[Bronze Wood] Suspicions (Sam)

[Ulric]

“I’m headed to Syliras,” Ulric pawed at his nose, “although I’m not certain what I’ll do after I step through the gates. Rest for a bit, I suppose, and seek employment – or perhaps I’ll move on. Up until now, the only thing I’ve focused on survival.” He slung the crossbow over his shoulder, casting a rueful glance through the trees. Shyke, and to think that it all could have ended here, after I’ve come all this way. Ulric stuffed a balled-up leaf in his nose to staunch the flow of blood – no longer caring what Sam might think of him – and looked up at the rider. “How about you?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Back to Syliras," he admitted. "I think I'm going to try to get a job at the stables. Something steadier than just trapping... And safer, maybe." He watched Ulric's attempt at doctoring himself with a dubious look, then dug through his packs and threw him a bit of a rag, clean enough, that he might use to put pressure on his nosebleed. "What say we travel together? Just in case we have to flee another bear or something..."

[Ulric]

Ulric nodded his gratitude as he pressed the rag to his weeping nose. As consistent with conventional wisdom, cloth was more absorbent than plant fibers. “I could use some company,” he admitted, “but I’ll need to keep a bit of distance between me and the horse.” He shuddered, recalling how he’d nearly had an ear bitten off as a lad. “So,” Ulric said as he ambled down the trail, “Tell me about Syliras. What kind of place is it? Having only experienced life in Ravok, I’m not certain what to expect.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam slipped off Horse's back to give him a chance to recover from the heavy load. He kept an ear perked for any news of an angry bear, but figured he could rely on Horse's superior senses as an early warning system. He stood between Ulric and the animal just in case Ulric really did have a penchant for angering horses. There was still the crossbow and though they seemed on relatively good terms, one never knew when a person would get angry and violent. He kicked a clod of dirt with the heel of his boot as they walked along back toward Syliras. It would be slower going on foot, but so be it. "I imagine it's awfully different," he said, "though I always avoided Ravok and I've only spent the Spring in Syliras, and a lot of that not even in the City. But it's a city named after the dead god of peace, and those knights seem to think they're the opposite of Ravok. But from what I understand, the people of Ravok don't think their god or their City is bad. Perhaps good and evil are just perspectives, but I know that strangers have a habit of becoming slaves in Ravok, so I steered clear."

[Ulric]

“Rhysol takes care of his own,” Ulric shrugged. “I suppose that’s all you can ask from a god. And it’s not as if the Black Sun has its mind set on conquest – or so I’ve come to believe. In the end we’re all pawns, so we might as we accept our fates.” He paused, peering about the wood. It was peculiar how the place changed so damned quickly. One moment he was fleeing from a bear, his guts clenched in fear, and the next he was strolling along a trail, listening to birdcalls and the rustling leaves while he made idle chatter. I suppose perils are everywhere, Ulric thought with a rueful smile. “The thing about Ravok,” he continued, “Is that you’ve only got to abide by the rules of the Black Sun to live there. Unless you’re a non-human, in which case they’ll clap you in irons. Not very hospitable of them, I know. But shyke, you don’t even need to believe in Rhysol as long as you remain in line – something my da was too much a fool to understand.” Ulric spat bitterly. “Nothing like having the Ebonstryfe show up in the dark of night to deliver a message.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam shuddered with an atavistic fear. Ravok was little more than a ghost story in his extreme youth, but he had heard plenty of tales about god-touched, white-eyed men with gruesome powers and unholy hungers. Hearing a different philosophy was hardly enough to erase all that in an instant. "Well, to each their own, I suppose. I'd still rather Ravok, Rhysol, the Black Sun, and the Ebonstryfe be blissfully unaware of my existence. Not that I have anything they would want, but it doesn't hurt to remain anonymous, I've found." After a moment, some of the details slipped further into his consciousness. He glanced sidelong at Ulric. "What happened to your da?"

[Ulric]

