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 Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 7:30 pm
Reserved PRP Battle, Detraeus x Raemos: LinkWord Count: -
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Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 7:30 pm
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Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 7:33 pm
Oh, Broken Child of Mine
Pt. I Clang.
Clang.
Clang.The ship’s bells tolled for the final boarding call, and the gangplank groaned under the weight of stomping boots, crates, luggage, and livestock. Shouts, whistles, bleating animals and crying children: all of it drowned out the soft lap of the dock waters against the hull, and Adarrah leaned out, propping her weight against the railing and breathing in the perpetual scents of salt, sweat, and fish that permeated such ports. Forty years, and she had yet to tire of the smell of the sea. More relaxing, of course, once the ship left shore, but all things in good time. A part of her mind was still at work on other things, running through the eternal mental checklist of everything that had been done, everything that needed to be done, who was handling what transaction, moving which parcel where, as well as who had been paid off and who to look out for. The list of details was endless and ever-changing. Even after over two decades in the business, every new run was just as nerve-wracking. And just as thrilling. The woman who had initiated her — now passed, may she have served Soudana’s will — always attested that a relaxed smuggler was a dead smuggler, same going for a distracted or over-confident one. Adarrah could count more times than she had fingers events where her paranoia and attention to detail — checking, double checking, and checking again — had saved her life and, on occasion, those she worked with. As close as she held that fact to her heart, she also knew, over the years, when there were genuine times where there was nothing to be done but wait, and this was one of those. So, she relaxed, enjoying the familiar tune of every-day chaos and letting her eyes trail over the sea of incoming passengers. Young, old, burdened and unburdened, and engaged in every profession from merchants and farmers to soldiers and mercenaries. She made a game, often, of assigning imagined backstories to the faces, taking the smattering of visible facts and parsing them together into a life history for a stranger. This one a tailor with a family of four children whose mate was ill in childbed. That one a banker with one too many falsified documents on his head, fleeing the town to start a new life. Then, her gaze landed on a face that it never expected to see again, and for an eerie moment, the world slowed. All background information — sound, smell, touch — vanished like a dream fading around the edges, surreal, and she was staring at the live ghost of a lover she hadn’t touched in over twenty years. “Zannith…” A second later, the crowds swallowed him, and Adarrah felt a rush of breath fill her lungs, greedily as though she hadn’t drawn a fresh one in years. Her brow furrowed, gaze lingering, entirely distracted, on the sea of people for several more long moments before she forced her attention away and touched two fingers to her rushing pulse. Foolish. A strange piece of happenstance, of course, but naturally the man couldn’t possibly be Zannith. He had passed, joining the soil after succumbing to a sickness twenty-one years prior, and the man in question had looked that age or younger. But so similar… No matter where she looked that evening, Adarrah found her mind’s eye drawing Zannith’s face to the forefront. The ship left port shortly after the final toll, and — being of a rather small deck and only limited quarter space below — she found her attention catching on the strange man at what felt like every turn. Deep, gray-purple skin, darker-still hair, and a face that haunted her. Young. He was so young. Surely barely over twenty summers and riddled with more scars than any man of such years deserved. After a half-day at sea, she found herself seeking him out amidst the swell and bustle of people, her attentions settling and zeroing in on minute details: the way he held himself, his mannerisms and habitual gestures, and his tendency to treat his body as a bomb which ideally needed a hand’s breadth of space at minimum and generally avoided all contact if at all possible. The first evening, as the sun set on the far horizon, sinking into the sea like a melting orb of blood and gold, she lingered up deck, aware by now that he spent a good portion of his time there. She was not disappointed. He came up from below shortly after the supper hour and lingered at the rail long after, but she bode her time, waiting until most all had retreated to the bunking cabins before making her way over. Night had long since fallen. Stars glittered above like winking sprite darters, and she stopped but three paces from