Closed An Assault in the Warrens(Edric Wingard)

[Ainyi]

oocHey! Just went through and cleaned everything up/added stuff/edited in case you read it already. Sorry about that; I usually don't send things out that sloppy. Hope this is better!

60th Winter 513, 19th Bell


Ooph.

Ainyi rested her body against the pillar in the well-lit Warren. Nearly every muscle in her body was worked hard in some fashion today. The muscles in her shoulders, back, and torso were sore from their morning archery practice. The proverbial beating she took in her talon sword lessons with Turrin only added to that with her arms and legs. With a tired sigh, she slumped against a column under a torch and decided she could take a break from movement, listening to others rush about urgently in hallways under her. She offered a sigh and took a drink from her water skin.

With Zulrav in the Reach, Ainyi was taking the longest, most well lit route home to the commons. She never understood Gods or Goddesses, never wanted to. As far as she saw things, she kept to her business, they kept to theirs, and nobody was bothered. A priest of Zulrav here, the Despised under arrest, the grumbles of hunger in every Chiet and Dek's belly, the chill of Winter at every back - all of it just unsettled Ainyi more than she could describe.

The Chiet shivered as the thoughts crossed her mind, shrugging deeper into her katinu as she tried to shake the clouded thoughts from her mind. The discomfort at the implications of those things, those opposing angry forces coming upon one another, worried her to the very core. This wouldn't end with the punishment of the Despised; everyone knew that. She moved her pack from her back to next to her as she lost herself in thought, body grateful she finally found herself at rest.

Father wouldn't like this either, she found herself thinking somberly. Yasa was unstrung, strapped to the outside of her pack. She thumbed the top of it lightly as her eyes detached from the world, seeing a memory instead of what was in front of them.

It came in flashes. Memories replayed often did. Parts were fast forwarded, blurred beyond recognition in her memory; her father entering the room, bitterness at some words said days ago. Then, as all shocked memories do, the word Avora slipped from his lips and it was as though time stood still. She remembered joy, as vibrant as the hair on her head. Joy turned to tears as he pulled the warm wooden bow from behind him, blue-silver glass handle gleaming in the light. That was when it became clearest, when she could still taste the rabbit from the stew that night, when she could still feel her cheeks burn from smiling so much. Wild emerald eyes met his own, mirrors only family could know. Any words they said were blurred, fast forwarded in the memory, she felt the warmth of their embrace, smelt the familiar mix of dirt, wood shavings and sweat in his jerkin, eyes still fixed on the bow.

Made from the baubles your mother hung above your crib, His words flew gently over her head, gesturing at the bow. Viliryasa, I call it, but Yasa for short will do. The words passed over her ears like shouted whispers in the daydream, watching her draw with the bow. You've done it, Ainyi remembered telling him mirthfully, feeling a small child for a moment. His softer eyes met hers, repeating back in promise, You will too.

You will too, the words echoed in her ears as Ainyi gripped the top of Yasa. She knew, if he were alive now, how proud he would be to see his daughter Second Rider to an Endal, training for hunts. Yet still, she felt chaos in the air; she tasted it like blood in the air of the processing center; thick, pungent, foreign in these desperate times. Any noses entering the room unused to it crinkle and frown, both wishing they could avoid it, but knowing they could not. Chaos filled the city like that foul stench, as faces and minds frowned in hunger and cold. She heaved as a pang of hunger in her belly broke the day dream in the hall, and pulled her from the moment and back into this reality.

She snorted a bitter laugh as sick thoughts rolled through her mind, crashing like torrent waves against weakening rocks. It's best he didn't live to see our people like this. To see me like this. She felt her shrinking stomach with a shudder. I may become a hunter, but what will be left to hunt? Who will be left to feed? To be with?

Her thoughts began to darken, clouds forming in her mind, when the sounds of thundering footsteps and raging voices alerted her. They were too close at this point, and the hall was too big; whoever they were, Ainyi would have to face them. Covering Yasa and her pack in the shadow of a pillar, she only hoped their rowdiness was no indication of violence. An unstrung bow and a sore, worn body would do her no good in a time of need. Calmly, the butcher stood and began adjusting her ankle boots as three rowdy inebriated Chiet rounded the corner. She hesitantly made eye contact with one of them, before offering a silent nod in greeting, and attending to her shoes again.

At least, until they stopped.

"Wait, wait, wait," His words swayed, grabbing his friend. "I, I know that woman." Ainyi raised her face to him passively as their energy stilled, a phrenetic predatory nature developing about them. "What's your name, woman? I've seen you at the processing center. I pick meat up for the cooks every other day, you know. I think I know you from somewhere, someone else - Yasi years, eh?."

