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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Alric Lysane on March 28th, 2022, 1:57 pm

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1st Spring 522 AV – Evening – The Slag Heap Fire

The day had started out a far more complicated one than he had anticipated – or wanted if he were honest. The beginning of Spring was usually a joyous and celebratory occasion in Sunberth but in many ways his thoughts were clouded and his mood one of pensive concern that seemed to radiate out from him enough that most had simply left him be. He could still feel the pulling of the stitches upon he shoulders and forearms, having had them put back together at the Redynn earlier, before returning to Sunberth for what was left of the revelries. As for the cuts upon his palms, well they have put some kind of salve over then and then bandaged them up thinly enough that he could wear his gloves over them, preventing unwanted questions.

The pain of their pulling and cracking had been numbed by their medicine, but banished completely by the several rounds of drinks he had had at the first tavern he had come across after stepping back through the dovecote. He had read the letters and his journal so many times that he had grown tired of them. He had questioned, researched for errors, everything…but thy had been proven solidly true. So, he had decided that he had had enough of curses, magic and whatever the petch else the gods wanted to throw at him. Instead he had yearned for simpler things…which had led him to the Slag Heap for what would be the ending of the first day’s festivities, at least in a few bells it would be.

“Another year…another series of problems,” he said between swigs of a bottle of something or other, it was strong and that was all that mattered, “one day I’d like just a little measure of peace…quiet…just for a little while. Not too much to ask is it, Eyris? Or would you say instead that only through struggles can we grow…or something…sounds about right” he sighed as he looked at his Lykata mark as if he could see through the glove and bandages.

It was a strange thing, at times he could swear that he could almost feel her presence again. Closer at times, further or gone at others…but always there if he just concentrated. He wondered if, somewhere, she could sense him too…and no doubt find disappointment of some measure that he didn’t equal their other family members. He snorted as he watched the crowds below him begin to congregate – they’d filter in bit by bit as the evening drew on, lingering light turning to shadows…then pure darkness but for the torches, and the burning man. He took another swig and looked up as the sky, its changing colours marking the passage of time.

He had four of his own smaller torches driven into the ground, marking out the four corners of his space for the evening, blankets spread out across it to further define the boundaries. He doubted anyone would wish to join him but if they seemed a decent sort, he might offer them a drink and some conversation, perhaps. If not, well he had all of his weaponry about him to see off all but the most hardened and stubborn of thugs – not that they’d likely be sober enough to fight properly anyway. Mostly, though, he simply wished to spend the night in a simple Sunberthian tradition, a reminder that no matter how dark things may get, he was still a free man.

Idly, he wondered where those who were connected to him were, what they were doing and whether – as with Eyris – there was those silent, silvery threads tying them together. Whether, somewhere, there was someone with a plan, or whether everything was simply blind luck and a veneer of faith put there for the comfort of others.
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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Bronwen on March 31st, 2022, 4:36 pm

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"Bron! Avery called, shaking the guard by a shoulder, "Hey!"

Bronwen's cloudy gaze slid slowly up to her companion, a lazy grin forming on her numb mouth. A garbled mess of sounds slurred through her lips. It was supposed to sound something like, 'Hey, what's up?' Instead, her words slurred so severely there was nothing articulate about them. This made Avery smile, knowing that he had successfully gotten Brega's guard thoroughly petched up.

A flagon of ale, half a dozen fingers of whiskey, and a bit of gold, and Bronwen Druva was putty in Avery's hands. Just like he wanted her to be. There was just one problem, though.

"Come on, beautiful," Avery said, lifting Bron to her feet, then wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her there, "we're heading to the Slag Heap." plunging a hand into a pocket, he produced a small vile Here, take this."

Avery dumped a line of Gold Dust along the underside of a finger and slid it into Bron's mouth. The Syliran sucked it off greedily as she was hauled from the Pig's Foot and onto the street.

Bron didn't remember much of the walk to the Slags Heap, but by the time she and her companion reached the fire, she was somewhat steadier on her feet thanks to the drug poisoning her system. Avery produced a blanket and left Bronwen swaying on her feet as he spread it across the ground, her stormy grey eyes roaming the surrounding area.

