Vistors? This early? (Altaira, Marrick)

by **Altaira Readva** on February 17th, 2014, 12:44 pm

Bird Speak | Common | Vani | Others | oocThis is probably going to hurt Alta a lot more than it is going to hurt Millicent. On a side note, damn it is difficult to talk about this kind of stuff with a kelvic -_- Sorry if the post is a mess! You guys wrote a heck of a lot and I was tripping over myself. *Do not write when tired

Altaira's form went rigid as she was asked a question of her own life and learning, her body tensing as she played with the wording, attempting to keep her words quiet but retaining their sternness, drawing on thought of the mothers who came into store, and the manner of speech when addressing their children. "Kelvics cannot afford to wait a second time to learn something," 'Humans are different,' the kelvic rolled her shoulders and gave Marrick a peculiar look over, scanning his face and figure to seek any form of recognition to her words, whether he gave a flinch or a nod, or a knowing, or lack thereof, look. Millicent had absorbed the greater part of her attention, with little to no spare for the squire, and regret was starting to well from the choice. He had sense she agreed with.

Quick as it had left her, Altaira's gaze was once again hard on Millicent. She didn't bother plastering on some expression wrought with worry, the kind that she saw men and women wear when they were in desperate need of something in store. It was a look of confusion edged with anger, like she was ready to strike at any moment, any hint or tell to do so. She'd seen Millicent like that before, a shivering little lamb, she was. For her uncle's sake, she hoped he was dead, or far out of reach.

'Was he a bad man? He was Ravokian,' Such a simple answer was one that Altaira knew would not go over with her friend too well. She was too kind, she afforded doubts and worries to men who did not deserve them. Yet another look was thrown to the squire, the kelvic herself out of depth. From what she heard, he was a 'bad' man indeed, but to act with certainty in situations where she knew little was something that went against the core of her being.

"If. If. If." She found herself droning, the talk and chatter and round about nature of the topics reminding herself of, well, herself. To a certain extent, at least, when she herself was young too comfortable with the pretences of justice and fairness. "Do not value life by potential, value it by action. He could save a life, so he should be saved? What of me. I could kill, must I be killed? Words and thoughts are nothing in the face of effort and action." After all, if it was thought that was taken above action, then what of herself and her kind? Where instinct was a force to reckon with one’s longest held ethics, and shot to mind quicker than any philosophy?

Altaira had bitten her lip, the mention of her one of the Goddesses she herself worshiped causing a flinch and ripple throughout her body. No, no. She was not Tanroa. No one could ever hope to have an inkling of understanding of the Goddess of Time. Everything that was to come, is, and will, are seen by Tanroa. She can pinpoint the moment one's world shatters around them, then at the same time point to where they put it back together again.

"Millicent," Altaira said, drawing the word out slowly and carefully, each syllable distinct and clear. "You..." She fought to keep the ice and venom from her words, from tearing apart the naivety. "All that was, is, and will is known by Tanroa. All that is to be is to be is being done, if he was meant to live - to save a life - he would," she sighed, muscles rigid and gaze piercing, sparing a moment to give the squire a sharp look, never had she ever been able to speak in such a way, her mind usually a whirl of thought and feeling, riled and raged, filled with bewilderment and confusion.

How long had it taken her to straighten her own thought of Tanroa? A day solely on thought of the Goddess and her domain? Learning of Lhex was simple enough for her, and it gave her piece of mind, to know that one's path is the one set out for them, that deaths and births are fate, if they are to happen, they will, there was nothing to be said or done but to comes to terms and accept it.

Altaira soon enough found herself closing her eyes, deep breathes leaving her a she reeled from her own words and thoughts.

Millicent was speaking nonsense, in the kelvic's mind, and it took a great deal of strength for her to speak out of turn, nodding when mention came of training, the look she sent Marrick a weary one, though grateful and beaming in her own ways in the manner that he spoke of the girl. "Always, though more teachers are welcome, better to develop style and own sense," she said, knowing full well the load of work that was soon to hit her, and not willing to make a promise she was unable to keep in the long run, and earnestly wishing the girl would branch out and experiment with forms, find what triggered her instinct and flowed best with her form and thoughts.

She was fully prepared to seek a herb in an amount great enough to send the younger woman to swift sleep, before her words took a turn and anger ripped through her.

