Flashback [Nettle District] On the Verge

[Sigrun Dominic]

32nd of Winter, 512 AV The Herald's Arms - Nettle District It was a pain to say that Sigrun could not feel any sort comfort from the warmth that the Herald's Arms usually provided her. Men and women alike, who were responsible for "welcoming" the place's customers, had the touch and feel of stone; they brushed against her like rough sandpaper, and their wanton whispers sounded like the hisses of snakes. She flinched away from them, from anyone, and trudged over to the bar with her head down. She looked like a ghost, a stranger to living, as her eyes bore no emotion and her body moved as if it had to go against the force of rigor mortis. The bartender, who was used to seeing the young girl come to the place, eyed her curiously. "Are you's alright?" he smiled uneasily, as he placed his hands on the counter and looked down at the girl, "you's been 'ere for days now, missy, I'm ge'in a lil' bit concerned." "I'm just tired," Sigrun responded with a rhaspy murmer, "ale, please." "Maybe you's need a break." "I know what I need," she tried to comfort the man with a smile, "and what I need is more to drink." The bartender sighed and gave her a quick nod. The young blonde gripped her temples with the tips of her fingers and began to massage them slowly. Her eyes and throat were burning, and her stomach had a dull ache to them from all the drinking she had been doing for the past few days. It was getting worse and worse. She couldn't take it anymore. It was two years since the death of her brother and yet, the wounds still felt very fresh, and very much open. It seemed as if an infection festered within it too, producing a poison within her that slowly devoured her desire and resolve to live. She was so tired of it, too tired of it. "There's no point," she thought, her eyes stinging as a tears began to stream down them, "where is the point?" The bartender left her a mug and a bottle. He knew her well. The girl had been trying to live a simple life in another district, at the Traveler's Row where she had quick access to the main gates, to freedom, but the taste of life outside of the citadel's gates was stale to her directionless tongue. She had nothing to aspire for. She lost the drive to take care of herself, of her dog Snowe, and while she tried her best to make sure that the canine didn't suffer for it, it only made things worse on her part. A stranger, an obvious traveler by the weight of the things strapped to his back and the layers of his clothing, inched his way into her reclusive bubble. "Interested in a bit of company?" "No," she snapped, her words coming out stuffy and muffled as she discarded the mug to the side and took swigs from the bottle of ale. "C'mon, I'm sure you'll like me." "I don't like anybody," she growled, her eyes staring at the bottle as she continued to speak in between drinks from it, "I don't like anything." Perpetually drunk was the word to describe her current state. She didn't even give herself enough time in between her alcoholic endeavors to sober up. "Maybe I can change your mind." He began to manhandle her, his arms snaking around her waist like the snakes she thought she'd heard on her way in. His touch felt like the pricking of thorns. Sigrun squirmed, her hips bumping the man's hands away, only to find that it was only making things worse. The man snickered, the smell of alcohol swimming out of his putrid mouth. He was just as intoxicated as the young blonde. Sigrun kicked the man's barstool aside, tossed a couple mizas on the bar counter, and made for the door with her bottle of ale. The chill winter night hit her hard as the wind almost blew her off to the side of the road. She groaned, eyes scanning the misty night as she struggled to keep her body warm. Shivering, she turned around and thought of going back inside, when the traveler exited and made another grab for her. Sigrun continued to push him off, growling for him to leave her alone, until eventually on instinct, the man punched her in the face. A rivulet of blood splatted out of Sigrun's mouth as she fell backwards onto the snow, her bottle of ale breaking as she dropped it next to her. The traveler panicked, and upon hearing the sounds of shouting men, he ran off into the darkness. "Sigrun..." The young blonde moaned, her eyes barely open as she scanned the streets, tears streaming down her face as the full effect of the stranger's punch took effect. Her swollen cheek pulsated as her blood rushed up her face, her split lip leaving droplets of blood on the white snow. "Sigrun!" She coughed out a mix of blood and spit, curling her body into a fetal position as she felt her sight slowly blurring and darkening. A familiar voice haunted her ears, fading in and out, almost pulling her out of her body as it came and went. "Oh, Sigrun, look at what you've done..." As a gust of wind whistled past her, she blacked out. "What did mama tell you about playing with sharp things?"