People were everywhere, or maybe that was just double vision. Directly across from her, a figure sat on a blanket, bathed in torchlight. Her eyes declined to focus in Bronwen's inebriated state, and their features remained indistinct and vague. Her eyes slid past the figure dismissively.

A sudden pull backward had Bron sprawling across the rough fabric of the cover. A heavy body came down over her, settling in between her legs, pressing her into the blanket. Bron gave the man a smirk before he descended from view to run his lips across the tender flesh of her neck. Bron's body arched against him, and Avery ground his hips hard into her, a thick finger laced with dust again sliding past her lips.

For a while, it went on like this, Bron knowing she was taking in too much drug, knowing she might overindulge, but the guard was too far gone to care. At some point, liquor burned its way down her throat, warming the icy cold numbness in her belly. More grinding, gasps, and moans of pleasure. Bron's or Avery's? More dust, more burning, and the girl was lost.

So. Very. Lost.

Bron's eyes slowly opened, and she was alone. When had Avery left her? Groaning, she sat up, her hand brushing against smooth, slick leather. Avery's Jacket. Bron grinned, picked up the jacket, and searched its pockets, knowing she'd find the treasure within. Trembling fingers brushed over a vile, and her grin grew wider still. Withdrawing it, she popped the top and, in one quick motion, downed its clear liquidy contents.

Wait!

Liquid?

Bron shrugged, lying back. No one cared, so why should she?

Bron was unaware that the vile was filled with the tears of Rhysol, and the poisonous nostrum would ravish her body, take over her mind, and all those in her path.

Bron jerked awake for the second time, gasping. Still no Avery. Body shaking, she rolled to her hands and knees, crawled to the edge of the blanket, and wrapped slender fingers around the flask of whiskey Avery had left behind. As she drank, red-streaked eyes lazily lifted, peering over the vessel straight into familiar blue eyes. Nausea suddenly rolled through Bron's stomach, the same time as anger moved unbidden through her senses.

Bron sneered at Alric behind the flask as she drained it dry.

"Well, lookwhoitish!" she slurred, scrubbing the back of a hand across her mouth, "If ain't the do-gooder him shelf! Praise be!"

Stumbling to her feet, Bron took a lumbering step forward, drew back her hand, and threw the empty container toward Alric's head.

"You alwath did think you shelf better'an'me, don't you? All tall and perfect and hot! Too hot and gorgeous for th'likes o'me, huh! Imma nobody t'you."

Bronwen threw up a hand and knocked a torch over, then stumbled sideways to reach another, knocking that one over.

"You swore you'd help me" she grinned manically, body swaying, "Looka me now!"

The grin slid off the guard's face, replaced by a rage-fueled leer.

"You petcher!" Bron spun around, lost her balance, and stumbled to a knee, hands sliding across the rumpled blanket, searching. "Where's m'petchin staff!




Tears of Rhysol

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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Alric Lysane on April 2nd, 2022, 10:29 am

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The evening had progressed through the sullen emotions, his lamenting at his life had vanished completely, drowning in the burning amber liquid. Not that he even lamented that much these days. Outside of the more involved, stressful situation it had started to fade, his anxiety about being a mage and hunted Nymkarta fading into a sort of background hum – always there, and setting his teeth slightly on edge, but not forever in his thoughts. He hoped that that was progress, but he wasn’t an expert when it came to psychology, it was possible he was just sticking his head in the dust. In his more honest moments, he might acknowledge that and the reason why – that he didn’t really want to be that man, he didn’t see anything of himself in the supposedly grand ancestors and stunningly, if brutally, built civilization.

As he finished the first small bottle, feeling that comforting glow in his stomach, its bloom beginning to seep out into the rest of his body slowly, he watched a couple stumble and shuffle to an area opposite him, between him and what would become the Burning Man. After a while of watching, blinking away slightly blurred vision, he realised why they were so interesting to him – the woman. The man didn’t seem too different to many he met daily, but the woman he knew. Bronwen. His interest focused and he wished he was still sober enough to use his magic properly, secretly. She seemed happier than last time he had met her and for a while he simply smiled and watched, gleaning some sense of satisfaction from the fact she had finally found some sliver of joy.

