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Rohlak



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Mon Apr 25, 2016 2:24 am
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Auxiira says...



Solak | The Cost of a Dream


Two years had passed. Two years since she had last seen Rohan. She held those memories in a cage in her mind and took them out for inspection whenever things became hard. She would always miss him, and it felt lonely without him, especially when she was so alone in this place. She still hadn't accepted that he was the one who had left, still didn't linger on that point.

"Hey! Solak!" She looked up from her stretches as a small group of the other squires surrounded her. Sighing, she popped her neck before standing straight.

"What can I do for you, Lask?" The eyes she pinned him with were bored and worn with habit.

"Why don't you polish my shoes for a starter?"

She glanced down, taking in the boots caked with mud and dust. "No. Ask one of the servants to do it for you. I'm busy."

"Oh, but a slave should always make time for her masters. Surely your… training can wait. You'll be assigned as a soldier anyway, better get used to following orders." The boy smirked, certain he had found the perfect argument to humiliate her.

"Say, Lask, if you have enough time to be ordering Solak around, then surely you're capable of beating her." The instructor's voice cut through the crowd of youngsters, twisting a grin onto Lask's face.

"Of course, Instructor Halen."

The delight in his voice made a chill creep down Solak's spine. She could feel the eyes in the yard turning towards them.

"Well, Solak?" The instructor was staring down at her, eyes sharp. She understood he was giving her a chance to prove Lask wrong.

She nodded briefly, glancing Lask up and down. He had grown recently, now standing just over a head and a half taller than her. She had watched him practicing and noted the awkwardness in his limbs as he adapted to the growth spurt. If she wanted a chance to beat him, now would be it.

"What conditions?" She asked in a low voice, watching Lask observe her in the same way she had.

"Regulation weaponry. Lask, pull your punches."

"Don't." Solak cut, meeting Lask's stare. "If I'm arresting someone larger than me, they wouldn't." The instructor nodded. Lask's grin had turned feral and malicious.

They both hurried over to the weapons rack. The guns on this one were emptied of powder and shots, so there wasn't any risk of him trying to shoot her. She strapped the holster to her leg, then chose a short sword and sheathed it on the other side.

She bounced on the balls of her feet lightly before returning to where the instructor waited. Surprise would be her main strength here, as well as speed. She was small and fast -- she only had to get inside his range.

Lask joined them, his expression thoughtful.

"First to get the other to surrender wins." The yard was still and silent. Even the knights were surreptitiously watching, trying not to show any interest. "Positions."

The two youths faced off. Solak leaned forward, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. A cocky grin crept onto Lask's face.

"Go."

She darted forward in a burst of speed, her elbow connecting with his stomach. As he doubled over, she brought her knee up, hitting his nose as hard as she could. There was a soft crunch. She hoped it was broken. He stumbled forward, letting her trip him easily. She flattened him against the ground with her knee as she drew her gun and aimed it at the back of his head, pressing the cold metal to his skin.

He shifted under her. She dug her knee in deeper and made sure he felt the barrel of the gun. The silence in the yard was thunderous.

"I surrender." He ground out.

She straightened with a small smile and bowed to the instructor. She stepped into the loose circle of people who had surrounded them, carving herself a passage.

Drops started to fall from the sky, heavier than the silence. There was a slow rumble in the distance.

The storm continued into the night hammering the tiles continuously. Solak was woken by the quiet sound of the door opening. Even under the rain she had always been able to hear the slightest sound. She wasn't quick enough to stop a cover being thrown over her bed, over her, and pinned down tightly.

"You know, blows through a futon don't leave bruises." The whisper of Lask's voice reached her through the layers. She barely had time to form a thought of dread before it was forced from her body.

This was a different kind of pain. This was muted but still strong, like a pin being driven into fabric. The blows continued as she curled into a ball.

Rohan… Please Rohan, help me…

She wasn't sure how long she was pinned down, only that by the time he left she could no longer stay conscious.

The day came with sunshine. She wasn't sure if she could move. She had to move. She forced her limbs to do her bidding, ignoring the sharp ache throughout her body. He couldn't cow her. She had been through more than he could even think of.

He stared as she strode into the yard. She stared back, green eyes piercing his. Her hair drank in the sunlight. There was the haughtiness of a queen in her demeanour. He bowed his head and looked away.

The sun shone on the puddles casting rainbows on the water.
You read faster than Usaine Bolt sprints xD - Deanie 2014

I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. - Cathy, Wuthering Heights





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Sun May 08, 2016 11:11 pm
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Craz says...



Rohan | Something Strange in the Water


The moon was alight with a pale fire, her fine face downcast, and certainly she was apprehensive as she watched her children slaughter each other. Her wayward child thrashed under her light, inhaling and exhaling to near hyperventilation, wailing with rage as its ragged black skin filled with poisonous gunpowder, mutilated bodies, and the remnants of ships. No stars dared to peek out from behind their mother's ivory features, and none dared to look upon the carnage, lest man decided to turn their exploding suns upon them.

Scrambling for purchase upon the worn wooden planks of his dying ship, Rohan fought for his life.

The man upon him had skin just as dark as Rohan's, hair just as coarse, and hands that curled around Rohan's throat. Rohan struggled to pry his meaty fingers away, but upon finding them as hard as iron, he clawed at his face until eventually curling his own large hands around the man's throat.

The ship buckled, and they rolled. Rohan gasped for air. The man's back smacked into a tumbling crate, and through the inch of his loosening grip, Rohan tore his head back and with a roar and smacked his forehead to the man's nose. Instantly, he felt the warmth from his blood, but could not decipher exactly where it splurted onto him. Sea spray stung his eyes.

