; they just take direct action.
She finally looked up, the tearstain still there, and in front of her stood Rubien, in dual shock. “R...Rubien…” she choked out, “What are we going to do?”
~---------------:::---------------~
Down the path he walked, trailing slightly behind Rowen and Lerris, as usual. Was it already back to the way it always was? Was Byron always just going to be left behind? No. Byron ran up to the two, of course not very fast, he was less than ten feet away, and he strode in the middle of them, splitting them apart, and he put one arm around each, grinning happily. The guards by them gave Byron an odd glance, but otherwise left him alone.
“So guys…” he stated enthusiastically, “What should my new house look like? You know, I’ve never really had a house. None that I can remember, at least. I was thinking something like the palace. Nice a big with a hundred rooms! Yeah…that would suit fine. Whaddya think?” He did not hear what they were talking about before he bounded between the two. He was guessing it may have been something important, but it would probably be better to leave any possibly disagreements out of the group for now.
---
Rowen had been anticipating a response from Lerris, holding some anticipation for the answer. She wanted to know. She wanted to know why, somehow, all this came as a surprise by morning. Why it was a surprise when she foretold it all. And, most importantly... why her warning had been ignored. Why they did nothing when a life lay on the line. True, once, she was a thief herself, and the value of human life meant nothing to her. But things had... changed. She wanted the answers to all this, when Byron thrust himself in-between them, breaking them apart.
Rowen looked to Byron with a strange expression, void of much of the emotion perhaps Byron would have expected. Whatever it was, however, it was most certainly not enthused. She merely nodded lightly to his somewhat overzealous statement, hardly having heard what he said.
“Sure,” was all she had voiced in reply, head turning toward the unmarked path ahead. With her answer denied, her curiosity only deepened. Even with this, she would not persist in asking. For the moment, Rowen would unhappily settle for mystery rather than the solid answer she had sought.
---
“Sure!?” Byron questioned, “Rowen, dear, it was merely a jest. Come now! We are all going to lead grand lives in Aryan without anymore fear or trepidation.” He chuckled. Moving to the other side or Rowen, Byron walked side-by-side with her and Lerris for the first time. For once, once in a long, long time, he felt they were finally equals in each other’s eyes. And about time too…
His future in Aryan seemed planned. His future with Lerris was going to be friendly and hopefully civil. But his future with Rowen was still questionable. She seemed still to have other things on her mind that Byron was not as much a part of. That was fine with him, but he still was curious about what she thought. All Byron wanted was to be near her and have her like him again. He was more than sorry for all he had done in the past to harm both her and Lerris. He was sorry for the very hurtful things he said without thought as to the consequences. What he had said to Rowen back in Lerris’ old house in Mirkwood must have hurt her beyond imagination. She did say some hurtful things back though, but that does not lessen Byron’s words. Hopefully all can be healed, but some experience, Byron knew they couldn’t.
---
“Oh, oh, I know,” Rowen said in a voice lacking animation as she walked by Byron’s side. She had jumped slightly at his sudden outburst, but recovered quickly to her state of pensiveness. What... what was it he said? She didn’t quite know what he had been ‘jesting’ about, but... that wasn’t her main concern. Her main concern was knowing the truth. Her main concern... was getting home.
Slipping her hand into Lerris’, she tried to focus on that. Home. She hadn’t truly had a place to stay since she abandoned Philip--never wanted one. Rowen hadn’t expected to long for such a place again, but by then, it was an obsession. She wanted to be there. Her own room, her own bed, all of it by far leaving behind the feeling she had experienced in Zyroxi. And Byron would be there. He who once wanted to leave, go out on his own, would willingly be a part of her life again. It wounded perfect.
But, all the same, she didn’t know that she could be completely satisfied without the answers. The response to her why. She hoped for such and answer to come to her, soon.
---
Lerris scratched the back of his head with his free hand, trying to think up some sort of reason that would make sense as to why nothing had been done about the assassins. When Byron jumped in he had given the elf a little more time, and he finally had an answer as he moved to Rowen’s other side. “Because…” The elf started still hesitant to answer, “Because I was told not to worry, because they told me they were just drunks rambling on in a pub. I know I should have believed you but they told me nothing was wrong. Rubien believed you, I should have also….”
The elf shrugged, “Paresha was never our problem anyway, kings and lords die out each day…but at some point are replaced, then forgotten.” He brushed the brown hair out of his eyes, realizing it had been way past time to cut it.
---
So... it came down to they didn’t believe her? The reasoning was weaker than what Rowen would have come to expect. Though the last bit seemed to be somewhat more characteristic. It was not their affair. Rowen, as clearly had been seen the moment she stepped out of the bar and spoke of it to the others, did not agree. A life was a life. Even in her normal state, she would have understood that. Though, perhaps, five or so years before, she couldn’t have cared less.
“Ahh,” Rowen said without animation. Though the reasoning was not quite what she wanted to hear, she felt better for it. At the very least, there was no more reason to wonder. There was only what lay ahead--home. Or, what was the more obvious locale.
The trees loomed overhead, with some small increment of time, the city of Zyroxi still in view if one cared to look behind. Rowen did not, though she did let her gaze fall to the ground once or twice, waiting for the imminent possibility of one to speak, likely Byron, in his level of great enthusiasm. She hadn’t seen him quite like that before, though by no way would she complain about it while it lasted.
And then, her eyes caught something she hadn’t wanted to see. The padded ground, as though a great many had walked over the unmarked path. The shape of the boot on that ground. The boot of a hunter’s... and then, small stretch of cloth, delicate, expensive, though flimsy as well, as though torn from a rich man’s clothing. And, a farther ways away... blood. So small, an animal, perchance? she thought. A rabbit, dragged off by some hound... she wanted to ignore it so, to pretend it wasn’t there. She could have, and they could have gone home, and then they could have settled in like she so wanted... even with all this, she could not hold in the single name, “Lerris...?”
---
The elf glanced at Rowen slightly, and then let his eyes drift to the spot she was inspecting. The ground was padded from excessive trampling, and Lerris groaned when he realized what else lay there. Blood, and just near it a ripped piece of cloth…of course there had been a struggle there. He wanted to tell himself otherwise, and just go home, but for some reason…something in the back of his mind tugged at him to inspect it further.
“Hold on…” He muttered as he stopped the group and walked slightly off path to scrutinize the scene. He bent down to one knee and picked the torn cloth into his hand, it felt smooth to the touch, and fragile, delicate, like something a king would wear. The elf dropped the cloth onto the ground and shook his head. He wanted to be wrong, he wanted so bad to just let it all go. But that small tug in the back of his mind told him he was right…
More like something a Lord would wear, something Lord Paresha was wearing.
He glanced back at Rowen and Byron, then back down at the blood before him.
