[The Stone Garden] A Time of Peace (open)

[Eris]

To Eris’s ears, the man’s story seemed much like her own. The difference was that his morals seemed to balk at killing, while hers lay dormant most of the time. Eris smiled slightly at the compliment, but dismissed it from her mind quickly. “In truth, I have come to Syliras to look for someone and hadn’t planned on staying too long. My line of work is much like your own, only I have never worked with the knights,” Eris said, her hand unconsciously brushing the dagger at her belt. “I stay on the road most of the time and I kill when I am offered money for it,” she spoke bluntly; tired of cushioning her profession in intricate phrasing and carefully chosen words.

She leaned back against the stone wall, eyes closed for a brief moment. “The funny thing is that recently I’ve begun turning down jobs, trying to find targets that deserve to die,” she mused, speaking more to herself than to Weyliss. “Only nobody can really make that decision. Just trying to ease my conscience, I suppose,” she added, her eyes blinking open.

She didn’t know why she had chosen to share this information with the man. Did she think he would understand her at some level? She didn’t need or want anyone to understand her. Letting people understand your motivations almost always led to complications and than those complications would have to be solved with a few quick strokes of the dagger. Again, she was letting Joel’s lessons seep into her thoughts when she had resolved to be completely independent from her old teacher.

[Weyliss]

Weyliss looked down as Eris spoke. His gaze resting on the hilt of his sword. With his thumb he absently scratched at the leather cording. The brows knitted together as he chewed on his lower lip. He was still a tad drunk, but he had sworn she mentioned something about killing for money. As he listened to her speak, he put on a smile, but inside, he felt about how she acted toward his alcohol.

She's an assassin.

Slowly the fact sunk in, and the young man palmed the hilt of the sword. While he was silent, he could hear Sir Marrius.

"Son, an assassin is nothing more then a tool. Human's trained to be nothing more then a pinpoint, a sword. They are highly specialized. Whereas a blacksmith can move on to any number of things, and carries a varied and broad skillset, a killer cannot. Ignore the social stigma, and what do you have? Someone with a dagger, and more importantly the will to use it. What else? The ability to remain hidden. The ability to escape the authorities. Are any of these useful? Will any of these help raise a family? No. Morally, you are looking at a human who has decided, that their lives, and the lives of others are worth nothing. Every hired killer has accepted the fact that they will die earlier then most, that their lives will be one sided, with nothing else."

The 'talk' had been given after Weyliss had rescued a young man, a man he had later learned was an assassin. While in a past life, he might have pitied the woman's career choice, he was weathered enough to take stock of her once more. The young man didn't have any enemies that he knew of. But, what where the odds? The one place he had come, the one place he would let his guard down, the only other person here just so happened to be a trained killer. Even if she wasn't here to kill him...

He couldn't think of anything to say. What could he tell her? He couldn't change her mind about what she did. The problem wasn't who she killed. It was that she planned to kill in the first place. For money of all things. He could still see the corpses from the village. Smell the burnt flesh. What if someone had been paid to kill that person in advance? To stop the entire process before it started? Would killing be okay then? Who was he to choose? Or, in essence judge even her? Maybe she was doing the right thing. Maybe he was in the wrong in killing the men he had. After all, they had been like her, just looking for money, just trying to earn a living.

A sigh. Why didn't the gods talk about this kind of thing? He wasn't overly religious, and found little solace among the divine.


Life.

This one word echoed throughout his head, and the man exhaled, and with this output of breath, he pushed all though to the back of his mind, instead focusing on the fact that he was still a bit drunk, and it felt good. The buzz of his brain, the quiet of the garden. He even had a good looking woman to oggle, life was good.

Through half-closed eyes, Weyliss gave the woman a genuine smile.

"You could always turn to something else. With your skills, anyone would hire you for self-protection. Or mercenary work. Cannae' really give any input on the 'job' market tho' Not my expertise. My old tutor used to tell us murder was the foulest of sins, that to kill, to end years of dreams and aspirations, to destroy a family, is the most despicable act mankind could ever engage in. He also said, that if he could take one life to save ten, he would do it in the blink of an eye."

Inwardly he winced. It was all he could think of. They where very similar, but in the end, worlds apart.

[Eris]

“Protecting the weak isn’t my area of expertise,” Eris exhaled. It’s wasn’t her area of expertise, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t done it before. A memory surfaced; it was an ugly memory, painful even, but full of something Eris forgot she’d ever known. She must have been in her sixteenth year then, still working at Joel’s side. They had been on the road for days, in a rush to get somewhere, when they passed through a plundered village. She didn’t remember seeing any corpses, but the smell of death was there – pungent and sickening. Joel went to scout ahead, leaving Eris to make camp in the middle of the empty village.

