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Aug 27, 2011 4:48:29 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Aug 27, 2011 4:48:29 GMT -5
Black boots whispered harshly along the gravel, but even that sound was minimal. The pup’s greeting was all but ignored as his senses flickered out here and there, careful to keep himself as minimal in the force as possible. Still, as the younger man paused in his words Rakesh paused in his walk and watched silently. As the two, Kvothe and Alethea, conversed, he continued toward the horse and made sure the reigns were good and tightly wrapped around the branch. With one hand still on the end of the reigns, he turned as Kvothe got his staff. Without looking to the older priestess he spoke, the dangerous echoes in the Winds battering against him…”Perhaps you should go inside, Hiril…the pup can take care of whatever’s coming along.”
That was approximately the time that the ruffians…bandits, apparently…arrived and dismounted with their…rather crude…weapons. Grey eyes flickered calmly over the group, touching them all to sort out the weak minded and weak willed…the easy prey…from the ones that would present the largest problem. Sadly, or perhaps luckily, they were all sorry examples of men. More like mice. I’d bet that Hriff could send three of them out of the fight on his own, and the cat-thing another three at least. Not that he was actually risk Hriff for something as trivial as this, but the thought amused him.
“Well, look wha’ we found ourselves, boys. An old hag, a horse man and some boy with a stick tha’ looks like he wants to play at bein’ hero.”
Oh they really weren’t all that clever, were they? Silently he patted and stroked the neck of the horse, keeping the animal calm while working his mind gently against the impressionable animal’s consciousness. At least now it would know who to kick should any of the brigands be foolish enough to come up behind the creature. As the group laughed at what the pup had said, he let go of the horse’s reigns and gave the beast two more pats to the neck before stepping away and folding his arms, more than willing to just watch for now as he weighed his options.
“Oi, boss! Maybe he’s stupid! I don’t think he can count.”
There were plenty of tools to utilize as weapons…both for himself, the pup, and the bandits…so he’d have to keep an eye on them. There was plenty of room to maneuver, and their speeder bikes could be easily used against them if required. No doubt that if they’re really as desperate as they look, targeting their mode of transportation will get their attention, should they grow any intelligence and start trying to do something clever, like find a back way into the house. He doubted they would much like their ability to go anywhere (especially if they needed to flee) being crippled and he had. The glance from the pup was met with his own calm gaze before both Rilan men looked back to the pack of jackals. Shame, really, that they were dealing with a wolf in disguise.
“So, I’ll tell you this one last time. Leave this place. Now.”
Oh, a part of him sincerely wished they wouldn’t leave…they were far too stupid to let live. No doubt their respective races would benefit from them being removed from the gene pool. It didn’t seem like they believed the pup’s bite was any worse than his bark, either, so it was likely he would get his wish of removing a few prime examples of inbreeding from the galaxy. In fact, as the leader (or at least the largest of the degenerates) proclaimed their stubborn (and foolish) refusal to leave, the jackals started circling.
Kesh looked flatly at the one nearest him; a dumb lump of flesh that seemed to have the absurd idea of striking him with his crude bludgeoning…object (he couldn’t even stoop low enough to call it a weapon)…in the immediate future. The lump, and his object, looked back and gave his best impression of a menacing snarl. The taller rilan couldn’t help but smirk just slightly as the amusement bubbled up in him. More prickling at his senses had him glancing sidelong at another, almost rat looking, man who also had intentions of causing bodily harm. The amusement might never end at this rate!
“Fine, you don’t wanna back down? GET ‘EM LADS! We’ll force ‘em to submit!”
Like trained dogs reacting to their master’s command the two nearest him pounced.
With an almost casual sidestep the makeshift club whizzed by his shoulder, a twist of his torso and a slight back-step and the second man’s ‘weapon’ struck his companion across the upper back, laying the man flat. The laugh that followed was dark, bordering on sadistic, amusement at the men who had, moments earlier, been so sure of themselves. His laugh had caught the second man even more off guard and he came about to look back at green and gold clad man with a mixture of surprise and anger. With a telegraphed purpose to strike again, Rakesh didn’t even need his senses to know when and how to move, side stepping the unrefined brute again. As the man passed, he put a solid boot to the seat of his pants and shoved.
