Javax
The Shadow
The wolf-elf remained silent as she listened to Maedor's speculations. They were both in agreement; the present situation that they'd walked themselves into was an odd one. She'd kept her distance from the plague that ravaged the land and the drama that surrounded it for the simple reason that she did not want to get herself caught up in such a deadly fate. She enjoyed listening to rumors and soaking up drama, the lover of information she was, but she held no desire to gather such information at the risk of falling ill and suffering a terrible demise by her own careless hand.
Yet here she was, sauntering through a town that she knew nothing about, chasing after a man that was spreading death wherever he could for some unknown motive. She'd been thinking on what Karlson's motive could be, why he seemed to carry that invisible death with him to infect and kill others. Originally, Roxii had wondered if perhaps he didn't know what he carried, that he was simply too oblivious to notice that he left a trail of destruction wherever he went. But now that they were in Kerth, the pieces slowly being put together, she didn't believe in that option anymore.
Now, she was fairly convinced that he wholly knew what he carried and what he was doing. The reason was still undetermined, but the velglorn held a few possibilities. The first was what the doctor mentioned: that the man was mentally unstable and wished to spread the plague for some sick and twisted ideal. Perhaps the only desire Karlson had was to see others suffer for no more reason than he was a sadistic man. The L'yrathi had met plenty of sadistic individuals to understand, for the most part, what ran through their heads.
Another option was for religious reasons. Roxii knew that there was seemingly no end to what religious men and women would do to appease their gods. Those fanatics would go to great lengths to spread knowledge of their gods or dish out punishment in a way that made sense to them and their religion. It was possible that the man they were searching for was enacting punishment upon those he thought to be sinners. Judging by his choice back in Thrakeld, this was a possibility that Roxii believed more than the previous.
And lastly, Karlson could be spreading the plague for political reasons. It was no secret that the population believed the practice of magic and sorcery was the cause of the plague, but there were still a select, magic-less few, like Maedor, that either did not believe these allegations or simply did not care. Perhaps, she'd come to realize, Karlson was not some simple man rampaging across the land with something he didn't understand. Perhaps he was a message, spreading that invisible enemy in an attempt to get people to see that what the Prime Ruler was doing, eradicating magic users and sorcerers alike, was beneficial to the whole population and not a public massacre.
Whatever the reason, she didn't like it. She was far from being an upstanding citizen and doing what was best for the people, but spreading the plague was akin to chemical warfare. It made her uneasy that such a thing could be done; how do you protect yourself and fight against an enemy you cannot see?
"Hm, let's," Roxii responded simply. "I will allow you to lead the way, Maedor. She is your friend." The blind woman smirked slightly. "I would like to get this over with, anyhow. She is annoying."
Yet here she was, sauntering through a town that she knew nothing about, chasing after a man that was spreading death wherever he could for some unknown motive. She'd been thinking on what Karlson's motive could be, why he seemed to carry that invisible death with him to infect and kill others. Originally, Roxii had wondered if perhaps he didn't know what he carried, that he was simply too oblivious to notice that he left a trail of destruction wherever he went. But now that they were in Kerth, the pieces slowly being put together, she didn't believe in that option anymore.
Now, she was fairly convinced that he wholly knew what he carried and what he was doing. The reason was still undetermined, but the velglorn held a few possibilities. The first was what the doctor mentioned: that the man was mentally unstable and wished to spread the plague for some sick and twisted ideal. Perhaps the only desire Karlson had was to see others suffer for no more reason than he was a sadistic man. The L'yrathi had met plenty of sadistic individuals to understand, for the most part, what ran through their heads.
Another option was for religious reasons. Roxii knew that there was seemingly no end to what religious men and women would do to appease their gods. Those fanatics would go to great lengths to spread knowledge of their gods or dish out punishment in a way that made sense to them and their religion. It was possible that the man they were searching for was enacting punishment upon those he thought to be sinners. Judging by his choice back in Thrakeld, this was a possibility that Roxii believed more than the previous.