A little boy had come running along, covered in dirt and blood, and clutching a glinting necklace in his hands. He was scared and panicked and kept mumbling something about a bad man being after him. He held the trinket close to his chest and refused to let Eris even look at it. He said it belonged to his dead mother and that he didn't want to give up the necklace to the bad man chasing him. The bad man came soon enough, holding a long curved sword, the kind often used by pirates in those parts. Eris had no idea why the child had decided to stay with her when it would have been much safer for him to run, but he did stay, cowering behind her as the man approached. There had been a skirmish, but the man seemed unsteady on his feet, and his eyes were bloodshot. Eris later guessed that he must have been smoking an herb sold in a nearby city bazaar. He died quickly, Eris’s dagger deep in his chest, but not before he made an attempt to stab at the child. Eris had moved to stop the blade and it brushed against her palm, leaving a thin wound that gushed blood for days later. When Joel returned, he was displeased to find the child sharing their evening meal, but Eris insisted on keeping the boy with them. They had dropped him off at an orphanage in the next city, two days later.

Eris looked at her palm now, momentarily lost in the memory. That had been her first kill. “We are not so different, you and I. As a mercenary, you kill all the time. You think you are killing men who are a danger to society, but how much can you really know about them?” Eris spoke slowly, her head tilted back and her eyes partially closed, “It just so happens that I don’t kill innocent men. I am usually hired by nobles who want to remove their enemies, men who have killed their share of people. And then, there are those who want revenge for their dead family – simple peasants who have had to live with their daughter or wife killed by some self-entitled, rich bastard.” Her voice turned bitter with the memories of the stories she’d heard. “Sometimes it’s not even death they want, but financial or social ruin. In that case, I procure the documents they need from behind locked doors.”

Eris felt drained. She didn’t need to prove herself to this man, but she did need to prove something to herself.

[Weyliss]

Weyliss scratched at this chin once more. Outwardly, he was very calm, very serene, and looked to be still a tad drunk. Inwardly, he was fuming. How in the heck did she know what it was he did? Then again, when had he judged her? When did this get all philosophical?


When you opened your fat trap.

A mental sigh. He had come here to honor the dead, and now he was sitting at a bench arguing with a stranger on the merits of murder to save lives. Then another thought, small, and peering out from the back of his mind.

Two people sitting across from each other, each playing the inner voice to the other's conscience. He was fighting himself, and he was almost sure she was as well. It was almost pathetic. He wasn't sure about her, but he'd be damned if he'd let anyone judge him. He'd found peace in what he did. A moral rightness. Maybe she was looking for the same thing.

Damn you, who the hell are you to get under my skin?

Averting his eyes from her the young man spoke to nobody in particular.

"You speak of revenge. You speak of those wronged. You speak of justice. When that rich bastard is wanted dead because in one night of passion on the town he got the girl pregnant, and later took his child back? It takes alot of steel to decide who's right. Who's wrong. You've been the presiding judge over many cases. With no council but your own. I admire that."

He spoke the word 'steel' as if it was a character trait as opposed to an item. The lack of vehemence spoke that he really did admire her. If she was being honest. He couldn't help but feel that she had still killed more then her fair share of good people. It was tough, trying to wrestle with such decisions. He only had to defend people, or god's willing, apply some of his limited healing skills. 'Errand boy' was a common nickname, and he found it fitting in a morbid sort of way. Living at the whims of others was far from rewarding.

Who the hell am I for her to dump this stuff on anyway? Just so she can belittle me?

Pride. Maybe a weakness, or maybe a strength. Either way, he hid his irritation quite well, looking off to the entrance to the gardens.

[Eris]

Eris let silence settle in the garden for a few minutes, calming herself, putting her defenses back up. She hadn’t meant to speak about all this; it had simply come gushing out, partly in self-defense and partly… She didn’t know what the other reason for her little speech was, but she was sure there was one. Did he really admire her? Eris doubted it. Few people ever admired killers, no matter what the killer’s motivations were.

She took a breath of the cool, fresh air and exhaled it slowly. She noticed his gaze at the archway leading in and out of the garden. In this case, she supposed, he was more concerned with it being the way out, rather than in. She realized that it wasn’t her business to make comparisons between them or judge his own actions. She certainly hated it when people judged hers. Was that why she had spoken? Because she had felt him judging her? In any case, Eris didn’t like quarreling with strangers and rigth now she felt the air charged with tension.

“I apologize,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to even have this conversation. I find it easier to sort things out in my mind by speaking out loud. You just happened to be here when my mind was at its most disorganized.”

She let her body relax into the soft foliage covering the stone wall. She had come here for peace and she did not want to be the one to disrupt it.