The crunch of gravel behind him and a grunt heralded the reentry of the first oaf. Chuckling to himself, the blond waited the few seconds it took for that crude cudgel to be hefted for a new blow. The huff of air from behind and another crunch of gravel told him everything he needed to know. Again he moved, this time twisting around and catching the wrist of the bandit’s hand holding that misshapen ‘weapon’ with his left hand and striking out with the palm of the right at the same moment. A grunt and ‘oof’ of air and the bandit was doubled over. Still, grunt number two had returned with a couple of his friends, obviously displeased by his earlier disgrace.
His grip on the bandit’s ‘weapon’ hand twisted as he did, his body shifting around to stand beside the man struggling for air as he kept hold of that wrist. He cared little if the arm of the bandit was twisted and dislocated in the motion, the popping and pained shout that came with it ignored as he took the weapon with his free hand and booted the useless brigand away, one of his companions tripping over him. A glint of metal and he found, as he avoided yet another poor attempt at hitting him, that one of the sword handlers (he couldn’t very well call them swordsmen…that would denote talent and training) had come to face him with the rat-man and another, green, oaf.
Finally they seemed to rally, attacking him all at once…not as one, which (to him at least) there was a large difference. Still, it made him have to do more than just toy with them by sidestepping all of their attacks. That crude metal-reinforced wooden…imposter of a club…was brought up and brandished like one would a sword to a barked laugh from the rat-man…until it slammed into his stomach with a sharp and well aimed thrust. Apparently rat-man had eaten recently as it was, very swiftly, painted across the ground. With a snort to rid himself of the scent, that weapon was brought around to bat away the sword as a backward step was given to avoid a third attack by the green-man.
Grey eyes flickered across the scene swiftly even as his body reacted to the currents of the Winds, twisted him away from the green oaf again. That free hand darted out and slammed sideways into the head-tail that swung behind the green-man eliciting a loud yelp…but Rakesh had other business to attend to. The rifleman had taken up aim toward the house instead of toward himself or the pup. That, he just couldn’t have. Morequai or not…you didn’t allow harm to come to a priestess. Not if you didn’t want to be shunned, anyway. Three swift steps and that arm had cocked back. It was heavier, and much larger, than a throwing knife, but it hardly mattered…he didn’t need to aim as carefully. The rifleman very swiftly found himself bludgeoned from afar as the ‘club’ slammed against his rifle and shoulder.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Oct 1, 2011 14:41:52 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Oct 1, 2011 14:41:52 GMT -5
{Post #3,000!]
It looked like the bandits were either too eager or too stupid for their own good. A combination of the two, more than likely. They think they've found easy prey, Kvothe mulled quietly as his orange-threaded eyes swept over the knot of bedraggled men arrayed before them. His hand tightened on the smooth wood of Pietas' shaft. Their mistake.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine," Alethea called from her place back near her home. There was a wry, subtle smile on her aged face. "You needn't worry too much about me. Just these fine gentlemen."
Kvothe just nodded slightly. Alethea could defend herself with the Mythos; she was old but hardly defenseless. Not that the dimwits attacking them could know that.
The bandits started to circle. Kvothe stood tall and steady, unmoved by their little show. He glanced briefly over to Fas and urged him to wait through their mental link. Fas slunk back toward the tree. That was good. The flickercat knew the role he would play.
“Fine, you don’t wanna back down? GET ‘EM LADS! We’ll force ‘em to submit!”
"Remember that I gave you a chance."
They pounced. The once closest to Kvothe lunged at him together, swinging their crude cudgels at him. But when they or their weapons reached the striking zone, he just wasn't there. He'd flowed smoothly out of the way. Instead of cracking his skull, the cudgels found nothing but air. Pietas, on the other hand, smacked soundly on the back of one lout's leg. The man staggered back, and then Kvothe's elbow was in his face, knocking him flat on his back with a spray of blood from his broken nose.