I’m weaponless…exposed and would be dead if I was forced to fight.
He tried to tell himself, to make himself forget it…but he couldn’t, how could he let someone die like that? “Paresha, he was dragged this way by his captors….my guess from the tracks is that they went North, further into the forest.” He muttered, hating himself more and more for requesting to go after them. “We could find them….if we tried hard enough…Byron you have a dagger or something I could borrow right?” He said turning to the two, knowing full well neither of them wanted to hunt assassins that day.
---
“So... it’s not over,” Rowen observed almost redundantly in a quiet voice, soon after Lerris made his request of Byron. At such a reaction to her observation, that much was made certain. They were going to go after Paresha after all. While Rowen wanted to help Paresha, of course, as she had before such an event had ever occurred, she didn’t want to have to fight. There was simply no question. In her current state, she wasn’t fit for it, in terms of both mind and body. Already halfway insane, the Assassin who had spoken to her already confirmed that she wasn’t as much a threat as she wanted to be. But what was more, back at The Trap, she had seen as much of the Assassins as she ever wanted. Whether it be at the end of a sword or hand, the very way they had spoken to her was unnerving. Armed or no, seeing that group again wasn’t what she wanted. But, at that point, home would have to wait. It was, by then, a question of life and death, not her own comfort.
Rowen looked briefly to Byron, holding her arms in her hands. For once, she was relieved that her once-student had not surrendered his way of life, for by then, she was certain he would have been well-armed. Perhaps, when they were all armed... well... they were three, and the Assassins were six. Altogether, they had faced odds just as bad, namely on that boat, with Grohn and his comrades. Maybe they had a chance... but then again, that day, the terms were different. It wasn’t some runaway criminals, it was a party of trained man-hunters. And even the former may have succeeded if they had not all been taken to the brig.
Rowen sighed heavily as she ran pale fingers through crimson hair, eyes deviating to the ground.
“I’m going to need something, too...”
---
The tracks were fresh. Easy to follow. Childs play even. But why should they follow them? Why should they risk their lives again? Risk their future. Their friendship. What has this Lord Paresha done to receive their aid? Why have we started doing the right thing? Why can’t we just go back to our thieving ways? Those were enjoyable and free of any burden…
Byron’s view scurried across the ground trying to find a reason for them being wrong. But he couldn’t. It was flawless logic. The imprinted boots. The trail of blood. Broken twigs. His heart pounded against his chest, anger instilled along with the present dread. Why were they to do this task? Byron knew there was no talking them out of it though. He would just have to go along with it. Byron would not feel right letting them go off to fight a battle that is not their clash in the first place. If they had the courage and ambition to do so, he could to. All Byron needed to do was summon it. That would be the difficult part.
“Yes…I have…I have weapons for both of you. But why? Why do we have to do this? Can’t we just let it be…?” his voice trailed off. He knew they needed to do it. All three of them would never feel right not doing so. They would go to Aryan and live guilty lives. Shameful lives. That would never suit them. “Well…” he began, answering his own question, “I guess…when do we leave?”
---
Yes... I have... I have weapons for both of you. But why? Why do we have to do this? Can’t we just let it be...?
At that, Rowen was ready to protest. It wasn’t right, and she was sure they all knew this by now. It was not right to let such an act go unpunished when the route lay there, plain as day, as it was wrong all those years ago of Rowen herself to let Grohn go when she had the chance to kill him, and end his crimes forever. But then,
Well... I guess... when do we leave?
When? The answer seemed so clear. Right then, of course. But then, what of Rubien, and... Veera? They were as involved as anyone else, this being their city, their Lord, their prime concern. But... Rowen didn’t want to double back. She didn’t want to go back there. But, again, this was not about simply what made her comfortable. It was about what route would work best for Paresha’s sake. And what was that?
“As soon as possible,” was her solemn answer, she awaiting the weapon she didn’t want to have to use.
---
“Nadorhuanrim….” Muttered the elf to himself, he hated himself for chasing down the assassins after telling Veera and Rubien plainly that he did not care. When Lerris rose to his full height he turned back to Rowen and Byron with an apologetic look, “I’m not going to force this on either of you, I know neither of you want to go after Paresha It isn’t like I really want to either, I just feel…” Like it’s my fault He held out his hand for Byron to hand him a weapon.
“I’d say we are outnumbered, by how many I’m not sure, Byron you could probably sneak in and simply get who ever may be guarding Paresha. If no one is, just get him out of there, I want as little bloodshed as possible.” The scout in the elf, from back in the third age had spoken there. “If someone sees you, kill him, the assassins deserve nothing more then death. If you get into a fight I’ll be there to help, what I could really use is a bo…” The elf stopped in mid sentence, wondering how long it had been since he had used a bow and arrow. It felt, odd, to give orders again since he had been out of war for so long. “I just want the three of us alive” He quickly added, “…and Paresha.”
---
Rowen nodded mutely at Lerris’ plans, eyes never failing to remain on him. Listening to his scheme, of sorts, it all made sense. Of course it did, at that, a far better analysis of the situation and eventual plot that she herself had envisioned. Hers was something to the effect of running in, chaos rising up, only to end with the last man standing. Lerris’ was... much better. Safer, of which Rowen, by then, would gladly partake in contrast to the bloody battles she had on the mind. As little trouble as possible... and then... it could be over.
“I understand,” Rowen said after he was done, speaking in a quiet voice, of which she could now call ‘her own’, little sign of the thieving woman’s return to her body. Mind on the path ahead, Rowen wondered--what was going to happen to them? If they were lucky, very lucky, perhaps Paresha would be alone.
‘No,’ Rowen resolved fast after considering the possibility for but a moment. ‘Impossible.’ If they were the Assassins she thought them to be, they wouldn’t be so sloppy. Unless they were, perchance, overconfident, or if Paresha was already dead. Coming up to Lerris, she took him loosely by the hand.
“Let’s go, then,” she said with an expression that began to lose its former fear into a sort of emotionlessness, though by the mind, the situation was quite different. “The sooner we’re done...” The sooner we can go home. “... the better.”
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 15, 2006 0:01:16 GMT -5
Bending down to his boots, Byron listened closely to the spare-of-the-moment plan as his part was given to him. It did not seem that terribly hard to day. The only hitch was that Paresha had to be alive for them to save him. If he was not…well then, what was the point? Obviously there wasn’t one then. Byron unlatched a dagger from the side of each boot, looking at them closely. In his left was his newest one. It stood for the reasons they were in Zyroxi. Why they had come. Its blade glinted against the sun, which glared back up at Byron as if sending a message of the horrible deeds he accomplished with it. Byron gave it once last glance and handed it to Rowen. Who else to have it? Byron and her had the most history with it. The other blade was not as significant. Just a plain onyx handle, a ring of silver near the bottom and top. The blade was a normal light gray, which he handed to Lerris with a somewhat resolutely dismal nature bound to it.
