Open Broken Man

[Valo]

46th Winter 512AV Early morning The Dock It is very plausible that the red haired artist had been spending too much time at the Dock as of late. Every time he'd return to that very spot, where he had almost lost his life, betrayed by the sweet prospects of intoxication, the cruel ghosts and residual hauntings of that ordeal returned. Or perhaps they had never left in the first place, for his ghosts were with him every time he closed his eyes, everything he sad and everything he did had become saturated with his deep distress. And he knew not what to do. Powerless is what he was, completely powerless against the cruel world around him. Ah, how the world rips and tears at good men. He knew the voice now. And that voice had pointed to the name and the face of the evil culprit behind all the illness that had befallen Zeltiva. A maniac. For the beloved adopted son of the city was the poison. And Valo was nothing bot powerless before the man greater than him and it seemed that even his wit was inferior. Wrnmae was a monster. Wrenmae was the evil and his name was Wrenmae and he was the Trident Champion. There was one man whom Valo had to tell all of this, one man who neede to know for he was right in the middle of the ordeal and quite unaware of it all. But the man was fragile still after the tragic loss he had suffered and so Valo battled with his conscience. To tell him or not to tell him. Finally that morning his mind was made and having dressed himself in his finest grey, he bolted out the door to find his friend. To the artist's dismay, Ricky was not at the Kelp Bar nor was he in the Grotto where he resided. And soon he was out of ideas where to look. But the artist needed to tell him of Wrenmae and the evil he had invoked upon Zeltiva with his cruel hands and the gleaming blade of the rapier. And more of for the scandal he had caused at the funeral of Kip Drawlins. But looking for a single sailor in the city was like looking for a needle in the hay stack. Near to impossible. Defeated and trapped in the dark void of his own mind, Valo strolled down to the dock. His green eyes muted, a solemn expression in his ivory feature. The unrealistically red hair of the artist was a stunning contrast against the grey sky, for even despite the lack of sunlight past the milky clouds, it retained its vibrant colour - The very colour of blood pouring from a freshly severed artery – and it danced with the wind, weaving an elaborate performance around his head. Tall, stood the artist on the edge, watching the waved below beating passionately against the rock below. White droplets sprayed upon his black slues with the more ferocious of the waves, but it didn't bother him. Nothing bothered him now for he was absent. He stood there only in body but his spirit was propelled into the dark depths of the water, the secret weighing heavily upon him. Fear constricted his heart. What was to befall his beloved city next? Who else would die? Little did he know that before the season was out, he would pay the final price at Wrnmae's hands. For the future was perhaps darker still and he was oblivious to it.

[Miles]

The morning was quickly becoming Miles' least favorite time. Regardless of his feelings, he was up with the dawn and out of his home. He was a student of Zeltiva's people now, though his current "profession" had always encouraged observation, it was doubly important now. He watched merchants opening their stores, their darting glances full of fear and uncertainty. He watched as household men exited their homes, scurrying to their jobs faces buried in their cloaks or their coats for warmth, and also for protection.

Miles wondered what would befall his beloved city in the future. He felt powerless against current forces, aimless but full of energy. He made his way to the docks, drawn by the clear salted air and the bustle already forming from the ships taking port. Voices clamored wares from the fish market, merchant guards strutted around fat bellied outlanders, trying their best to look intimidating in the morning chill. Miles paid attention to none of these things. He was heading past the fish markets to East street when he spotted his friend.

It was the red hair that identified him. Valo the painter, Valo the kind heart whose face he saw twisted and mangled by hatred not too long ago. Miles tried desperately to find him after the speech given, but amongst the bustle he was unable to catch up with the man. His slow steps, slumped shoulders and aimless direction told Miles he was still pained. It gave the young thief an ability to pay a debt owed. He remembered back to when the situation was reversed- he lost in the throes of lost friends, Valo the voice of poetic reason that pulled him from the depths of introspective depression. Miles could only hope he was half the man Valo had been for him.

He approached slowly, making his steps loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to startle. His baritone voice made a valiant attempt at casual as he approached: "A man without business on the docks is asking for a bump on the head or worse. In times like these, a warm hearth and even tempered company is what a man like you deserves. There are enough clouds over this town already." Miles flashed a smile at Valo, one that was genuine.