Slowly, Ainyi's body rose fully to standing, shoulders back, hands tense at her sides. "Ainyi," she answered flatly. The first Chiet's face darkened as the name left her mouth.

"My lover was Bedri," he answered, angry embers in his voice as he clenched his comrades shoulders. Ainyi gulped as she remembered the Chiet woman she shot in the hip to help Turrin the night they met. As the woman was carried away and probably exiled that night, Ainyi felt a pang of sadness in the outcome, but felt there wasn't much to be done about it.

She didn't feel the man in front of her would agree much, however.

"You clipped piece of shyke!" He screamed at her, as his companions began to hulk near her. "You chose an Endal over one of your own! He's not the one starving! He's not the one freezing in this Winter!" As they neared her she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ainyi offered in a firm, but genuine tone, palms up to her assailants. "I only did what was right-"

"Right? Right?!" The Chiet kept advancing. Ainyi found herself backed against the pillar, the torch flaming above her. Fear was chilling her deeper than the cold of winter, and she didn't know how to respond to the angry drunken men around her. "She's exiled now, and word is you're Second Rider to that same petching Endal! Bird's shyke, you did what was shyke. Tell me, how hungry's your belly been since you started riding behind this petchin' Endal, eh?"

His body, while not bulky, still had some inches on her, pressed her against the pillar, breathing alcohol down her throat. She resisted, but felt one of his shorter friends hold her shoulder's down, as the third left to watch the warren's entrance. "Or, do you get to ride him, is that it? Is that it? A little hussy from an Endal and a little extra food in your belly, and you've forgotten your own people down below?" His dark brown eyes bored into her angry green ones equally. "Well, maybe I'll try for myself then, won't I?"

As he fumbled at her katinu, Ainyi spat in his eye and kicked up in his groin. As he reeled back, his friend, pinned her against his frame with a swift hold with his arm, a knife kissing her neck. The woman struggled in her fear to remember the basic training she went over just earlier today. The scorned man looked up at her with glowering eyes, still groaning in pain from the hit she landed. "We're going to fight, eh? Want to know how that feels?" The man that held Ainyi tossed him the knife but kept her steadfast; despite her squirms and attempts to break his holds on her arms and body, she couldn't break free. She tried screaming for help, and his hand clasped over her mouth hard. "Try again, I punch out your throat," he muttered harshly, before a sharp pain reached her side.

The offended Chiet in question had sliced open her Bryda and undergarments with the knife on her right side, grazing open the skin with it. He grabbed her hips in a merciless grip and rammed his knee in between her legs with punishing force over and over again. Each time, this caused Ainyi to yelp in pain as she struggled to close her legs and push him away, but his friend was too strong and he was too determined. After two chimes of it and a few swings to her gut, she was dumped on the floor with some mutters about getting to business and things.

Ainyi's groin was on fire. Her katinu lay with the buttons torn off feet from her; the stone felt like cold fire on her skin, tears streamed down her face as she coughed out the pain. She felt her belly scratch against the ground as they dragged her body a few feet and tried to prop her body. Still, she resisted. The impact to the ground bruised her face and throat. She could barely move her legs. Her arms were nearly rendered useless as they were held down; but still, she shifted her weight inconveniently, she tried to push away. She even felt the knife touch her left palm, kissing it, opening it the more she struggled. But still, she fought.

"This is why you help your own," The man told her grudgingly. Ainyi croaked out a protest, though whether it was understood was unclear; whether it mattered, was even less clear.

All that happened was a blur. All she knew was within a few ticks, the friend they had sent for their lookout called out to them, and they had bolted. Ainyi, afraid of any sight or movement, rolled her body to the nearby pillar and propped herself against it. Her katinu was thankfully within arm's reach, and she managed to pull herself back into it with a few whimpers. She sat in silence as others passed by the neighboring warrens, the sounds of her footsteps haunting her, but never coming into view, or into her space. Blood trickled on her ride side, on her belly.

For several chimes, she leaned against the pillar by her pack, trying to hold in sobs as she assessed what just happened, feeling the cut in her hand. It wasn't too deep, thankfully, but the real wound wasn't physical. Ainyi found herself staring down every corner, flicking at every noise, every light source, waiting for her dark assailants to return to finish the job. No. She would have to move. She couldn't stay here forever. But as she shouldered her pack, thankfully unfound, and broke from the wall, she cried out in pain again. Whatever her attackers did, they knew how to cripple, and it hurt.

Slowly, she waddled step by step out of the warren, feeling along the wall with her hand until she could find a main channel with lights. So much raced in her mind. Where to go - where was safe? Who else knew of her second ridership with Turrin? Who else would take such offense to assault her? Was she really no longer safe at night in her own city?