him, the ocean breeze rolling over them both. For a long, empty silence, he said nothing, did nothing to so much as acknowledge her presence, and finally, after a time, she shifted her weight to prop a hip against the rail, eyeing his form: half bent over it, eyes shut and body stiff like a man poised to lose his dinner at any given moment but not yet sure how rapidly that moment was approaching. “You remind me of someone,” she said. His brow furrowed, but he did not speak, or open his eyes. “Someone I met a long time ago.” The ocean lapped at the ship’s hull, and for several more long seconds, the only sounds shared between them were the gentle whistle of the winds and the soft, low groan of the boat as it plodded forward. Then, he shifted, turning just enough to open one eye and examine her — a cursory glance, that lasted less than a handful of seconds before he turned away again. “You’re mistaken. I don’t know you.” “No,” Adarrah said. “I don’t suppose you do. The man I’m speaking of died…just over twenty years ago.” Her company grunted. For an extended period after, she waited, and he stood in silence. At long last, however, he grit his teeth, and moved again, sending her a sharp, borderline bitter look as he spat out, “And I’m supposed to do something about that?” Adarrah blinked, taken briefly aback, and cleared her throat, shaking her head. “No. My apologies. I may have gotten off on the wrong foot…” She held out a hand. “I go by Adarrah Rivardin.” After enough of a pause with no movement on his part, she tucked the outstretched hand into her waist-belt and eyed him calculatingly. “You are?” His brow furrowed, expression such that he looked, again, ready to either lose his last meal to the waves or perhaps gut something. Instead, he spat overboard and tightened his grip on the railing. “Nauseous,” he answered. “Irritable. And not in the mood for company.” Adarrah watched him, her tail giving a curious swish and third eye blinking as the waves below glimmered with bio-luminescent marine fauna. Finally, she dipped her head in consent. “I hope your ills leave you quickly, that you may sleep. Perhaps I will see you come the morning.” Another grunt, and he curled his weight back against the rail, his own tail giving a stiff, sour twitch. She left him, stepping below just in time to hear the first sounds of him actively ridding himself of whatever he might have consumed during the dinner hour. Shaking her head, she made note and shut the cabin door behind her. Tomorrow. Yes — perhaps tomorrow. Word Count: 1,281
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Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 10:16 pm
Oh, Broken Child of Mine
Pt. II Adarrah never aged enough during the span of Zannith’s lifetime to know the color of his skin. At the time of their affair, she had not yet seen the full nature of a sunset, or how the tones of the ocean differed from those of the mountains. But that had not affected her passion for the uncharted: wild romance, grand adventure, and forbidden escapades. She carried only one child of his blood in their time together — a boy whose father never lived to see the day of his birth — and he was wrested from her before the coming of his third year of life. No amount of effort on her part ever returned him to her arms, and Adarrah, after the loss of her lover and then only child, had marched on into life as a changed woman. Stronger for all her scars, but empty of things which she never expected to regain. During the night following her discussion above deck with the man who wore Zannith’s face, Adarrah dreamed — for the first time in several years — of the son who she never had opportunity to watch grow. “Mama!” His hands are smaller than teacups, but they reach for her and grip like they’ll never let go. His laughter is bells and birdsong at dawn. And he laughs so much.
“Niahm…” She sets him down, separating them, and something is wrong, but she doesn’t notice it yet. “Mama has to go—”
“No.”
“Niahm. Stay, alright? Mama will be back. Mama will be right back to get you.”
“No…”
She shifts his grip to crib and he holds it, bouncing his weight like he intends to jump ten feet and launch into the sky. In her last glance back, his attention is locked on her, his toes curled, feet as small as his hands, one hand coiled to the leg of his crib. His other hand reaches for her—
“Mama…”
—but she shuts the door.
She makes it ten paces before the sky begins to darken. The world is blurring at the edges. Shrinking. Disintegrating. Immediately, she turns, but her house is thirty paces behind her and part of it is crumbling.
“Mama—!”
She breaks into a run. When she calls out to him, the air swallows her voice, drowning her lungs and she can’t move forward. With every step, her house slips further away, cracking and sinking into the earth. Birdcry around her fractures and becomes nothing but a child’s scream. Everywhere. Endless. Terrified.
He needs her, and she can’t get to him.
She can’t.
She can’t.