One of the others--a large blonde man with a nose that looked like it'd been broken multiple times--was trying to strike at Kvothe, but he never had a chance. Kvothe's hand opened, and the air between them solidified.
Half a heartbeat later, the big oaf was hurtling through the air as if he were a toy that'd been thrown by an angry giant. The landing was rough--he fell with his head leading and his neck bent at a disturbing angle. Kvothe didn't care, though. They'd all been warned. If they paid the price for their stupidity, it wasn't any fault of his.
Now Kvothe looked to the last man of the group that had attacked him--a tall, lanky fellow with a mop of greasy brown hair and eyes wide with surpise. Yeah, he'd seen what Kvothe could do. Seeing a man thrown like that tended to be unsettling; Kvothe's orange and-gold streak eyes probably didn't make him any less frightening, either.
Kvothe made a quick motion with his staff like he was going to hit. The idiot bit and flinched, and then the real strike had Pietas sweeping his legs out from beneath him and a tug of the Mythos slamming him down into the ground.
"Idiots," he muttered under his breath. "I warned you all."
He took a quick look around the little battlefield. Rakesh looked like he was doing fine, and apparently his display of ability with the Mythos had shaken a few of the others, who'd paused in their attack.
But as he looked further, he noticed the man with the rifle taking aim at something near the house. Alethea.
Red touched Kvothe's eyes as they narrowed dangerously. He flicked his gaze back quickly at a feeling of the Mythos being used and saw the Priestess had put up a shield for herself. She had been right; she could take care of herself. But the principle of even thinking to attack her made Kvothe furious.
A club was tossed by Rakesh. It hit the rifleman square in the shoulder and sent him stumbling back a bit and fumbling to keep a hold on his weapon. Not wasting a moment, Kvothe threw his hand out and channeled the mythos. The air around the bandit quickly grew thick, and heavy as Kvothe solidified his will around it. With a flick of his wrist, Kvothe picked the bandit up and flung him hard at the tree Fas was lurking by, waiting for a chance to strike.
Kvothe's anger was echoed into the flickercat through the bond. He didn't even need to give the order to for Fas to start tearing into the man with his claws.
Ignoring the screams, Kvothe turned his red and orange eyes to the leader. The air stirred and a breeze sighed as Kvothe flexed his power in the Mythos.
Someone was about to die.
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Oct 20, 2011 2:21:44 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Oct 20, 2011 2:21:44 GMT -5
It wasn’t difficult to distinguish the emotions in the Winds…the fear and consternation from the bandits, the fury from the pup. This will be more interesting than I thought, he mused as the ones who somehow hadn’t noticed (or cared) about their comrade being tossed around like a rag were attempting to utilize their single shared brain cell and skirt around the two men. The pup had the leader in hand, no doubt, and those who had some modicum of intelligence and life left in them were trying desperately to get away…that left him open to pursue the rest. As the cat dealt with the rifleman, one of the remaining men attempted to edge past his mount on the other side of the feline, earning him a swift kick that should have earned a few broken bones. One down and two to go. Those last two had slipped around the storage shed in an attempt to be stealthy and gain themselves some cover. While they were out of direct sight he followed their movements through the Winds and closed the gap by moving straight through the plowed garden. It would mean more work for the pup but considering the situation….he didn’t particularly care. Well, alright, he didn’t particularly care either way… Picking up the hoe on the way he didn’t even pause at the corner of the small building. The moment he came around it the two appeared around the back corner. In an instant every muscle in his body went taught, etching hard lines below his clothing and driving the spin that whipped the hoe toward the head of the first unfortunate soul like Death’s scythe. It was just about as effective also…crunching into the man’s trachea, crushing and puncturing it to choke him and make him bleed. The second man stopped, startled, and looked over wide eyed. Big mistake. In a flash, the pole had whipped around him the other way so it slammed against the temple of the brigand, making him reel. Pulling the hoe back, he swept forward and flipped the makeshift weapon around, bringing the sharp end of the hoe down atop the skull with a loud Kiai, the wet crunch and light spattering of blood hitting his arm and the side of his face. Letting go of the pole he let the man fall to the ground and swiped the spatter from his face.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Nov 1, 2011 22:51:35 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Nov 1, 2011 22:51:35 GMT -5
{Yeah, it got long...}
Alethea watched the skirmish unfold with a quiet interest. Her face was smooth and passive as ever, but her eyes darted quickly around the little battlefield the men had turned her yard into. She wasn't much of a warrior herself. Oh, she knew a few tricks with the Winds that made her quite capable of defending herself, and she supposed she could stick a knife in someone if worse came to worse. Generally, though, she preferred to let the warriors do the warring. People like the boy, who'd been brought up in his Tower to learn how to fight, and the Skandrannon.