All of these thoughts spurned in her head; Her throat was soar, tinged purple and red. She coughed, trying keep herself straight, but feeling slightly dizzy from the blood loss of the open cut on her hand and hip. By the time a familiar russet shade of hair and light blue eyes came into view in the warren, her defenses finally gave up.

"Wingard?" She asked, as though unsure she could trust her eyes. The warren was empty save for them; she didn't like it. The emptiness scared her, made her want to curl up and never be seen again. "Wingard," She said again as he got closer, before slumping into the wall in pain. She cradled her hand to her body, trying to absorb some of the blood in her already bloodstained Vinati. Her good hand dropped to hold her Bryda and under garments on her body. Her tailbone burned with pain as it met the stone floor. Her hair stuck to the blood in the outlines of the shallow cut on her neck, tears streaming down her face. "Thank all of the Gods, it's you."

[Edric Wingard]

 

The night was hardly young, but Leth had barely made his presence known either; his looming form peering down upon the Inarta in Wind Reach from a gracious height. The skies were oddly open, free of clouds that obscured the vision and hid the twinkling stars of the night. It was rather pretty; this opulent view of jeweled black that burned one’s retinas and graced the earth bound people as it was a representation of freedom that many strived for. The sky was boundless in its existence; the open air unchained and filled with unfathomable potential that was only limited by how much one could see. This tantalizing dream festered within the minds of sleeping children as the ultimate goal to achieve. To become one with the skies symbolized a rise from the gallows of poverty into the prestigious ranks of the Endal; ending the subpar existence of their lives to become a famous face of envy. No longer would one worry of starvation in the winter, but instead would be the envy of all as they gallivanted in the skies with their sacred rapture; their face immortalized within the upper class.

Letting out a subtle sigh, the Kelvic scratched his head, ruffling his feathers and looking upwards towards the expanding ceiling above. Even he, a bird that flew under Syna and Leth rigorously, wished that he could enjoy the titling of Endal. His instinctive need to bond had long ago been pushed to the deepest corners of his mind, but its nagging presence reminded him of the loneliness that could be felt in solitude. As he watched his colony dance, their bodies just as lithe and nimble as his own, he could not help the green that tinged his eyes as their partners cheered on such demonstrations. That camaraderie made his skin itch with envy, his clawed talons scratching needlessly against his skin until the reddened shade was far from appealing. This bitterness that festered within his soul could easily be attributed to the fact that no matter how much better he was than his fellow eagles, or how desirable he was as an Inarta, that it really didn’t matter.

This was not to say that Wingard actually cared about his rank. He was comfortable with his status as an Avora, enjoying the amount of responsibilities he held and more importantly – the amount he did not. He was fortunate enough to have claimed an aerie all to himself which put him above his caste to begin with, so it could easily be said that the Kelvic was in-between the Endal and the Avora in privileges which suited him just fine. Where that line of distinction ruffled his feathers was when he was reminded that at his caste level, he worked independently and without support while the Endal paired together with an entity that respected, protected, and understood them. This partnership that the highest rank held was what the eagle yearned for, dreamed of, and wished for. Sighing again, his lips contorted into a disgusted frown at how pathetic his thoughts were regressing to. He was not normally needy, Wingard figured, thus it annoyed him that he was inwardly simpering like a fool.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his bryda, the Kelvic dropped his gaze back in front of him and continued his late night stroll through the Inner Warrens; a pensive look the only indication of his inner dilemna. The torchlight that lit the sprawling pathway flickered dangerously; the dancing flames licking and bending at the stone walls that surrounded them shamelessly. With each adjustment of light, shadows found themselves sprawled precariously upon the uneven walls, their distorted shapes creating monsters in the night. The silence that resounded around him was deafening; his quiet steps and the distant meanderings of others further down the only sounds brave enough to disturb the tomb. The eeriness settled into his soul, tainting the pessimism that already resided there and threatened to morph it into the gnawing creature of fear. It was insatiable in its greed; yearning to tear down the eagle’s resolve and haunt his thoughts of dangerous encounters and bloody finales.

Cringing at the darkness that was seeping into his thoughts and obscuring the darkened corners of the Warrens, Wingard resolutely thought back to the moment that he decided to rid himself of such a weakness as insecurity. It was that same day that he locked up his feelings, confining them to the deepest depths of his mind that he only allowed a single companion to visit. The moment that he became determined to live for him and not to search after a bond like a woeful dog searched for a master was the tick that Edric died. That pathetic, insecure child that yearned for another being was discarded and replaced with the stoic, logical persona of Wingard. Wingard was a representation of the strength he always wanted to possess and the clinical realism that his idealistic mind could not comprehend and scoffed at before. It had taken years of training his mind for it to eventually shape into his new identity. Simply put, at first it was all an act until finally, he even fooled himself.