Darkness engulfs her.Adarrah jerked upright, dark skin coated in sweat and eyes burning from unshed tears. She squeezed them shut and turned, shuddering in the tiny cot allotted to her as she gathered her wits. A dream. One she’d had, and had again, but hoped every time that said experience was her last. She spent the remainder of the morning with her infant’s voice in her head. Crying, crying, crying, Mama, please— She drank something sharp and bitter, spoke to one of the men in her operation discreetly, verifying the success of items meant to transfer in this pass, and then went above deck, forcing her focus to the morning. The trip. Her job. Instead, said focus landed on the man from the night before. He looked little better. Still grim. Still propped against the rail. Perhaps a fraction less nauseous. Adarrah tapped a finger to the side of her teacup, swirling the cold, astringent contents idly in thought before making up her mind, and approaching. “Tell me your name.” He looked up, frowning, and then pursing his lips. “You.” “Yes, me.” Adarrah took a sip of the bitter leaf juice and then motioned with her cup for him to get on with it. “I’ll be bothering you until you tell me.” “Why.” “Because,” she said, “I want to know.” He narrowed his eyes, and after some time, she thought she might still not get an answer. Then, he spoke. “Detraeus.” “And your surname?” “ Why,” he repeated, and she sighed, setting her cup to the rail, mostly to keep her fingers from shaking. “I would like to know if you’re in any way related to the man I once knew. Perhaps distant kin,” she suggested. “A nephew, or a—” “No.” “You’re so sure?” “I have no kin,” Detraeus answered. “No surname. My mother is my goddess.” Adarrah eyed him, her thumb sweeping up and down the side of her cup, restless as she took in the markings on his body, the set to his expression, and the impact of his words. “An orphan, then…” He said nothing, though his scowl darkened, and she watched him shift his weight, reaching up and rubbing at his ear as he turned his attention out over the sea. “Mamaaaa…” Niahm bounces, his legs like a springboard as he whines, one hand on the wall to support him and the other pulling at the length of his ear as he toddles towards her. “Mama, milk!”Adarrah shut her eyes, swallowing and feeling her breath shake on the exhale. When she raised her cup to her lips, her hand quivered despite her best efforts, and she found it empty after it reached her mouth. She supported it there with her spare hand anyway. “Were you raised in an orphanage or…? Who raised you?” He flicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, jaw and shoulders set as he pushed away from the rail. “I did. And I’m finished talking to you.” “Wait—” She jerked around, reaching for him and catching at his wrist an instant before it moved out of range, “—please—” Immediately, he yanked free, snarling as his wings spread the spikes of his tail bristled. “ Don’t touch me.” The brittle shattering of her teacup filled the sudden silence on deck, a number of stares from all around focusing in on them, and Adarrah’s breath quivered to the pulse of her heart. Not fear, but pain as she stared into the face of the stranger before her. A man she knew she should have known as well as her own face. She shook her head, holding his stare and whispering, “I am so…sorry…” For a moment, his anger fractured. Instead of rigid tension, confusion flicked across his features, his narrowed eyes widening and fists relaxing, brow still furrowed, but raised. All too quickly, though, the moment ended, and he shook his head, shrugging off whatever questions he had and pivoting to leave her where she stood. After following his retreating back with her stare until he disappeared below deck, Adarrah shut her eyes and sank to her knees before the pile of shattered porcelain. Her trembling fingers, however, refused to obey her commands to gather the scattered pieces, and instead she found herself covering her mouth and squeezing her eyes tighter shut as her shoulders shook. ‘ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…’ “Niahm…” Word Count: 1,184
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Posted: Sun Sep 14, 2014 1:07 am
TRIGGER WARNING: Adult language, mentions of child abuse, slavery, and rape. Read at your own discretion.For the Heart I Once Had
Pt. I Detraeus disembarked with great relief. Aside from the usual reasons — the ocean never having been friendly to him to begin with — his experience on the ride over had been more than he bargained for. Though she hadn’t threatened him, and had even laid off entirely after their second encounter on deck, the woman who’d insisted on gathering information about his life, relations, and childhood unnerved him in a way he couldn’t put to words. He was glad to be putting distance between them. Late as it was in the evening when they came ashore, Detraeus dismissed the thought of attempting to travel that night, and arranged for lodgings instead. He paid for a quick meal from a street vendor and travelled deeper into the port to reserve a room in one of its cheaper inns. He had no plan of action, no destination, no goal. The bed was stale and smelled of mildew, body odor, and sex. But he was alone. Alone, no one