Byron, with his own weapon, and sleek two-handed sword, pulled it out of his sheath, its familiar ringing filled the stale air around them. The three were now bound to the task. It was for them to unravel and fix. But what of Veera and Rubien? They would both be a handy asset to have around if trouble came their way. It would also even up the odds, as Rowen stated before there were six men in the group. Five people, two of which being mystic in their ways, against six assassins was pretty good odds. They also had the element of surprise on their side. Who would the assassins think would come after them? After all, all throughout the town, Byron had heard and seen people gathering their monies to pool together to save their beloved leader and friend. A very kind thing to do, but why waste the money?
“The sooner we’re done...the better.”
Yes…Rowen was very right there. They sooner they had accomplished their possibly deadly task, they could then be able to go back to their lives. They almost had it. It was within reach, but alas, it was not to be accomplished until their souls were cleansed.
“Alright then…” Byron said gloomily, “Let’s get a movin’!” he ended with a little giddy-up in his voice. If they were going to do it…they were not going to mess up. The three, or five, friends would save themselves with little or preferably no bloodshed.
---
The elf gave a quick glance at the blade and tucked it into his belt; it was a weapon he was fairly used to. A dagger, not a sword at least…a sword was too clumsy, a knife was elegant. Lightly letting go of Rowen’s hand, Lerris began his way into the forest motioning for the other two to follow him. His eyes scanned every bit of the forest they passed, and sometimes he stopped when he swore he saw movement in the trees.
For the most part he was silent, not saying anything besides a “Follow me” and figuring surprise was something they needed, he stayed silent after that. After an hour or so, the elf dropped to one knee near a fallen tree, and quietly slipped the dagger out of his belt, when he saw what lay next to the tree the elf gripped the blade turning his knuckles white. Next to the tree lay more blood and even more trampled twigs…they had to be close.
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Rowen looked down to the blade Byron had given her. What a choice... the very dagger that had caused all that. The very one that had sent them to Zyroxi, almost killed her, though for a time, she wished it had succeeded. But then... it wasn’t the knife. It was the person behind the knife. Byron... but that didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter.
She walked at good pace, along side the other two, light grip on the dark handle of the dagger. It was clean of her blood, that day, and soon, she knew it would again shine with the same crimson red it had seen before. The world seemingly growing quiet, as though waiting for them to find what it was they sought, she remained silent when Lerris stopped. She knew, then, that the wait would soon be over.
...........
Lord Paresha had his back flat against some bole of tree, eyes wide in fearful at the Assassins who had surrounded him. Seated, he looked up with what was almost a sense of inferiority. With the Assassins themselves, the mood was slightly differing. They were restless. They wanted their money. They wanted to kill.
“When?” one of them had asked at some point, hours after they had taken the man. The why... it referred to Paresha. When could they end it? They hadn’t planned on keeping him alive regardless, the man useless once they had their money. The one who asked saw little point in keeping him alive any longer.
“Soon.”
The voice was Lycan’s.
“Who knows when a noble could come in handy?”
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The elf shook his head in disgust as he heard the voices speaking casually of when to kill. He motioned for the other two to follow as he made his way around the small encampment of assassins to get a better look at their positioning. The lot of them sat idly around waiting for their leader to give the sign to kill off Paresha, all of them stood about in the clearing.
Lerris brought his eyes to the largest of the group, the leader, and the one that had been giving the orders to the others the whole time. For some reason he felt a deep revulsion for this man, he looked back at Byron and gave him a motion to go off and look for Paresha. He prayed the young man still knew what he was supposed to do, and keep the blood shed to a minimum.
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Gray eyes drifted toward the scene, Rowen squinted to see the Assassins, located behind some great mass of trees, and thus somewhat difficult to see. Leaning lightly forward, she caught scattered glimpses of leather armor, occasional weapons, no clear face in sight. All the better, eye contact not quite what she had been looking for at the moment. Shrinking lightly back again, her gaze bearing the look of one somewhat overly cautious, even apprehensive, she counted the men who stood there. One, two, three, four... six total. Six Assassins. All those she had seen at The Trap present and accounted for. Paresha, the lord, was not in sight, her vantage point likely hindering such a feat.
Eyes reluctantly deviating from the scene, she looked to her companions at the side. She saw Lerris gesture to Byron, all actions done in silence, and obviously for good reason. Albeit this, Rowen could have easily guessed for what, even when in such a state as she.
Based on what Lerris had said earlier, they weren’t looking for a fight, they were looking for Paresha. If they found the man, hopefully (though unlikely) without Assassins guarding him, they could transport him back to his home, where he could protect himself and his city for whatever it was worth. But... it couldn’t have been so easy. When Lerris had completed his signal to Byron, she looked to him with dully colored eyes, her questioning gaze almost asking, what do you want me to do?
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Lerris shrugged and gave it a few moments thought, it wasn't like he wanted Rowen off by herself. Had it been at another time when she was more...stable, he would have let her do whatever she wanted. But now was not that time, the elf mouthed the words, "Stay near me..." Incase she had not understood he motioned to right next to him.
A light breeze blew through the woods and it brought Lerris' now long brown hair all about his face. He combed it back with one hand, and finally he peered over at Byron, who seemed to have gotten the idea and was beginning his way around the perimeter of the camp. Lerris brought his gaze back to the leader, and began to lightly stroke the blunt side of his dagger, he felt....anxious.
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Rowen nodded to Lerris, coming by his side as he motioned for her. She had wanted to help, naturally... but saw little she could do, and in the grand scheme of things, little she wanted to do albeit her conflicting desire to assist. Two wants, two drives, she in the end conceding to idleness. Eyes fell toward the place where the Assassins were camped. One, two, three... she counted again. Five? Where was-
A force came from behind her, the acolyte to the lead Assassin stretching out his hands to grab Rowen by the collar of her shirt, and Lerris as well. He lifted them to his... impressive height, looking down at the two of them with mischievous eyes. Rowen looked, and found no Byron in sight. A frantic gaze returning to the paling green eyes of the Assassin, she heard his words,
“Well, now, what’s all this?”
By that moment, she was in a clear panic. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to be there, then, that place, doing what should have come natural. She wanted to help Paresha... and so the drive for his life had to be greater than the drive for her own.
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The human was stronger then Lerris with out a doubt, but the elf struggled against his grip with all his might. Eventually he went limp, knowing struggling was going to get him nowhere. He looked all about for Byron, and was happy to see him nowhere. Perhaps this could work for a better distraction, if only he could get all the assassins over to their spot.