Rolling his shoulders, the Kelvic noted disinterestedly the sounds of a scuffle up ahead. For a moment he contemplated turning around and just heading back to his aerie for a night of sleeplessness in his bed in order to avoid an encounter with people, but the insatiable curiosity that roused his body each morning and careened him towards knowledge pushed him forward toward the ruckus. Not bothering to increase his pace, the hunter strolled into the scene like a man on a leisure walk out in a meadow, a light tune leaving his lips in an absent whistle. Keeping his hands in his pockets to exude a look of utter relaxation, he entered the scene, his eyes scanning ahead to observe the fleeing forms further ahead. Tilting his head to the side, he silently wondered what sort of scene they felt they need to escape from so quickly, but didn’t bother pursuing them in either case. They hardly mattered to him, after all, so it would be pointless to expend energy needlessly.

He was more interested in what they were running away from.

Turning his attention to the right, he took a few steps towards the slumped body that seemed to have taken up residence there. Not bothering to move for a moment, he stared blankly at the decrepit form that rested against the wall; the shadows skewing their figure until Wingard could only take a wild guess at the person’s gender. He regarded them with an easy detachment, contemplating if it would be in his best benefit to assist this unknown character or to simply go on his own way. After all, if he chose to help this person, then he would be obliged to help carry them as it seemed walking was beyond their capabilities right now. Just as he was figuring it would be best to just stroll onwards and spare his clothes the filth, a familiar voice seemed to call out to him.

Quirking his head at the rasp that seemed to be attached to Ainyi’s voice, the eagle slowly crept closer; his hands still residing in his pockets. It worried him slightly that it was this particular woman that was sprawled in an undignified manner upon the floor, but it would be utterly pointless to break down into hysteric meanderings at this point. She was in enough of a difficult position that his added worries would simply hinder the situation. Crouching down slowly, he directed his eyes to hers and looked her over carefully.

“Hello, Ainyi,” he murmured quietly, his voice soft but seemingly loud in the empty corridor. Placing a gentle hand on her chin, he pulled it upwards and to the side gingerly in order to better peer at the causation of the sticky blood that was centralizing the majority of her stray hairs. He could make out an outline of a cut upon her neck, the depth of it unclear in the light, but he figured that it must have been shallow if the sluggish stream of blood that was flowing out of it was any indication. He easily scanned her body and witnessed the way she seemed to cower within her katinu, his mind questioning why she shied away from his touch after their rather forward adventure in his aerie that one time prior. Rather than pressing her nakedness against him, she hid it, which only caused the eagle to wonder what she was hiding from him.

Not bothering to speak, he forwent language; wordlessly removing her trembling fingers from her shawl in order to draw the fabric of her katinu apart. Looking down, he studied her with the clinical eye of a physician, taking in her ripped bryda and undergarments with hardly any indication of disturbance. Inwardly, he was pursing his lips in distain at the abuse she must have went through; the ripped clothes displaying her femininity and vulnerability to anyone who wished to see it. Disliking such a look of helplessness upon her features, the Kelvic respected her bashfulness and redirected his eyes elsewhere. Her bryda were really past saving, he figured, so drawing his trusty spider dagger from his boot, he cut a slit into the bottom of them. Placing the knife down, he grabbed the fabric and torn a strip cleanly from it. It was relatively clean from what he could see, thank Zulrav, so Wingard folded it into a makeshift pad and placed it against her neck, whispering quietly, “Hold this.”

Not bothering to wait for her to respond, he grasped one of her hands and placed it on top of his own before withdrawing it once hers was secured and went back to her pants. Completing the same procedure as before, he ripped another piece clean and proceeded to bring this one up to her face to wipe the array of tears and snot that seemed to be coating her face. Inwardly, he grimaced at such ugliness, but he knew Ainyi’s need to be beautiful and presentable to those around her, so he covered such a look. Instead, he wore a look of indifference as the dragged the cloth across her face collecting her tears.

“Ainyi, you need to get a hold of yourself.”

His voice was hardly comforting, but it was not cruel either. He did not understand what could have happened to her, nor could he comprehend any sort of violation she may have felt, but it would simply not due for them to dally in the Warrens. She needed to collect her emotions so that he could question her about her status, the encounter, and where she’d like to go next. From what he could observe, it didn’t look like she needed stitches anywhere so it eliminated the necessity to go to the infirmary, but it did not remove that place as a possibility. If she truly needed help, or an understanding face, that would potentially be the best place to go as Wingard could not provide either of those.

Edric was sentimental and emotional, and he was gone so it left the rapture without a clue in the world what to do. Still crouching, he reconnected their eyes and questioned, “Where are you hurt, Red?”