could hurt him. No one could lie. No one could harass him. No one could touch him. He slept fitfully, and awoke to the sound of knocking at his door. Detraeus’ tail lashed across the bed, and he shifted his weight, dragging his pillow closer to him and refusing to budge. A long silence followed, almost enough to convince him that his caller had left. Then, the knock came again, and he growled, shoving his way out of bed. “ Leave. I want no visitors.” Silence. Silence. Another knock. Detraeus bunched his fists, and stalked towards the door, yanking it open. “I said lea—” Upon recognizing the woman on the other side of the door, he froze. An instant later, he moved to slam the door. She blocked it. He bristled. “Get. Out.” “I need to speak with you.” “I don’t know who you think you are,” he growled, “but if—” “I am your mother,” the woman said, her voice somehow simultaneously rigid as steel and brittle as an icicle. “And I am begging you to just…listen…and afterwards I’ll leave, if that’s what you want—” Detraeus stared. Disbelief. Confusion. Anger. He shook his head, taking a step back in spite of himself as his pulse picked up. “I have no mother…” “You were born to me, Niahm Rivardin, twenty-one years ago directly across from this coast on the northern shore of Eowyn—” “ No.” Detraeus’ posture tightened, his tail beginning to lash as his tension built and he shook his head more forcibly. ‘ Liar. Liar, liar. She’s a liar.’ “I have no mother.” “You were born out of wedlock, youngest son of Zannith Hesteros who died before you came into this world—” “Leave.” “You look just like him, and I was not the mother you needed or deserved, Niahm, I did terrible things for your safety, but I swear to all the gods, I loved you desperately—” “Get. OUT.” Detraeus shoved forward, forcing her from his doorway and back. “I want nothing to do with you—” “You were stolen from me—” “I was PURCHASED,” Detraeus snarled. “I was an ANIMAL to my purchasers. Do you know anything? Do you know what they did to me…? Do you know what Seren’s beautiful, pristine, perfect, honorable, soldiers of justice and virtue do to little children who they consider their ‘property’?” She was shaking. He saw it, but found that he wanted it. Wanted her to know, even if she was a liar. Even if she had not so much as a blood relation to him. He wanted her to hurt if she was capable of hurting, because he hurt, and it was endless. “Niahm—” “My name,” he growled, “is Detraeus. Whatever woman bore me, she lost the right to call herself my mother the moment they touched me. The moment they used me, dragged me to their beds, raped me and spat me out like a used toy…” Her sob was cracked and dry. “I have no mother but my goddess. I have no kin but my faith. And I want nothing to do with you. Get out. Now. Never come near me, or so help me, I swear by the mother who guided me from Seren’s hell, I will kill you.” A long silence passed between them, and Detraeus stood, watching the train of her expressions as she cried. Her gaze dragged over him, desperate and detailed, as though trying to memorize every inch of him in the span of a moment, and at several points, she lifted a hand, looking almost ready to take his offer of death as a price for touching him. In the end, though, she let it drop. “You…were so tiny, the last I touched you…and so happy…” She shut her eyes, laughing brittly. “I must truly have been the most terrible mother, to have let things come to pass as they did, and perhaps it is that I deserve to die for that crime…but instead the gods bless me with knowing that you are alive. I will leave you be. And if you find that you never wish to suffer my presence again, I will understand. If wish to speak with me…or come kill me, whatever your desire…I will leave an address at which you can contact me with the innkeeper.” She took a step back, opened her mouth, shut it, and dropped her stare. “There are no words in all this universe to express how deeply I have failed you…” When she raised her gaze again, Detraeus met it. “I will pray until the day I join the soil that you find someone who will love you infinitely better.” As he listened to her retreating footsteps, Detraeus thought of Araceli’s last words to him, and wondered if loving him were even possible. He shut the door, bolted it, and sank, shaking, to the floorboards below. Word Count: 1,024
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Posted: Wed Sep 17, 2014 6:48 am
For the Heart I Once Had
Pt. II Detraeus hadn’t intended to gather the woman’s info. He wanted nothing to do with her, so why bother? It was useless to him. But, by some bout of fleeting curiosity, he found himself taking it from the innkeeper anyway before departing. He did not look at it for many days after. Instead, it waited, tucked amongst his things, and during the in between time — when he left the port town, travelled into the thick Soudul’s swamps, and busied his mind with anything he could find for it — he often contemplated doing away with the note altogether. Throw it in his fire at night. Into a bog. Along the path. Tear it. Lose it. Mar it up. But for lack of putting any of those thoughts into action, it remained safe and secure, undamaged until just over a week later when his wanderings lead him