“Utinu en lokirim…” The elf said as he proceeded to spit in the assassins face. He could see the plain anger in the human’s eyes, and he gave him an immoral smirk. He glanced at Rowen quickly, just to make sure she was alright….if anyone could be alright while being lifted by their collar. “Amin hiraetha” He mouthed to her even if she wasn’t looking.
With that the elf stabbed his dagger hard into the assassin’s hand, the man gave what almost sounded like a yelp and loosened his grip on the elf’s collar. Lerris dropped to his feet and landed a punch on the man’s nose, with that Rowen was dropped but Lerris was repaid with a backhand to his face and the elf was sent sprawling onto the forest floor.
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Rowen landed on her side as she fell to the ground, eyes shooting from side to side to see what had happened. Sitting erect, she found the Assassin’s hand to be bleeding, Lerris recoiling from striking the man on his face. Almost as though the moments were speeding beyond her capacity to intervene, she watched as the Assassin fought back, backhanding Lerris across the face.
Rowen pushed her hands against the forest floor, as though to race toward Lerris’ fallen form, but at the moment she had raised herself from the ground, a hand reached around her waist. In a moment of empty-headed fear, she clasped the dagger in her hand, and thrust it backward. She hadn’t quite attained the damage that had been done, but as long as she was let go, it was all all right. The hand loosening, she plunging to the ground, the leaves and grass breaking away as she landed.
Scrambling to Lerris side, she looked back in time to see the Assassin hold his gut, blood drizzling down from his abdomen. Thoughts did not connect in her mind, the cause and effect of her actions, or lack of actions, or anything of the like. Almost as an animal, she just did what she could to get out.
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The elf groaned as he rolled over onto his back and looked up at Rowen. He smiled when he saw that she was “alright.” He glanced over at the assassin holding his gut, and realized Rowen had stabbed the man. He sighed, and realized that blood was going to be shed whether he liked it or not. He sat up slowly and rubbed his face where he had been hit, then looked back to the other approaching assassins. Several of them were approaching quickly, with all sorts of blades being unsheathed at once.
The elf quickly got to his feet and realized he was completely defenseless, he looked to Rowen and she had her dagger gripped tightly in her hand. He did not want her to have to fight all of them alone, so he readied himself for the attack with just his fists.
d*mn it Byron, you better have found Paresha…”
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Moving away with stealth, Byron left Rowen and Lerris to themselves and headed to find out where Paresha was. Everything was just happening so quickly. It seemed like the three were back at Rubien’s house but a short while ago, talking about Rowen, Lerris and Byron’s lack of participation in saving Paresha, yet here they were…trying to save the King and return him to his kingdom. It was Byron’s job to actually rescue the king and get him away from the assassins. Byron was a key factor in if the king was alive or dead, and for the sake of Zyroxi, it’s population, and Byron’s future, he decided that it would be better if Paresha were left alive. If the king did die, Byron knew that he would never forgive himself, and Rowen would never think the same of him again. He had not failed to complete a task in her eyes, and he did not intend to start now.
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Ahead of him, about thirty meters, Byron could see the king. Bound and gagged, Paresha was not going anywhere soon without help. These assassins knew what it was they were doing, and they did it well. He saw the men talking for a brief moment, as I they were waiting for someone or something. Did they really think that the populace of Zyroxi would act so quickly? It has been less than a day. How were they to assemble all that money so quickly? Byron shook his head, slightly startled when they were eyeing Paresha with bad intent. Did they intend to kill in anyway? Even if they got the money? Probably…why else would you kidnap a person? Either they hated to person or they wanted money for them. Maybe it was both…
Byron looked at the situation in slight despair. There was no obvious way to save him without attracting the assassins’ attention and/or spilling blood. Paresha was one well-guarded man and the assassins did not aim to just let him go. What point was there to that?
Without much of a warning, one of the six men left the scene, deviating from Paresha, and focusing on something in the nearby woods. This cannot be good… Over in the woods, Byron could easily hear that there was a struggle occurring, and he knew that it was with Rowen and Lerris. One of them had made a sound that attracted the attention of the assassins and warranted their immediate attention. One was gone, that made it a little easier, Byron had handled five men before, and he could do it again. The only change was that these men were trained for battle and knew how to fight well.
The scene in the woods settled down, yet no one emerged from the area. That means Rowen and Lerris must have beat them! One down…five to go.
A couple of the five men remaining left for the woods, sprinting into them with weapons drawn. This could be Byron’s only chance to get at Paresha…and he was willing to spill blood no matter what that elf said.
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Lerris dodged the first swing of the assassins sword, and rolled to his feet. Two of them came running towards him, weapons drawn and the other headed after Rowen thinking a woman would be easier to dispatch. He smirked, knowing full well they were wrong, he knew Rowen could easily handle one of them.
To the assassins Lerris looked crazy, smiling at them as they stabbed and swung their swords at him. Lerris dodged one sword stab and came back to back-hand punch the man in the face, the human moaned and the other sliced at his arm. He dodged just in time to recieve a long cut down his arm, the blood gushed and the elf screamed in pain, but behind all the pain Lerris was thankful it was only that and he had not lost an arm.
He landed a kick to the man's stomach and the assassin dropped his sword, Lerris and the assassin scrambled for it. The tip was brought up quickly straight through a throat. Lerris groaned and wiped the blood from his face, the other suddenly brought his sword down towards the elf's stomach. He rolled to the left, dodging, then to the right dodging one last attack. He parried the next and rolled to his feet.
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One of the Assassins heading toward her, Rowen drew back with the dagger gripped solidly in her hand. Any form of style had abandoned her, as the man took hold of her wrist, the once clever art form turning into a mere desperate struggle for life. Somewhere, inside, she must have known what was necessary, she must have known what was required of her to succeed in this battle for a man she hadn’t met, and a conflict for her life as well, but as to whether or not she performed as so was an entirely different matter. Skill buried away somewhere in the depths of her psyche, kept hidden in a shallow grave in the labyrinth of catacombs of her mind, she could almost recognize the ‘talent’ for what it was. Almost, though in the blind struggle for her own existence, it was not sought altogether too hard for.
As the Assassin gripped her wrist, the woman thrashed back at the force used against her, the blade twisting about in her hand. Though her mind almost numb of all sense about her, her strength had not failed her yet. In surprise at the prowess a woman could yield, he stumbled forward a bit, though this was enough to bring about a decisive end. The laws of physics working against him, the man fell, pulled, and Rowen in return was thrust forward, the dagger finding its way at the left of the Assassins chest.
It was an accident. A very good... accident. The man’s life ended, right there, Rowen herself scarcely able to comprehend what she had just done. Instead, she merely looked about like a frantic animal surrounded by the hunters.