The ship soared again, and the two tumbled back the way they came. A gunshot rang in his ears. Searing pain shot up his leg, and he screamed. The man's thumbs dug into his eyes, and Rohan jerked out of his range before pelting him on the jaw. The weight of both of them smacked onto his freshly injured leg.

Suddenly, the ship jerked again, and a screeching moan vibrated through Rohan's body. His eyes widened as he held the man's onslaughts at bay. And then both of them started to slide again.

His ship tipped both of them overboard.

Rohan screamed just before the water cracked onto his body, and screamed as the man snagged onto his leg - a grip that must have broken all the bones in his foot, it felt like. The man's weight plunged them underwater, the sea's mouth sucking them down, and the noise of the battle faded behind the muted presence of the sea.

Desperately, Rohan struggled upwards, kicking the man in the face and trying in vain to push him away as he clambered upon Rohan. Salt water filled his lungs, and his vision turned red in the pool of his own blood.

Rohan looked upwards, and there was the moon.

Something deep and strange stirred in his body.

Rohan wasn't drowning anymore.

It felt as if the sea itself was wrapping around him, filling him with its ferocious strength and power. It felt as if the moon's light, blinding, embraced him with its all-encompassing awareness, and he could nearly touch the ships above him, feel the sly currents of fish miles away, and sense the grains of sand, far below his feet. He felt his wounds fill with water, becoming numb. His fingers vibrated.

When he remembered that the man was no longer upon him, he turned, where he knew he would be. The euphoria vanished.

Currents thrashed at the remains of the man's body, his limbs were severed, and his skin, cut repeatedly and drained of blood, were bulging and purple, as if his body had deteriorated as one would left at sea for days in the span of a mere minute. His clothes were nothing more than scraps, caught up in the tide's tumult, and his skull was visible where the water shredded at his scalp. His jaw, swept clean, grinned at him.

In his horror, the wieght of the water pressed back down upon him, and almost as a last favor the sea shot him up towards the surface. When he broke through, Rohan gasped, and began to breathe in great, hysteric heaves. A barrel floated by him and he splashed towards it, scrambling upon it until the water could not touch him and did what it did to him again.

Rohan realized with a start that his wounds were completely healed.
"we'll fasten it with some safety pins and tape and a dream, and you're good to go, honey."





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Tue May 10, 2016 2:05 am
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Auxiira says...



|Solak | In Company of the Sun|
|Four years later|


thump
thump


Her heart beat a steady tattoo in her chest. In front of the ranks of students, she knew she looked small, knew that she would be underestimated. She knew she could use it. Bouncing on her soles very slightly, she clapsed her hands behind her back tightly. The bodies behind her were the definition of still. At her right shoulder, Lask glanced back then let a small smile dance on his lips.

"Cohort to attention." She didn't have to shout it. Her murmur carried across the yard, imperious. Heels snapped and there was a rustle of movement as spines straightened. A few seconds later stillness fell again. Pride glimmered in her chest. The gates across the yard cracked open. Solak's eyes cut to Lask's. A minute nod.

"Salute for the general!" He barked. The thump of fists thumping chests and feet stomping sounded like a roll of thunder. She schooled her face into neutrality as the general entered the keep.

His gaze skimmed the tight ranks, passing over her and settling on Lask. Solak stared straight ahead as the balding man moved to meet Lask's gaze. She saw Nathaniel grinning from beside the gate. He had already expressed his dislike of the general.

"You must be this cohort's leader." The words, addressed to Lask, created a ripple of tension in the cohort. Every one of them had been beaten into sumbission by the small woman, now being ignored by the general. Every one of them knew the taste of her knuckles, of her steel; they knew to respect it. But this man...

"Thank you, sir, but that would be Corporal Solak." A quick gesture of his head dragged the general's eyes downward until he met hers. They darted over her and rested on the brand and tattoo on her arm. The ones she had refused to let disappear, if only because they reminded people of where she was from. There was a flash of disbelief that settled into a frown.

You? The words didn't need to be said for them to ring clearly in the air.

Solak saluted, the thump contrasting with the silence in the yard. "Cohort leader Corporal Solak, at your service, sir."

The man's eyes reached for any deception, and when they found none, turned to Instructor Halen. Only a nod met his inquisition.

"Are you sure you can lead this cohort, girl?" His voice sighed and breathed like the rolling of the waves and she could almost hear the sea in the distance.

"Of course." Cocky, cocky, she could afford it now, she could afford for her words to snap like sails in the wind. The sun beat down on the metal at her hips, on her cap. She had the right to be here. She had earned it more than any of the others.

"Fine then. Welcome to the guard, the lot of you. Let's hope she doesn't send you all to hell at once." He turned with a snap of the heel and entered the barracks.

"Dismissed." The ranks dissipated, leaving Solak still in a storm of activity.

Pride glowed in Nathaniel's eyes as he came over. "The bastard accepted it. You, you little fiend, are making history. They can't deny others entry now, hopefully we'll see more like us soon!"

"I'll keep going though. I can't stop here." His grin caught like a fire, passing to her face with ease.

----


There was a storm in the next bay. She could see it in the sky as it rumble and tore the darkness in two. She knew it came towards them, but didn't hide from the wind and the rain. The beach was her solace and she sat there with a bottle. The tide ebbed at her toes and she didn't want to leave, but she knew that she had to. She took another swig from the bottle, then poured a measure into the sand.

"That's an awful waste of alcohol, you know." Lask's voice reached her from the road, and she heard his shoes on the pebbles at the top of the beach. "Why aren't you in the tavern? They're all waiting for you."

"I wasn't sure I was meant to be there." She pushed herself to her feet with the bottle, dusting the sand from her legs. The moon caught the light of the bottle and danced with it for a while.