near to the heart of Soudul and its dark capital, Obsidian City. Once there, for the first time, he actually read it. To his surprise — though perhaps it oughtn’t have been — the listed address was within the main city, on the outskirts, tucked along a back street near to the old orphanage Detraeus had once found himself the unfortunate resident of. Irony? He snorted and tucked the slip of paper back away. Irrelevant. He would throw it away soon, he promised himself. Instead, come nightfall, he tossed restlessly. No matter how many times he attempted to dismiss the woman’s words from his mind — her face when she told him she was his ‘mother,’ the weight of her tears, and how desperate she seemed in her apologies — he could not push them out. He didn’t care. Even if she had birthed him, he meant his words: she lost whatever privilege she might have had to make herself a part of his life the moment she gave him up. So, rigid, anxious, and folded on top of the mattress of a stiff cot with his tail lashing behind him, Detraeus wondered why he could not effectuate his desire to banish her from his thoughts entirely. Some hours later — well into the wee hours of ‘morning’ but far yet before the dawn — he left his cot, dressed properly, armed himself, and left the inn, navigating the tangled passages of the dark city on direct route to the northwest corner, the orphanage that once held him hostage, and the neatly scrawled address tucked at his hip. It didn’t take long. After a period of less than half an hour, Detraeus was amidst eerily familiar streets, staring down the front end of a building that looked so precisely like he remembered, someone could have argued it’d been caught in a single bubble of trapped, unchanging time and he might have found their statement plausible. Frowning, he rubbed at his ear, turned his gaze away, and moved on. The building marked by the woman — Adarrah’s — notes looked half-formed: skeletal and squeezed between two other buildings, as though construction had begun, and then someone else began another building project directly adjacent, forcing the builders to crowd their own construction effort and mash all of what they intended into a fraction of the space. It also looked barely functional and on its last limbs of life. Detraeus realized, standing outside of it, that he had no concept of what he intended to do from there. Word Count: 576
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Posted: Wed Sep 17, 2014 6:56 pm
I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good Fog rolled in like a restless spirit, blanketing the land in a dreary, faded grey shroud so thick at ankle level that a person could look down and not see their boots for the mist. Adarrah pulled her fingers through her hair. After taming several loose strands back into her thick braid, she lifted her hood, tucked the full mass beneath her cloak, and stepped out into the street. A perfect night, from the perspective of those with illicit intentions. Her boots made no sound on the cobblestone streets. She walked for the better part of twenty minutes, weaving between streets and out along the eastern edge of Soudul’s largest city. After leaving the confines of the city walls, her march became slower and her path less clear, mottled by trees, overgrowth and the same creeping fog. Another ten minutes through the forest, though, and her path opened again, a fraction, voices sounding in the distance, shapes visible through the fog, and a small, rickety dock and boat coming into view. She slowed her pace again, listening as she approached. “ —was twenty! I was promised safe passage for twenty pieces per—” “Last minute reconsiderations?” Adarrah asked. The man who had been shouting — orderite, broad in the shoulders, stout in the gut, middle-aged, and bearded — jerked around, his stubby wings puffing out like a startled game bird. At his side, a child of unidentifiable gender clung closer to his leg and Adarrah watched him lay a hand instinctively on its shoulder. He shifted his stance, none-too-subtly pushing his chest out and raising his chin. “I was promised passage for forty gold pieces,” he clipped out. “Twenty each, for my daughter an’ me. Now you people are demanding a hundred? What do you think I’m made of? If you—” Adarrah held up a finger, tapping it to her lips and then closing her hand in a pinching motion. As she did, a coil of dark smoke circled the orderite’s mouth, and whatever remained of his sentence came out as a choked, wheezing cough. “Daddy—!” “Shhhh, shhh, shhh…” Adarrah moved forward, choosing her steps carefully and bending to a crouch before the child. “I’m not hurting him, I promise.” “You better not!” Adarrah raised her eyebrows, the corners of her lips edging up in a smile. “Oh, no?” “ No,” the girl insisted, and Adarrah’s expression softened. “I see. Well, I suppose I had better listen, then, hadn’t I? Do you have a name?” After a moment’s hesitation, looking surprised among other things, the girl nodded, though her grip on her father’s pant leg remained tight. “Riohna…” “Rio…” Adarrah repeated, “…what a powerful name. I’m sure you will bring great honor to it. I need to ask a favor of you, Rio…do you see that little boat over there?” The girl nodded warily. “I need