[Nai'a]

Nai'a was taking her early morning stroll, to help clear her mind and get her prepared to go to the infirmary to work. There was so much sickness in Zeltiva, it was all around, some people she could help, other people... not so much. She did not think she could take much more death, it was making her become distant of people, the thought always crossed her mind They could be next... Nai'a just wanted to weep while she walked, but she held it back. She had to be strong for herself, for her patients, for the city, and for her Goddess. She needed to be strong.

Nai'a inhaled deeply of the salt laden air, letting the cold rush in, shocking her lungs. She would of been much colder if it wasn't for her soft rubber skin helping keep her warm, but it was still chilly, and she wrapped her cloak around her dress as she continued her walk to the docks.

She approached lost in her own thoughts when she saw Valo, the kind gentlemen she had met twice before now. She stopped in her tracks when she realized that he looked... sad and lost. Nai'a abandoned all her previous thoughts, as worry for the kind man seeped into her mind. She stood there trying to determine whether or not she should approach or leave him to his thoughts. Some people did not want to be bothered during their time of weakness.

But then she saw the other man, Miles, approach Valo and was speaking to him. Looking to be trying to comfort the man standing there, letting the water splash up on him, with out a care. Nai'a did not want to be rude and interrupt the two in their conversation, but she wanted to comfort the man as he did her that day when she revealed her strange appearance.

Nai'a decided that it was better to help than it was to stand there and just watch. She approached the two men with a warm smile on her soft pink lips, throwing her hood down as she came up to the two of them. "Miles, Valo. It is a pleasure to see you both again. What brings the two of you here on such a cold morning?" Nai'a's calm voice came out in a soft sultry tone, keeping the warm smile on her face as she glanced at both of the men.

[Valo]

"A man without business on the docks is asking for a bump on the head or worse. In times like these, a warm hearth and even tempered company is what a man like you deserves. There are enough clouds over this town already." said a voice over his shoulder. A voice so familiar that for a moment Valo thought it was his own subconscious talking, for the advice was both wise and completely impossible to fallow. But impossible as it seemed, there was another sound that cause the artist to turn around. The sound of footsteps, loud enough to hear yet gentle enough not to startle. It made absolutely no sense that his subconscious mind might have footsteps, so the only logical explanation was indeed that the voice was not his, but that of another person standing behind. And that person was Miles, deduced the artist before he even proceeded to see whom it was that the voice belonged to. Of course this deduction caused no less of a surprise in the muted green of the artist's eyes as they lay upon the smiling face of his comrade. No mirror of a smile in reply, only the gentle parting of pale lips that spoke almost involuntarily the name. "Miles." A step backwards, which was the stupidest of mistakes he could ever do, for his foot slipped against the very edge and if he was to not grab for his friend's arm in an attempt to steady himself, he'd have fallen back into the water. An experience that was exquisitely unpleasant the very first time and needn’t repeating a second time. Stepping away from the edge as if it suddenly became his greatest foe, almost in the manner of sudden fear, Valo distanced himself a little from his friend and his slender fingers swept back his red hair in a manner of utter embarrassment. The chest of the artist elevated with an abrupt breath that was so unlike his usual graceful manner. "Forgive me. I seem to be a little distracted." spoke Valo, his eyes dodging those of Miles, staring everywhere but him. Miles’ words almost escaped the artist, so a brief moment was in order to assemble his frail mind. A moment to comprehend the meaning of the sounds of common. A moment still to compose himself again, or at least do so tot the best of his ability, for that was not an easy endeavour. And finally a brief moment to cover his lips with his pale hand and give out a short cough. The truth was that Valo wished desperately not to be alone at this moment, for there was nothing worse than one's own loneliness in such desperate times. The plague wreaking havoc on the streets and the killer Wrenmae destroying the lives of those which the plague forsakes. But at the same time he wished no company for, as clearly displayed just moments ago, Valo was a lost man, a broken man within his cluttered mind. There was another voice that approached. Another voice Valo did not expect to hear this very morning. "Miles, Valo. It is a pleasure to see you both again. What brings the two of you here on such a cold morning?" The voice of a woman he was indeed very fond of, who not threw the hood of her cape from masking that dazzling hair of hers. And for a fraction of a second, his eyes locked with hers. Only for a very brief moment, before the connection was abruptly broken and he found himself with no other place to stare but his feet, hoping she did not witness him nearly falling from the edge of the dock into the cold water below. Finally words came from his lips, but when they did there was a certain dark quality to them. A very subtle note, yet present those who paid attention to his speech. And the Nari accent seemed completely gone. The sentence so bland as if welcoming no coherent reply, no company. “Yes, a pleasure to see you too Nai'a and you Miles."