"Of course you are. But only for now. I think you're meant to be far far from here. Maybe one day, we'll watch you command us all. For now, stop moping for no reason and come drink." And suddenly he was far too close and there was no space to breathe and he was kissing her. She wasn't sure what she was meant to do. So she pushed him away.

"No." She registered the hurt and disappointment, but couldn't see any surprise.

"It was a long shot anyway." He turned and made his way back to the road.

Solak was aware of the moon on her shoulders, on the sea, like one magnificent eye, seeing all. She wasn't sure if the seamen had it right. This beauty, this omnicience, surely it belonged to a queen, not a mother. Solak shook her head. Those weren't her tales any more. She didn't need a mother, not when she had a semblance of a family already. A drink waited on a table and people waited for her. She left the bottle in the sand as she turned.
You read faster than Usaine Bolt sprints xD - Deanie 2014

I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. - Cathy, Wuthering Heights





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Sat May 21, 2016 4:58 am
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Craz says...



| Rohan | A Betrayal of Brothers | A Few Years Later |


It wan't supposed to be this way.

"Yellow-bellied cunt!"

"Worthless bastard!"

"Murderer!"

Warm spray splashed against his bare legs, and the acidic smell of urine wafted up to his nose. Deep-throated cheers roared around him. He shifted on his feet, but only to hide more of his face behind his dirty, blood-clotted hair. The movement sent aches throughout his body, and he was freshly reminded of the crusted blood that cracked along his skin like broken veins. He wavered on his feet. Someone kicked him from behind, and he fell.

"Get up, you worthless swine."

He crawled back to his feet. He steadied himself, and once it was realized that he wasn't going further anymore, he was shoved forward from all sides. Curses slapped against him until he was spat out from the mob and forced to stumble against the ledge, his bound hands reaching up to protect his stomach. He tilted his head to the side, just enough to watch to see if someone was going to hit him from behind again.

A dark, shining figure held a bundle towards him. He looked back to the ledge, his hair tickling his nose. Suddenly the bundle was in his face and he had to hurriedly catch it with his bound hands.

"You could have been a good first mate," the dark figure spat. "But you ruined it."

He stared at the bundle in his hands. A knife appeared and roughly sawed his binds off, and immediately he began to rub at his wrists.

A thrumming worked its way from the back of the crowd, beating forward as each man stomped his feet and banged pots and knives together. It rose to a crescendo, and when it was suddenly seized by the dark figure's shout, a silent expectation remained in the air. He stayed where he was, nervously ducking his head.

Then the dark figure shouted, "Walk the plank."

The roaring started up again, and in fear of the suddenly surging crowd he stumbled upon the ledge. When he stepped upon it, there were cheers. He turned around for the last time and gazed upon the dark figure, for there was nowhere else to look in this moment.

He did not know what to expect, or what he had hoped for, but the disgust in the man's face seemed to finalize his reality. He stared for a moment longer, and then turned and took a step onto the thin piece of wood that held him precariously over the edge. More cheers.

He plunged into the water, the package held firmly above his head.

Pain and shock shot through his body and he scarcely remembered to return to the surface of the water. When he did, his ears caught the now muffled voices of his former crewmates. He glanced back once before he turned towards the island.

He put the package in between his teeth and swam to shore. The waves snapped at his face and slipped into his lungs, filling them with burning salt water. When he hauled himself ashore, he spat the bundle out of his mouth, and stared up at the sun.

When the sun touched the waves, he propped himself up and gazed at the island. There were three trees, and a few shrubs, yellowed and dry. And next to him, the package waited in the sand.

He picked it up and placed it in his lap, unwrapping the protective strip of fabric, and looked down at what was inside. There was a small container filled with gunpowder, and next to it rested a small revolver, the metal dull with age and use, the trigger worn down to a pick. He popped open the cylinder and in it waited a single, black bullet.

He had always hated guns.

As night fell, he remained where he was, the gun in is hand and the waves licking at his bare feet. He thought of his life: he thought about what his parents must be like; he thought about a girl he met when he was fifteen who he had thought he could love once; he thought about the first man he killed; he thought about the knight girl; and he thought about the dark figure that had once saved him and had also sentenced him to death.

It was him.

He had killed his own brother.

And he couldn't even remember doing it.

Days passed, he thought. Years, or hours. Minutes. Weeks. There he remained, permanently in the sand, lost in his memories and the realization that he had so few happy ones. Sometimes he cocked the gun and stared down its barrel, wondering, and other times it took all of his willpower not to throw the damn thing in the water and be done with it. He felt hunger, he felt his body withering, and it was almost like he was turning into one of the shrubs. And he thought that must be where the shrubs came from, too - from marooned murderers and maybe even rapists - traitors like him.

The day that he had decided to start up heaving all of the shrubs on his personal island was also the day that he had started hallucinating. The water shimmered about him, and the horizon taunted him with the prospect of a ship, oozing its way towards him on bucking sea creatures that screamed his name. It came closer, hurtling insults, dipping its fine flat horned nose into the water to splash sparkling diamonds into the air.

"Come'ere," it shouted. He screamed at it to shut up and leave him alone to his very important work. The ship did not shut up, and inched closer still. Night fell and yet it still remained, even in the cooler shade of the moon. Finally, to send the ship away for good, he gathered up his vial of gunpowder and set the trees on fire.

Instead of leaving, a smaller boat appeared from behind its hull, slowly gliding towards his island.
"we'll fasten it with some safety pins and tape and a dream, and you're good to go, honey."