And lastly, Karlson could be spreading the plague for political reasons. It was no secret that the population believed the practice of magic and sorcery was the cause of the plague, but there were still a select, magic-less few, like Maedor, that either did not believe these allegations or simply did not care. Perhaps, she'd come to realize, Karlson was not some simple man rampaging across the land with something he didn't understand. Perhaps he was a message, spreading that invisible enemy in an attempt to get people to see that what the Prime Ruler was doing, eradicating magic users and sorcerers alike, was beneficial to the whole population and not a public massacre.
Whatever the reason, she didn't like it. She was far from being an upstanding citizen and doing what was best for the people, but spreading the plague was akin to chemical warfare. It made her uneasy that such a thing could be done; how do you protect yourself and fight against an enemy you cannot see?
"Hm, let's," Roxii responded simply. "I will allow you to lead the way, Maedor. She is your friend." The blind woman smirked slightly. "I would like to get this over with, anyhow. She is annoying."
Proper etiquette was something that had been ingrained into him from the very beginning. Living with the Vaneiros family had ensured that he would never be considered a sniveling peasant or even a self-righteous nobleman. Royal blood ran through his veins, and though he was not a true Vaneiros-borne son, he was treated as a part of the royal family ever since he was a babe. He was never referred to as a Prince of Felnethyr—he had no right to claim the title in a place that was not his rightful home—but he was treated as one, and likewise was upheld to the same standards of one.
Throughout his childhood, he'd been trained and molded into a man of high status. Knowing the proper way to address others dependent on their title and rank, the virtues of a chivalrous man and how they were used in everyday interactions, how to compose himself during dinner and showcase his table manners. All of it had become a part of him to the point that it had become natural. There were other times that he'd been sent out on a mission that required him to suppress his true identity, much like the one he embarked on now, and it had been obvious that he was no simple knight or nobleman. He'd always wished he could put on a mask as easily as some of the others on the council, to put forth a new identity that diverted attention in all the right ways. Unfortunately, the skill had never come easy to the knight, and it had always forced him to work harder than necessary to maintain his cover.
He could feel the disdain practically radiating off the sorceress next to him, but the hesitant smile she gave him told him that she at least approved of his capability of being a well-mannered guest, despite the fact that they both wished to be as far away from each other as possible. Regardless, he made eye contact with the woman's violet gaze at her opening words, forcing himself to ignore the breaking of the bone in her fingers, to not think of the possibility of his bones being broken within those same, dangerous hands.
"Oh yes, he can be. I found it rewarding to speak with someone with such intriguing firsthand experiences." It was the truth; Aeren was a man of history and culture, and he always found it interesting when he was able to speak with someone that harbored such valuable information. But he also enjoyed how much talking with Vesilir in private bothered Esadora.
The High Commander was cutting into his own piece of duck when Erlen asked for a story. He nearly slipped at the request and cast a subtle glare at the sorceress, but the irritation was washed away almost immediately. Though her apology seemed genuine, he held doubts that she cared about his comfort. Was it only a coincidence that Erlen was requesting a story after he'd told Esadora that he was no skilled storyteller?
"Oh, I–" His smile faltered momentarily. "I wouldn't go as far as to consider myself remarkable..." He wanted to deny the request, to say that none of his stories were worth the time or that he simply didn't have any, but both excuses would be far too uncharacteristic of a knight to be believable. For what type of knight didn't have knightly stories to tell except for one that was hiding something?
"But it would be rude of me to deny you a knightly story," he relented, casting a handsome grin towards Erlen.
Aerendal sorted through his memories for a worthy story. He had many—ones that were magnificent displays of militaristic might, like the Battle of Frozen Harbor that he'd mentioned to Esadora earlier; ones that involved trekking through foreign territory to secure hostages or interrupt illegal activities; ones that took place on the seas, traveling across the world for civil affairs and having to fight off pirates. The blue-eyed man was relatively young, but he'd gathered plenty of experiences throughout his time of knighthood, including some that he would never share, such as the times his cowardice took hold and prompted him to ignore his knightly, chivalric virtues.
Now he just had to choose one. He wanted to choose one that would be engaging enough to entertain the friendly man. Surely one of a battle would do?
"Have you heard of the Vaneiros Massacre?"
Aeren paused. What? The question had left his mouth before he'd even realized he was speaking. Why was that the topic he'd chosen? It wasn't even remotely close to a battle story; it was a slaughter. He wanted to back out, to let the topic die as if it had never existed, but now the question was hanging in the air. He had to continue.