It was only when the man started dipping fingers into Bron’s mouth, clearly visible to Alric and after dipping them into some kind of pouch, that he started to make the connections as to what was happening. She wasn’t happy, she was high, and the man was feeding the high further, and hoping to get some flesh in return. They ground themselves together, rolling this way and that and he looked away. He couldn’t watch the exploitation being webbed around her, one he had once offered to help her avoid before she had dosed him without permission. As it continued, though, and she seemed to get less responsive, he wondered if she were taking too much and flashes of bodies found in the streets tore through his avoidance and his gaze flicked back – the man now standing up, swearing to himself. Alric’s eyes narrowed as the man began to fumble with his trousers even as it became apparent that Bron was now unconscious.

“Don’t think about it…don’t dare. I will kill you” he said, voice loud enough to carry and watching the man, glaring.

“Who she to you? Mind your own petching busi-“

“Take a walk and reconsider. I won’t say it again” he said, their eyes meeting for a long while before the man cursed and stalked off into the growing shadows.

He kept drinking for a time, periodically watching over Bron to make sure no one came and took advantage. Strangely things were quieter than he had expected, though the distant cheers and roars told of many parties still ongoing in the city proper, so it would only be a matter of time before they would spill over here. Either way the pain from his wounds numbed alongside his thoughts, drifting silently upon the quiet wave of the serious drinker. It was with surprised and blinking eyes that he looked upon her as she awoke and immediately set about conflict. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve it, was pretty sure he didn’t, and an ember of anger began to smoulder at her tired, he arm coming up to bat the container away as it came for his head, a deflected blow that still clipped his cheek and turned the amber into a flame.

“What the petch!” was all he could shout back, the first time he had raised his voice to someone he had known for a while, eyes flashing and meeting hers, even in his drunken state picking up on the fact she was raving.

“You’re talking a load of shyke Bronwen,” he growled as he wearily pushing himself to his feet, picking up the container she had thrown and tossing it back at her chest hard, “I tried to help! What did I get in return? Drugged! The same way you said you’d been tricked!” he snapped back with an inebriated frown, wagging a finger at her accusingly.

You’re the one who petched it all up royally,” he said, the irony of that considering who she was talking to making him snort in amusement, “no…I’m no better than anyone. Worse probably. So shut the shyke up and stop being…being…such a petching child!”

He took a few ragged breaths, between which he swigged at the bottle he had until it was empty before letting it fall to hang at his side, feeling at the same time scoured of negativity for having expressed himself so forcefully, but also sad that it had come to this, until she called for her staff and he sighed, pinching his brow tiredly and trying to reassert some reason desperately. It didn’t seem that she was interested in such things though, instead content with destroying half of what was is quiet, relaxed camp for the evening, a rampage of pettiness that he thought was beneath her.

“For the love of the gods why are you always wanting to fight? Every time there’s a fight, with you or someone else. Do you really want me to kick your pretty arse all over again? For petch sake” he breathed harshly, stepping back a couple of paces and not wanting anything to do with her pointless violence.
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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Bronwen on April 4th, 2022, 3:49 pm

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"You tried to help?" Bronwen choked up a laugh, pausing the flailing around for her quarterstaff. Lifting to her knees, Bron rubbed at her collarbone where the flask struck her chest, face pouty beneath the sweat glistening on her skin. "Well, I do appreciate you lending me your bed to sober up," Lifting two shaking hands to cup around her mouth, the guard shouted, "after you knocked me on the head!!"

"You helped me for one night, Lysane." Bron fell back on her rear, smirking, "Out of sight, out of mind." she shook her head, swiping a finger beneath her nose. It came away bloody, unnoticed by Bron, "Only reason I drugged you was cause you were in pain and too much of an arrogant prick to admit it."

The Syliran swung her long body around and stood unsteadily, quarterstaff forgotten, as she began rifling through the pockets of Avery's coat again.

"Plus," she slurred, body swaying enough that she had to take a step back to keep from falling, hands still searching pockets, "I didn't petch up anything cept my sobr..sobri..sobre...my cleanness." Bron shrugged, and the movement had her staggering back and directly into the path of a blonde, greasy-haired man who nearly stood nose to nose with the inebriated Bron. The man's hands came around Bron's shoulders by reflex, then he sneered and shoved her back. Bron went down on her arse, but that didn't stop the guard from flinging the only weapon she had on hand at the man's greasy head.