Ulric’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like reminiscing about his past – too much death, drear, and disappointment – but then again, he’d brought the subject up in the first place. Might as well follow through, he sighed. “My da,” Ulric began tentatively, “was what you’d call a dissident. He was a fisherman, just like me. A good man, I suppose, and a damned hard worker, but poor – always harping on about how the Black Sun and the merchant classes were bleeding us dry. It started off small; the occasional torch-lit meeting in a basement, a sour look at the priests, that sort of thing. And then it slowly got worse, especially after ma was taken by the plague. Da said we had to rise up against the Black Sun, that The Voice had Rhysol imprisoned under the temple and we had to free him. Nothing but a heap of shyke from a madman’s arse.” Ulric’s voice was steeped in contempt. “It wasn’t long before the Ebonstryfe took notice. Hauled him off in the middle of the night, kicking and screaming, as if he wasn’t petching suspecting it. Idiot,” Ulric sneered. “As it turns out, the son didn’t have to pay for the father’s sins, but the bastards also gave me something to remember them by anyways. Never saw da after that, and I daresay I’ll go to my deathbed knowing it was his own damned fault.” Ulric peered at the ground, his dark eyes smoldering, not wanting to meet Sam’s gaze. He had a bitter taste in his mouth, but it felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders for a moment – a burden he seldom acknowledged. There were too many fatherless sons in this world, too much pain and grief and loneliness, and no amount of tears could fill the emptiness. In a way, Ulric was hollow inside. He could not love – nay he could not bring himself to love for fear of loss. He’d toed a dangerous line with Mhera, his once-betrothed, until her infidelity drove him to butcher her and her lover, Hugh, as they copulated in the storehouse. Ever since, Ulric had worn his bitterness and scorn as a cloak, seeking to conceal and obliterate the emotions that had brought him so much pain within a blistering cauldron of rage. And he was failing miserably.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam chewed on Ulric's story for a bit as they walked. He knew Ulric didn't want pity, and he had none to give, but he couldn't help but feel compassion welling up within. He knew some of what the man felt himself. There was nothing for it but to share. "My family was killed by bandits," he began slowly. "Everyone except me, lucky me, who got sold all the way to Sunberth to rot there until I could steal a horse and escape. Took me eight years." He blinked. That was really all of it. Granted, it was the highly truncated version of his history, not giving away much of anything else, but the meat of it was, he also knew what it was to lose family to violence. He didn't look at Ulric, but frowned in Horse's direction, checking a bit of his saddlery that was already perfectly tied and in order. Hopefully the self-loathing didn't show. His night with Merris had been the beginning of some sort of healing, but the wound was only lanced. There was still poison within.

[Ulric]

“It seems the world is full of orphans,” Ulric mused, as if that would somehow defuse the tension. He could understand Sam’s feelings about enslavement – in a superficial way, to be sure – but he couldn’t bring, but he couldn’t bring himself to condemn slavers for their actions. Men took what they pleased in the wildlands and defended it through strength of arms. It was the way of things; unfortunate for the poor wretches in shackles, but good for their masters. Let the strong swallow up the weak, Ulric scowled at the damp, leaf-strewn trail. It’s in our nature, after all, same as eating or breathing – except we enslave purely for pleasure rather than survival. He ventured a glance at Sam, but the lad seemed to be avoiding his gaze. Well, this is awkward. Ulric regretted speaking of Ravok in the first place. It was stupid of him to think he could trust Sam. Oh, that could always be remedied by a blade across the throat, but was Ulric really that much of a monster? He didn’t think so – or at least, he hoped not. It was a slippery slope from corpse mutilation to random stabbings. Come to think of it, he hadn’t tasted horseflesh for a while. What the petch? Ulric’s brow furrowed. He was clearly going to pieces, his thoughts seeming to flit back and forth between the mundane and the homicidal. It hadn’t been like this before. Perhaps all those days in the wildlands really did mess with my head, he mused, recalling the series of strange and inexplicable events that had befallen him. Shyke, I’m probably delusional. Ulric peered at Sam, not panicking quite yet, but wondering if he’d eaten some bad mushrooms. Was the lad also a delusion? Better check. Ulric prodded Sam in the ribs with his index finger. He felt pretty solid.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam merely nodded at Ulric's observation about the prevalence of orphans. It didn't make him feel closer to the man; at least, no closer than surviving a bear attack did. But rather than brood over the delicate particulars of his past, he thought more to the present and the future. After all, morality aside, the bandits had captured him and sold him. Fine. He had eventually grown up and taken freedom in his own two hands. Fine again. Matter settled. But this run-in with a bear was reminding him that he had really only survived the past two years because either the gods had taken a fancy to him or he was just possessed of extreme, dumb luck. There was no telling when that would run out. Perhaps it had, leaving him with Ulric as an unlikely ally at just the right moment. He should get back to Syliras, practice with his scimitar, buy himself a new bow, make friends with the younger knights, those closest to him in age. It was difficult being alone when a person had Drykas blood. He was meant for a human herd, and all the head games he had been playing with himself to keep himself alive were starting to fray around the edges. Then Ulric poked him and he looked over, eyebrows raised curiously. He was probably lucky it was a finger and not a dagger. Gods, he wished he could just trust people completely and know that they were worthy of his trust, but he reined himself in. That line of thinking would have him bonding to people like some sort of human kelvic, or reverting to a child who wanted his mama. "What?"