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Mon May 23, 2016 1:27 am
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Auxiira says...



| Solak | Life is Cold |
| A few years later |


 
There was blood everywhere.  It coated the walls, the cobbles, the smell ramming itself up her nostrils.  The growing puddle pooled around her boots, swallowing them.  It wasn't a body in the center.  She could only just make out the features of the person; of Nathaniel.  They were distorted by a vicious slash, the skin torn.  She didn't realise she was on her knees until she grabbed his hand.  It was still warm.  Not long.  She knew it hadn't been long.  The screams still seemed to echo.

She looked again.  This hadn't been done by a knife.  It looked as if he had been ripped apart.  It  should have taken ages.  It hadn't.
 
The sound of boots sounded behind her.
 
"Fuck."  The sound of retching followed the curse. Lask's low tone jolted her to her feet. Blood had seeped through to her skin.  Her trousers stuck to her legs.
 
"Regroup.  The perpetrator can't be far."  She didn't hear her own voice. There was a tunnel and she could just see the street as she walked out of the alley.
 
"We need to take a break.  We won't find him in the dark."
 
"I said, regroup.  He was killed by magic.  I can find that."  Grief reverberated inside the hollow drum of her chest.
 
"Solak..."  His hand grazed her arm, gently settling there.  "I know how close you we-"
 
"I am fine."  She wrenched her arm away.  Their cohort had gathered around them, alert, watching the streets.  "Just let me concentrate."  A breath rattled into her lungs.  In the sky, the moon was barely visible.  Only the slightest whisper of wind scuttled down the road.
 
Her eyes slid shut.  Starlight tingled on the backs of her lids.  A breath escaped her lips as she opened her eyes again.
 
Her cohort glowed with low light. It pulsed through their veins. She glanced down at her hand, seeing the silvery hues travel. People with magic always glowed brighter. She glanced back at Nathaniel. Black-red strands clung to him like ivy. His own shades of sky blue had already drained from his body. She leant against the wall, trying to dispell the weakness in her legs.

He had always been there after the pirate boy had left her. He knew what it had been like for her. She almost saw him as a father.

Stepping down the street, her cohort followed, alert, jolting every time she thought she saw the murderer's aura. The sun was already high before she let them return to the keep.

The next night she searched alone. Her cohort held her back, she told herself as she paced the streets. They stood out, they didn't know how to fold themselves into the shadows like she did. As the sparks flickered into existence in the street lamps, she peered into the next street. The darkness seemed to reach out and grasp at her. Squinting, she could see a dark red glow from the center.

Drawing her gun, she stepped into the shadows as they caressed her. She fired blindly towards the glow. The shadows slowly leaked away, leaving her to see the alley. Blood bloomed from the stomach of the woman on the cobbles. A few steps saw Solak at her side.

"Don't worry," she said soothingly. "You won't die from the bullet."

"Do you want to die like the other one?" The woman's voice rasped. "He died so beautifully."

"You won't die from that. You could die from blood loss, but not if someone finds you." She crouched next to the woman. "But if, say, something else happened," she lifted the woman's shirt, then pinned her down, clamping her hand over her mouth. "Say that bullet didn't go all the way through, and someone happened to take it out haphazardly," her fingers fished inside the wound, ignoring the muffled cries. "Well then you'd probably die extremely fast."

She dropped the bullet on the cobbles next to the woman and watched her glow drain away.
Last edited by Auxiira on Tue May 31, 2016 7:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
You read faster than Usaine Bolt sprints xD - Deanie 2014

I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. - Cathy, Wuthering Heights





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Tue May 31, 2016 6:06 am
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Craz says...



| Rohan | What We Become |
| A Few Unknown Years Later |


He stood upon the dais, his head swimming with his own sickness. His rib cage expanded violently until each individual prong of bone was visible under his gangly muscle, his brown skin glistening and slightly yellow, his stomach curved inwards and pulled taught, before he exhaled loudly through his nose. Even then, a fit of violent coughs racked his throat. He opened his mouth wide to cleave the walls of his gullet apart, enough so that the hot wind might brush into his mouth, an attempt at a reprieve. However the dryness of the air only seemed to become a new sensation of pain. He closed his mouth and focused on not swaying too much on his feet.

The hot sun made his dark hair feel like it was on fire. For more than six hours, he had been offered no shade, and only a small sip from a rusted and old soup ladle kept him from completely passing out. These people spoke a language he had never heard of, or maybe it was a dialect - some words came to him through his fever induced fog, and he could recognize them, but not others.

But he knew very well what they were doing. They were seeing who could endure the longest.

And he had grown up under the harsh whims of the sea and the cruelty of pirates.

He had tried out first glaring at the men that examined him, and then he had tried ignoring them by staring above their heads, but then the sun and the exhaustion had become too much and so he looked vacantly at the faces that were in the front of the crowd. Some were wrinkled, calculating - others were young and cocky. One of them occasionally jeered at them. They all wore what looked like scarves on their heads and foreheads.

He wore nothing but a small strip of fabric to cover his privates, a strange courtesy given their other handlings with him. And on his forearm, exposed and pulsing with a moderately searing pain, were festering burn marks.

He still remembered like it was seconds ago as the medical man had men pin him down, and as he traced their strange symbols on his arm with a hot needle, and as he took his time to ensure that they were thick and easily visible. It was at that moment that he had wished that he had taken that bullet while he had still had the chance, while he still had the gun, while the choice had still been his.

What followed it had been the fever. Endless fever, all encompassing fever, fever that became him and fever that charred his fingernails and melted his insides and bled him out like a pig over a spit fire. When he woke up in his cage he would use the moldy hay to wipe away the sickly yellowish pus that bubbled under the surface of his skin and the excrement from wherever it was on him. He drank the maggot infested water and used it to clean himself more thoroughly before he passed out again from his own pain and from the wails of the other human beings that had been forced into slavery.