Avery's leather coat smacked the bystander in the face, and something -probably the bottle Bron was searching for- in one of the pockets made a hollow thunk as it made contact with the man's forehead. The petcher pulled the coat away from his face and scowled down at it before reaching a grubby hand into a pocket and pulling out the offending vile. Unstoppering it, he sniffed at the rim and immediately recoiled.

"Tears of Rhysol?" he griped, then shifted his beady little eyes over to Alric as if only then noticing he was there, "Like it rough, eh mate?" he smirked, tossing the vile through the air to Alric, Bron belatedly jumping to her feet to make a dive for it with a curse. She missed spectacularly, "Guess you like hearing how good ya are at petchin, given her that shyke." The greasy blonde man strolled away, snickering.

"Wouldnt know!" Bron Hollered, over her shoulder, then stumbled sideways in the same direction, "Alric here wouldn't know a woman if she crawled up his pants leg and impaled herself on his tiny wittle pecker!" Bron smiled, all teeth, "Wouldja, Alyy man? Does it run in the family?" she flashed a mock pout, voice dipping into the cadence of one speaking to a toddler, "What a matter, baby, big brudder got a bigger one den you,"

Bronwen pulled the hidden staff around from her back, leaned it against her side, and wrapped an arm around it for much-needed balance, eyes narrowed on Alric, "I've never seen you so much as look twice at a woman, Alric Lysane, certainly not at me," she grinned drunkenly, "Too busy given it to big brother's big ole cock? Maybe your little sister's tight little arse?"

Bron took several unsteady steps closer, using her staff as a walking stick, "Is that why Alric? Too busy keeping it in the family to get it up for a woman?" Bron snickered, a little bit of tongue poking through her teeth. She let her staff tip sideways, falling into her other hand so that she now held it at a slight two-handed tilt, as she closed the distance into Alric's space, "Maybe you just a limp petcher that's too good for anyone else."

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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Alric Lysane on April 5th, 2022, 8:49 pm

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“Oh, you’re right, I should have just left you to get abused, enslaved and probably raped by the big bad drug dealer who ran at a little blood?!” he snapped back, biting back as much of his anger as he could but Bron just kept pushing and he had already drunk a fair amount, he glared and breathed deeply, “I wasn’t the one who burst into tears asking for help that was never followed up on! I have my own problems Bron, I can’t just dance around the petching city looking for your ass in a gutter to try to keep helping you. For all I know I might be dead this season…but no one ever asks about what they can do for me…do they?!” he continued, by the end his own frustration at life in general bled through and his voice was raised well above normal, arms crossed across his chest to prevent him from doing something stupid should control be completely lost.

“Arrogant?! Is that what you call someone saving your life? TWICE!? I hate to think what you call meek! Maybe you just secretly want peoples kneeling at your feet, fawning over the mighty Druva lineage because lady doesn’t know how to petching deal with her own issues!”

“You petched up your life! At least the start of my life being a load of shyke wasn’t my own fault!” he snapped, immediately regretting it and feeling shame flood through him and wishing he had said nothing, especially about himself given her apparent desire to try to tear him down, piece by piece.

He didn’t understand what had provoked this debacle, all he had wanted to do was have some drinks and watch a bloody wicker man be set aflame. Now, the irony, he was being set aflame much like the mage Obal so many decades past. He had offered her everything she needed, and she threw it all back into his face. He wished he could say he was surprised but he wasn’t, it was another thing in the long line of things that screwed up when they came into his life. It was as another man entered, gave the name of what was possibly another drug, and then walked off with a set of snickers directed his way. He looked at Bron, then at the vial, then up at the darkened sky and rubbed his face with his hands before taking a deep breath, then sighing.

“Another drug? For the love of the gods Bron if you want to die then there are easier ways for petch sake! Why are you doing this? Why attack me? Why crawl into the bottom of a pouch if damned dust?! What’s the point?!

But she wasn’t listening and instead went for the last subject he’d have advised her to – his family. She knew nothing about them, or him really, and so she had no idea what levers she was pushing inside him. But that wasn’t and excuse and he had had enough, his barely controlled anger flamed into a bonfire and his eyes narrowed into dark slits. It was instinctive rather than well thought out, he could feel it flowing through him and he gave her no word or warning, moving from a standing position a few feet away and into a darting forward, grabbing her by the front of her clothing before pulling, rolling her across his hip, seeing her flying in a basic toss. He was past caring if she got back up or not.

