Closed The dark seems darker than I remember. (Malvora)

[Torias]

Some hours past midnight 61st Summer, 513 AV I had every intention of simply returning to my room that night. Zeltiva was not an altogether unsavory place to be at night, at least not when compared to some other cities, but any locale populated by drunken sailors was bound to be unpredictable. As a man who has made a lot of poor decisions, I’ve grown mostly out of the habit of taking chances. Where was I? Right, the girl. Ordinarily, I would have decided she was not my problem and continued to the Grotto. What could a Nuit offer a young woman that wouldn’t terrify or repulse her? But upon the second glance, I noticed she was different from most. The moon was bright and almost perfectly round, valiantly beating back the shroud of the sparkling indigo sky. Even the clouds were visible, their misshapen gray mass hanging quietly in the cool, coastal air. Torias’ Eypharian eyes were not as sharp as others he had once used, so the copious light of the evening was appreciated and enjoyed. The warm, golden glow of burning street lanterns was hardly even necessary. Gradually, the slow rolling of the ocean behind Torias seemed to fade away, replaced by the chirping of insects and the distant laughing and lute music from a nearby pub. The Nuit’s tall, cloaked figure passed neatly through Zeltiva’s nocturnal hum at a steady pace, evidently sure of his destination and easily prone to distractions. What little could be seen of his aged and sullen expression looked either pensive or bored. One might expect a Nuit to look out of place in a city of natural, living people, and usually he did. It was why Torias had chosen to carry out the task of gathering ocean water at night. He did not spend his evenings sleeping, so he chose to perform whatever errands he could under the kind cover of Akajia’s kind veil. He was otherwise content to perform his studies indoors, away from accursed sunlight. Still, Torias managed to look slightly conspicuous. Zeltiva was a human city, and Torias looked like an Eypharian. His silhouette had an extra pair of arms, and two of them carried shining vials of water. Recalling his experiences in Ahnatep, Torias could not help but think that if he saw a lone Eypharian wandering the street at night, he might assume the vials contained something illicit. Fortunately, most of these people had not had the chance to visit Ahnatep or develop this brand of suspicion. Hopefully not, at least.

[Malvora]

"Zith! I saw her, damn her hide! There's a Zith here."

"Kill the Zith, kill the bitch! Find her, burn her, kill her."

Malvora cowered as the mob grew closer, tears burning in her eyes. This was not the first time this had happened, but the people hunting her this time...well they were better trained, more intelligent, at least one of them had magic, from the light that danced on the palm of his hand. Reimancy. She could smell it.

She held her breath as they passed, exhaling as soon as they were gone. She crept from her hiding place as soon as she assumed she was safe. She was wrong.

Hands grabbed her, a knife pressed against her dark throat.

"Maneater," hissed the voice, as the knife dug into her, calloused hands tore into her throat. Rage boiled in Malvora's chest, both at the captivity and her inability to save herself. Hissing, she clamped her teeth down on the hand that held the knife. The man whipped his hand away, but still held the knife, brandishing at her. She backed away, but not quick enough. She felt the cut slash across her shoulder. Wincing, she fled, trusting the night to shield her."

The cut had gotten infected, this was evident to the halfbreed as she prodded the cut and pus oozed out. She knew very little about healing, and only a scant amount about herbalism which would have helped her if she had any idea how to cure an infection using them. Her education lacked that knowledge however.

She needed a healer. She had begged for help on the streets, but most took one glimpse at her and judged her. She couldn't hide who she was, not when her hair fell to her waist in thick, dark locks and when she looked so much like her Zith father. She needed help.

She dropped to her knees in a corner, the night shading her, for the most part. She looked at the slash in her shoulder and prodded it once more, another wince. More pus, more blood. It was definitely infected. She stifled the rage, stifled the helplessness.

"Please," she begged people as they passed by, but they scurried by, ignoring her, "please, please help me. I'm dying." One man muttered something under his breath, but she heard it nonetheless. "Good, die you best." She knew that if help did not come, she would not see another week.