He hadn't realized he had blacked out until the sudden rush of wind hitting his face woke him up enough that he had time to raise his arms in front of him, but not time to do much else. He hit the hard packed ground and the impact was too much for his weakened state, and so he laid there as he had fallen. Laughter floated down from him. The chains around his feet strained painfully, as their leash was short and attached to the dais, and he had fallen farther than he had thought.

Yet: he had never felt anything as blessed as he had right then, with the sun blocked from the men standing over him and the pressure finally taken off of the soles of his bare feet and the ground such a beautiful minute measure cooler. It felt so good that he thought that if they let him rest there for a moment more that he might start to cry.

Too soon, he was lifted violently to his feet, and blows smacked against his skull as the two men that had lifted him up beat him with their free muscular hand. There were cheers as they hauled him back onto the dais. Someone splashed his portion of water from the ladle in his face, and he sputtered before eagerly licking the water from his lips. More laughter.

He heard a conversation close to him, but he was too tired to decipher the quick words' meanings. So he stood there, swaying, until his eyes could focus in front of him.

The old man that had been watching him the closest conferred with one of his slave masters. They gestured angrily, and their voices rose. Then there was a transaction of a small pouch. Examining the pouch's contents begrudgingly, the slave master waved at one of the young boys that followed them around, and he came forth eagerly with a stick of charcoal and a book of parchment. The boy began to scribble furiously at the slave master's command. Then the boy looked up to me and smiled.

Realization dawned on him a moment too late and he started to thrash and scream as the two men that had thrown him back onto the dais grabbed him. He begged them in his own tongue that they did not comprehend to let him go, that he was actually a free man. The crowd laughed at him, and angrily the two men started to hit him on the head again until he became too near to unconscious to fight.

They had to drag him away. The slave master took out three small coins and gave the rest of the pouch back to the old man with a huff.
"we'll fasten it with some safety pins and tape and a dream, and you're good to go, honey."





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Mon Jun 13, 2016 11:43 am
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Auxiira says...



| Solak | What We Become|
| A few years later |


Solak propped herself against a barrel in the shade and watched as the city guard tried to extract a confession from the boy they had been handed. The heat was stifling, the few hairs escaping from her careful braid stuck to her neck uncomfortably. She could feel a few droplets of sweat trickle down her spine and resisted the urge to shudder. This dry heat sucked the life out of everything it swallowed, reprieve only being found in the shade or inside. The icy winds in the north almost seemed welcoming. She kicked, her feet against the wood behind her then sighed.

Pushing off of the barrel, it was only a few strides before she reached the boy. The guard stepped back, his head bowed ever so slightly in deference to the knight.

"Kneel. Hands on your head." The order was crisper than a winter breeze. His knees kissing the sand the sand, the teenager slowly laced his hands on the back of his head. The swift pinch of cuffs bit into his wrists. Solak stood with her back to the sun, making sure it shone in his eyes. Discomfort was the best way, she had found. Pain would make them incoherent, magic could still let them tell lies, but discomfort – discomfort drove people insane.

"Ma'am, I swear, I didn't do anything. I was only passing by, I didn't steal-"

"Be quiet." The boy obeyed, watching her as she tilted her head at him, strands of black hair falling out of her braid. His eyes squinted against the sun, narrowing to slits. "You stole something, the owner caught you. Now, if you return what you stole, you won't be put in a situation you don't like."

He swallowed, the beginning of an Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. His gaze darted to the daggers on the belt slung across her waist to the sword that hung oh so quietly, touching on the gun strapped to her leg before glaring at the ground.

"I didn't steal anything," he ground out obstinately. The sun glared down, scorching the ground. Despite years of training outside, Solak’s tan had ignored the bands of scarring on her wrists and she saw him glance at them now. His eyes lightened with hope as they caught the bottom of the brand on her arm. “Please. He just doesn’t like me. You must know what it’s like. He’d find any way to get rid of me.”

There was a stillness in the world that even the heat couldn’t prescribe as she stared at him, her mind whirling and yet blank at the same time. She hadn’t thought that this street rat, that this scavenging scum would try and reach out to her for sympathy. She couldn’t stretch her mind around it as who she was now. As who she had ever been. Her softer feelings had never been handed out easily. Only once had she given them in less than a heartbeat and all she had left from was an empty chasm of a chest.

“Stand.” Relief radiated from his posture as he straightened. From his height, he now looked down on her. The smallest of smiles touched his lips as he brought his arms down from above his head. She grabbed his hands and pulled them to one side, smirking at the resounding pop of his shoulder dislocating. The boy’s howl filled the yard.

““I am not your friend,” she growled into his ear.

She turned to the guard, nodding once before striding off.
You read faster than Usaine Bolt sprints xD - Deanie 2014

I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. - Cathy, Wuthering Heights





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Thu Jun 30, 2016 2:03 pm
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Auxiira says...



| Solak | Desert Rain |


The summer heat was sweltering, with the luxury of light clothing not offered to knights who wore armour. The tight fit of her leather chestpiece left no room for even a slight current of air to weasel its way through, and Solak could feel her tunic plastered to her back. She refused to miss the north, but some cold winds would certainly be appreciated when she felt she could barely breathe. Dust coated every inch of her skin, filled every fold, found its way into every crevice. She already longed for the end of this shift, for the cool corridors of the hold here.

She glanced at the knight next to her, then leaned against the pillar on the corner of the plaza.

"Go do a circuit. I'll keep an eye on everything from here." She watched him leave, then sighed. Patrols were mind-numbingly boring. All she ever had to deal with normally were the few thieves who saw them and still tried to steal from the stores.