She acted before she thought, a loud clap resounding through the room as Altaira's left hand connected with Millicent's cheek, the use of the woman's non -dominant hand meaning that it was a petty hit, but one that hit point target fairly well. "You need to make a choice, Millicent," Altaira warned, clenching her teeth and releasing, a short look to Marrick to ensure that the case she was to make would not worsen by his presence.

"You either need to wrap yourself up like a baby, and speak no further on matters you do not understand." 'Matters that even a kelvic can comprehend,'[/i] "Or you need to listen, and think. Not pretend you are open to learn then shut out answers instead of questioning them genuinely."[/color] She pressed her lips as smothered regret that slowly welled in her gut. “When is the easy choice ever the right one?”

by **Marrick Corvis** on February 21st, 2014, 7:15 am

Millicent, the poor girl, was racked with guilt over the death of this excuse for a human being. Her guilt would rise and fall in severity as the squire watched her work through the situation in her head. Her brown eyes would well with tears one minute, while her lips would set to a quiver. Had she seen someone die before? What had she lost?

The girl still felt the sting of the hurts visited upon her by Darius. Why was she so stubborn about this. The lunatic was a loose cannon. He’d been given a second chance and he threw it away on petty revenge.

When she asked If Darius was a Bad man, he nodded sagely. The Kelvic had seen many in his day and though bad as he was. There were worse in Ravok that would have kept men like Darius as a Pet. ‘We’re all slaves teh somethin.’ He thought whimsically.

When Millicent mentioned that his honor was insulted the Squire flexed his fist in subdued anger. Though with one look at the quivering girl, so like a newborn kitten with its eyes shut to the world, and no mother to keep her warm, he let it go. Yet, as she accused him quite blatantly of dooming this man to his fate, he let out an exasperated sigh. Though, his new perspective of her, allowed him his placid stoicism.

As Altaira weighed in, the Squire found himself liking her more and more. He nodded in agreement at her comment. Kelvics indeed had a more tenuous time at life. Many lived in the wild, and whether they lived or died was a day to day affair. He even met her suspicious gaze and gave her a nod of affirmation to let her subtly know that he was what she thought, just as she had given him the courtesy.

With Altaira’s visual cues, Marrick took a moment to speak. “Millicent, Oi’m naught Tanroa, nor am Oi, one o’ her favored. However, if t’was Tanroa’s will for the man to learn his lesson, would he have abandoned the faithfulness of his woife n’ family to lie with a woman at a bathhouse? Would he have troied teh kill a woman and a little girl? Would he have troied to kill a squoire? A’soides, it could be said alternatively of how many loives were saved of his savagery. How many will live now that his loife is cut short?” His facial expression spoke volumes of his heart. He was concerned for his little friend. She was so confused. So lost.

Altaira carried on with a similar sentiment, and the Kelvic considered her statement of if she killed should she be killed? It was an interesting concept. He made a mental note to himself to actually take a moment to sit down with her and have a philosophical discussion on the subject. She sounded very wise.

At the womans mention of aid in training, he glanced her way to see the tired look on her face. He smirked knowingly, he thought finally understanding what it meant to train a young lady like Millicent. “It takes a village,” He said thoughtfully, returning his gaze to Millicent.

Like a thunderclap out of a cloudless sky, it seemed, Altaira slapped the little girl. Instinctively he balled his fists ready to strike. Yet for the strangest reason he found himself unfurling his hands, and instead, as gentle as cream floating on milk, he laid his hand on Altaira’s shoulder. “Easy now, easy.” He whispered. “The girl has done a foine job o’ wounding herself.” Her glare warning against his interference was obvious, though he kept his hand on her shoulder. It’s what Oriah would have done, he was sure of it.

The Kelvic shut his eyes to the pure emotion he could feel coursing through the room. Cautiously he took a deep breath and let go of Altaira’s shoulder. With a resolute look on his face, he began to unbuckle his breast plate. Each link, unsnapped and pulled loose. Until at last he let each of his interlinking plates fall to his feet.

His tattered shirt stained with the blood of his would be killer, the man he murdered, and even some of his own, hung loosely on his strong frame. He didn’t like exposing his past to people. People always looked at him differently. Some fearful, some angry, while others became pitiful.

Like he was preparing to dive into a cold lake, he took a deep breath and stripped off his shirt. He was glad he still wore his pants, best not to expose them to that torture. Yet, his upper body was more the map of scarring. The Lash, Hot Irons, barbed wires, rope, shackles and other means of pain showed their footsteps upon his flesh. He held his stoic silence until he found the few spots left on his shirt that had no stains of blood or sweat, and tore them free.