[Torias]

It was the tiniest voice. “Please.” Lost in his thought, Torias initially assumed the voice to be imagined. Some half-remembered memory from another life. Things like that had a quaint habit of occurring when the Nuit allowed his mind to wander on its own. A nuisance, occasionally. But as he pulled his head from the clouds and hearkened to his surroundings, he heard it again, clearer now as he seemed to draw closer. An unmistakable plea for help. Sympathetic curiosity bloomed within Torias, the closest he ever came to concern lately. It wasn’t every day one came across someone in need of help. A younger version of himself might have been motivated to leap to action in some vain effort to balance an uneasy conscience with good deeds. Torias did not need to walk much further to find the girl, huddled on the ground in the deep shadow of a sturdy Zeltivan structure. The first thing he notice about her was the deep red hue of her hair, and it made him wonder what had brought an Inarta woman so far from her cliffside home. But at closer inspection, he found the darkness of her skin was no trick of the light. She looked as though she had been playing in a sooty hearth. It was not a creature Torias could immediately recognize, but she was capable of speech and pain, making her existence significant. The Nuit found himself pausing before her, casting a thoughtful glance at a the human ahead who had briskly moved past her. Odd. The people of Zeltiva had never struck Torias as cruel. What about this girl deserved disdain and ostracization? After some idle study, it began to occur to Torias that this girl was injured, and not just poor or cold. She was not merely begging for mizas. Defying his own sense of caution and preference for noninterference, the cold Eypharian form knelt down to the girl. In the same motion, one of his free hands pulled the linen of his cowl up over the lower half of his face. It was not his intention to scare the girl. “Let me see,” he said in a soft rasp, sounding like someone badly in need of a drink of water. Indeed, the salty air in this city did well to dehydrate Torias’ inner passageways. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. My name is Torias.” With his two lower hands still holding his vials of water, the other pair slowly reached forward, wanting to take a gentle hold of the girl’s arm to steady her. An open gash on her shoulder had effectively discolored her entire upper arm, visible even in this low light. It was a grim sight, but fairly tame considering the number of corpses Torias had seen in his time. The Nuit withdrew, then stood. “I can help with your wounds. I have some supplies at my room in the Grotto. You are welcome to come with me. Can you stand?” A pale hand was proffered to the girl, the skin blackened around his fingernails. It was not the most promising offer of help, but it might have been the only one.

[Malvora]

She huddled against the wall as the man approached her, she'd been calling out for so long that she assumed only someone bent on ending her life would approach her. As he knelt before her, she began to relax. No assasin would do so...well probably no assassin would do so, she was not well versed on these things.

She tugged at the sleeve of her torn shirt, wincing as the fabric pulled away from the crusted wound. It tore a few of the blisters off and the cut began to weep again. Gritting her teeth, she moved her arm so that the wound was exposed to the man who knelt before her. He steadied her arm with a light touch, and she took note of the blackened fingernails. Perhaps he had a disease of some sort? There were diseases that caused rot of the body were there not? Perhaps he had that.

But then, he noted he was a healer...should he have been able to cure his own problems.

"I am Malvora," she whispered as she grasped his hand with her good arm to pull herself up, "I thank you Torias." Four armed...she searched her brain for a four armed species and came up with naught. Her mother had taught her of equality, but often neglected to teach her the races. She knew of Zith and she knew of Vantha as well as some other subraces of humans, but she knew nothing of four armed humanoids.

"You are kind," she murmured as she stood beside him. She paled, the blood loss and the infection causing her to sway slightly on her feet, "I beg you though, we must hurry. I am unwell." Her voice was soft, her tone hardly demanding, but there could be no doubt that she knew she was in danger and that she sought to remedy this. Immediately.