---
The Lord was in sight, and Byron was ready to get this over with. He darted from the woods with caution, creeping towards the bound man. Two of the three remaining assassins guarded the name nervously. The other two that had left still had not made their conscious presence known, which meant that they were dead, knocked out cold, or looting their kill. Good thing Rowen and Lerris have nothing to loot… Byron joked to himself anxiously before he left for Paresha. The third member of the deadly team stood firm. This had to have been the leader of the group. No one but a leader could stay that under control during a crisis. He customary dark persona was wavering and paled slightly, under the current conditions, Byron found that to be perfectly acceptable.
The three men were stationed in between Paresha and the woods where Rowen and Lerris were. They have taken up those posts but minutes after the second and third left to go in the woods. If those three were going to be ambushed, they were going to have it done while they were prepared. This left the opportunity wide open for Byron to rush forward quietly and try to untie Paresha. That would be the most direct way to come in contact with him, and without “loss of life” as the elf so frivolously said. Life was going to be lost. All six of these men should be killed instantly, and saving Paresha would be much easier that way. Rowen, Lerris and Byron were all used to and good at killing. They were very practiced.
Byron edged slightly out of the woods to the man sitting on the ground lightly guarded with the assassins’ back to him. Easier than I thought… Byron looked for a good place to untie the king and get him out. He needed to decipher the knot quickly and probably carry the king out; he would rather not make any unneeded sounds. Byron rushed swiftly upon the king, descending quickly upon him. He knelt down and smiled gently at Paresha, the man had to be scared out of mind, not used to things like this.
“Paresha. Right?”
A tall shadow loomed over him, Byron looked up and grinned innocently as a foot came up and smashed him in the face.
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Lycan Fletcher, electric blue eyes flashing with vivacious satisfaction at the display of the battle site, had his head firm and straight as he watched his acolyte take on the woman, of which seemed to thrash about with neither style nor grace. In his minds eye, he knew the intruders could not possibly last. They all looked very much insane. And the woman, he knew, was insane. He had seen her before, at the bar. A part of him told him that this couldn’t possibly be Rowen Blackhawk, the infamous thief who killed and stole without care, or so the rumors had led all to believe. After all, that thing out there, from all he had seen (and he had seen enough) couldn’t fight worth anything. Same went for the elf (only God knew why an elf was off so far away from his land).
Perhaps it was a stroke of luck for the intruders, the sound of shuffling feet, and voices greeting the ears behind his back. Luck… because he hadn’t seen even one of his Assassins die. He had seen but one scuffed up badly, stabbed in the gut, and thus made to be a fairly incompetent fighter for future battles—and this one, as well. The fact that Lycan would make him finish the battle regardless, he twisted his neck to see the intruder who spoke to Paresha in a hushed voice. He hadn’t seen the woman make peace with luck, and by some stretch, win one piece of a larger battle. He hadn’t seen the elf knife his man in the neck. Two Assassins dead. One seriously wounded. Only three well and able fighters… against three. If he had only seen this, he would have gone into a rage. If he had seen this, the battle would have taken a swift turn from the arts and jocularity into the single want to kill.
Instead, his eyes came to the man behind him, fooling with Paresha’s binds. The attempt would not succeed, Lycan knew, approaching silently and swiftly, malicious grin playing on his face. All in the same moment, another Assassin took leave to take care of the intruders in the wood. The man in question was soon fighting two-on-one against the elf.
Lycan on the approach, the stranger looked up. The Assassin didn’t even think before he went about his routine of playing with the enemy, until the work was done and his adversary was dead. Lifting his foot, he thrust it down on the intruder’s face. Of course, the politician did nothing of use.
.........
At the moment Rowen killed the man, she was little fazed by what she had done. As long as she wasn’t the one dead, lying face down on the floor, it was all all right. Well… with what she had stirred up in her lifetime, such a feat would truly have been an accomplishment to take into account. Even then, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel was growing dim, an arm reaching around Rowen’s waist. It was the wounded man, though she hadn’t the knowledge or the care. Unawares to the advantage she had on her side, against the first figure she stabbed in the gut, she merely thrashed, the Assassin reaching down her arm and squeezing her wrist. The dagger was forced from her grip, the object falling quietly against the forest floor.
Advantage, was it? Well… at one point.
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Lerris brought his sword up just in time to block one last swing of the human’s sword, blood from his fresh wound on his arm dripped down the edge of the sword and the assassin smirked an evil smirk. The elf let out what sounded like a growl and heaved the man with his sword out of the lock. It was then, the elf noticed the other assassin had his arm around Rowen’s waist and wrist and her weapon lay at her feet.
The elf dodged one last attack from his adversary and saw his opening. He kneed the human in his gut, he bent over coughing hard and Lerris brought the hilt of his sword down onto his back. This sent the assassin to the ground, without hesitation the elf ran the sword through the human’s back.
Slowly he pulled the tip out of the man as he gave one last gulp of air before his death. He turned his glare of utter hatred on the last man in his way towards Paresha. At the beginning it had started as a quest to simply find Paresha without bloodshed or very little, now all around the elf the blood of the fallen assassins flowed.
They deserved to die….didn’t they?
The thought never crossed his mind even as he brought the hilt of his sword to the man holding Rowen’s face. He released Rowen and stumbled back with a look of complete surprise, he parried his next attempt to take the man’s life but was to slow to see the back of Lerris’ hand coming towards him knocking him off his guard. The elf spun and ran the human through; he turned to Rowen with a huff “Where is Byron?!” He snarled still feeling the rush of battle in him. After several moments of standing in silence he sighed and lowered the sword to his side while lowering the tone of his voice. “Have you seen Byron?”
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 15, 2006 16:13:55 GMT -5
Her heart was beating fast when the Assassin took a hold of her, body thrashing under the force of his arm. Blinded by fear, she didn’t see Lerris come, though basked in its benefits when the grip around her waist was relieved. She lightly stumbled forward, spinning around to see what had happened. She saw Lerris kill the man, Rowen with no remorse for his person, of course. But then, as he addressed her, she jumped back lightly at his sudden outburst, heart still thumping in her chest after her previous ordeal. After a moment of silence, words, and silence again, she replied with the shake of her head.
“No,” she said to him, failing in the attempt to temper her breath. Holding her arms in her hands, she had long past her threshold of tolerance. Many of the Assassins were dead by then, she herself rather sure that only two were left standing. Wasn’t that enough? Somewhere inside, she knew such thoughts were in error. It would never be enough until Paresha was home again. Couldn’t they have listened to her from the start? “I haven’t.”
But then, wherever Paresha was, she could hope that he would be. With any luck, Byron had already secured the man. With any luck, it was already over.
---
He winced when he saw Rowen’s reaction to him yelling at her and shook his head lightly. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was sneaking up on him at the moment of some-what peace. He knew with her fragile condition he couldn’t be yelling at her at any time, but amongst all the killing he had forgotten. He c*cked his head somewhat to the side and smiled an apology. “Come on, we need to go find Byron…” With that, he gently took Rowen by the hand and started north…hoping Byron was close.
