With Freedom Comes Responsibility (Rothyr)

[Basha'ir]

In her perusal of her knight in not quite so shining armor, Basha’ir could not fail to note the many bruises and lacerations that decorated what bits of Rothyr were visible. She attributed his injuries to his profession. But as he spoke of his limited knowledge of the city, and then his true vocation, as hunter and not soldier, she readjusted her assessment of him. It struck her as poignant, somehow, that he too was a relative stranger to Syliras. And though it was not his ingrained duty to stop crime, as a long term member of the knighthood, he had still stepped in to aid her. That too made her feel some odd sort of kinship with the big, blonde, ruddy faced man. They were both foreigners here and he had helped her not because he must but because he wanted to. His request, then, that she might help wash and tend to his various, and many, wounds, was received with a leap of heartfelt acceptance, without reservations. If she could indeed repay him in this small way, she’d gladly do so, and be happy for the opportunity.

In the brief moment in which she had begun to ponder exactly how, though, she would carry out this seeing to his battered body, Rothyr had gone on to speak of his home and hers. Basha’ir was brought up short in her mental strategizing about wound care when he so bluntly turned aside her innocent question about why he had even come to Syliras in the first place. And right on its heels, he posed a very similar question to her, one which she was totally disinclined to answer. Not truthfully anyway. Once again, it seemed that somehow, she shared some hidden common ground with this stranger.

Reaching out a hand to gently touch his sleeve, she gave him a direct look, candid and open. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, Rothyr. I understand, we all have things in our past that we don’t care to discuss with others, at least…not with strangers. So, as your history is your own to share or not, I too have a past that I would prefer to keep in the dark shadows, where it now belongs.” Her voice had been a fair bit serious, but then she smiled warmly.

“Let’s find some place, then, to see to the needs of the here and now, and that, my friend, would seem to include your many injuries. I’m not a healer, not by any means. But I can clean them and stick a bandage on those that need it. I’m even quite handy with a needle, if you need to be sewn back together.” There was now a mischievous spark in her eye. She hadn’t ever sewn up skin and flesh, so she wasn’t really serious about that last bit. But she would do all else that she could to help him otherwise.

“As I have no place to call my own, though, you will have to suggest somewhere that we can accomplish this task. I don’t think me scrubbing at you in the street, with my veil dipped in a horse trough, would be the best route to go.”

[Rothyr Windbourne]

“Perhaps if we continue to see each other after today's misadventure, I will tell you why I came here. But for the time being, it is a series of events best left in the past, for my heart's sake.” He said, reassuring her he was not offended, even though the massacre happened over a season ago, the memory was still fresh. He could still feel the hot blood on his hands every time he gripped his axe or knife, even though they had been long since clean.

“I understand how you feel, I won't ask any more about your past, miss. It seems we've all got something we'd rather leave buried around here, ha!” He finished with a laugh.

“I could go for a cleaning, and fresh bandages. I'm sure most of my cuts and scrapes have stopped bleeding, but that won't mean they're clean. I don't reckon I'll need stitching up... But if I do, don't sew in anything inappropriate, please,” he smiled at the last bit, recalling how one time, in Cyphrus, a healer had stitched a smiley face of one of his wounds, the jest was rich, “Not that I don't trust you with a needle. or my wounds, it's just that it would not have been the first time something like that had happened.”

“I don't have a home here, either, I mostly sleep in a tent outside the city walls. Nothing hold me here, I could leave if I wanted, and I reckon I shall soon. Maybe across the sea...” He trailed off, “I suppose the beach would work, we'd be hard pressed to find a suitable spot upstream of the city that isn't polluted or dangerous,” he thought out loud, “If you are not opposed, of course, perhaps we could even go for a swim afterwards!” He thought again after he had spoken, but said nothing. He feared he may have overstepped his bounds, figuring he may have been pushing it having a complete stranger clean and dress his bumps and bruises, scrapes and cuts after just meeting her. He still hadn't even seen her face, after all. But, she seemed nice enough, so why not?

[Basha'ir]

His laugh told her that he was not offended by her gaff, and he said he understood her own need for privacy. In Ahnatep, she had never had occasion to interact directly with the warriors from the grasslands, and now she wondered if they were all like this, so easygoing and prone to smiles and laughter. He seemed a very pleasant man to be around, and she felt herself relaxing more, despite the near altercation in the tavern a few minutes before. As Rothyr went on to explain his own transient living situation, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, thinking. She almost missed the suggestion of swimming, but it registered in time for her to look startled. But then she giggled.