“Look upon this flesh Millicent. This is a loife that men loike him give. This is the sufferin they bring to all about them. Sufferin is worse than death. Death is easy, Oi saw it many toimes in Ravok.” With a deep breath he touched a single empty spot on his wrist. “The one yeh don’t see are the sart they paid to fix. You see, a slave isn’t warth a copper, if he tries the kill himself.” The kelvic exhaled heavily his teeth set to grinding.

Each beating and their flimsy justifications flashed through his bowed head. As he cast an icy glance to Altaira, he gently took the bottle of Krolar Poultice from her loose fingers. With a hesitant hand he applied a measure of it to the rags. Then as gentle as feathers on silk he began to dab at the wounds that Millicent had inflicted on herself. “This was the last clean bit o’ moy shirt. Millicent.” He said with a sigh. With a deep breath and exhale, his smile returned. A subtle thing, barely touching the corners of his mouth. It felt good to heal hurts, to mend broken things. Millicent was truly that.

“Yer, hardly a waste o’ toime dear girl. Ye are a river jest above the falls. Yer an Orchard, a’fore the harvest. No one can determine yer potential but you. Yer loife is in front o’ yeh Millicent. And Pech any bugger troyin teh take that from yeh. If yah give a man loike him what he wanted. Ye’d only encourage his lust for cruelty.” Each word he spoke was a dab at a fleshy tear in her flesh, or a rivulet of blood down her back. “He’d have taken what was yours, what was your friends, what was moine. Our loives are meant fer livin. Floy free, Foind love, build somethin, or foight fer that roight.” He spoke softly, only the occasional breathy sigh escaping his lips.

As he staunched a particularly deep wound, he held the rag over it trying to keep the blood from flowing. “But none o’ that can happen, until ye learn teh respect yerself. If ye don’ respect yourself, ye won’t feel entoitled teh defend yerself. Yeh won’t feel the need to stroike at an antagonist who brings sufferin teh the circles they travel.” He silenced himself in thought as he hoped the Krolar Poultice was taking effect. “At toimes, t’isnt the murderer that kills, But the indifference o’ the ones who refuse teh intervene.”

With a deep breath and a shrugging of his shoulders he held the rag to the wound and continued. “When Oi first saw ye standin up to that man, Oi wanted teh see if ye could take him. Ye were brave enough fer yer friends. Be brave enough fer yerself.”

Sorrow waning in his heart Marrick nodded to Altaira. “Altaira, would ye be so koind as teh hold the rag in place. Oi need teh put moy armor back on.” The look he gave her was filled with defeat.

by **Millicent** on March 14th, 2014, 4:39 am

Speech |

A peal of thunder split the air, and a web of thin cracks spread across a porcelain mask. Like the spinning of a deranged spider, the web of cracks grew larger. Splitters ran from the center of the right cheek to the eye. The cracks widened threatening to swallow the whole mask. Fragments of light tumbled into the dark, toward a dying spark. Fire flickered in the depths, as a smoldering ember caught its breaths. Flames flared and swirled pushing back the dark. Light burst forth form the cracks. A red, malicious light that brought no comfort.

Then there was another crash. Not a thunderous boom, but a small reverberation of something solid being struck. Starting with the outer most cracks, the web began to fade away. On their own accord, the pieces of the mask pulled back together. Light pushed through the remaining crevices with a furious intensity but not matter its desire to burst forth, the mask sealed it all inside. Flames guttered and died and the ember dwindled till it was just a spark in the distance. Though the spark has been sealed away, its prison had grown weaker. Black outlines of cracks still traced a web across the mask.

Pain was the first thing Millicent became aware of. A burning searing pain in cheek and a dull throbbing pain in her hand. A deep inhale followed by a slow exhale brought back more of her senses. Millicent knew that Altaira was the cause of the hand shaped brand on her face. Why her right hand was hurting, she did not know. Turning her head slowly, she hesitated. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. A stone wall would survive her punch. Uncurling her fist, her chin fell to her chest.

Grunting, Millicent wrapped her hands around her stomach and dropped to her knees. A trembling started throughout her body. “I am sorry.” Muttered words slipped from her mouth as she searched the room for her blanket. With a shaking hand, she grabbed the blanket at the base of bed and wrapped it around her. More than once, she glanced back at the wall then back to the bed. Why can’t I control myself. The thought feed the spark. Is there something wrong with me? Her mind turned to t Altaira’s words.