[Torias]

For a fragile, young-looking thing, this Malvora was surprisingly well spoken. Torias caught the look of her eyes, large and dark much like an animal's. It made her apparent intelligence a fascinating contradiction. He would be lying if he claimed that academic curiosity about her origins played no part in his motives to help her. "Kind?" The unexpected word brought an old smile to Torias' dry lips, invisible under the cowl but audible in his voice. When was the last time someone had told the Nuit that he was kind? "I should ask for that in writing." Seeing that Malvora was not altogether stable on her feet, one free hand remained ready by her side to offer balance if she needed it. It was unusual, but strangely pleasant when Torias found himself in company physically weaker than himself. At her behest, he quickly began to lead her onward down the road. She was right to want to hurry; if she collapsed, Torias was not entirely certain he could carry her easily. "Fear not," Torias said to her in the same quiet tone, calm and secretive. Perhaps it was just the way he spoke. "We don't have far to walk." There was a unique lilt to his wording, hints of an accent not native to Sylira. His Common was fluent and well pronounced, but it was likely not his native tongue. The accent might have been deliberate, as it gave his speech something of an educated sound. There was an unmistakable undertone of pride. "Is it any business of mine to ask what happened to you? Your injuries look inflicted by a blade." Injuried like hers were common among thieves who had gotten caught. Torias couldn't help but wonder if he was involving himself in something by offering assistance. The World's End Grotto was only a few chimes' walk from here, but Torias wasn't sure how old the girl's injuries were or, thanks to the low light, how extensive the infection was. Keeping her talking might distract her from her discomfort and keep her upright.

[Malvora]

The twisting smile of his lips made her smile in return. She wondered what had made him say what he had said. The request of getting her words in writing made her raise an eyebrow. Was this man not often as kind as he was being? Perhaps he had some intent behind helping her? This was a concern she brushed off. She may have been frail right now, but he didn't seem quite as strong as the man that had attacked her. She steadied herself on the proffered arm and took a deep breath to steady the spinning in her head.

"A relief," the girl managed as they walked along. Her head was spinning from blood loss and she was relieved that they had only so far to walk. She could not have managed a far walk. She staggered along beside Torias, leaning heavily on him as they walked.

She noted the accent of his, wondering on it, but not asking. Her head was spinning too much to allow her to dwell much on his tone or on his accent. She took another deep breath and exhaled, just catching his next question.

"A man took offense to me," she responded, a slight shrug making her wince in pain, "it is lucky he had poor knife skills and lucky too that he wasn't wise enough to keep his hand away from my mouth," she smiled, showing sharp teeth. She had no desire to explain how she had been hunted like a beast, but if he pressed she may reveal the story It enraged her, the way she was treated. She had only ever viewed the other species as her equals, and they treated her as if she was just an animal to be put down.

[Torias]

Torias reflected Malvora’s smile with his own amused smirk. His dull eyes may have glittered in their sockets then, as the look of her sparked more of his scientific fascination. Not only did she have the eyes of a beast, but the fangs of one too. And yet, she spoke with the evidence of education. It was a delightful contradiction. It was easy to see why the humans might fear her. She looked every bit like something that wanted to make off with their livestock or small children. Humans were, by and large, quicker to act than think. It was a trait that usually served them well and made them excellent survivors, but their numbers and continental dominion made much of the world a dangerous place for every other creature to dwell. That said, if Torias were still in his original living body, he probably would have called for the guards to execute her. Or worse. But unlike the humans, it would not be out of fear. “This world often rejects those who are different.” Torias observed grimly, with a note of understanding. Perhaps it was cynical of him to assume she was attacked simply for her appearances. She very well might have eaten a few small children, for all he knew. He would ask her later. “How long have you been injured?” The question was mostly moot, as it would not affect the treatment of her infection, but it would serve to keep her talking. The World’s End Grotto was reached in little time. Its unique structure stood out, even at night, the lighter colored cobblestone siding hungrily catching the bright moonlight. Torias and Malvora were briefly accosted by the mild scent of the nearby stable, smelling of horses and all that went with them. Torias opened the door for Malvora, then encouraged her inside with another hand gently between her shoulders. In the lounge, there were only a handful of patrons still awake at this hour, enjoying spirits and quiet conversation. Torias was accustomed to navigating the shadows between the sconces, and gently but insistently guided Malvora toward the stairs. “Do not tarry here,” he reminded pre-emptively, whether she slowed on the steps or not. Again, there was no firmness in his voice, but there was an implied expectation she would comply. “The sooner we reach my room, the sooner you can sit.” Torias’ room was the third on the left. The door was opened with the turn of a key surreptitiously plucked from his pocket at some point. Finally, the Nuit left Malvora’s side and made his way to a desk cluttered with vials and a small collection of bandages and medicinal bric a brac. Two arms set down the vials of seawater while a third gestured to a wooden chair near the bed, which was perfectly made and looked completely unused. “Sit.” Immediately the Nuit picked up a basin and brought it to the bed, dropping a dry, mildly shredded rag on the surface of the water. He left momentarily to light the room’s sconces for better lighting. When Torias turned, he paused to take in Malvora’s unusual appearance. It was familiar, somehow, but also completely foreign. For a few, long ticks, he observed the girl like a specimen fastened under a pin. The moment passed and he returned to the girl’s side, lifting the now-soaked rag from the basin and wringing out the water. “If I may,” he murmered, beginning to pull back on Malvora’s shirt and dab the cool, wet cloth gingerly over the gash on her shoulder. “You must pardon my curiosity. I’ve never seen a creature like you before. Can I safely assume you are not native to Zeltiva?”