[Khal'iah]

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The "symphony" of simple boots crushing through the snow heralded the arrival of one not from the fair city of Syliras. He was a foreigner: a tall male with the build of a warrior, draped warmly in a cloak of brown. From underneath the hood of his only source of protection from the chill of Winter, a pair of shimmering eyes squinted against the cold and a cloud of hot breath escaped him as he sighed. The man was aggravated. Not holding anything personal against Morwen, the esteemed deity of Winter and Ice, but he felt as though his very existence was plagued by the damned wind and snow she slapped the world with annually. Put simply, the foreigner hated the cold, and before he set about finding lodgings for the evening, he would seek out an escape from the icy embrace of winter in the form of a warm tankard of ale. And so, the tall foreigner trudged along in the snow, following the rudimentary directions he had received from one of the city's locals. Apparently, there was a bar of sorts by the name "The Herald's Arms" not too far off that would warm him up. 'D-Damn,' he thought to himself as he walked along, rubbing his forearms furiously to get some warmth going, 'h-how much further?!' The foreigner's teeth ground against one another as frustration gripped him, as the snow had the marvelous gift of bringing out the absolute worst in the typically calm male, but a sigh of relief soon escaped him as the bar came into view. He was first greeted by the noise: a chaotic din of voices making merry. Songs were being sung, tankards were clattering together in toasts, and laughter pierced the night air. Next, he was greeted by a sight that sent a chill down his spine. It was not the "awe-inspiring majesty" of the bar, no, it was the form crumpled upon the snow just outside the bar's entrance. At first glance, the foreigner thought it was simply a patron who had way too much to drink and couldn't make it more than a few steps outside, but as he drew nearer he saw the crimson stains upon the snow. 'Ah shyke...' he thought to himself, dropping to a knee beside the person. It was a woman, a young woman, whose cheek was marred by a redness synonymous with a heavy blow to the face and whose lip was split and bleeding. She needed help, and the foreigner was filled with disgust at the sight. Not disgust at the woman...but disgust with the city. Here was a woman in desperate need of aide and yet no one had come, and worse yet, someone had assaulted her in the first place! The foreigner was under the impression that Syliras was a city of peace and order, immune from such occurrences as these...but he dismissed the thought as nothing more than immaturity on his part and focused on the matter at hand. First and foremost, the woman would not last long simply laying in the cold like that, and she appeared to be cold out. 'Ah hell, what to do...' he thought. He gripped his cloak and pulled it free, exposing the dark, violet flesh that was concealed underneath. The foreigner was an Akalak, a member of the warrior species native to Riverfall: a city several thousand miles south of Syliras. He was a long way from home indeed! The Akalak, born to the name Khal'iah Vojak, then draped his cloak over the woman and proceeded to attempt to awake her via gentle shakes. "Miss? Can you hear me? Miss??"

[Sigrun Dominic]

"Sigrun..." The young blonde stirred, licking her lips and wincing at the stinging sensation that lingered afterwards. "Sigrun, wake up!" She moaned softly as a heavy warmth draped over her. It felt like a large coat or a blanket of sorts, its heat a heavy contrast to the harshly cold street. "Papa is calling you, Sigrun, it's time to go to the docks!" Another bout of stirring. "Sigrun?" The young blonde's eyes opened slowly, steadily, almost as if her eyelids had been stuck together for quite sometime. She let out a pained groan. "Can you hear me, Sigrun?" "Can you hear me?" An unfamiliar voice entered her ears, jostling her awake, although she found herself in a daze. The young blonde tried to turn to the side but found that she was too weak to do so. "Miss?" "Y-Y-hmm..." she tried to speak, but her throat was locked.