“Oh, well…I don’t know how to swim, actually.” She looked a little embarrassed about this confession. “But the sea sounds like just the place to go, to clean you up. Plenty of water, anyway. I’m not exactly sure what you mean by inappropriate.” She grinned at him. “But you can elaborate on that as we walk? I think we’ll need to get a bit of cloth. I have dresses in here.” She patted her bulging bag. “But I’m hoping to sell them perhaps, and they aren’t the type that would make good bandage material anyway. And I have some soap. And make up, and a bottle of scent.” Her eyes glinted as she looked at him. “I doubt that will come in very handy.”

She began to walk and he fell in beside her. “So tell me, Rothyr, did you learn to swim in the Sea of Grass?” She giggled again at her own silly joke but truthfully, she was feeling so much better to have a friendly face to laugh with. She didn’t feel so completely, utterly alone in this hard, smelly, stony city.

[Rothyr Windbourne]

“Save your dresses, you'll be need the money. I can make what I need easily enough. Strips torn from my cloak will serve just fine. I don't have many wounds. I assure you, there's no need to sacrifice your clothing,” he said, confidently, before continuing on to tell of what he meant by 'inappropriate'

“Well, one time I got a nasty gash after a tumble from the saddle, so the healers took a needle and thread to sew it up. One of the older women thought it would be funny to prank a young huntsman like myself, and stitched a smiling face onto my thigh, using the gash to form the mouth, and two other small enough cuts from brambles to form the eyes. I was laughed at for weeks, but it was all in good fun, so I took no offense to it. I still find it quite funny, actually.”

He laughed as she mentioned make-up and scent, “Make up? I know I'm not much to look at, but I blame the bruises for that, ha!” he laughed, “Scents too? I say, that's Syliras you're smelling, miss, not myself. Although, I am wearing their armor... Nah, it's the city you smell,” he said, confident in his statement, “I won't turn down the use of soap, though, I will say.”

“I didn't learn to swim, per say, but whenever our route around Cyphrus took us close to the coast, I and whoever else wanted to would venture down to the seaside and bathe our horses if they were brave enough, and ourselves in the water. We didn't have much in the way of soap as much as we would have liked, but it was better than nothing, and rather fun as well,” he reminisced, “This was usually around the time we passed by your lands did we do this, as I recall.”

Before long, the pair made their way closer to the port, the smell of saltwater and ocean breeze lifting spirits and challenging the daring as it always does. Bells and whistles of ships, and the taut sound of ropes tightening and loosening, banners flapping in the wind greeted their ears and guided them closer to their goal. Despite being a man of the plains, Rothyr loved watching the ocean, it had always made him wonder what was on the other side of that blue horizon.

[Basha'ir]

Basha’ir laughed at his story. The thought of doing such a thing sounded quite daring and amusing, but as Rothyr had asked her specifically not to try such a trick on him, she would abide by his wishes. But it would be funny…

They walked along together, in pleasant company, making small talk about their shared knowledge of her home city. It wasn’t long before they reached the harbor, and the salt tang of the air now overrode the more foul odors of the city itself. Basha’ir too looked out on the water, and considered how vast the sea was. Unlike her companion, though, it did not inspire in her curiosity or a desire to travel. She had had enough of being swept from one place to another. She wasn’t in love with Syliras, but it seemed a safe place, if you didn’t tick off the knights. And slavery was not allowed. That was a huge plus in her mind. She wanted to settle. She wanted to put down some roots, and try to make a life for herself. It seemed this would best be accomplished by sticking to one place, if fate would allow her to do so.

It took almost as long to reach a clean stretch of shoreline as it had to reach the harbor itself. The port was a big, busy one and they had to walk quite a far way up the coastline to put the quays and docks behind them enough to feel the water would be relatively clean. The shore was rocky here, and Basha’ir was already lifting the hem of her dress to avoid catching her foot in it, as she negotiated the rocks, big and small, that littered the beach. She walked right up to the edge, the water rushing up in wavelets to lap at her feet. She did look out over it, again, and briefly wondered about how different it looked from the lake that surrounded Ravok. Then she bent over and touched the water, which was rather chilly. She turned to look at Rothyr.

“Well, good sir knight,” she said in a teasing voice. “What’s the drill? Will you bathe and then I take a look? Or shall I just dive right in with trying to scrub away some of that blood?”