"I'm sure you've only heard the story through rumors; it has become a somber topic of discussion within Felnethyr, so it has become rare for the true story to spread. But I can share firsthand experience on what happened that night."
He could feel his chest tighten. Already, he was losing himself in the memory. This wasn't the first time he'd shared the story, but it never got any easier.
"I was just a lad—14 years, if I recall. I was a squire at the time, training to become a knight like my father. It was hard work, but I believe it was worth it. It was common practice for Sir Vesryn and I to be training at night. The castle's training grounds were usually empty, and it allowed us to not worry about training too viciously that we would knock another trainee unconscious." The knight chuckled lightly at one such memory, when he'd went overboard when using water magic alongside his sword fighting and washed away a dozen other trainees from the grounds.
"One night, he hadn't come to the grounds. I found it odd that he didn't show, but I had thought that perhaps he had fallen ill or had lost track of time... I see now that I was naive.
"I'd decided to practice by myself while I waited. I started off with the Warrior's Dance—it's a series of stretches and poses that strengthen the muscles and mind—and it wasn't long before I heard the screaming.
"I immediately pinpointed the screams to be coming from the castle and wasted no time in racing to their aid. I was only a squire, I know, but surely I could do something to help. But..." His voice trailed, his gaze distant. "There was nothing I could do—nothing anyone could do. The entire royal family, including my mentor, Sir Vesryn, had been burned in their beds whilst they slept. But it was no ordinary, natural fire; it was Dæmonfyre that licked at their flesh and turned their bones to ash.
"I remember coming to the youngest child's room first—Saeval. There were no guards to stop me from seeing; they had already gathered all their men to stop the culprit. That boy... He was only four years old. I remember seeing his small frame lying upon that crumbling bed, his body charred and blackened. The turquoise flames had done quick work of the prince and the bed, rising high in a dance of victory, licking at the ceiling as it jumped to other pieces of furniture. He died quickly, it seemed—the Dæmonfyre moved fast—but even though he was already gone by the time I arrived, I could still hear the echo of his screams..." Aeren took a moment to take a drink of wine, allowing the bitter taste to keep him from getting lost in the vision.
"The entire Vaneiros family perished that night, save for two: the queen of Felnethyr at the time, Faelyn Vaneiros, and her twin sister, Alannis. The guards found them fighting down the hall, and–" Aeren paused again, clearing his throat. "I was not permitted to get close nor help, but from what I've heard, Faelyn had plotted to murder her family to protect her claim to the throne and prevent them from revealing her questionable loyalties. It was rumored that she had planned the deaths of her parents to acquire the title Queen of Felnethyr, but Alannis had found evidence of her treason. In a fit of paranoia, Faelyn murdered all her kin.
"The guards tried to capture her, and they almost did, but Faelyn was a skilled fighter and cast them all aside as she fled." He hesitated. Surely Erlen had hoped for a story with some sort of fighting in it, so he supposed he could give it to the man. The story had already been weaved in lies; what harm was one more? "She had come down the way I was being escorted out of the castle; I was a troublesome child, so they did not trust me with leaving of my own accord. But we whirled around when she came running down the hall. The guard tried to stop her, but he didn't even have a chance to grab his sword before he was knocked unconscious by her power.
"So I, being the troublesome squire I am, decided to try and stop her myself." He held up his knife at eye-level with his next words. "I unsheathed the knight's sword and held my ground against the traitorous queen. She must've grabbed a sword off one of the other guards during her escape because she brandished her own against me.
"And there we were: a nobody squire and the Queen of Felnethyr, facing off against each other in the darkened halls of Malkor O'enarion—er, that was the name of the castle. The guards hadn't yet made their way after her, so it was just us. She must've hit them hard.
"Faelyn made the first move. She came at me in a flurry of attacks, but I parried and blocked them all best I could. The sound of metal rang in our ears, echoing down the halls in a discordant song. I got a few hits on her, but I will not lie and say she did not pay them back. I used all of my knowledge and skills to try and win that battle, to subdue her and bring her to justice, but she harbored powers unimaginable. It wasn't long before we heard the booming of the guards' steps as they raced towards the sounds of our fight, and she threw me aside like a sack of grain and raced out of the castle.