[Miles]

Reacting to the slip, Miles put out his arm and braced himself to pull Valo from danger. He did not linger on what made the man withdraw. It might have been hurtful if Valo's distress wasn't so apparent. It was natural to "put on a happy face" for those around, especially those who you cared for, those you didn't want to burden with your problems. However, true friends are meant to reach beyond the veil of the polite and the platonic into the realm of trust and companionship: a friend identified one's despair- a true friend challenged it until it gave way into happiness.

"Forgive me, I seem to be a little distracted."

Valo wasn't evasive- Miles didn't want to believe that but it was apparent that there was more on his mind than what that solitary sentence implied. He was unsure. That Valo, a man normally so wrapped in language and artistry, was reduced to such only furthered MIles' suspicion of the man's condition. The approach of the Kelvic did not deter Miles from his mission, in fact if anything it gave him a sliver more resolve to confront the darkness brewing in the painter's words and gaze. After listening to Valo's half-hearted greeting he offered a silent but welcoming smile to Nai'a and then spoke:

"Let us take you away from here, at least mentally if not physically. What troubles you so?" Letting go of the man's arm , Miles cast an expectant gaze at Valo in anticipation of his reply.

[Nai'a]

Nai’a was so happy to see Valo, she did not think she ever would see him again, after that one night on the beach. She was fond of the bright red haired man, so fond of him indeed. But when his greeting came out, it was not his usual jovial tone. It was dark and slightly depressing to hear such a tone come out of his beautiful mouth. Nai’a did not know what to think, he was obviously lost in the darkness of his mind, yet he also seemed to not want her there. Nai’a was not going to budge though, she was still his friend, even if there would never be an intimate encounter with them again.

Nai’a reached out her small soft hand, placing it on the man’s upper arm, letting the mark of Rak’Keli magic enter the man’s body, fighting the darkness that lay with in. She gave no words to the man, only a smile and a touch of comfort. Nai’a could not help this, it was on instinct to touch him, to heal him, to bring light to the darkness that plagued his soul. This type of healing she held back to a degree, only ridding most of the depression. Once that was done she squeezed his upper arm in comfort, and removed her hand. She did not know if the man would notice that she healed him of most of his depression, or if he would just frown and wonder what happened, and look to her accusingly. Nai’a did not care though, she had to do it. If the man hated her for it, then so be it. At least in that hate, she would know that he was not lost in that darkness no longer, that she provided him that light, to rid most of depression from his soul.

She looked over at miles and smiled at his words, the man was questioning Valo as to what was ailing him. Nai’a of course was curious to know as well, but she was not brave enough to ask Valo like Miles was. She was glad the man did ask though, it was always better to get the dark thoughts out of one’s mind, and share it with those around him that cared about him. Nai’a stood there with her eyes casted down now, waiting for Valo to answer Miles question, as well as whether or not he would notice what she had done. She felt kind of bad at doing it without him knowing, but she knew one day he would thank her, one day.