[Khal'iah]

"Thank the gods..." breathed the Akalak, relief washing over his countenance once he heard the woman's mutterance. It was then that he had to make a call. Obviously the woman was in no shape to get up and walk, and he couldn't just leave her there to freeze. His first instinct was to waltz into the bar and petition aide...but a gaggle of drunken men and a helpless woman didn't equate well in the warrior's mind. 'Looks like I'm cutting this evening short.' he thought to himself, shaking his head dejectedly: he was really looking forward to that tankard of ale...'Ah well, life goes on.' he reassured himself. That said, his arms reached out to carefully and slowly move the woman onto her back. From there, he'd position his swordhand underneath her knees and his offhand behind her back before lifting; ascending to his feet at the same time to carry her from the frosted ground. "Miss." he said in a soft tone. He assumed that alcohol was involved in the altercation and decided that loudly speaking in her ear wouldn't exactly be the most gentlemanly thing to do. That said, he kept his tone as down and tame as possible. "My name is Khal'iah. You've been hurt. I'm going to get you some help, okay?" The Akalak was certain that he'd only get a mutter of sorts in response and therefore began to trudge along in the snow once more, his teeth grinding against one another all the more. Not only was he stuck in the cold, devoid of his tankard of ale, but he was devoid of his cloak too! Fortunately enough, from what little the foreign warrior knew of the city layout, at least there was an Inn relatively nearby.

[Sigrun Dominic]

The White Swan Inn - Nettle District "Miss." Words streamed through the young blonde's throbbing head as she remembered her body being lifted from the snowy floor and over to somewhere else. She remembered feeling helpless and terrified, and on the verge of accepting a horrible fate in the hands of whoever had grabbed her. "My name is Khal'iah. You've been hurt. I'm going to get you some help, okay?" It was those words that submerged the young girl's fears and anxieties in a sweet, peaceful calm that helped her rest better in the arms of the stranger, Khal'iah. Her sense of touch heightened as she focused all her attention on the stranger's hold on her, and the warmth of the building they had entered. A few bells later, she found herself awaking in a warm, cozy room on a plush mattress that was so soft, she found herself unwilling to move out of her comfortable position. She moved her throbbing head sideways and inspected the elegant bedroom, only to find that she was not alone. "Kha... Kha.." she furrowed her brows, struggling to remember the person's name. "Khal'iah?" She must've pronounced it wrong somehow, she was sure of it. The name sounded foreign on her lips, as if it were in another language that she was not familiar with. What was even more foreign than the man's name was his skin; it was purple. It startled the girl, making her heart skip a beat as she eyed him carefully. He had helped her get out of a horribly sticky situation, and while it was something she had never seen before, she willed herself to remain calm and trust the man. He had, after all, saved her. "Wh-Where am I, er, are we?" her eyes shifted around the room. It was beautifully furnished, well lit, and cozy. She worried briefly about the expenses, and then hoped dearly that it was merely the man's home and that she wasn't intruding. She blinked up at him, pausing for a moment before realizing that she was being a bit impolite by not introducing herself. "Forgive me," she sputtered out amusedly, smiling at him, "I'm Dominic."

[Khal'iah]