to speak with your father for a little bit longer, but I want you to get into that boat so that you can be taken to the big ship first—” “I don’t wanna go alone!” “She will not—” the father started to speak, but Adarrah stood, her expression hardening, and he hesitated, blustery face — already pink, naturally — going pinker. “I’m not leaving her alone with you peop—” “You will,” Adarrah said, “if you want anyone to make it safely to Eowyn.” After an extended pause, and much obvious deliberation on man’s part — weighing the meaning behind her words — he grit his teeth and loosened his grip on his daughter’s shoulder, his shoulders sinking under unspoken weight. Immediately, she glanced back towards him. “Daddy…?” He nodded his head towards the boat. “Go on,” he said, words distinctly less full of bravado than moments before and heavy with the air of an impossible promise. “I’ll be right behind you.” She, too, hesitated, but at a nudge from him, she bit her lip, frowning, and then darted off down the short, rocky beach towards the fog-encased boat and dock. Adarrah waited, watching the child as she made it to the dock and looked back before being ushered in. Only after the boat left dock, though, and was swallowed up by the fog on its way to the main ship, did she turn her attention back to the man. He held himself stoically still. “She safe now?” “Yes.” “I paid you for a service. If word gets out you don’t hold your bargains—” “Edwyn Domivai, yes?” The man frowned. “Yes…” “You see, Mr. Domivai, you did pay for a service,” Adarrah said, “but I am additionally under the impression that you paid for only one of the services you intended to extract from us, without informing us of the other, hopeful of receiving the other free of charge, and if word got out that I was sloppy or had gone soft…” She shook her head, tisking as the orderite tensed. “You must understand that my reputation is disreputable at best, and I simply cannot afford that, nor do I appreciate being lied to…” “I don’t know what you’re—” “The ylia flower,” Adarrah said, “and its petals in particular, I realize, can net you some impressive profits on the black market, particularly in Serenia where it must be near impossible to obtain. Rare. Grows only amidst the swamps of Soudul, and fatally poisonous. Incredibly popular in certain circles and, as I’m sure you know, very, very illegal…” “I—” “Now, I’m not judging you on that, of course. As you have seen I tend to deal expressly in those things which the law frowns upon, and had you informed me and my company at a more appropriate time, been honest with us, brought forth the necessary additional payment, and so forth, I would have been happy to have your flowers transferred for you.” “You have to understand—” “We found them folded into your books, your shoes…even sewn into a piece of your daughter’s clothing—” “You touched my—” “Marvelous parenting, that,” Adarrah commented. “Not that, I suppose, I’m standing in a position to judge, but I do like to think I’d never lace my children’s belongings with lethal poisons—” “How dare—” “Regardless,” she continued, “you understand the position you put me in.” “I need that money. For me and her! I have to take care of her, and your prices would have scraped to the bottom of my pocketbook, leaving nothing left! What was I supposed to—?” “You should know, though, the great weight it takes off my shoulders to know that she does have a mother waiting for her on the other side. It would have been a terrible upset to me if I’d been forced to rob a child of their only parent due to the parent’s own selfishness and stupidity…” The orderite tensed, shoulders squaring off even as his face began to pale. “You can’t possibly—” “Do you know what happens to orderites on Soudul so often, Mr. Domivai?” “Riohna needs me, my mate needs me—take everything I have if you need it! Take the gold, the poison—” “Oh, I intend to,” Adarrah said, “but I don’t think you’ve answered my question yet.” Edwyn Domivai stilled, his wings twitching warily as he met her stare. “Do you know,” she enunciated again, slowly, “what happens…to orderites, on Soudul?” His pale, rounded cheeks caught a glint of moonlight which had managed to slither its way through the fog, and Adarrah could all but feel his pulse with her magic. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He grit his teeth, and breathed out. “What happens?” Adarrah smiled, tilting her head a fraction to the left before saying gently: “They die.” Whatever the man might have said, or did, in response, was cut short by a choked gasp, and Adarrah stood, watching with passive attention to detail as the black lines of her magic crawled up through the man in dark, web-like patterns under his skin, painting his veins with their pigment. He gagged, staggering upright as something too dark and thick to be entirely blood worked its way up out of his throat and spilled over his lips, down his front. Seconds after, he fell to his knees, and Adarrah took a step back, pulling her skirts out of the way moments before he planted himself face first, dead on the rocky beach before her. She hummed thoughtfully, frowning at the body. “They always die with their wings out, Koryan, have you noticed that?” The man she addressed, a younger