After several minutes of walking in silence he began to think he had started to walk the wrong way and Byron was on the other side of the clearing. Then he saw it, Lerris thrust himself behind a tree pulling Rowen with him before the human could turn to see what the noise was. Byron was on the ground, and the biggest of them was standing tall above him.
---
Lycan stood above Byron, a mocking grin on his face, the acolyte of said man close by to guard Paresha, as was his duty. Of course, with the intruder coming so close to setting the Lord free, he knew he had failed, though the opportunity soon came to rectify such an err. The acolyte, who himself had retrieved Paresha from the citadel, edged farther away from the scene of Lycan, Paresha, and Byron, looking alertly for another who may come and try to take their prize away. He had seen two of the Assassins die, though his gaze had diverted when the third was taken down, the man wrong in suspecting the wounded could kill the woman.
When he reverted his sight, he found that no one was there. He walked to the site he had seen them, trying to stay close, but still yet attempting to get far enough to get a view at what was happening. No one was there. Even as he stepped farther from his post, there was no one to see. Either one of the two parties was dead, or all had somehow managed to fight and be fought against beyond the ability to survive. As he turned to return to his post, he saw the former was true. He saw the elf and the woman hide themselves behind some bole of tree. He had abandoned his post, though true, it was because of his folly that he had the vantage point to see what had happened.
The Assassin fast, though silently, approached the pair, maneuvering himself in such a way that he would not be seen. He took the blade from his side, readying it for his attack. The woman was of no concern to him. It was the elf he worried over, and so he acted to correct this concern. Flipping the dagger in his hand, he used it as a throwing knife, and let it fly from his hand. The tip of the blade struck and sunk deep through the skin and bulk of tree that stood by Lerris’ head. An insect squirmed and died beneath its point.
---
The large man standing over Byron smirked at him, leaving indignation of fear and hurt. How could I have failed so easily? How could this one man have taken me down with but a movement of his boot and a look in his eyes? A look of just pure anger and resentment filled the man’s eyes, as he looked down at Byron, filling him with righteous fury. He would not be beaten so d*mn easily. Byron had worked too hard to have his whole life, his whole future destroyed by this greedy simpleton with inhibitions of finding better work. Though like I should talk…
His two daggers gone, Byron only had his sword to defend himself with, and that was left in his scabbard. Byron needed to get on is feet and he knew that he was not going to be able to do it bruise and cut free. He was going to get harmed doing this. Like I’m not already… Byron thought, thinking about the assassin’s boot: Boot…what if…
Byron brought his foot back, somewhat startling the man towering over him, and he sent his foot forward several inches with all the force he could muster, connecting with the man’s ankle. The hit sent the man reeling in momentary pain, but not momentary rage. Anger shot at Byron, who had already brought his boot back again and it was heading for the man over his, preferably his gut. Byron hit his target, but a little low. The man staggered in pain. In that moment, Byron took the given opportunity to scramble to his feet; he turned to the assassin, who was gripping his gut, cursing Byron.
“How does it feel, you cur!” Byron screamed at the man. “Come now! Fight me like the louse you are!” This fight was not going to end easily. The assassin was easily bigger then Byron, and much more heavily muscled. But Byron was faster, both physically and probably mentally too. The air around Byron ringed with a feeling of icy death as Byron unsheathed his blade. This was to end. Man-to-man.
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Lycan took a moment to recover from Byron’s attack at his heels, surprised at the boy’s will to fight. In the end, however, Fletcher was fine with this. No, it was all just fine... he could have used some sport after sitting there, waiting for such time, for either the Zyroxians to heed or ignore his requests. He had learned fast that nothingness could wear quickly on one’s nerves, but this, this battle soon to take place brought the simper crawling over his face. One more dead would not weigh down on his conscience.
“Oh, it’s like that, now, is it?” he asked, reaching for his weapon beneath the long brown cloak that hung off a pair of broad shoulders. Grinning to Byron with a dexterous smirk, he pulled the long sword from its sheath, the scraping metal resonating through the wood as he soon held it in a fairly unthreatening stance. Tilting his head to one side, he examined his adversary’s movements, rather wanting to have some fun with this conflict before he brought it to a sudden end. Had he known what odds were against him, he would not have done so. Had he known that only one of his comrades was left standing, he would have had it done in a moment’s time. Instead, within his thoughts were considerations of his own satisfaction.
And so, he merely stood, waiting for Byron to make his first move. In his mind, he was poised to dash and dodge, though his body language would suggest differently. He hadn’t planned on showing effort while the battle was still young.
---
Lerris cursed under his breath and released Rowen’s hand, the elf stepped out from behind the tree and glared at the assassin. He turned and ripped the dagger out of the tree and tossed it to his side, it landed lightly near Rowen. The elf fell into a basic stance with his sword and the assassin pulled free his own weapon. Lerris rushed towards the human and slashed sadistically at the man, never letting the man go on the offensive.
Finally, after several minutes of Lerris' constant attacks, the man saw an opening and swung, barely connecting with Lerris’ shoulder and ripping his shirt in two in the process. The elf screamed in pain but hurled himself onto the human, slashing viciously at the assassin. He gritted his teeth as they locked swords and stared the human down, the assassin smirked and pulled a dagger stabbing it into Lerris’ thigh. Lerris gritted his teeth and through all the pain caught the man in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, quickly he spun on one foot and ran the man through.
The elf and the human almost fell to the ground simultaneously, the assassin landing only a second before. Lerris groaned in pain and let his sword fall to his side, he ripped off the remains of his shirt and took a deep breath. The elf placed both hands on the dagger and pulled with the little strength and energy he had left.
---
Rowen stumbled back as Lerris went on the offensive, she hearing the crunch of the bark as he tore the dagger from the tree. She merely stood on the sidelines as the fight progressed, heart beating fast at the events that took place. The collision of metal, and all things such brought with it, looking at the way Lerris moved, she almost knew the outcome before it happened. The opposition rarely had the chance to perform anything besides defense, with Lerris’... sadism.
When the elf fell, the Assassin then dead, she dropped herself to his side, hand over his better shoulder. She nodded shortly to the place that Byron would be, faced with the Assassin, Lycan.
“There’s just one more,” she said to him, timid voice. Just one more. They alone had ended five, though in Rowen’s case, all death and wound done were simply lucky accidents. In that same weak tone, she continued, “If you think Byron can help himself, we can wait here.”
It was not as though Rowen didn’t want to be there for Byron. As a matter of fact, seeing him there with the Assassin standing over him was... terrifying. But she didn’t know that she’d help or hinder. She didn’t know if either of them could.