[Valo]

The artist nodded silently to Miles' words, for despite the state he was in, he was still Valo and never did he wish to be considered as rude. He knew of the fundamentally good hearts of his companions and he knew that they meant well and perhaps their actions portrayed this perfectly. The difficulty was purely on his behalf. It was only then that he felt the gentle touch on Nai'a upon his shoulder and he turned to look at her, also without a word from his lips. A questioning in his eyes, for he had thought the gesture was to gain his attention and so she now had it. And with his puzzled expression carved into his pale features, he had barely noticed when a strange sensation came over him, or rather the absence of previous sensation. The clouds about his heart subsided, the fog in his mind cleared as if he had been pulled from a darkness and back into reality. He became more alert, more awake and less thoughtful. Yet it was only after her hand lowered that this new condition became apparent to him. For a moment, Valo had nothing but forsaken Miles' question and the entirety of his attention was upon the woman. His eyes locked with her's questioningly. His mind wondering what change it was that took place within him, to subside this darkness so. A moment of distraction before the artist's mind snapped back into focus, for he had yet to reveal what it was that troubled him. He looked to Miles but the truth would not come past his throat. He wanted to speak it, to reveal it all like an open book. He wanted to tell the man of the murder and Wrenmae, but the ability was not his. "It is nothing of importance my friend." he smiled a gentle smile. "Simply the frazzled mind of a foreigner who worries thusly for the city which had been so good to him."

[Miles]

"Not of importance? My friend you've just insulted our dire situation! I saw you at the event," Miles paused here, pointedly so, "and worry is what those on the roads away from Zeltiva have done. I know this well- I have seen them. They worry for their families and their coin, they forsake their homes and their friends. You are still here. You stay in a place you were not born, though danger piles upon itself and crashes into its people in the form of sickness and murder. Valo, I do not contend you are a lying man, but to say you worry is an understatement." Standing beside Valo now, Mile looked out over the water and it's depth, wondering what secrets lay beyond the surface. He likened Valo to the seas- beautiful at first glance- deep and mysterious. What waves would pull at him the further out he swam? Miles pushed the thoughts from his head- it did not matter what Valo was thinking or going through- the point was to reassure him- to help his resolve. To confront this darkness and help it give way to light.

Miles regarded Nai'a with warm eyes- "A healers heart seeks out sickness- it is in their nature, would you not agree? I doubt, young lady, you came to see me." A light chuckle escaped him, if nothing he would try to improve the mood. Miles was deeply concerned for his friend, though Valo did not know this, he was one of a very small circle. Miles wouldn't let the man's darkness consume him. "I offer an ear, good friend, still. Use it."

[Nai'a]

It seemed that Valo did indeed feel the change within himself. She wondered if he saw the light that radiated from her palm, or if he was too consumed by his dark thoughts to notice. Either way he noticed that the darkness began to seep away from him, as she provided the warming light to chase it away. She cared for Valo, more then he would ever know it seemed, and she would not stand by casually as dark thoughts attacked the beautiful man, she would stand and fight them away. That is what she did for the sick that came to the infirmary as well as for those she cared so deeply for.

It seemed Valo did not really want to answer Mile’s question, and his answer just seemed to be brushing it off. Maybe Valo did not want their sympathy, did not want them to worry over him, or maybe even did not want them to care for him so. Even if this was true, it did not stop the fact that she personally would not stop caring, she wanted to know what plagued the beautiful man, and by Rak’Keli he needed to let that tongue speak for his heart.

Mile’s words were reassuring, letting Valo know that he knew something was wrong, and it let it out. Then Mile’s attention turned to her, and she gave Mile’s a warm smile, ”I agree Miles, I do tend to seek out those who are plagued with all types of sickness. Whether it is mental, emotional, or physical.” Nai’a cleared her throat softly, hoping she was not becoming sick herself, ”Oh now, now Miles. I came seeking no one, but I am very pleased to have come upon the two of you.” Nai’a gave the man a friendly wink, as both of their attentions went back to Valo, the man who seemed so lost.

”Valo, we both off an ear to you.” Nai’a looked up at the beautiful red-headed man, ”Please tell us of this darkness that plagues you sweet Valo. It will make your heart and soul less heavy, if you unload it.” Nai’a squeezed the man’s upper arm reassuringly, lovingly, hoping that he would indeed let whatever it was out.