All that being said, she wasn't unfamiliar with combat. It was hard to spend half a century on Rilia and not be.
Most of her attention that wasn't kept on keeping an eye and ear out for any ruffians trying to sneak around her defenders was kept on Rakesh. She already knew that Kvothe was potent; not as potent as his elder brother had been, and perhaps he never would be--only fate and time would tell that--but that wasn't a knock on the boy, for as much as he'd grown up with a chip on his shoulder over in.
Rakesh, though, was an unknown. He was a Morequai, and had the markings of a general tattooed proudly on his face, so she doubted he was a novice when it came to battle. It was very likely--and reasonable to expect, in her mind--that he was more seasoned than the boy was. But how much so? The answer could be important for Kvothe's future.
The biggest problem was proving to be what he revealed. Talented, she mulled as she watched him dispatch the brigands that were fool enough to attack him. Quick, powerful. If she hadn't been so old, she might have been taken with him, watching him go about his business.
And shrewd.
The last was what worried her the most. Not for the brigands. They would have been doomed with Kvothe alone--against him and the Skandrannon they didn't stand a chance. But if Rakesh had any plans to go after Kvothe, he was hiding his hand well. She wouldn't be surprised if he, a Morequai general, could channel the Winds, even though she couldn't feel it in him. And while Kvothe was busy hinting his strongest hand, Rakesh had yet to show a thing...
Potentially troubling, she thought as she watched Fas leap onto the back of the man that had pointed a rifle at her. She would have to talk to Kvothe about going overboard with showing what he could do. For all his strengths, he's never been very subtle...
Ripples in the Winds drew her attention to Kvothe again. Fury was radiating from him as he stalked down brigands' leader. His shoulders were set in a way she'd seen before, and he was letting his power wax in the warning way he had a habit of doing when he was angry.
Her brow knit with worry...
--------
It took three steps before some nerve in the leader's brain fired and told him that he was in trouble. Three entire steps.
To his credit, that left him with five before Kvothe was close enough to grab him by the throat and strangle him. The buffer was enough for that cocksure expression on his face to drop and for him to start slowly backing away.
One of the retreating brigands paused from a ways out. He must have been incredibly loyal, or incredibly stupid, because when he saw the danger his boss was in, he picked up a rock.
Then he threw it.
With the Mythos to guide him, Kvothe didn't even need to look up at the incoming makeshift projectile. He lifted a hand, with one finger raised above the others. He called the Mythos, casually wrapping the stone in a pocket of air that slowed until it came to stop directly above his fingertip. Then he stopped stalking toward the leader, looked over at the idiot who attacked him, and leveled his hand.
The rock blurred through the air as if shot out of a cannon. In a heartbeat it was reunited with the offending ruffian, with a wet smack, a spray of red, and aloud crunch as some of the bones of his skull were pulverized on impact.
"Hey now, lad, s'no need for any more'a this, now, is 'ere?" He chuckled nervously, holding his broad hands up in front of him defensively. "I can just call all my fellas off, an' we'll leave the woma-"
"What?" Kvothe snorted disgustedly as he threw his will forward and trapped the retreating man in an invisible prison of air. "Too afraid to finish what you started? Scared now that you've run into someone who can fight back?" He stopped his threatening advance, narrowing his crimson-rimmed eyes at the ensnared leader. "I gave you a chance to turn away, and you laughed in my face.