“No one insults my family…you know nothing of them. You have no right,” the words came out strangely cold, as if devoid of emotion despite the turmoil he was feeling within, “stay down and shut up Bron. I’ve had my fill of this shyke when all I wanted was to get drunk and watch a Sunberthian tradition”
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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Bronwen on April 5th, 2022, 10:04 pm

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Suddenly, the sensation of flying wasn't just drug induced.

Bronwen hit the ground on her belly, and all the air in her lungs fled her chest, leaving her stunned and gasping. Oh, she had hit a nerve with Alric, a very sensitive one, and now all the intoxicated Syliran wanted to do was pick at it and make it hurt more.

She should have heeded the man's demand, Bron should have stayed on the ground, but she was too far gone to give up just yet. This arsewipe, arrogant man hadn't put her down quite yet. Bron was just getting started.

A laugh bubbled up from Bron's abused chest and exploded from her mouth between coughing fits.

"Can you not hear yourself?" she coughed, attempted a deeper breath, but coughed again, "Every word from your mouth is about how much better you are!"

For what seemed to be the fifth time in a night, Bron twisted around to all fours, then hefted herself up, taking two galloping steps before steadying herself.

"You!" she said, emphasizing the word, "offered to help me, and I accepted. I didn't cry about that."

"You!" Again, Bron emphasized the word, though this time it was said with a little more slur, "offered to teach me how to fight." Bron spotted something lying just off the edge of the blanket, bent, and snatched it up, then smiled as she squinted down at the brown vile. "I didn't see you again for ten days, my oh so very into yourself, friend! Ten days and I couldn't help that a war broke at Brega's." Bron paused, looking sick, or maybe thoughtful, "I never even asked you to help me fight those men. Not either time!"

Bron marched up to Alric and poked a long, slender finger into his chest, "And I" poke "have" poke "you" poke "know" poke "I have never once been in a gutter! You wouldn't have had to look very far." Bron grinned, "but what little ole Bron mean to you? Huh? Shyke! That's what." she shrugged, "s'okay, though, I don't need a motherpetcher like you."

Bron jerked her shoulders upward with a gasp, hand covering her mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry!" she said, feigning regret, "I was supposed to keep your family out of it, right?" Bron's grin was predatory. "Too bad you didn't do the same for your bed."

Bron lifted the Gold Dust vile she had found by the blanket and emptied it into her mouth. Stuffing the now empty bottle into one of Alric's hip pockets, she gave it a firm pat, then stepped even closer to Alric, pressing herself flush against him. This close, Bron had to tip her chin down just a little to meet Alric's gaze.

"The powder numbs me...and more" she said, voice devoid of anger, tone level, and icy, and shrugged, "Maybe I have found an easier way. Maybe tonight, even, because the last time I walked away from dust, it was forced back in me, and I met a man that said he'd help me but never did. Justify it all you want to, you motherless bastard, but you failed me, too, almost as bad as my Druva blood did." Bron Grinned coldly, then spit in Alric's face.

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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Alric Lysane on April 6th, 2022, 8:55 pm

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Her words were true, for a given value of true, which made him wonder why she hadn’t just said them to him the last time they had met. Had he truly been that terrible towards her that she couldn’t even think about talking to him? He didn’t think that was the case but as she kept jabbing, kept barbing, truth lacing into some form of twisted logic and then poured into his ears alongside jobs to the chest, he began to doubt his version of events. Was she right? He hadn’t meant it that way, he had just been living his life. Surely, she couldn’t just expect him to spend every day after that promise propping her up? And he had invited her to Brat hunts and other places, but she had never shown up…was that his fault too?

It didn’t truly matter, at her accusatory tones he found himself calming and instead turning more introspective. Her jabs to his check didn’t hurt too much and so were more annoyance than a flare of rage to be deal back. No, he was almost on the verge of losing his anger completely, trying to see things from her point of view. His irritation at her describing his family in such terms still simmered but he was begrudgingly willing to look past it if she wished to calm down and express herself as well as listen to his version. That was shattered as a possibility, however, when she spat in his face. That was when his anger became something beyond itself, the low flames bursting forth as he rubbed his arm across his face and purposefully did not meet her gaze – it was better she didn’t see what lay in it.