[Valo]

"Not of importance? My friend you've just insulted our dire situation! I saw you at the event, and worry is what those on the roads away from Zeltiva have done. I know this well- I have seen them. They worry for their families and their coin, they forsake their homes and their friends. You are still here. You stay in a place you were not born, though danger piles upon itself and crashes into its people in the form of sickness and murder. Valo, I do not contend you are a lying man, but to say you worry is an understatement." came the words of Miles and those words bore such gravity that even the hypothermic heart of the artist could not deny. But the fear in him lingered. The fear of being ridiculed for his claims, fear of breaking down before his companions. Indeed Valo feared being broken, but his heart was soft and he was weak and he wished no one to see that interior of his he kept so well hidden.

Valo watched for a moment with a completely blank expression as the two of them conversed. An abrupt elevating of spirit. Smiles, warmth between them, the kind of warmth that existed between friends united to help another. Valo however did not want their help. Indeed he wished to keep the pair of them as far away from his secret as he could. A coward's way out.

"I offer an ear, good friend, still. Use it."spoke Miles before the artist had the chance for a swift squirming out of this situation. Yet another hack of kindness at his precious defences.

”Valo, we both off an ear to you.” added Nai'a as if to compliment the words of Miles. ”Please tell us of this darkness that plagues you sweet Valo. It will make your heart and soul less heavy, if you unload it.” She squeezed his upper arm, clung to him and there seemed so much strength in that frail femininity of her's. Perhaps that was what finally made him melt beneath her touch, or perhaps it was the feelings he had for the woman that lay buried within the pit of his stomach. Whatever it was however, Valo was not defenceless before the kindness of his comrades.

Very gently, he brushed off her hands from his, distancing himself from the woman. Muted he was, very muted, stepping to the very edge against which the water beat violently. Quite a nice metaphor that was, a man at the edge of his wit with hate for just one man. One man only, but a hate so profound he would happily defy himself and expose the petch for all he was. But he couldn't, thus suspended on his perpetual axis, the waved of fear beat against his relentlessly yet he stood, unmoved. A blank expression as his eyes stared into the distance, taking in the horizon line. The very way it cut across the sky in such crispness. How it separated one blue hue from another. A slash of come great sickle that divided the world in half. The sky and the wayter, always touching yet never quite united.

"Miles." he spoke in a hushed voice. He was calm, like the sky. "Besnik trusts you thus I trust you. And I have a secret to share that I may not share with many. Solemnly, even you will most likely not believe me but truth is truth and I do not sell false truth. Not in this case. So if you really wish to know what ales me Miles, than you must be prepared to believe everything I'm about to tell you." He kept his eyes averted. Such deep caution in his words. A certain emotion in his voice, solemn perhaps and deadly serious. When he addressed her, there was also pleading. A plea that she may leave so that she was not burdened with his words and though he did not voice that precise plea, it underlined every word of his. "Nai'a there are things in his world I so wish to keep you from, not for selfishness but for love. If you do end up staying, know that what you'll hear cannot be unheard."

He hesitated, the parting oh his lip, between which all sense lingered. All coherence of word that was abruptly swallowed, only to resurface in a haunting monologue as the artist's face grew grim and hallow in wake of that haunting that plagued him. The memory of death upon his timeline. "I was there," he whispered finally, for among the roar of the waves and the howl of the bonesnapper - for that was precisely what the sound was in comparison to the volume of his voice - he did nothing but whisper. If they truly wished to hear what he had to say, they would no doubt need to step closer."At the horrible prerequisite of Kip Drawlins' funeral. I saw the man for more than just a coffin, horribly degraded to less than just a man. A sighn post, a letter from the murdered him self."

At that moment he turned to them and his eyes were no longer that soft innocence, full of light and emotion, so gentle and caring. No longer the eyes of Valo. The green hue was matted with the memory that shook his heart every time he recalled that ghastly expression, that blood, the voice of his dear friend Ricky as he held his dead comrade in his arms. His own voice descended into trembling, as if the artist had abruptly became cold. it wasn't the chill that caused this. No, it was the rage that bubbled deep inside him. The pure hate for Wrenmae who dared to call himself the adopted son of Zeltiva.

Again he looked away, looked at his feet and into the waves below. How they toyed with gentle grace. The rage of the tide, ruthless yet contained. A ballet sea spray."And yes, I know who the murderer is, but I fear I must bite my tongue at the matter for he is the serpent among serpents, entwined into the fabric of the city, thus no one would ever believe it was him."