It had been nothing short of a small feat: the act of carrying the barely conscious woman across the city of Syliras...in the freezing cold! Yet it had been accomplished with great success. The Akalak had lugged the woman through the frosted streets and into the warmth of a rather luxurious Inn. Now, the reason he had selected this particular establishment had nothing to do with the woman who was in his arms, it was purely selfish. This evening was his second within the fair city and he wanted to spend it in style; after all, he had spent many weeks roaming through the Wildlands and he felt as though he was entitled to a little bit of posh comfort! So, after miraculously managing to access his pouch of mizas while carrying his new acquaintance, he paid for a room and carefully ascended the stairs. When he entered, he found that there was only one bed, and without a second though deposited the woman in it. Then, without taking a moment to catch his breath, strode a few steps out of the room to grab the attention of a nearby maid. He briefly informed her of the woman's plight and gave her a tip as incentive to go in and bandage the woman up. Following this, the Akalak retrieved his cloak from about the woman's form and made himself comfortable within one of room's two chairs, kicking his feet up upon the other. After draping the cloak about himself, Khal'iah leaned his head back and lulled off into a short, warm slumber. This rest was cut woefully short when the woman finally awakened, initially butchering his name before getting it right on the third attempt. His shimmering eyes lulled open, regarding her with a tired attention. He was, of course, glad to see that she was awake and in one peace, but the expression she wore upon her face was far from being that of gratitude. It honestly seemed to be a form of surprise or shock, one that Khal'iah readily identified: she had probably never seen a dark, violet-skinned man in her entire life. No matter, she was alright and the warrior stretched his arms and unleashed a rather loud yawn. "We," he began, answering in a gruff, sleepy tone, "are in the White Swan Inn....and fret not, all is forgiven. It's a pleasure to meet you Dominic, though I'd have liked to have met you on better circumstances..." He stifled a yawn with his hand before continuing, his arms coming to fold themselves across his chest before continuing. "Speaking of which, do you remember anything about what happened to you earlier? Were you attacked? Was it a bar brawl? Do you remember who did this?" The Akalak posed many questions in rapid succession before realizing he had. His sense of justice was to blame in all honesty, as he wanted whomever had assaulted the woman to adequately pay for what they had done.

[Sigrun Dominic]

"We are in the White Swan Inn....and fret not, all is forgiven. It's a pleasure to meet you Dominic, though I'd have liked to have met you on better circumstances..." Khal'iah spoke as if he'd just woken up. The young blonde blushed for a moment, embarrassed, as she felt that she'd inconvenienced the man in more ways than one by allowing herself to be victimized by a stranger at a bar. Her eyes wandered away from him and over to the carpeted floor, obviously saddened by the burden she must've been to him. "I must've been petching heavy," she blurted out softly, raising her eyebrows at him and smiling sheepishly. "Speaking of which, do you remember anything about what happened to you earlier? Were you attacked? Was it a bar brawl? Do you remember who did this?" The young girl deadpanned. Slowly, she began to recall what had happened earlier at the Herald's Arms. A man passing by the city, a few too many mugs of ale, and the inability to take hints. Chewing on her lip, she managed to lift her body up and support her weight with her elbows. "I... I was drinking..." she muttered nervously, ashamed of herself, "quite a lot, actually, as I have been for... The past... Few days..." It was a lie, and the guilt was laced heavily in her voice. She had been drinking for more than a week now, and a "few days" was nowhere near the proper description. It was a fast-developing vice. "And a man, a traveler he... He tried to... Touch me?" "And when I said no he, obviously, did not approve." She massaged her temple with one hand as the barest hints of a hangover began to kick in.

[Khal'iah]

A hearty, bemused laugh escaped the Akalak upon the woman making her comment about being a burden. This tickled the violet-skinned warrior, as it was not her weight that made ferrying her about in his arms a burden, but it was the fact that the temperature outside was unbearably cold, there were several stairs he had to ascend, and to top it off he had forsaken his quest to obtain a tankard of ale. Though Khal'iah was kind enough to not point out the aforementioned troubles, he did take it upon himself to assure the woman that her weight was not the problem. "No, no, you weren't heavy at all." he said, still grinning from ear to ear in response to her comment. At this point, he lowered his feet from the chair he had them kicked up upon and continued to listen to her responses... ...And what he heard only caused him to shake his head. The grin was nowhere to be found upon his countenance now, replaced with a disapproving grimace. He knew alcohol was involved, as he smelled it upon her breath when he had arrived on the scene, but he had no idea she was drinking for the past few days. Further disgust formed upon his face when he heard of how she had ended up in the street. drunken patron, most likely, had attempted to have his way with the intoxicated woman and struck her when turned down. 'Humans.' he spat to himself, running his swordhand through his ebony locks out of sheer frustration, 'They are so undisciplined...and the men are dogs.' To say the least, Khal'iah Vojak was not pleased. "And why," he began, his tone a tad harsh at first but he immediately tamed it, "were you drinking for the past few days? I realize that it's frankly none of my business, but I'm curious to understand why you would allow yourself to...sick in such a manner. Is your health ailing and you're using this as a means of forgeting your troubles? Or perhaps someone you loved has perished? Or has your heart been wounded?" Maybe he was laying it on a bit thick, but drunkards disgusted and annoyed him. Plain and simple.