She was so close that it was a split second between his standing there and the elbow driving across the side of her face as hard as he could. He wasn’t proud of that later, he didn’t like fighting as a rule, especially with those he knew, but there was a sense of righteousness alongside it in response to the words she had spat at him, as well as her spit.

“How is that? Is that numb?” he asked, voice shaking with anger, “where are you if not in the gutter? How much lower can you go than rolling around, a puppet for a dust dealer who only didn’t rape you earlier because I stopped him” he continued, getting a cross punch to land on the same place as his elbow had before stepping back and growling his frustration – at her, himself, the situation…all of it.

“If you think so little of me then why bother starting this fight at all? You don’t like the hand life dealt you? Well boo petching hoo…everyone’s got their problems Bron. Doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole because you can’t feel good about things. Maybe stop dosing and you’ll be better…but you can’t...can you? No…you just want to blame everyone else, so you don’t have to be responsible. But fine…let’s see what Bron really is like eh?” he said, pulling his glove off and taking out the vial she had patted into his pocket so sarcastically.

He touched the vial and frowned, not exactly clear headed but still getting the dim flickering of various things. There was a darkness about one…a dealer maybe…sinister and purposeful. Then there was a lusty, needy throbbing…the man…oh gods he had wanted her so badly…bad enough to do something he didn’t like himself…and then….emptiness…cold and dark, dingy…deeper than the pits of Sunberth…perhaps even the mines…but there were no monsters there…there was nothing there. He came back to reality just in time to feel ashamed, if also justified in his anger, throwing the vial away to the side with a curse.

“Stupid!” he hissed, breathing in deeply, “stupid…petching…stupid…gods Bron what is the matter with you? Why all of the pits inside? It’s not like you didn’t have a good start to things you kn-“ he turned to face her, having lost track of her for a few moments with the revelations.
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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Bronwen on April 6th, 2022, 10:36 pm

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As soon as the spit passed her lips, Bronwen, even in her state, knew she had fucked up.

Alric's elbow slammed into the side of her face and sent Bron stumbling back several paces before the world faded into black spots, head buzzing and vision swimming. Somehow, Bron managed to stay on her feet, though she leaned precariously on her staff.

“How is that? Is that numb?” he asked, voice shaking with anger, “where are you if not in the gutter?"

Bron tipped back her head, breathing heavily through parted lips, the curled locks of hair that the blow propelled across her face captured in the cyclone of her breaths. Blinking, Bron attempted to clear the swirls of her vision long enough to latch her gaze onto Alric's face or thereabouts.

"Still feel." Bron slurred, eyes rolling, "Cant feel in a grav-"

The man's next blow laid Bronwen out flat on her back, causing her to lose several ticks before the cloud-covered sky of Sunberth finally swam back into as good a focus as Bron was going to get. The guard wasn't done yet, though, gold still burning like liquid fire through her veins. Bron groaned and sat up, licking at the stream of blood escaping the corner of her mouth where a tooth had sliced into the inside of her cheek. Using her staff, she pulled herself up, slowly straightened, settled her gaze back on Alric, and scowled.

"Responsible?" Bron barked a pained laugh, spraying blood from her lips, "Is it so bad that I'm tired?" she asked, her words slurring so severely now that her lips never touch when forming them, but anger still made its way into them "Tired of always looking? Looking for my sister, looking for Samantha," Bron swayed, body jerking to stay upright when her knees nearly gave out, "looking for help, looking for friends..looking for more dust," black began to curl around the edges of Bron's vision, "looking for help, always looking for help..." Bron flashed bloodstained teeth at Alric, "Why can't just once, just one petchin time, I can actually mean enough to somebody for them to come looking for me?! To maybe be valuable to-"

Bron's inebriated, rage-fueled ramblings cut off abruptly when Bron noticed Alric had a strange look on his face and that he now held the vile of gold as if it were whispering to him, then cursed and hurled it away. Bron watched the vile as it soared through the air, shattering as it hit up against a rock and something inside Bron shattered, too.