“I will listen, but I have judge form myself If I think it is right.” Such words may have fell meekly, but Millicent glared holes into her bed. Her hands shook, and the fire in the mask flared. Fingers dug into the poor mattress, though that was better than them digging into flesh. “What I believe is the only thing I get to decide.” The words fell well-worn form her tongue, like an ancient cry of rebellion. They fell pointlessly, as those whom knew their meaning where no more.

Snaps of clasps being undone and the clang of metal hitting the floor drew Millicent’s eyes back upward. Her eyes found Marrick’s breastplate before traveling up his legs and to his shirt. Such a piece of cloth stained brown and red, made her close her eyes. This time she caught herself. Millicent understood what was wrong with her. I have been ignoring what is not convenient to for me to see She recoiled as if the thought was a physical blow. Her eyes returned back to the squire. This time they set in stone.

Next came the scars. His command was not needed. Millicent’s eyes traveled from scar to scar, as she pulled tight the sheet around her. The struggling spark in the mask fed on the wounds, growing as if the wounds were coal. A deep inhale calmed the fire, steadied it. Ravok must truly be hell. To one locked in an ivory tower, and behind a porcelain mask, his world was beyond her imagination. He directed her eyes to one area without any scars and his words made her shiver under the covers. The implications of his words caused her nose to wrinkle and her lips tense. Words formed on her lips, but she let them go.

Slipping the blanket down, she allowed him access to her back. The cool touch of the poultice soothed the claw marks on her back. His words brought her eyes low, and she stared at the bed. In her ears, the sigh was magnified ten times over. Her shoulders slumped lower. Why is everything I think wrong She wondered as he continued to clean her wounds. Shame built in her for doing something so stupid.

Fire raged forth again, eating through the darkness. It threatened to break through the weakened mask. Why does everything have to result in death The flames burned the thought into her brain. Her grip on the blanket intensified, pulling right around the rest of her body. Readying an argument, Millicent felt the words catch in her throat as she looked at Marrick. Her eyes lingered on his scars and rendered her words meaningless. Could the world really be so cruel? thoughts like water doused the flames.

“I disagree. I don’t think my life deserves any more respect than any other.” Slowly the words flowed out, her mind weighing each. Looking over her shoulder, she found herself frowning and her eyes getting a little teary. “However, it does not deserve any less respect either.” Millicent admitted, her frown turning briefly to a smile. “Since I think all life should be protected, I should fight to protect my own as well.”

“I am deeply sorry for what I have done.” Millicent shifted herself to face both of them. A small smile carved its way across her face. The fire smoldering beneath the mask was smoldered again. “This is no excuse, but I am not feeling well, and I have misbehaved greatly.” Her eyes traveled to the wall that she had punched. Then turning back to them, she bowed a deeply as she could while still sitting on her knees.

Her body rose back up with a new lightness, though a fire still sparkled faintly in her eyes. “Please forgive me for speaking of Tanroa, and other things I don’t know.” Clam steady words flowed but where also soft. Millicent let her eyes linger on Altaira. A shiver worked its way down Millicent’s body. [I] what if she hates me now?[I] Such a thought only intensified the shiver. [I] It will be fine, you will continue to live no matter what. [I] A thought firmly planted in her being reassured her. [I] No matter what I will live [I]

“If you could” Her words followed her eyes to Marrick “would you pay them back? Would you inflict every torture done to you back on them?” Her mind turned to his scars. Taking a deep breath, she waited for an answer. Like a drum playing crescendo, Millicent felt her heart pounding out of her chest. Moving from his body, Millicent focused her eyes on his face. Almost like a criminal waiting for a judge’s decision, she hung all every move of his mouth.

by **Marrick Corvis** on March 23rd, 2014, 10:22 pm

As he latched his armor fittings back into place over his Gambeson, Marrick listened to the young ladies perspective. ‘Loife deserves nae more or less respect than any other.’ He thought to himself. Now she had it. The look of defeat on his face tilted on its end and a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes.

It was exactly what he’d been insinuating. Why was she disagreeing? Even with the glimmer of hope in his eyes the Kelvic shook his head subtly when she apologized. “We were all young once Millicent.” He said with a slight sorrow to his eyes. “Yeh are woiser than yeh think.” He whispered softly.