Stretching, she settled further into the shade and watched the lightly armoured knight stride around attentively, stopping every so often to talk to the stall owners. Just graduated, he was still on probation, and apparently, it had been written into her vows somewhere that she had to take care of probationaries every so often. They weren't too useless, just more expecting of adventure than anyone on patrol should have the right to be.

It took a few minutes for her to notice the child darting amongst the stalls, seeming to search for someone. Once her eyes locked onto the knight on the other side of the square, she darted over to him, pulling on his tunic. He half crouched to listen to her, a frown formed on his brow before he straightened and looked toward Solak. She was half way across the square before he had even taken he first step.

"What's up?" Her voice was curt, the girl taking a few steps behind the other knight.

"Rogue slave, ma'am." His eyes flickered to her arm quickly before returning to her face. "The owner wants us to take care of it."

She blinked once, twice, then looked at the child. "Takes us there."

It took a while to get to the outskirts of the town, to a large villa. Solak was mildly surprised that the child had managed to run all the way, but a glance at the girl's arm said she probably hadn't had much choice in the matter. She tugged the sleeve of her tunic further down. Masters never reacted well to freed slaves.

More servants ushered them into the courtyard, toward the back of the house. Set away from the house, a small cage sat just outside of the shade of a wall, a figure hunched inside. A pit of dread tugged at her stomach for a few short seconds before she allowed a breath to soothe it away.

The owner of the villa hobbled out of the house, an old man supported by a cane. He scuttled across the courtyard, sucking on his teeth.

"Thank you for coming." His gaze settled on the male knight, lingering on his chest before looking at Solak's with a small frown.

"Could you tell us more about what's happening?" Her tone gave no doubt as to who was the higher rank out of the two.

"I got the slave a few months ago," the man's voice quavered and trembled with age, still strong beneath it all. "He seemed like a good investment. He had a bit of a fever, but nothing that wouldn't clear up."

"I assume that changed." Solak's tone was dry as she gestured to the cage.

The man gave a slightly amused nod. "He just talks gibberish, lashes out at anyone who comes near him. If you could take him out of my hands, it would be of a great service to me."

"For a fee, of course."

"Of course."

Solak nodded, gesturing for the probationary to follow her as she made for the cage. "We'll see what we can do."

The cage rattled as she approached. She couldn't distinguish the figure inside, brown skin and long hair and rags pressed against the bars. It moved to the back of the cage as she got closer. She refused to let a swell of deja vu roll over her. Hand on her gun, she quickly unlocked the door and opened it.

"Out of there. You're coming with us.

It only moved to turn its head toward them, and to shift onto its hind legs. Then it stilled, outside of a small tremor that must have been the fever. Its back was arched under the sun, its skin glistening and blistered, and from the position of the sun and its shadow, the figure's slave number, still pink, stared at her.

It waited.

Solak started at the smack of the old man's cane on the cage, and the slave inside flinched further into the opposite corner. By the second clang of the cane, the slave began to mumble to itself, so low it was difficult to tell if it was any recognisable language. The old man banged upon it a third time, then said, "It probably can't understand you," to them with sympathetic eyes.

It burst into hysteric laughter that quickly descended into more nonsense mumblings. Solak raised her eyebrows, but not out of amusement. Then, puffing her chest out, she turned to the probationary at her side.

"Get it out," she snapped. He looked at her, incredulous, then when he realized that she was serious he looked towards the cage with a contrite expression. Slowly, glancing between her and the Master, he crouched and held his arms out in front of him awkwardly, as if half expecting it to jump into his arms. It grunted, and Solak could have sworn it was a breathy laugh.

He shuffled in an inch, and waved his hand out in front of him in an ushering motion. And then, as if it was a miracle, the slave started to inch forward - all the tentative beast.

The knights hand brushed past his face, and as quick as a snake it lunged and snapped its teeth onto his hand.

He screamed, and it let go with a howl of laughter. When its teeth flashed, blood stained them. The lower knight stumbled out of the cage and landed on the back of his heels, yelling, "He fucking bit me!"


One step and Solak was up next to it by the cage. Another moment and her gun was out. Another and her barrel was poking through the cage, aimed at its head. One more and the barrel was pressed against its skull.

Its thick, matted hair fell back in one singular movement as it tilted its head up to look at her. Fervent green eyes, hazy with sickness, glared at her. Then, slowly, they widened with a sense of recognition, as the fog in his skull had temporarily lifted.

"Solak?" he said. As he spoke, his teeth flashed with the knight's blood.

Her arm faltered, lowering until it hit the bars of the cage. She wasn't sure-- she couldn't know-- but the way he said her voice, as if he were the first to have ever heard it ...

But it couldn't be him. She shook her head and gripped the gun tighter, scowling.

"How do you know my name?" The words forced themselves out of her mouth in an uneven growl.

"Little flame, you're burning, burning," his reply trailed off into another burst of hysterical laughter. She barely heard it over the thundering in her head.

It was him. Him. Her pirate. Her moon-loving friend. It shouldn't have been possible. Her mind took him in - matted hair, dusky, blistered, festering skin, fever lit eyes - and rejected the thought of it being him, her strong, proud friend. Yet her heart sang that it was him. The petrified lump in her chest gave one hefty thump, and that was all she needed to know it was him.

What had happened to him, how he had arrived at her feet... Those were questions for later.

She reholstered her gun in one swift movement, daring the probationary to challenge her as he nursed his bleeding hand. She carefully drew open the door to the cage again. As she reached in, she glanced back at the probationary, then at the old man. With the smallest furrow of her brow, she started humming under her breath, slow, discordant notes. The slave cocked its head at her.