"No," he said, lifting his hand, and in the process, the leader, "your chance of escape is long gone, my friend." Kvothe turned his hand over so that his palm faced up, fingers spread. A moment was spared to secure his grip on the terrified man, and then he began closing his hand into a fist. Slowly.
Very, very, slowly.
As the Mythos slowly tightened like a python around the leader, pressuring his organs and bones, Kvothe watched placidly, even as the man started to yell and scream.
"How many people have you killed?" He finally said as bone began to crack. "How many lives have you ruined for your own selfishness?" His eyes narrowed further as anger colored his voice. "You take what is not yours by right, and leave nothing but death and sorrow behind. And worse yet, you come to this place, the home of an old woman, seeking to do just the same without a damn care beyond how easy it will be."
By this point, he was nearly having to yell over the sound of the screaming man, but he didn't care. His grip on Pietas had gone so tight that his knuckles were white and his hand was trembling. "And you expect me to free you?!"
Suddenly, his hand opened. The ethereal holds he'd held around the bandit vanished to nothingness in the blink of an eye, and the man fell with a scream as the unforgiving ground caught his broken body.
"There," Kvothe said darkly. "You're free. I ought to just leave you like this." He spit on the man's face. "Let the buzzards pick you off. It's a better fate than a sorry piece of filth like y-"
"Kvothe," Alethea's voice called out from across the yard. He turned around at the sound of his name and looked at her.
"Jus' kill th' man," she said in her thickly accented Basic. She was keeping her face smooth, as always, but he could swear there was a note of worry riding behind her words. "There's no need f'r thus. Y' needn't make 'im suffer."
The words brought Kvothe back down a bit. He turned around, looking at the weeping man he'd left on the ground. Shame started to creep quietly up his spine.
With a resigned sigh, he stepped forward, lifted Pietas in his hand, and drove the speared tip into the dying man's chest to put him out of his misery.
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Nov 2, 2011 1:16:49 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Nov 2, 2011 1:16:49 GMT -5
With the remaining (living) thugs attempting to scramble (or crawl, as was the case with most) away, he was hardly concerned with doing any further damage. After all, he wasn’t concerned with keeping his identity a complete secret…if anything, word that he’d helped rough up a few brigands may prove beneficial in the end. He wasn’t fool enough to think that the title of ‘do gooder’ wouldn’t assist him while dealing with the general populace, naïve sheep that they were. So he took the time to survey the scene and straighten himself out in the process.
Readjusting his coat he glanced over to the priestess, unharmed as it should be, then turned his eyes back to the pup.
Even as muted as he was keeping himself in the Winds, the boy’s fury was scalding. A useful emotion, at times, but often one that blinded people at the worst possible moments. Mildly he wondered if he could catch the boy in a moment of this idiotic fury, when he left himself more open to mistakes and vulnerabilities, and take advantage of it…kill the line once and for all. A blight upon the galaxy, all of them…and fools. This was an opinion not changed by what he was currently witnessing.
Still, it was a chance to observe his enemy in a state fueled by emotion…when his abilities would be at their strongest. A casual folding of his arms and he leaned sideways against the wall of the shed, watching with a passive sort of curiosity. Even the leader’s pleading screams didn’t elicit a reaction much more than a twitch of his brows one way or another every so often, or the slight flecking of dull green which was easily lost among the stoic grey of his eyes. The release of the man from the pup’s grip did surprise him, however.
An Algaterra with a taste for torture?
Perhaps the ones bred here were Morequai worthy after all…
All the more reason for me to kill him, came the bitter self-reply. That line of thought may have continued if not for the thick accent of the woman at the door to her small house. Both men looked to her quietly before Rakesh turned his eyes back to Kvothe and waited to see what the pup might do. Of course, the brigand was killed in short order, earning a shake of that blond head. Standing straight once more he turned back toward the woman.