All the while, Lycan merely stood there, head tilted, clever grin ever etched on his face. His sword was limp by his side, as though unprepared for any sort of attack, but his comrades would have known better... or they would have, were they alive at all.
There was a pause. A silence, giving way to the wood for but a moment, broken by Fletcher’s movement as he let his simper widen, lowering himself as his hands went carelessly upward, with his palms exposed in a deep and courtly bow. That smirk on his face betrayed all civility to a mocking condescension, electric blue eyes glinting with malevolence.
“After you, good sir,” he offered as his back still lay exposed to assault, sword far from protecting his body from what was to be an attack, and Byron would not waste his time in gawking.
In all his pride and ire, ebon eyes glinting with malice, and Byron charged forth as a maverick, swinging his sword heavy-handedly at the Assassin, ready to decapitate the fool, even if only for the crime of his opponent’s claim to superiority. That moronic grin, that jesting bow, such things could not go without punishment. They did not belong in moments of battle.
It was then, when Lycan demonstrated exactly how accomplished a fighter he was. With relative ease, Fletcher moved himself far out of danger from the weapon used against him with a lean to his side. Lycan, body loose, smile ever plastered, struck with hard and fast decisive blows, Byron catching each, but still yet forced back with the strength against his blade. Teeth grinding in the kind of ire that sought the elimination of others, Byron was far from backing down. If that Assassin was ready to go as far as to intervene in his life by picking such a sorry time to act, then he had earned his.
---
The elf slowly used his sword to stand to his feet, glaring in the direction of the fight that had commenced between the leader and Byron, he raised his sword. Lerris was quick to catch himself on a nearby tree, but knew for sure if he was to try and fight he would fail.
What little energy he had left, he pushed off the tree and gained his footing, along with the wound in his leg he began to slowly limp forward. Byron was no real match for the human, and neither was Lerris but none the less the elf let out what sounded like a growl and struck at the human.
---
Rowen raised her gaze as Lerris abandoned her to the fight, as she sat uselessly on the sidelines, succumbing to that tiredness of the fight and that fear of not roughing out that one. So desperately, she wanted to be home, away from all this, companions by her side, but such could not be an option till the Assassin was dead, and Paresha returned to where he belonged. d*mn the Assassins, and d*mn their agenda. But, all the same, she could not prevent herself from rising off the ground, reluctantly willing to do what she could to assist were she needed... even without a weapon by her side.
Lycan faltered in surprise as the elf struck out, his focus once so intent on just one boy. His lip curling into a frown, he thrust his weapon against the elf, shuffling back with a sneer on his face. Giving himself the room he needed, Lycan deemed his moment over. Abandoning a former sense of ease, he cut his sword through the air, that made it to Byron’s gut in a unwavering blow. Lycan regained that sinister smile as the boy staggered, ire in the eye of the thief. Little pain was reflected in those sable eyes of the wounded, but rather some strong sense of hatred as he stumbled and fell back in the pain that encompassed his body.
The Assassin turned his head to the elf, simper widening as he regained composure and ease.
“Your turn,” he said in that smooth voice, grip on the sword loosening, but not losing its hold. Rowen, all the while, stood there, knees locked, face paling at the sight of her fallen apprentice. Body frozen, she did not move.
---
Lerris did not even say a word, muttering anything to this human he was to kill would be useless anyway. Lerris had no idea how this campaign to find Paresha had started with the thought of no blood shed, seeing now all the dead bodies laying about. He grunted each time he swung the sword at the human, after several blocked shots he locked sword with his opponent and pushed him off, the two both staggering back.
He tried to bite his lip to try and get through the pain in his leg; it did nothing to ease the pain. He limped towards the thief and swung as hard as he could at his shoulder, the thief spun just in time to move away from the swing and Lerris’ sword was embedded into the ground. The thief let out what sounded like a laugh and made for Lerris’ head.
With a sudden burst of strength Lerris yelled and ripped the sword out falling to his back and the thieves sword replacing the same spot where Lerris had been. The human jumped on top of the elf and began to stab wildly at the ground, Lerris rolled every way trying to avoid being cut, but was barely caught on his right shoulder spreading blood all over the forest floor. When some rolled down his chin Lerris had thought he had been stabbed through the throat, but he glanced down and saw he had bitten through his lip.
The elf screamed in pain and brought his sword up catching the thief’s next blow and hurled both the swords against a nearby tree. He rolled to his right bringing the human under him, but the thief pulled dagger and once again swung for the neck, Lerris used all that was left of his energy and began to wail on the human’s face with his fists.
The human brought both his feet to Lerris’ chest and flipped him over his shoulders. The human slowly rose to his feet and brought the dagger towards Lerris, muttering something un-audible to the elf. He came at a stab towards his chest but was blocked by Lerris’ forearm sending the dagger halfway through. The elf let out a yelp as the thief brought a hand to the neck of Lerris. Lerris spat in his face and pulled the dagger from his arm, embedding it into the thief’s hand.
---
Lycan growled in pain as his hand was run through by the blade, fingers twitching under the weight of throe through his palm. In an adrenaline rush, he slid the red metal from his bloodied hand, slamming the hilt against the elf’s head with all the force his left could muster. He backed, staggering in numbness as he exchanged the dagger from his left to his right. As soon as the cold metal of the hilt touched the sanguine wound, the dagger fell, and Fletcher held his wrist in a hard wince, all forms of composure and calmness fast faded to a scowl of writhing anguish, fingers and palm jerking with the pain that resonated through his skin and bone, down to his fingertips as he spat at Lerris’ form. Even then, he knew what it meant. He didn’t want to... he wanted to say this was not the end, but such could not be denied.
“I’ll be back for you, wench!” he called as a final useless insult to the woman on the sidelines as he shuffled back, and adding insult to injury, Byron, on the ground, sent a kick Lycan’s way before the Assassin broke off into a run, and out of the sight in the wood.
“B*stard,” Byron said under his breath as he slid back his leg and body in the same motion, hand holding his gut.
Rowen wasted no time in moving as Lycan made his leave, bursting full speed onto the battle site. Byron turned his head to the woman as she came.
“Oh, I’m--” he began as she slid to Lerris side. “... fine.”
“Lerris?” Rowen disregarded the world around her as she examined his form, wounded in many a place, and what one may call at a stalemate with the Assassin. The coward ran, but Saphire was the one on the ground. “... Lerris?”
Having witnessed the battle, she could only assume the worst, which was why she could not merely sit in worry... which was why she pressed her knuckle into his shoulder.
---
Lerris was now sprawled on his back; he had been coughing up blood after Lycan had removed his hand from his throat. The elf tilted his head slightly to the left and spat the mixture of blood and saliva onto the forest floor before turning his head back to Rowen. “He…..he….” The elf tried to take a deep breath, but began to choke and started his hacking cough once again, after several seconds of coughing turned into heavy breathing the elf spoke once more.