[Rothyr Windbourne]

He watched her bend over to touch the water, a dark grey in contrast to her golden skin. Rothyr stroked his beard, admiring the rare desert rose that graced the Syliran coast. For as much as has occurred in the past few seasons of his life, if things such as this kept happening he would not complain, and smile brighter for it. What had he done to be awarded such fortune? He decided not to think much on it, and instead enjoy the moment. For time, money, the favor of kings, and the smile of a maiden are all fleeting things. Only our memories, and that which dwells in our heads remain ours. He took a deep breath, and smiled.

“You are welcome to swim with me, if you like. I won't let you drown,” he said, pulling the tabard over his head again and laying it off to the side. He started undoing the buckles and straps holding his pauldrons and armguards in place, as well as thighguards and the other pieces he wore over his chainmail. In a few days time, he would have to rely on these pieces to safeguard his life. Not to mention, he'd have to return them eventually. At any rate, he didn't want them to rust. After he had laid the armor pieces off to the side, he pulled the chainmail shirt over his head. He stood there then in his tunic, trousers, and boots.

He took a seat to better remove his boots, “I won't be going so deep anyways, I assure you. I'm not much of a swimmer, either!” he finished with another laugh.

He stood again, and pulled off his tunic revealing trained taut muscles, and several bruises and lacerations from the days mishaps. Rothyr stepped out into the water by Basha, and he gave her a playful wink, before wading out thigh deep, and diving in. He rose from the water after a moment, pushing his hair back out of his face and wiping the water from his face. “It's cold, but it doesn't feel half bad, eh?” He put his hands on his hips, and grinned. From what one could see, most of his cuts were on his shoulders, arms, and his sides were bruised. He had covered his head with his arms when he fell, so his torso, core, shoulders, and arms took most of the beating.

[Basha'ir]

Rothyr extended an invitation to join him, as he began to undress, but Basha’ir shook her head ‘no’, biting on her lip so as not to laugh. “I’m afraid that once all this cloth got wet, I’d sink straight to the bottom,” she said with a grin, holding out the fullness of her skirts. It might seem strange to anyone who saw her, that she chose to go about so swathed in dress and shawl and veil, despite the heat. But she was very much trying to avoid exposing any more of herself than was absolutely necessary, so as to avoid, if possible, the effects of Ranuri. Her gnosis would only lead to trouble, she was sure of it. And now that she was a free woman, she meant to remain so. Once anyone learned of her mark, she was sure she’d be targeted to be taken captive again, despite the illegality of the trade in this particular city. Easy enough to hide her away, as Theodoric had done, or to spirit her off to a city where slavery was condoned and acceptable. So, she stepped back from the water’s edge, finding a low, flat rock to use as a seat, and she rested there, watching the Drykas warrior carefully removing his various bits of armor. She would have offered to help, for she had helped how many dozens of men out of similar suits of metal? But she feared to end up accidentally touching his skin, and that she hoped fervently to avoid. When he sat down next to her, to pull his boots off, she tried to shrink away without really seeming to, unsure as to if he would suddenly place a hand on hers, or some such friendly, innocent gesture which would have triggered an unwanted reaction in her.

But nothing untoward happened and Rothyr rose and stripped down to his trousers and then plunged into the chilly water. He had a nice physique, though at the moment he was covered with contusions and lacerations. It was truly amazing how colorful and decorated his skin was, and not all of it being the swirling tattoo over his shoulder and back. Rising from the water, he blew and puffed and pushed his long, blonde hair back out of his face, and Basha’ir laughed again at the sight of him.

“No, I think I had best leave the swimming for you yellow haired seals. You have a lovely set of whiskers there.” She wiggled her finger under her nose to indicate the now dripping wet mustache.

Her expression softened to a more thoughtful one, as she surveyed his many injuries and then asked, “My goodness, Rothyr, what in the world happened to you? Are all those from just training exercises?”

[Rothyr Windbourne]

“Whiskers, ey?” He laughed, wiping the excess water from his moustache, “All the better to tickle young maidens with!” He winked playfully at her, taking a knee to splash water over himself and wipe away grime and dirt, and splashing more over his head. He didn't do it so much as he should, in this degree at least a thorough cleaning in the ocean. Most of the time he just rinsed himself off in the odd stream he might find in the Wilds. He wasn't sure about the cleaning habits of most of the city folk, considering how the place smelled he figured not much. As a hunter, he liked to try and keep himself scent-free to avoid detection. Cleaning regularly helped in that regard.