”I don’t suppose you have a ‘body disposal’ area around here do you, Hiril?” It was a joke…mostly…and a bit out of character for him, but she didn’t need to know that. ”Ah well…I suppose I should help clean up after the mess I helped create. I assume a pyre will do?” That wasn’t really a question, when it came to rilan…pyres tended to be the preferred method of ‘burial’ if one wanted to reach the afterlife easily. Without another word, especially not to the pup, he started gathering the bodies and piling them up to be burned together.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Nov 3, 2011 15:47:24 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Nov 3, 2011 15:47:24 GMT -5
”I don’t suppose you have a ‘body disposal’ area around here do you, Hiril?”
Kvothe looked over his shoulder at the sound of Rakesh's voice. The tall man stood a little ways away, spattered with the blood of his own kills. The rest of what he said was heard but not really process as Kvothe looked around the yard, surveying the aftermath.
It had been a bloody affair. Men lay strewn all about with broken bones and gaping wounds that spilled thick crimson onto the grass. They should have turned away when I gave them the chance, he thought with a quiet sigh.
His eyes were quickly losing their color and returning to their natural hazel, streaked with light touches of cloudy grey as he surveyed the yard. It couldn't be helped, he supposed as he watched Fas lick blood from his claws and paws. The brigands had been given warning, and most of them got what they deserved. The Plains had been made just a little bit safer, and that was all that really mattered. No matter how brutal the process to make it so had been.
"Kvothe?" Alethea called out. "Are you going to help the man?"
"Huh?" Kvothe looked at the old priestess, who'd made it through unharmed. She was looking at him with her brow somewhat furrowed, as though wondering if something was wrong with him. "What do you mean?"
Alethea motioned toward Rakesh, who was starting to pull some of the corpses together. "A pyre, boy. Weren't you paying attention?"
"Oh.." Kvothe rubbed the back of his neck and sighed again. "I was... thinking." A pyre? He first at Rakesh, then at the dead leader that was still near his own feet. A pyre for these rabble? His gaze flicked briefly to Rakesh again. "It's better than they deserve," he muttered loudly enough to be heard as the stuck Pietas' end into the soft ground. "But I guess."
Honestly, if he could have his way, he'd gather the dead and take their bodies out far away from civilization to let Aiaru's scavengers pick them clean. The runners should have been hunted down and left in the Aethon until a Fate found them. They were criminals that'd done their best to disrupt civilization--a civilized burial shouldn't have been in the picture for them.
However, he'd had enough with people riding his back over his choices lately, so he acquiesced and began gathering the bodies with another quiet sigh.
Of course, he didn't move. He wasn't about to go through the effort of dragging society's rot around after killing them. He picked up the ones Rakesh didn't get, using the Mythos to lift them from the ground and dump them onto the slowly-growing pile.
The task went on silently, with Alethea watching the two of them while they worked. Kvothe stayed quiet, not really in the mood for talking until the deed was done.
Once they were finished, Alethea excused herself and went inside to find a lighter. While they waited, Kvothe folded his arms over his chest and glanced sidelong at Rakesh.
"You fight well." He turned his head slightly toward the older Rilan man, acknowledging him at least, if not trying to seem too eager for conversation. "Thank you for pitching in to help against them." Even if he could've handled them alone. That fact didn't make the compliment and words of thanks any less genuine, though.
Shortly after he finished speaking, Alethea came out with a long, thin candle in her hand. It was dark blue, with words in the Rilan language etched with silver wax along the shaft. The wick tufted out thickly at the end, and the flame that burned along it was healthy and strong.
She said a brief prayer for the dead to usher them on into the next life, and looked to Kvothe and Rakesh to see if either of them had something to say. Kvothe shook his head, leading her to look to Rakesh. Whenever he indicated that she could proceed, she tipped the candle forward, and lit the bodies.