“He is gone……?” Lerris managed to get out in-between huge gulps of breath. He managed to tilt his head towards where Paresha was tied against a large nearby tree. “You…” Lerris muttered, “You alright…..Pares…” He began coughing once again before he could finish.
---
Rowen released Lerris from the pressure she had induced on his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his back in an attempt to put whatever ease she could. Holding up his head, her concern did not mellow as he awoke.
“It’s all right,” Rowen said to him, leaning her forehead against his, brushing her fingers through his hair. “He’s gone. It’s all right now.”
“Eh, he’ll live,” Byron eased himself from the ground, still holding his wounded stomach, wincing at the pain. Stumbling off, he soon wearily stood above the bound politician, obsidian hair about over his face as he spoke, “You all right there, eh, Paresha?”
The response was something of a whimper. The buffoon spoke incoherent mumblings at the thief, somewhat less than comfortable with the events that had surrounded him for the past night and day. Byron mentally swore. Politicians.
---
Lerris smiled slightly and sat up slowly while holding onto his wounded leg. "Good, get him untied and lets get out of here.... I don't want to stick around to see if that human returns with more men to finish us off." The elf spat once more, clearing more blood from the holes his teeth had made when he bit through his lip. He eyed the politician up and down before finally motioning to Byron.
"I need to see about my wounds quickly, we should hurry back now...untie the fool." Lerris muttered pushing his ever-present long hair out of his eyes. After several seconds of heavy breathing the elf clutched to a nearby tree to reach his feet, the wound in his leg throbbed when his foot met the forest floor. He let out a huff and shook his head, How am I going to walk on this all the way back to Zyroxi? d*mn it Paresha….there better be a reward for this.
---
Rowen immediately got to her feet as Lerris attempted to stand, prepared to support him as best she could. The initial anxiety had begun to mellow, but by the look on her face and the readiness to help, it was clear that the concern was still present. As for Byron... well, he demonstrated little care from beginning to end. Still grasping his gut with one hand, sword hanging strong in the other, he appeared as though merely waiting for the two to be done talking. As he was addressed, he nodded to Lerris, leaning against the tree of which the good politician was bound.
“Consider it done.”
All in a moment, his sword slid down the bole of tree with a hard cutting noise, fast, severing the ropes in a single sliding strike. The second the ropes broke free and released their prisoner, the bumbling fool leapt to his feet, as though afraid he would be prey to the blade that came so very close to his so valued person. Needless to say, his expression was very... telling.
“I-I,” Paresha sputtered stupidly as his wide and fretful eyes darted from elf, to thief, to psychopath. One of the three alone would have been enough to send the pampered Lord into some kind of fit, but all three, along with a pack of dead Assassins, gore, and blood were, one might say, mildly unnerving. “Who are--”
“Shut up, Paresha,” Byron spun him around, toward what direction Zyroxi would lay. “We’ve got a bit of ground to cover.”
---
Lerris had instructed Byron to follow behind Paresha the whole way back to Zyroxi and tried to use his leg as he took up the front of the pack. After an hour of walking Lerris saw the walls of Zyroxi and almost cheered, they could finally get this over with and head home where they belonged. Entering the walls with Paresha at first it seemed like they were the criminals, with the guards pushing them out of the way and taking Paresha towards the citadel. Luckily, the politician had yelped something about how the three of them had helped him escape, and they were suddenly treated as royalty.
Lerris abruptly went from elf to "Master Saphire" as the guards brought him into a medical facility and if the nurses had not thrown them out they probably would of operated on him them selves. Lerris could hardly remember much after his wound was cleaned, people kept wanting in to see him….of course the nurses would have nothing of it, saying “Master Saphire” needed his rest.
All he could remember was wondering where Rowen was…..
---
From the time they were herded into the infirmary, and the time at least one was finally allowed to leave, Rowen and Byron were poked and prodded, albeit Byron’s insistence that he could take care of himself, and Rowen’s constant plea that she wasn’t injured altogether. In the end, of course... they lost. Friend a’ friend were split, Byron taken somewhere for his wound to be bound, and Rowen... well, put simply, sat in some room only to be, quite literally, prodded at. She desolately bore the strange people who came in and went out, the remarks at the numerous scars she bore, she herself almost shrinking back, pressing as to whether or not she’d be allowed to leave--namely, to see Lerris. It was scarcely a moment after they seemed to declare her alive when they told her what curiosity was satisfied by the examination. All sentiment seemed to change.
After they let her leave, Rowen searched about the place for Lerris. Of course, they told her what was to be expected. Just down the hall, but not to be disturbed. Needed to rest... so on, so forth. But Rowen had little true intent on waiting outside, much less wandering around the facility without direction. Whilst the ladies were not in sight, she did quite what they told her not to do.
“Hello, Lerris,” Rowen slipped through his door, only to find him asleep. Quietly shutting the door behind her, she pulled up a chair by his bedside, soon flicking him on the forehead with a grin on her face. “Hello, Lerris.”
---
Lerris’ eyes flicked open and he scowled, “Didn’t you hear….I’m not to be awaken, or disturbed…or have any fun at all…” His scowl finally turned into a slight smile, “And to be awakened with a flick to the head….how…. unacceptable." Lerris c*cked his head slightly to the left and spoke, "I deserve at least a kiss on the forehead…not a flick.” He laughed slightly to himself and shook his head, “You know I’m fine, they did something to my leg because I can’t feel a thing….if that bandage wasn’t there I wouldn’t know I had been stabbed.”
The elf glanced at the door, checking to make sure no one was in sight, and then back to Rowen. The elf let out a sigh, and spoke in a calm voice, “I hate being a hero, can we stop with the adventures?” Lerris flashed a smile and pointed at the door, “Lets get out of here, before they make me wait another month just to stand….Lets go home.”
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Post by Rowenna on Jun 15, 2006 16:14:18 GMT -5
“Mm, I’m not going to have to tie you to the bed, am I?” she grinned in joviality, leaning over as she pecked him on the forehead. Smiling playfully, she laid her head on his pillow. “Well, I suppose we could snag some horses if we wanted to... but if you can’t feel your leg, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Spoken in that jocular tone, so much had changed in the past week. So much had happened. The return of a lost student, moments of maddness and reconciliation, death and salvation. Much death for two who had abandoned the road for a place few had ever heard of. She sighed a bit, expression going somber.
“Well, as for our adventures... it seems a bit perpetual, doesn’t it? One huge cause and effect.” She smiled. “Let’s hope we’ve paid off all our karma by now.”
With that, she leaned in a bit, whispering something into his ear. Something that brought a smile to his face, and all the while, Byron lay sleeping in his bedroom, dreaming dreams, hearing the sweet sound of children’s laughter.
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