Bron lifted her staff with a roar and swung for Alric's head. Another step and her momentum reversed, and she aimed for his knees, screaming all the while.

"I'm never good enough! Never important enough for anyone else to ever search for me. To ever look for me! But if I want something, if I need something, if someone I love enough goes missing," Bron swung the end of the staff around and shoved it toward Alric's middle, face tear streaked, pale, and glistening with sweat, "I'm always the one looking! Just once, you petcher, I want to be-"

Bron's eyes suddenly went wide, then rolled back. The quarterstaff fell from Bron's hands and clattered to the ground just before her body went limp. Behind Bron, stood Avery, a broken, bloodstained ale bottle clutched in his hand.

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Bronwen
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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Alric Lysane on April 8th, 2022, 8:07 pm

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At her words about responsibility it all seemed to click into place, at least enough of it did to try to make sense of things. She had a deep, dark hole inside her not because of the drug – though that didn’t help – but because she felt as if she had failed, that she was worthless perhaps. He couldn’t quite fathom all of it, he needed more of the pieces to puzzle it out, as well as time to do so and comfortably be sure he was at least halfway towards the truth. He didn’t have much time to try to do all of that, though, as she launched into her own attack and he was caught off guard, having had all of his focus upon using his Lykata. That was a mistake, he knew in hindsight, he should have dropped her first and then waited for her to wake up.

Such thoughts flashed through his mind right up until a duck didn’t quite clear her weapon and glancing blow sent him stumbling and stars bursting through his vision, soon to be followed by the world going topsy turvy and the breath being driven from his chest with the impact to the ground. He was on his back and every instinct screamed at him that that meant death in Sunberth. He vainly tried to scrabble around and get up but his send of direction was shattered temporarily and so he had no idea where he was going. No killing blow came, instead a heavy weight slammed into him and sent him back to the ground with a whoosh of breath.

“What…the….shyke,” he managed to mutter after he shifted some of the weight, dead weight it turned out as his vision began to return and he took in the scene, “oh petch” he cursed when he saw the shattered bottle in the man’s hand and the blood dripping from it.

He scrambled what wits he could grasp together and levered himself from underneath Bron, turning her onto her back and putting his head to her chest. There was heartbeat and he then listened to her mouth and the soft whistle of air could be heard, and felt upon his cheek. He sighed in relief before rolling over and throwing up upon the dirt alongside the blankets he had brought. Gods he felt terrible, bloody head strikes always sent people for a bender. He growled to himself and wiped his mouth before taking a mouthful from a new bottle before spitting it out, then taking a long drink to erase the taste.

“You…bastard....thanks,” he breathed at the man as he slowly, unsteadily got to his feet, “Tears of petching Rhysol? You had to leave that around for her to drink you stupid son of a….burn me!” he spat before looking him up and down and watching she the broken shards of bottle were dropped to the ground, no longer a threat.

“Go…just…go to Brega’s and get….uh…Alice…doesn’t matter how long it takes just…leave us be…done enough already”

He watched the man leave and made certain that the torches were restored and lit, that they weren’t about to get attacked by gangs or thugs…then promptly collapsed backwards onto the blanket with bottle in hand, astoundingly the right way up so not a drop was spilled – it was funny how that was possible, signalling how important a good drink was to Sunberthians. He drank the bottle slowly, propping his head up against Bron’s stomach, feeling the throbbing getting worse but not caring too much. His problems were…complex…but at least he didn’t feel like he thought he had sensed Bron felt. If he did one last thing right, managed to make her see that giving up wasn’t her best chance, then that might be enough to soothe out some of the guilt he felt at her chastening words throughout the evening.

And so, he stayed instead of leaving, which he felt like most people would do – definitely most in Sunberth. But he wasn’t most people, and truly he hadn’t wanted to even fight the woman, he had just…sot control. An abject lesson in his emotions and how much of a weakness they might be with other things. He would keep getting more drunk until she woke up, and then would tell her what he wanted and leave it up to her, and fate, as to what her path would be afterwards. She was right, he had not helped as much as he could have – so he owed her the rest of the promise he had given her…or at least the offer that it would be there should she choose to take it up.