"The guards allowed me to search Felnethyr with them; they needed all the hands they could get, after all. By then, the entire city had awoken. Bells were sounding out across the land, and guards were running up and down the streets bellowing 'Dhaeraow!'—traitor, it means. Even civilian eyes were searching for the murderous queen, though they were not allowed on the streets because of the danger the young Vaneiros posed.
"Despite our efforts, she escaped that night, and no one has seen her since."
The knight went silent, his mood having gone somber. He took another drink of wine and cleared his throat again. "I... I, ah, do hope that that story did suffice."
Throughout his childhood, he'd been trained and molded into a man of high status. Knowing the proper way to address others dependent on their title and rank, the virtues of a chivalrous man and how they were used in everyday interactions, how to compose himself during dinner and showcase his table manners. All of it had become a part of him to the point that it had become natural. There were other times that he'd been sent out on a mission that required him to suppress his true identity, much like the one he embarked on now, and it had been obvious that he was no simple knight or nobleman. He'd always wished he could put on a mask as easily as some of the others on the council, to put forth a new identity that diverted attention in all the right ways. Unfortunately, the skill had never come easy to the knight, and it had always forced him to work harder than necessary to maintain his cover.
He could feel the disdain practically radiating off the sorceress next to him, but the hesitant smile she gave him told him that she at least approved of his capability of being a well-mannered guest, despite the fact that they both wished to be as far away from each other as possible. Regardless, he made eye contact with the woman's violet gaze at her opening words, forcing himself to ignore the breaking of the bone in her fingers, to not think of the possibility of his bones being broken within those same, dangerous hands.
"Oh yes, he can be. I found it rewarding to speak with someone with such intriguing firsthand experiences." It was the truth; Aeren was a man of history and culture, and he always found it interesting when he was able to speak with someone that harbored such valuable information. But he also enjoyed how much talking with Vesilir in private bothered Esadora.
The High Commander was cutting into his own piece of duck when Erlen asked for a story. He nearly slipped at the request and cast a subtle glare at the sorceress, but the irritation was washed away almost immediately. Though her apology seemed genuine, he held doubts that she cared about his comfort. Was it only a coincidence that Erlen was requesting a story after he'd told Esadora that he was no skilled storyteller?
"Oh, I–" His smile faltered momentarily. "I wouldn't go as far as to consider myself remarkable..." He wanted to deny the request, to say that none of his stories were worth the time or that he simply didn't have any, but both excuses would be far too uncharacteristic of a knight to be believable. For what type of knight didn't have knightly stories to tell except for one that was hiding something?
"But it would be rude of me to deny you a knightly story," he relented, casting a handsome grin towards Erlen.
Aerendal sorted through his memories for a worthy story. He had many—ones that were magnificent displays of militaristic might, like the Battle of Frozen Harbor that he'd mentioned to Esadora earlier; ones that involved trekking through foreign territory to secure hostages or interrupt illegal activities; ones that took place on the seas, traveling across the world for civil affairs and having to fight off pirates. The blue-eyed man was relatively young, but he'd gathered plenty of experiences throughout his time of knighthood, including some that he would never share, such as the times his cowardice took hold and prompted him to ignore his knightly, chivalric virtues.
Now he just had to choose one. He wanted to choose one that would be engaging enough to entertain the friendly man. Surely one of a battle would do?
"Have you heard of the Vaneiros Massacre?"
Aeren paused. What? The question had left his mouth before he'd even realized he was speaking. Why was that the topic he'd chosen? It wasn't even remotely close to a battle story; it was a slaughter. He wanted to back out, to let the topic die as if it had never existed, but now the question was hanging in the air. He had to continue.
"I'm sure you've only heard the story through rumors; it has become a somber topic of discussion within Felnethyr, so it has become rare for the true story to spread. But I can share firsthand experience on what happened that night."
He could feel his chest tighten. Already, he was losing himself in the memory. This wasn't the first time he'd shared the story, but it never got any easier.
"I was just a lad—14 years, if I recall. I was a squire at the time, training to become a knight like my father. It was hard work, but I believe it was worth it. It was common practice for Sir Vesryn and I to be training at night. The castle's training grounds were usually empty, and it allowed us to not worry about training too viciously that we would knock another trainee unconscious." The knight chuckled lightly at one such memory, when he'd went overboard when using water magic alongside his sword fighting and washed away a dozen other trainees from the grounds.