[Sigrun Dominic]

Sigrun giggled as she saw the violet-skinned man laugh, blushing as she realized that her weight was nothing to him. She eyed his bulky, fit body and wondered how much lighter she was compared to him. Probably by a whole lot. "Humans," Kha'liah sounded thoroughly displeased as he spoke, worrying Sigrun quite a bit, "They are so undisciplined... And the men are dogs." Sigrun chuckled nervously. "I have a dog," she said fondly, smiling, "and he's much better than most men I've met." Sigrun remembered Snowe and frowned for a moment, suddenly concerned about the canine's welfare. "He must be expecting me to be home by now," she thought, "but I suppose it'll be alright. I've been home late before." It was when he questioned her drinking habits that she was thoroughly embarrassed. The young girl stared at the floor and remained silent for a moment as heat rose to her cheeks. "All of the above." She looked up to face Kha'liah and repeated herself. "All of the above." She pardoned the form of intrusion, as she felt that it was deserving of her to be questioned in such a way. The young girl was ashamed of her recent alcoholic episodes, but she just couldn't help herself. "I lost one, two, three, four people that I loved. One by one. A shot through the heart each time, and I'm trying to... forget." She looked down at the carpeted floor once more. "It's wrong, I know. I've been trying to get by all this time, busying myself with work..." She trailed off, her hands clutching tightly on the blanket covering the mattress. "But lately, I've just been feeling out of it." "I can't take it anymore," she corrected herself, silently.

[Khal'iah]

Silence ruled the violet-skinned warrior for several moments before he opened his mouth to respond to that which he had heard. His words contained no acknowledgement of her comment regarding her dog, as he was much too frustrated at that point in time for such a light-hearted comment to have any effect upon his plummeting mood. Yet, despite the distaste that was plastered across his countenance, his words were soft, kind, and understanding. The reason being: Dominic was in the same boat Khal'iah once sat within. She, just as he several years prior, was a current victim to the pain of loss. Such pain had differing effects on differing people. For a warrior, especially a member of the "tragic", Akalak species, converting one's pain into an indomitable driving force to live on was "easy" compared to other races. For a Human...it was much easier to wallow in a pit of despair and seek relief from the vices of the world. "I'm sorry for your losses Dominic..." the warrior began, carefully selecting his words. He did not want to offend, anger, or bring the woman to tears inadvertently. "...and I completely understand the desire to forget. I've been where you are once before: I've lost someone close and precious to me..." He paused, the frustration characterizing his face was slowly replaced by a somber look as he remembered. "It feels as though a piece of your very existence has been ripped away: that piece being the main one that brings meaning into this sordid existence. It's hard to breathe with them gone, as if there is a void in your chest that robs you of breath. The days creep by, but nothing truly matters...you cannot even find peace in your sleep, as your dreams are plagued with their faces...I know what you're going through Dominic..." Another pause. He took a deep breath and continued. "But those whom you have lost wouldn't want to see you like this. I highly doubt that they'd find comfort in knowing their beloved Dominic was laying out in the middle of a frosted road, drunk and bleeding. I highly doubt that they'd enjoy seeing you wallowing in the bottom of a tankard either. You have four lives that were stolen from you...but you should not rob yourself of life because they are gone. I don't think that they would want that for you. I think that they'd only like what's best for you...and this is not it." The Akalak was now on his feet and took a moment to elevate his arms over his head and stretch. "You have to live on in their stead. You have four lives to carry on for. Getting drunk evening after evening is not what you need to do, and you know it as well as I..." That being said, he extended a hand to her as to aide her out of the bed. "I realize your life is none of my concern, but I cannot stand by and watch an injustice, such as this, occur. So come on, let's get you something for your hangover, as I'm certain you've got one." He awaited her response with his arm outstretched, but thought to himself: 'And maybe I can talk some sense into you.'