[Weyliss]

"S'ok"

Weyliss simply put his head back against the tree. Closing his eyes. It probably spoke of deeper problems on both their parts, but he found philosophy as good as any other topic when it came to getting to know someone. His moods tended to shift with the winds. Maybe he was too over-forgiving, maybe he was too instinctual, but the young man tended to go with what he felt, as opposed to what he thought. In this case, he rather liked the young lady, and wether she wanted his company or not, he was bound to stay. After all, she was quite interesting.

Peeking one eye open, he watched the woman from his place on the bench. A bright grin suddenly hit his features.

"So... the sketching...uhm...ya' know being a hardened killer an all, you don't strike me as too much of an artist'e "

He emphasized the 'hardened killer' by raising his arms and wiggling his fingers in the classic scared position.

[Eris]

Eris laughed softly at his gesture, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “It’s just something I’ve done since I was a little girl. It lets me relax a little; takes the edge off,” she said, looking down at the sketchbook lying in her lap. “My mother used to have me sketch herbs for her before she would go to the forest to collect them. Once that little practice ended, I’ve all but forgotten about drawing. But then, my horse came along. The way sunlight hits her flanks, she’s just begging to be drawn. All the taut muscles and the hints of bone under skin – horses are one of the most fascinating things to sketch. And then there are all the different textures in their coats…” Eris broke off, realizing that she had been rambling right before she was about to launch into a description of the textural differences in horse hair.

It felt a little surreal to be talking about murder and morality one moment and then transitioning into art and horses the next. Not to mention that she was having this conversation with a complete stranger. But for once, Eris decided not to plan ahead or screen everything she was going to say before saying it. Joel had always told her to never speak about herself with anyone, disclosing only the most rudimentary information. But look where his own advice got him.

[Weyliss]

Weyliss had a horse! ...or rather had one. He had no idea where it was now. Touching his shoulder softly the man seemed lost for a second. Then he raised an eyebrow at the woman.

"Sae' I ain't much of an artist. Yet, I think it would be nea' impossible to draw every little muscle and such. Every little hair. You must be patient. Must be even more patient to own a horse. I used to have a ... gelding or some such. What do you have, an how long you had 'em?"

He had HATED that horse. So many issues. Then it had left him during that fiasco with those highwayman... Resisting the urge to touch his shoulder the man studied the woman. Something about her. Maybe it was the mystery. Maybe it was that fact that she could probably kill him with that pencil...

Smirking to himself, the young man decided that he needed to get out more, and that he needed to get another bottle.

As he sat in the garden, the man realized something. He was almost always alone. All the people he helped, and all the villages he visited, he never really stayed. There was always more work. He found it hard to develop any sort of relationship with anyone on a personal level when he was always moving. Even worse, he barely visited the city, and had next to nothing in regard to social graces. Sir Marius had taught him how to be polite and respectful, not how to impress the ladies, or to deal with people as equals. All of that should have came when he joined the knighthood.

The drunken man frowned, lost in thought.

[Eris]

“Rhine’s a Gildling – one of those shiny horses,” Eris smirked, remembering how she’d first reacted when she’d learned that her new horse sparkled in the sunlight. "Got her two years ago, right after I set out on my own. I ran into a trading caravan on the road. One of the merchants told me that the horse “lost” her rider. He was so desperate to get Rhine off his hands, he practically gave her to me for free. Right after the deal was closed, I head two other merchants talking about how the mare had pushed her last rider into a ditch and later kicked a potential customer in the stomach.” Eris smiled, remembering the relieved look on the trader’s face once he realized that the horse wasn’t his problem anymore. “But she’s really much more gentle now,” she added quickly, “As long as she doesn’t take to disliking someone, everyone should be safe.”

“What about you? If you find jobs moving from village to village, you must have a horse,” Eris wondered, eager to be talking about a topic she liked so much. For some reason, she found it easy to talk to this man. Maybe it was because she knew that he wasn’t completely lucid, given his recent drinking, and maybe it was something else. It came as a surprise to her that she was actually interested in his answers, as opposed to the many boring, formal conversations she’d had to carry on recently.

[Weyliss]

Oh gods, she owns a killer horse. What are the odds?

Putting on a rather unhappy face, the man pouted at nobody in particular.

"That murderin' beast? I had one. She was nothin' but trouble. Finally got rid of her when I decided to get in the way of a highwayman's arrow. She didn't stay long. Good riddence."

He could still see his gold miza's riding away...

He paused, obviously fantasizing about what horrible things could befall unloyal horses.

"You'd be surprised really. While slower, I find lone riders tend to get caught more then an' experienced traveler. I keep to the woods, and stay away from the main roads. Takes an extra day or so, but its not like I'm usually on a schedule."

Snorting the man gave her a wain smile.

The truth was, that he simply didn't see much of a point. Not in his line of work. Too much coin, and care, for an animal that would simply flee at the first sign of danger. Now... the warhorses the knights rode where a different story... and probably cost more than Syliras' front gates.