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Nov 16, 2011 19:18:40 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Nov 16, 2011 19:18:40 GMT -5
It was a dirty task, but one he was used to…hefting the dead into a pile to be put to rest. The mindless work allowed him time to reflect, though if that was a good thing or not was uncertain. The rabble they had killed may have made decent allies, given the chance and training. Perhaps not the most intelligent lot, but they certainly had the potential to be useful. He wondered how many things they may have seen that could have been useful to him, what skills they had outside of fighting that could have been molded into keys that might unlock the doors he needed to finish this fool’s quest he was on.
With a huff of exertion he dropped another body onto the pile without a second glance.
“A pyre, boy. Weren’t you paying attention?”
”Oh…It’s better than they deserve, but I guess.”
Curling his hands under the arms of another of the degenerates he’d killed, he huffed at the reply slightly and hefted the upper half of the body up, moving back toward the pyre with a sort of grim silence. The brands on his forearm itched for a moment, reminding him of their existence. Looking back on it he doubted they were worth all the trouble he’d gone through to get them, at least not for some of the reasons he’d had at the time. He was proud of them as accomplishments of his own, but to have caused so much death simply because he was attempting to prove himself? It was foolishness, that much he knew now…especially considering the way he’d been so betrayed by the very people he’d been attempting to prove himself to.
You were a foolish youth, there’s nothing to be done about that now except to know you’ve learned from it. It’s better that you aren’t a carbon copy of them.
Dropping the final body of his onto the pile, he stood back looking at it stoically, one hand rubbing the cloth above the brands that were still itching before folding his arms. The priestess had gone inside to find a lighter (and who knew what else) and the pup had found his way beside him by that time, though his thoughts were far away, hints of that anger at the boy’s lineage licking at his insides and along old wounds.
“You fight well.”
That didn’t help.
”I know.”
Not a hint of smugness touched his voice or his emotions, it was simply a fact…one that had both saved him and caused him no amount of grief over the years. Perhaps more grief than anything else, he mused. ”And you’re welcome. I couldn’t let harm come to a priestess.” Speaking of the old one, she reemerged not long after with a deep blue and silver candle, lighting it and speaking a soft prayer. Kvothe, it seemed, had nothing to say and so her eyes turned to him.
For a long moment he was quiet before shrugging slightly. ”The Winds will sort them out for better or worse, we’ve done all we can to see them to where they should be…and let this remind us not to be so blind and foolish in our own decisions.” As the woman lit the pyre he could hear the echoes of another time in his memory…the voices of his brothers back when things had become far more difficult. I should have known back then that this sort of thing was likely to happen. Hmph…well, while they sit cloistered, they’re letting me plan. That will be the undoing of my siblings, at least.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
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last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
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Nov 23, 2011 19:42:27 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Nov 23, 2011 19:42:27 GMT -5
"Aye, that they will," said Alethea as she lit the pyre. The Winds would take care of the men in the afterlife. And no matter their deeds, it was their hearts that would be judges. She only prayed that some of them were victims of circumstance. The drought in the south grew more and more severe with every passing day, and she knew how desperation could push good people to do things they'd wouldn't normally do.
"And we would do well to remember that oftentimes there's more to us than the surface of our actions. Circumstance can be a powerful thing." Her sharp blue eyes drifted up from the flames, to Kvothe. She could feel the anger, the disgust he still felt brewing within him. Though she could easily understand why he was angry, what she'd seen earlier was troubling. Never knew the boy to be so cruel. Or so easily dismissive of it. What had changed?
Kvothe just grunted softly at both of their words and watched the fire with a dull interest. "Maybe," he muttered under his breath, but he didn't believe it. What you did was what you did. Scum was always scum, no matter how you tried to dress it up. They got what they deserved. Better than they deserved.
He watched the fire burn in silence, and when it finally began to die down, sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "You should probably send word to the village down the hills, Alethea. I know you can take care of yourself, but if bandits are starting to strike this far north, the people need to start arranging watches."
"It will be fine, child," Alethea answered him. "It is possible these were just a an outlier group and too bold for their own good."