[Malvora]

"The world rejects much," the girl responded, "but we have our place, all of us. Predator and prey--" she winced, the cut suddenly becoming painful, "as I was saying, predator and prey...we all have a reason for being here. One is no greater than any other. Besides," and here her eyes glimmered, revealing that beneath this preaching of equality there was some malice in her, "eventually, all get as they deserve." Someday she would cast a spell on those who dared attack her and they would never do so again. After all, it was remarkably difficult to wield a weapon when they didn't have hands. She smiled, grimly at the thought.

"A few days," she responded, her knowledge of the exact date uncertain. She had lurked out of the sunshine, for though her father had been weakened greatly by it and she could stand it more than he, she needed no further weakening. Because of this, she had lost track of the days easily and hardly knew how long it had been.

Finally, they had reached a place that would serve to help her get well again. This man was treating her well, but she had noted several times that he seemed to linger on her appearance with curiosity. She was curious too, of his four arms, but her mind was too preoccupied to worry about it just then.

She nodded as he guided her through the crowded lounge. To stay there would be quite...detrimental to her health, no doubt. Certainly among the patrons there lurked at least one member of the mob who had attacked her.

When they entered the room, his command was hardly needed as she collapsed upon the chair. She was weak, growing weaker, she noted. It was easy for her to analyze her body's strength. It would do well for her to merely let the man do as he had promised: help her. When he plucked at her shirt, she nodded her assent, wincing at the slight sting of the wet cloth on her wound.

"You may assume this," she responded, "I am not native to Zeltiva, nor are my parents." She paused for a moment, "my mother was from Avanthal, or so she told me. A land of ice and snow, from her stories. My father was from..." she trailed off, "the Cyphrus region. I was born there. We had to leave when I was very young. Zeltiva is my home now."

[Torias]