oblivionite of a thick, forest-green pigment shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, and she sighed, shaking her head as she stepped away from the growing pool of blood. “Have someone drag the body out and sink it, later. Or burn it, though sinking is preferable, to avoid the smoke. Not that many are likely to ask twice about a dead bird here or there, but you do know how much I hate loose ends.” “And the girl?” The question came from another of the men in her company, higher rank, but still under her orders. She waved her hand. “Deliver her safely to Eowyn and into the hands of her mother and no one else. The job is not complete until that occurs. Take all the coin on him and remove every trace of ylia you find amongst any of their belongings. Store it securely. We can find a buyer for them later.” “And what are we telling the mother and child?” Adarrah snorted. “That there was an ‘unfortunate accident’. Tell them he choked on his beard or drowned on the way over or was shot in the back by a renegade hunter passing by. Tell them whatever you like. The woman is getting her daughter back alive and healthy, and if she’s any mother worth having she’ll be pleased her girl is out of the hands of a man who’d just as soon hide poison in her toys to make a profit and jeopardize getting her home safely as he would care for her.” “Yes, ma’am.” Adarrah nodded back towards the body as she started to walk off. “You can handle the wrap up here, yes? I would prefer to make it home before either of my boys wake up. Contact me, though, if anything goes amiss.” The man nodded, and Adarrah left. She made the trek back through the woods, into the city limits, and down the familiar streets nearly on instinct. For all that she still enjoyed the thrill of her job, coming home to her children brought a special calm to her that she found nowhere else. Unfortunately, on this day, that calm was not meant to be had. As she came in sight of the small, rickety household she shared with her two youngest sons, she knew immediately something was wrong, and upped her pace, posture tensing as her attention darted from face to face: a whole handful of darkly uniformed officers, all gathered around her front door. And her two boys with them. Rheis, her youngest — only just ten years old — noticed her first. “Mama!” Instantly, she had the full attention of the crowd, most of them reaching for blades and moving for her. “Adarrah Rivardin, you are this day held under arrest for crimes against the speaker of Soudana, His Lordship Draco Verano: high treason against the oblivionite people, fraternizing with the enemy peoples of Serenia, unauthorized transport of illicit goods, trafficking of—” As the list went on, Adarrah’s attention locked on her children, Kallath — seventeen — tense, and Rheis already beginning to cry. Only his brother’s hand on his shoulder held him back, keeping him from running to her. Her pulse swarmed her throat and she shook her head, but didn’t find the energy to resist as her arms were jerkedbehind her and immediately after held there with a locking spell. “My children—” “Will be held under the protection of the city until a suitable relative or guardian is found. If not, the orphandages of—” “No.” She shook her head, pitch rising. “Who gave you information? You’re making a mistake—” “Your testimony will be heard, the evidence presented, and, barring any change in facts between this moment and the fulfillment of your sentence, you will hang for your treason within a fortnight before the church, the people, and the eyes of Soudana.” Adarrah glanced back as she was yanked along, and the last thing she saw before being dragged out of sight was Rheis, his hand outstretched, fighting his brother’s hold as tears made his cheeks glisten in the dim, glowing light of coming morning. “ Maaammmmaaa!” Adarrah shut her eyes, and — not being a woman of faith — prayed to any and every god, goddess, or spirit that might care to listen. Please, please look after my children.Word Count: 2,172
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Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 12:28 am
Who Will Stop the Rain? “The court of his honor, Lord Draco Veranno, speaker of True Goddess and ruler of the First People here finds the accused, the unmated miss Adarrah Rivardin guilty of her crimes and sentenced under the law to hanging, ‘til death, for treason and accounts hereafter listed…”Adarrah shut her eyes, her hands folded in her lap and head back to the dingy bricks of the prison cell that held her. “In the name of justice and good faith to those who face the everlasting shadow, you are entitled to request counsel of mates, kin, company, and that of your accuser should you wish to provide last words. The servants of the law, bound by their duty, will, at your request, make all reasonable and prudent efforts to locate the persons you name. Do you seek counsel?”
“I do.”
“State your counsel.”
“My sons, Rheis and Kallath Rivardin, my company Doriem Trattus, and…if that man can give you sufficient instruction in locating him, another who goes only by the name of Detraeus, if he wish to present himself.” A pause. Then: “I would also face my accuser.”
“Separate or cohesive?”
“Separate. All of them.”