"It is," he admitted, looking up from the burning pile with hardening eyes, "but I don't want the risk of another group sneaking up here." Kvothe huffed and shook his head. "Things would get ugly if I found out some raiders managed to harm you," he muttered.
Alethea smiled softly at him. "Have some faith, child. The Winds will shelter me, as they always have." The short old woman managed a little tittering chuckle. "I haven't lived through the things I have just to have some ruffians bring my end to me. But don't worry yourself," she held up a hand, silencing Kvothe as he opened his mouth to say more, "I'll send word. We can talk about it later." She made a nod of her head to Rakesh. "But let's not bother our guest with it."
Kvothe looked to Rakesh for a moment and sighed. "Alright. I just want to be sure you're safe." There was an edge that rode those words. A subtle hint of emotion, of strain. Safety was all he wanted for the people near to him. But I can't even do that. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting off the echoes of his brother's taunts as he stole Iri away, or the images of his father, pale with death in his own bed. What kind of Sword am I?
"But you're right," he said with a sigh, opening his eyes and forcing a little smile. "We can talk later."
Alethea nodded and turned her attention to Rakesh. "Thank you for what you did, Rakesh. It's not every traveler that would risk getting as involved as you did." She folded her hands in front of her, wide sleeves falling around them, and smiled up at the tall Morequai man. "So, you were heading on your way, I believe? Do you need any supplies for your travels? I have plenty of food and drink if you need any for your journey.
"And because you are one of our own, and came to us in peace, you are always welcome here if you need a place to stop and catch your breath. So long as the peace remains."
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last online Jun 4, 2023 4:58:38 GMT -5
Master
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Dec 29, 2011 19:57:47 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Dec 29, 2011 19:57:47 GMT -5
As the two had their chat over the circumstances and consequences of the men that were burning, the stoic rilan simply hummed a burial song softly and listened. The boy was a troubling reminder of his relatives…the people who had banished him from his home and taken everything he had from him. He cared little about how cruel the boy was toward those who deserved it, but the lines between those who were ‘deserving’ and those who weren’t were thin…too thin for this pup to see. Perhaps he simply didn’t care. Still, there was something else going on here, and he had the notion it was family related. Isn’t it always with our Houses? Internal strife is our bane and in our blood. A blessing and a curse from the Winds for our choices in the past.
The trouble, as he saw it, was that the majority of the other Morequai (much like the pup) were half blind and acted like a battle murkil in a city…causing havoc and destruction everywhere but where it should. It was something that made them extremely dangerous, certainly, and to a small degree they were unpredictable…but what was more frightening and dangerous? Something you knew was dangerous and you could predict to be as malicious as possible in every way possible, or something that you didn’t know was dangerous until it gutted you after befriending you? Which was more effective? Something that targeted a wide area and hoped to hit the mark in the process, or something that was focused enough to hit the target accurately and devastatingly but caused at little damage outside of the target as possible?
Why do people fear the assassin more than the warrior? Because they can see the warrior coming, but they don’t see the assassin until it’s already too late.
“…We can talk about it later, but let’s not bother our guest with it.”
He glanced sideways at the woman briefly, muttering a soft ”I’m not bothered” before looking back at the pyre as the two finished their conversation around him. When he was addressed by Alethea again he simply nodded once and gave a slight shrug. ”I am not every traveler, hirirl…and I require nothing save prayers when you find the time.” Looking down at her his typically stoic expression softened almost imperceptibly for a moment before he adjusted his coat sleeve slightly and looked away again.
”We can all use prayers for the safekeeping of our souls during these dark times, don’t you think?”
It was an honest, but rhetorical, question…and it most certainly was an honest request…as he headed back toward his horse. He’d pause beside it and untie the reigns from the branch before getting one foot in the stirrup and swinging himself up into the saddle with a well practiced ease. Moving the horse away from her house he’d halt it near by them and look at Kvothe. ”Mind yourself out there, pup. There’s only so far a man can go before he starts getting back what he’s giving.” It was a subtle warning…and not about the ways of life. With that said he’d nod to the two of them and turn the beast back toward the trail and down it in an easy trot.
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