When she bowed he returned it’s sentiment with a nod and a tilt of his head. Yet, he could see that a defiant fire burned in her eyes. Marrick’s gauging eyes levelled their pale blue discs at her, contemplating. When Millicent’s words turned to a question of vengeance, the Kelvic’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise. His pale discs locked with hers and his eyes narrowed weighing, almost as if they were the scales of Gnora herself.

“Would Oi torture them?” Marrick whispered in a hiss like quenching Iron. The idea had crossed his mind many times in the past. Sleepless nights he lay with fresh burns, cuts, or ragged flesh away from the ground where he would swat away at the rats, or fight another slave for their food. Slop and drivel, agony, and rotting death.

With a deep breath he folded his arms over his breastplate and closed his eyes in a thoughtful nod. “There is nae torture imaginable teh make the men n’ women who did this teh me and the thousands of slaves loike me, understan’ the cruelty or folly of such a path in loife.” The Kelvic sighed and opened his eyes. “Folk justifoy their way nae matter the harm it may do teh others. If’n a slave would naught haul grain fer his master, he needs incentive eh? Would yeh beat him teh give him the proper motivation Millicent? Or would yeh see it as wrong n’ seek another path? If’n yeh gave that slave the beatin of his loife teh make him understand that he had teh follow yer orders n’ he still defied yeh, would yeh take a hot Iron to his flesh or would yeh see it as wrong? If when the mornin came and his wounds were still fresh on him, yet he still sneered at yeh, would yeh pluck his eyes from his head? Or would yeh seek a different path?” The Kelvic felt a numb iciness crawling off of his skin with the words he used as if he were there again witnessing it first-hand; seeing his fellow slaves mutilated and broken before him. With the shake of his head he shook the memories away like smoke from a censor.

“In a place loike Ravok the folk believe a broken slave will obey unquestioningly.” As he whispered, the Kelvics eyes shone with a wildness that reflected the horrors witnessed and felt. Then with a soothing breath of cool air he inhaled, and exhaled the stress of the memories. With a slow and purposeful effort he placed a chair next to the bed and sat in it, making the wood creak beneath his weight.

“Yeh see Millicent, the answer yeh seek is complicated. The behaviour o’ slavers in Ravok, tisn’t the cruelty o’ a few individuals, but a culture steeped in its own lie that they are doing good works. Tis why many folk call it the city o’ loies.” Marrick said with a sobering look in his eyes.

“Oi wouldn’t wish that loife upon anyone. Naught even the ones that did this teh me and especially naught one such as you.” The Kelvic leaned back in the chair letting the words sink in. “Yeh understan it Millicent? The trader wouldn’ a’ been merciful, n’ he proved it boy comin afer me. When he was done with me, he’d have come fer you next. His death isn’t torture, its prevention.” The Kelvic sighed away some of the frustration he was feeling with a short exhale and continued. “The only difference between the end o’ a rope n’ the long road away from Syliras was the fact that he troy’d teh kill a citizen of Syliras, n’ one o’ her squires. If he had simply done his season o’ labor they’d have let him leave with his cart o’ goods.” Marrick finished his monologue under the young ladies hawk like gaze and clenched his teeth in his mouth, making the jaw muscle on his face pop a moment before it relaxed again.

“Yeh can hear meh wards, n’ think upon them if’n yeh loike.” He said with a strangely calm look to his eyes and a gentle tilt of his head. “Yeh are the best judge o’ yer loife n’ yer actions. Everyone knows whats roight n’ wrong. Yeh feel it in yer soul. Yeh feel it in yer Marrow. Its followin through on that feelin that’s difficult fer folk teh do.” Marrick had said what his heart had dictated. He hoped that the young woman would understand. With a deep breath and a long sigh he spared a glance for Altaira almost as if to say that he knew that his fellow Kelvic would understand what he had been saying. All Kelvics had a strange urge to bond, or enslave themselves, even if they didn’t see it that way.

by **Vanari** on August 3rd, 2014, 8:36 am

Marrick

Observation	+4 XP
Investigation	+1 XP
Rhetoric	+5 XP
Medicine	+2 XP
Storytelling	+2 XP
Philosophy	+3 XP
Teaching	+3 XP
Persuasion	+2 XP
Leadership	+2 XP

Lores :

Loot :

Notes :

Closed Vistors? This early? (Altaira, Marrick)