“These? Oh no, you're mistaken. I just signed up with the knights earlier today,” he said. He hadn't been in long enough for any training, and he was a last minute addition just so the Sylirans didn't lose anyone they had spent a lot of time on. Apparently, a larger campaign was going on elsewhere in Sylira, and most of their more stalwart warriors were heading that ways. The Eventide campaign was much smaller in that regard, and the ones in charge didn't want to lost long-time assets and skilled warriors on such a small endeavor, so Rothyr was recruited more or less as a means to bolster the ranks. This happened surprisingly often with many armies. Granted, he was no slouch when it came to fighting, but the Sylirans don't know that.

“I got these while I was hunting earlier today...” he said, growing rather embarrassed as to the slap-stick misadventure his day's hunt had been. “I was riding with Windlass, my strider, and we have had some trouble finding any fare these past few days. I had placed the blame on luck, or Windlass stepping on too many branches, but I am beginning to believe the area has become overhunted.”

“Anyways, back to my story,” he said, waving away the nonsense about overhunting, she didn't want to hear that, “A winged beast from the mountains came, a big one, and snatched me up off the saddle! He carried me for a ways, till I managed to hack him enough with my ax to get him to drop me. I didn't realize we were so high up in the canopy when he let go of me, and I managed to tumble my way down every branch of a thick, tall oak tree.” He rubbed his shoulder, almost remembering how much it hurt.

“I wasn't up for a minute before some other predator tried to take my head off. Windlass got to me first, though, and we escaped. I'm very fortunate for that.”

[Basha'ir]

She giggled at his jest, and the wink, not because she felt flirtatious, but simply because it was so pleasant to be with a man who made no demands of any kind of her. Her newfound freedom was like some lovely balm, easing over the deep and grievous wounds of her years of enslavement. Being with Rothyr, she felt both safe and free, and it was glorious. Basha’ir watched him finish his ablutions, and listened to his tale with eyes growing ever wider with incredulity. That a man could survive such abuse! And laugh about it! Her admiration of his strength and resilience increased tenfold, and once again, she felt disappointed in her own total lack of any skill with which to defend herself. As he drew to a close, she rose from the rock seat and stepped closer to where he stood just a short distance away in the water.

“Good gods, Rothyr! I can’t imagine how you survived all that! But I’m very, very glad that you did, for selfish reasons, of course.” She grinned at him to let him know she was teasing him. “And for your own sake too, Rothyr,” she added warmly.

Her expression became thoughtful and she hesitated, not sure how he would take her suggestion, or maybe it was more of asking him a favor. But slowly, she said, “Rothyr, is there…would you…” She looked down, a bit bashful and feeling so inadequate. But then she raised her head and thought, Well, I am only what men have allowed me to be. Now I wish to be what I desire to be!

“Could you teach me how to use a weapon? A knife, or a dagger, or… I don’t know! Something! I’m tired of feeling so vulnerable!”

[Rothyr Windbourne]

“Personally, I'm surprised, too. It was a great stroke of luck not to have broken anything, or even escape getting mauled by that wild beast! I suppose it wouldn't be the first time some wild animal tried to kill me, but such is the life of a hunter.” He laughed, recalling the other times he'd nearly lost his life. One in particular, not so long ago, on the doorstep of Spring before he fled north from Cyphrus. He shouldn't think about that now, though, he had other business to take care of. First, he had wounds needing tending to.

“I am glad that my near-demise did not spoil any plans of yours,” he said, “I don't know if I could live with myself otherwise.” He left the water and started for the shore, allowing himself to dry off in the wind next to Basha'ir. It was still warm, but felt chilly. Autumn drew closer, he could feel it. “I mean that in jest, of course. But I am happy to know you'd prefer me alive. Our desires are one in the same, in that note!”

As she continued to speak, and attempt to find words for her request, he started for his clothing. He had just pulled his tunic over his head, and was pulling it down over his chest when she got the words out. This young woman wanted to know of weapons. Rothyr was no expert. Sure, he had learned some amongst the Diamond clans the season before, but would he be a suitable teacher for another? He could fend off a wild animal, sure enough, just backing away or standing one's ground is usually enough to ward off the more common predators. But this woman wasn't a hunter or woodsperson like Rothyr, she was of the city, and knew city folk. Rothyr had only little experience fighting other humans: the training with the Diamond clans, and the Goldsaddle massacre... He saw enough to know what should be passed on. He knew what to do.

“I'm sure you could find a better teacher than I, but I can show you what I know,” He went back to the flat rock to put his boots on, “I admit, it's very little. What I know has served me well, but I will see if there's something I can't show you. Do you have a weapon already?”