"Rohan?" Her voice cracked, cowed by the glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "Rohan, you've got to come with me... I'll keep you safe, I promise."

He kept his eyes locked upon hers, his frightening intensity making him appear rabid. He shifted on his feet again, inching forwards, but at the movement of the master close to his side his gaze darted towards him and he paused, his lips peeling backwards and his parched tongue darting over his bloody lips.

Solak shifted so she blocked his sight, then looked back.

"If you could leave, we could actually get him out of the cage." The snap had returned to her voice, crisper than before.

"He's clearly beyond help."

She straightened suddenly, rattling the cage. "I will never give up on him. This man is the only reason I am here. You will step back or I will make you leave."

The master pursed his lips, but scuttled off into the gardens, a constant mutter trailing from his mouth. Solak bent back down and reached in again, giving Rohan an awkward, stale smile.

He reached forward with his branded arm, using the sides of the cage as a balance to creep forward. When he lifted off of his knees, there were deep purplish gashes upon them, swollen and dirty. His hair brushed over his face once more and his breath stirred the hairs in short quick bursts.

She grasped his hand, feeling his calluses brush against hers. His grip on her wrist was weaker than she had expected and it took her a second to catalogue it before she held him tighter and drew him out of the cage. His hunched back brought him down to her height, wavering on unstable legs. She sucked in a breath then wrapped his arm over her shoulders. The probabtionary stared at her incredulously.

"If you're not going to help," she snapped at him, "then at least find a carriage so we can get back. He can't walk all the way."

He swallowed, then turned on his heel and strode to the street.

Rohan leaned heavily upon her shoulder, nearly toppling them over. He started to chuckle to himself in between breaths, and mumbled something through a woosh of air, his head lolling back drunkenly.

"What was that?" Solak asked wearily, studying him more and darting her gaze to the few people in the courtyard, who stared at them unabashedly.

His head rolled onto her shoulder, and she stumbled against him. As she struggled to push him more onto his own feet, he whispered into her ear.

"I knew you'd be a good knight."

He burst into laughter.

She wasn't sure whether to flinch or smile, so settled for a grim mashing of her lips. She hefted his weight again, sighing inside as the probationary appeared in the entrance of the yard again. Tugging Rohan forward, she urged him to step with her, teetering and faltering until they reached the gates. The people in the yard offered no help, staring all the same.

The probationary stared at her as she looked at the distance between the road and the floor of the carriage. Slowly, reluctantly, he offered an arm to Rohan, distrust flickering in his eyes.

"Wa- Who are you?" Rohan exclaimed, his words slurred and articulated all at once. He twisted bewilderedly towards him suddenly enough for the probationary to step back. "And what happened to your hand?"

"He works with me, Rohan," Solak kept her voice soft as she caught his attention again. "He won't hurt you. He just fell."

Her gaze cut to the other knight's, a plea to play along resting there.

"My name's Emil." His voice was rough and unsure, grating on the air.

"'Ello, Emily. My name is..." Rohan's face contorted in confusion, and the brief clarity of his eyes disappeared. He stared at a point in front of him, shuffling, and seemed to have forgotten what he was saying.

"Rohan," she whispered, eyes wide. She swallowed, then looked at Emil. "Help me get him in. You don't have to after that, just help me with this."

He nodded, silenced by the show of vulnerability. Together they managed to lift Rohan into the carriage. She clambered in, and after a moment's hesitation, Emil followed.

~*****~


They stopped outside the compound, grabbing Rohan before he could teeter down the steps of the carriage by himself in a continuation of the tone of the journey. He had alternated between sitting hunched in the corner and gesturing wildly, shuffling around in the limited space of the carriage. The guards on the gate stared, but didn't dare comment as Solak and Emil supported Rohan through the courtyard. A glare to the other knights as they made their slow way to the officers' wing.

Halfway in her arms, Rohan began to twitch, and then shake, more than his earlier light tremor. A random word, "rain", bubbled out of his mouth, almost like it was painful. His skin was nearly burning her through their contact.

"Rain rain rain they have it they took it they took the rain they took it away and now I'm dying-" His frantic murmurs were close to her ear, his voice scarcely a rush of air through a dried and cracked throat, the words jumbled but more comprehensible this time around.

He tripped, his beaten knees giving out. Solak and Emil scrambled to pull him up, and as they slung him between them he started to laugh again.

"Good knight, good night, yes yes, of course they'd make you take me," he said, struggling to project his voice in her direction, his gaze struggling to remain on her face, "of course they'd make a good knight take me to my bad eternity, though I guess it is a good night, good night to be taken to my bad eternity. Rain, no rain, never here... They took it-"

A shout up ahead of them made Rohan cut off abruptly, and his expression slowly shifted to that of the one she had become accustomed to recognizing during the short time of their surprise reunion. His silence, though nearly as unnerving as his ranting, came as a relief. The two of them dragged Rohan forward as the sound of hard footsteps neared them.

"Can I ask exactly what you're doing, Captain?" The voice was low and disapproving, bringing Solak and Emil to a halt. Emil's eyes darted to her, cautious.

"Commander." The word was dragged out through her teeth grudgingly. She hefted Rohan's weight to Emil, and turned to give an loose salute to the approaching man. His lips thinned at the salute that verged on insulting and glared at Rohan's prone form.

"Please explain to me why you think bringing this man, who is a clear threat to security, into the compound without prior permission is a good idea."

It took Solak a few seconds to remember that the Commander here did not like her, if only because she was a ranking woman and that she had the guts to go through with plans that he didn't. He had been stuck in this sinkhole for the last decade and his mood had apparently only furthered with every year. She was about to give him another reason to dislike her.