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Torched Man By Twilight

Postby Bronwen on April 11th, 2022, 2:57 pm

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"Oh, for petch's sake!"

Alice, Brega's self-proclaimed medic, shouted as she came stomping up, stopping just before stepping onto Alric's now disheveled ground covering. The dark-haired woman was dressed for work, substantiated by her coal-lined dark eyes, tight-fitting shift, and swooping neckline that barely restrained the whore's well-endowed chest.

"What happened?" Alice's dark eyes took in Bron's prone state before doing a genuine doubletake at Alric.""I remember you! Alric, right? This your doing?" Alice glanced worriedly at Bron, then stuck a hand out to help Alric sit up, "Get off her so I can have a proper look."

Alice knelt by Bron once Alric was out of the way and grabbed the unconscious woman by the chin, slowly rocking her head from side to side, studying the abrasions on Bron's face, before gently slapping her cheeks and calling her name.

"Petch, she's out like a torch in a wind storm." Alice sighed, "Breathin's a little labored." she glanced to Alric, "Know how much gold she had?" she waited for the man to reply, then added, "Anything else?"

A look of disgust came over the whore's beautiful face.

"Bronwen's been in a bad way ever since she met that Avery guy." Alice shook her head while rummaging around in the bag she had slung around from her back, obviously looking for something and not finding it. "The woman's been high more than not lately, and it's all because of that lowlife petcher. You cant quit that shyke if it's constantly being shoved under your nose. I don't care who you are. Truth be told, Brega's bout had it with Bron. I've covered for her as best I can, but I'm no guard."

Alice finally found what she'd been searching for in the depths of the bag, pulled out a small corked jar, and peered down at it as it rolled across her hand, looking oddly defeated. "I'll tell ya, that one there," she canted her head to indicate Bron, "She'll be dead before Summer if that Avery don't leave her be, mark my words. I've warned her that I'd call her daddy but trying to get any pertinent names an whereabouts from Bron is like trying to get a dead man hard."

The whore let out a long breath, lifting the small jar up, "Anyhow, the stench of this here will bring her 'round, but that Rhysol's tears is wicked stuff like the name says. It makes a body mean as Rhysol himself, and It's known around the gangs as truth serum; make ya spill your mama's secrets, they say. If you wanna know anything about her, you best be asking now cause once she's sober, Bron's as bound tight as Brega's corset."

Alice uncorked the bottle and aimed its rim beneath Bron's nose in several slow passes. After a chime, Bron sucked in a gasp, then hacked and coughed it back out, before going still. Another chime passed, and Bron's heavy eyelids parted, revealing slits of glazed, stormed colored eyes. Those eyes went straight to Alric, and the inebriated guard gave the man a belated half snarl, aiming a kick his way.

"Ahhnt, none of that," Alice reprimanded, placing a heavy hand in the middle of Bronwen's chest to keep her down, "Your night's over, Bron. I gotta get you back to Brega's and make sure you ain't got nothin leakin outta that head Avery done went and split open."

"Avery didn't do anything," Bron slurred, struggling against the weight on her chest, "He left bells ago. Stop trying to make him bad, Alice. Alric's the one that needs a good punch." As if saying the whore name only then revealed she was there, Bron's struggle stopped, and her gaze shot up to her friend for an instant before renewed efforts were made to escape the whore's hold, "Why you here, Alice? Get off me! Brega send you for me again, did she? Well, I ain't going back! Get off me whore! You always were a petchin suck up."

Alice let out a long-suffering sigh, but her face softened as she regarded her friend, "Bronwen, don't make me have to collect ya dead body and bury you. That Avery is bad news. Why won't ya listen?"

Bron deigned not to reply, too busy spitting curses and threats, and Alice, huffing out a breath, turned her gaze back to Alric.

"Talk if you're going to, Alric. I might need help getting this one back to the house cause she's liable to try and fight everyone between here and Brega's with that Rhysol shyke in her." another long sigh, "I'll have to find somebody to watch over her or else tie her to the bed."

Bron let out an indignant curse and spat toward Alice's face.

"Nobody's tying me down!" Bron screamed but bowed in on herself, pain twisting her features. "Oh, petch, my head..."

Alice shook her head, giving Alric a -she's such a self destructive idiot, but I love her, damnit- look.

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