“By Soudana’s will, let it be done.” The authorities had located her two youngest sons, Rheis and Kallath, brought them before her, and allowed her her time with them. She spoke also with Doriem, and was informed in the aftermath that Detraeus had refused to come forward for counsel as her son. The guardsmen with her in their charge, however, did inform her that her accuser accepted her invitation as a dying request and agreed to show himself. Her fortnight had nearly passed, her sentence set for the following day, at dusk, to meet with Soudana as Her moon rose. Her guards informed her that her accuser planned this day to come forward, and so she waited. When the exterior latch to the hall leading down towards her cell clacked with activity, keys clinking and tapping to the thick wood panels of the main door, she straightened her back a fraction on instinct. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected. A traitor amidst her ranks, perhaps? Someone who had managed to pick up on her trail and followed her closely? The result of sloppiness? When her eldest son stepped into her line of sight, Adarrah broke into a cracked laugh. She laughed, and laughed, then covered her mouth, shutting her eyes until her shoulders stopped shaking. Somehow, she could not find the fact outside of the range of what she might have expected, and it felt bitterly, cruelly appropriate to her as she forced herself to raise her gaze to him. She stood as she did. “Why,” she murmured, “am I not surprised to see you?” The man — Detraeus, she told herself, for he had chosen to come as Detraeus, her accuser, not Niahm, her son — said nothing and stood, still as granite, outside her cell. “Is this the punishment you choose for me? Revenge on me, for being a terrible mother?” “The law chose it for your crimes, not me,” he said. “And you are not my mother, so how could I seek revenge?” “Why, then? Why this? I have two other children. Brothers of yours—” “Soudana’s justice demands the same fate for all traitors.” Adarrah scoffed. “Surely you don’t believe—” At his look, however, she frowned, holding her tongue. “I did what I had to do. To take care of my children—” “You aided the enemy. You worked for Seren’s blood.” “I worked for everyone—” “And likewise betrayed everyone.” Detraeus spat, his saliva staining the dark, mildewing stones that made up the cell flooring. Adarrah grimaced. “That’s an awful habit…” Her company grunted, folding his arms, and she watched the slow sweep of his tail, the eerie, impossible to ignore glow of the markings staining his skin, and the tight tuck of his wings. He was littered with weapons. All tucked in various places about his body, many obvious but others far less so. She wondered, at first, why they allowed him in with them, but then supposed that, given she was the first line of those sentenced to join the soil, they had little regard for how visitors might or might not harm the prisoners. At length, she sighed. “Rheis and Kallath…ten and seventeen summers — they’re your brothers.” “They’re your sons, not my brothers.” “It’s me who bears the burden of my folly,” Adarrah snapped, vicious in the snap of a second, “ not them. You share their blood. You can disregard me as you please, but—” “I can disregard anyone I please,” Detraeus growled, his wings stretching and tail lashing more stiffly, “…and I will not take lectures from a traitor, or a witch.” Adarrah shut her eyes, shuddering as she grit her teeth, and she bit back the remainder of that commentary. “Then…that being your position, permit me one final request as a mother?” The man shrugged, holding himself stiff and still out of range of the bars. She dragged her gaze over him, gathering in every possible detail. “Allow me to touch my firstborn son…? One last time, as I have not touched him in earnest since he was but a babe…” Detraeus held his position, watching her intently, and for a moment, Adarrah almost thought he might comply. Then, he spoke. “That child died, nineteen years ago. May Soudana deliver you justice,” he said, and turned, his cloak the last thing she saw slip out of her vision before the prison doors opened, creaked, clattered, and shut again with a thud. At dusk the following evening, the bells of the church of Soudana echoed over the town square like the low moans of calling spirits. Adarrah felt the wind skitter through her hair and around and between the rope at her throat as her charges were called out to the crowd. It felt to her like watching a play approach its end in slow motion. Nothing beyond. Not even an empty page. She counted the faces of her sons amidst the masses: One…
Two…
Three—The world dropped, and the rest was silence. Word Count: 1,048
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Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 12:48 pm
A Friend By Any Other Name Word Count: 1,305
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Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 12:49 pm
A Friend By Any Other Name
Casseth followed me to Soudul. His persistence is as absolute as it is infuriating. What does he hope to gain after all he's done?
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Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 12:51 pm
Face the Lion Where He Roams PRP Battle, Detraeus x Casseth: LinkWord Count: 1,086
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Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 6:43 pm
Face the Lion Where He Roams
I feel I have failed in my goddess' bidding. Despite all opportunity, I could not bring myself to shoot the man who bears the blood of my enemy. How, then, can I purport to bend wholly to her will? Perhaps in time I will find the strength, or new answers. Perhaps the fact that his heritage is half born of oblivion and only a fraction of Seren taints him has played a role in this fate...
Regardless, I need time, and space, to think.
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 7:35 pm
It's Only a Flesh Wound Word Count: 833
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 7:36 pm
It's Only a Flesh Wound
It shouldn't surprise me that Casseth lost himself in his recklessness. What unnerves me still is how little thought I expended in the moment before stepping to his aid. There was none. I can conclude only that I will not have him die by any other source than my hand. Not now.
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