While she spoke, Torias continued to dab carefully on the wound surface, slowly but persistently breaking down masses of dried blood and exposing the wound to air. He was not being especially rough nor hurried, but the girl seemed to deal with the pain surprisingly well. Every so often, the Nuit withdrew to rinse his rag in the basin and wring out the water again. This has been festering for a while, Torias mused to himself while Malvora explained her parentage. Even after removing the debris and dried blood from her wound, the skin remained inflamed and swollen. Her dark skin color made the extent of the inflammation difficult to make out, but the marked odor of sepsis gave Torias cause for concern. Or what passed for concern with him, in these late years. “Cyphrus is an unforgiving land,” Torias noised in apparent agreement with Malvora’s parents. He turned to rinse his rag in the basin for the final time. The shirt’s fabric around her wound was by now soaked, but the room was warmed and scented by the oil lanterns fastened to the wall. The Nuit was aware of but not worried about her level of comfort. He rose from his seat, and reached one hand underneath his chin without touching her. “I must clean the wound on your neck. Please, tilt your head as far as you can. It will not be comfortable,” he added as warning. She did not annoy him and he would not find pleasure in seeing her suffer. Up close, Torias might have been an unnerving creature to look upon. His skin seemed to lightly glitter where the light hit it, but it was also pale and discolored in no particular pattern. Dark patches encircled his eyes, which were hollow, dark and tired, as if he had not slept for days. They didn’t shine like a person’s should have, but rather looked almost dry. His medium-length was pulled back into an oily tail, showing the gradual retreat of his hairline. It was poor health, not the years, that aged the 30-something year old Eypharian body beyond its time. For whatever remained of Torias’ mortal dignity, he had not removed the veil from his mouth and nose. His breath would not have been scented pleasantly, but he only took breath to speak anyway. What he kept most in mind was his black tongue and badly discolored gums. He was very much a corpse, and not quick to invite revulsion. If Malvora chose to tilt her head back, Torias would begin dabbing his cloth at her neck. He was even more gentle, considering the location of the wound. It was obviously not deep enough to kill her, but it may have left the area fragile and vulnerable to further damage. “I enjoyed Avanthal,” Torias resumed some expired line of thought, breaking his silence again. “I was there some years ago. Before the storm. The Vantha are warm-hearted people.” He smiled fractionally. “No pun intended. They are admirably hardy, and fortunate to have the protection of their goddess against the elements.” With some dismay, Torias realized he sounded more like an written account in some traveler’s journal than a member of conversation. Had he grown so dull and boring? “A shame you did not inherit your mother’s eyes,” he remarked, forcing himself to be present in this trade of words. “Still, I do not recognize the look of you. You have the fangs of a wolf and the voice of a girl. I cannot imagine your life has been kind to you.”

[Malvora]

She tilted her head as she was bid, wincing a bit at the pulling of skin and wound. As he dabbed lightly at it she could smell the slight stench of rot. Hopefully he would be able to help her, for if the wound was not cleaned and treated she did run the risk of perishing from it. Infection was not something to be taken lightly. She winced at a particularly tender spot and then relaxed her face again.

"It is, yes. I remember little of it. It was not so dangerous for my father. He was...he was a fighter through and through, hunted, but a fighter nonetheless. His family...they nearly killed my mother. I was--well they considered me an abomination. That is why we left. The danger to my mother, to myself. My father was infuriated but he could not take on his entire family." She paused for a moment, closing her eyes at the thought of her father so he would not see the welling in her eye. She was not an emotional woman, but her father's death and her mother's more recent passing was a topic she could get teary over.

When she reopened her eyes, she took note of the man's strange appearance, an almost sickly one. She searched her memory again, a lesson from her mother, something about...corpses and the dead.

"A Nuit," she spoke aloud, "that's what you are. It's been bothering me," she muttered, by way of apology for her outburst, "I think no less of you for it. As I said, there's a place for all of us." Indeed, if her magical studies took her there, she would likely find herself in Sahova and the idea of becoming Nuit in order to have endless time to dedicate herself to those studies hardly repulsed her at all. Besides, he seemed to mean her no harm, so long as this body was not near its expiration date.

"My mother was the warmest," Malvora nodded as he spoke of Avanthal, "I wish I had inherited some aspect of her. She always said that I looked too much like my father...that such a thing could mean ill consequences in my future. She spoke truly." Her eyes darkened, inasmuch as near black eyes could at the mention of her beast like teeth.

"Some would say I am a beast, though I try my best to be...civil. If I am beastly at all it is because they drive me to despicable acts. I do not wish to be a slave to my baser instincts. As for my life, you are correct. Driven from my birthplace because I was half human, hunted by mobs because I am," she paused "well, because I'm half Zith. I watched my father's murder, watched my mother waste away. It is not an easy life I have lived."

She thought reflectively for a moment.

"But then, I am all the stronger for it."