"Sir, I apologise that this is... somewhat unexpected. This man is an old friend of mine. I found him and though that as you can see," she gestured back to the bedraggled form sagging in Emil's arms. He was still silent, his eyes glazed. "I determined that he needed help. He's done a lot for me in the past."

"And how do you plan on helping him when you have patrols to do?" There was a slight curl to his lip, but he studied Rohan closely.

She shuffled her feet, then straightened. "Sir, I would request leave. I've taken none in the time I've been a knight. I should have a fair amount stacked up." Her tone was polite, but her eyes glinted harshly in the sunlight.

The commander took the time to meet her stare. The woman before him was all hard edges and unforgiving lines. She looked about 5 years older than he knew her to be, frown lines, rather than ones from smiles crisscrossing her face. He had never known her to show an ounce of concern for anyone save herself, and here she asked for something she had never had before and wanting help for someone. Her glare told him that even if he didn't sanction it, she'd take time anyway.

A reluctant huff underlined his words. "Fine. But he'd better not cause trouble."

She bowed her head a fraction, then took Rohan's arm again. Emil helped her heft him into her quarters, then fetched a medic.

"Good, good knight, too..." Rohan mumbled. This time when he tripped he didn't bother to right himself. Solak grunted and, after some manoeuvring, managed to pull his arms over her shoulders and drag him over her back. His breath, irratic and hot on the back of her head, smelled faintly of sickness. He moaned as she lay him gently on the bench against the wall.

Rohan, what did you do... she thought.
You read faster than Usaine Bolt sprints xD - Deanie 2014

I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. - Cathy, Wuthering Heights





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Mon Jul 11, 2016 12:14 am
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Craz says...



| The Slave | The Cold One and the Its |


Too much, too many, and all at once. There they were, enemies, surrounding him and dragging him and screaming at him - too much noise too much noise get me out - they were attacking him and beating him and oh, did he hurt. His skin boiled with their gazes and voices and he knew that his soul was bleeding out and the sky that burned with fire sucked it right out of him, yet they left just enough of him inside his husk of a body to feel the pain that they caused to it, and they laughed and screamed inside of his skull until he could feel it leaking out of his head.

It was so dry there was no moisture water water water he couldn't move his body he was stuck and frozen in blistering heat. He wanted out, he wanted to die, but they kept dragging him until they finally dropped him and held him down so he could not, even if he wanted to, move.

One of them kept touching his head and its hand was like ice, tap tap tapping against his brain. It wore the face of a ghost but it must have worn that face for a while, because it was older and colder. It was the Cold One while the others burned. The ghost face did not smile in his enemy's clothing. He did not want it to smile in his enemy's clothing.

The fire receded again and this time he could blink and he blinked at the ground that was over him. He thought that he must have been on the ceiling then, if he could look up and see stone. He tried to lift his hand but found it dead at his side. He looked about him but found nothing that he really recognized, either. The Cold One stood at his side, but was looking at something else.

"I don't know what you want me to do with this," Something said.

"I want you to fix him."

"I can't do that, Captain."

"And why is that?" The Cold One said, ice in her voice.

"... You know why." The something paused, then clarified. "I'm a medic for the Knight's Watch. I don't work at some public clinic. I don't work on slaves. You'll have to go somewhere else if you want your slave taken care of, though I doubt anyone with my profession would work on such a case. It'd be better just to let it die from fever or starvation - whichever one comes first - and save your money on getting a new one, Captain."

The Cold One sighed and it was a terrible sound. "If I wanted a slave merely for convenience, I would clearly not buy one in such a condition. You work for the Knights, ergo, you work for me." Her voice was cold cold cold. "Medics are highly replaceable. This man isn't. Do your job and save him."

Something exhaled. "Fine, fine, fine. But there is no way I can work on it right now being that it's so... filthy. Clearly, you must understand. My other medics are off helping actual men, and I refuse to put another's life in danger for this, so I need manpower, and water. Give me those things, and fine, Captain, I'll blotch my record to work on this slave for you."

"Oh, don't look at me. Seriously?" A third something said. He could have sworn he had heard it before, something that came with an E or an M...

"If you want to complete your probation, Emil, then yes." The Cold One's voice was less icy. "Go get some water." There was the sound of a door opening and closing, then silence fell. The ice hand touched his head again.

When he looked up, the ghost face smiled. It was stiff and uneasy and wrong, so unnatural upon its face, that he flinched and turned away. He could feel the fire coming again, and again, and again again again and he moaned as his skin boiled and his soul leaked out of him and hung suspended in the air, hovering over the bubbles of his skin. The ghost face that the Cold One wore disappeared and suddenly they were touching him they were touching him they were touching -

He screamed as they scraped and clawed at him, grabbing at his limbs and laughing and yelling and picking and plucking until they scratched at his withered bones and his sinew blew away into dust and scab. It was all so much, too much, they were touching -

He lurched and grabbed at the nearest one, snatching at its throat to get it to stop, stop stop stop stop -

"Fucking hell hold him down!"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"You, check to see if he's okay, now. I need opium, where is the fucking opium?"

They held him down and grabbed him with their burning hands and scraped at his mouth and eyes. He screamed and clawed them away, but they kept coming and coming -

Pain and molten metal shot up his arm and he thrashed as he felt it deadening his muscles and setting the fire to a perpetual burn - a burn that he felt weigh in his chest until he felt like he was going to go straight through the rock underneath him until he burned up under the fiery sky. It pushed at his eyelids until they were forced to close, but he didn't want to be blinded, he didn't want-

"Goddammit, we're going to need to buy some more poppy. And it's coming out of your pay, Captain."
"we'll fasten it with some safety pins and tape and a dream, and you're good to go, honey."








Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.
— Maya Angelou