"One night, he hadn't come to the grounds. I found it odd that he didn't show, but I had thought that perhaps he had fallen ill or had lost track of time... I see now that I was naive.
"I'd decided to practice by myself while I waited. I started off with the Warrior's Dance—it's a series of stretches and poses that strengthen the muscles and mind—and it wasn't long before I heard the screaming.
"I immediately pinpointed the screams to be coming from the castle and wasted no time in racing to their aid. I was only a squire, I know, but surely I could do something to help. But..." His voice trailed, his gaze distant. "There was nothing I could do—nothing anyone could do. The entire royal family, including my mentor, Sir Vesryn, had been burned in their beds whilst they slept. But it was no ordinary, natural fire; it was Dæmonfyre that licked at their flesh and turned their bones to ash.
"I remember coming to the youngest child's room first—Saeval. There were no guards to stop me from seeing; they had already gathered all their men to stop the culprit. That boy... He was only four years old. I remember seeing his small frame lying upon that crumbling bed, his body charred and blackened. The turquoise flames had done quick work of the prince and the bed, rising high in a dance of victory, licking at the ceiling as it jumped to other pieces of furniture. He died quickly, it seemed—the Dæmonfyre moved fast—but even though he was already gone by the time I arrived, I could still hear the echo of his screams..." Aeren took a moment to take a drink of wine, allowing the bitter taste to keep him from getting lost in the vision.
"The entire Vaneiros family perished that night, save for two: the queen of Felnethyr at the time, Faelyn Vaneiros, and her twin sister, Alannis. The guards found them fighting down the hall, and–" Aeren paused again, clearing his throat. "I was not permitted to get close nor help, but from what I've heard, Faelyn had plotted to murder her family to protect her claim to the throne and prevent them from revealing her questionable loyalties. It was rumored that she had planned the deaths of her parents to acquire the title Queen of Felnethyr, but Alannis had found evidence of her treason. In a fit of paranoia, Faelyn murdered all her kin.
"The guards tried to capture her, and they almost did, but Faelyn was a skilled fighter and cast them all aside as she fled." He hesitated. Surely Erlen had hoped for a story with some sort of fighting in it, so he supposed he could give it to the man. The story had already been weaved in lies; what harm was one more? "She had come down the way I was being escorted out of the castle; I was a troublesome child, so they did not trust me with leaving of my own accord. But we whirled around when she came running down the hall. The guard tried to stop her, but he didn't even have a chance to grab his sword before he was knocked unconscious by her power.
"So I, being the troublesome squire I am, decided to try and stop her myself." He held up his knife at eye-level with his next words. "I unsheathed the knight's sword and held my ground against the traitorous queen. She must've grabbed a sword off one of the other guards during her escape because she brandished her own against me.
"And there we were: a nobody squire and the Queen of Felnethyr, facing off against each other in the darkened halls of Malkor O'enarion—er, that was the name of the castle. The guards hadn't yet made their way after her, so it was just us. She must've hit them hard.
"Faelyn made the first move. She came at me in a flurry of attacks, but I parried and blocked them all best I could. The sound of metal rang in our ears, echoing down the halls in a discordant song. I got a few hits on her, but I will not lie and say she did not pay them back. I used all of my knowledge and skills to try and win that battle, to subdue her and bring her to justice, but she harbored powers unimaginable. It wasn't long before we heard the booming of the guards' steps as they raced towards the sounds of our fight, and she threw me aside like a sack of grain and raced out of the castle.
"The guards allowed me to search Felnethyr with them; they needed all the hands they could get, after all. By then, the entire city had awoken. Bells were sounding out across the land, and guards were running up and down the streets bellowing 'Dhaeraow!'—traitor, it means. Even civilian eyes were searching for the murderous queen, though they were not allowed on the streets because of the danger the young Vaneiros posed.
"Despite our efforts, she escaped that night, and no one has seen her since."
The knight went silent, his mood having gone somber. He took another drink of wine and cleared his throat again. "I... I, ah, do hope that that story did suffice."
