Open A walk to forget. (Open)

[Ayden]

Winter was well on its way as weary feet trampled upon lightly dusted earth. The snow had fallen earlier in the morning and managed to continue layering a fine coat down onto the already laced ground. They were only up to a few inches, but more was soon to come. And with it, a hazard far worse than the fate that the lonely group had escaped just a month earlier. To most within the now dwindling band death by hypothermia would be a blessing to rod and lash wielded by the cruel hands of their former master. Save one who found no joy in their expedition, or the return to a place that he had hardly forgotten, but vaguely felt a fondness for… Syliras.

Syliras, a Mecca in and of itself. Shining jewel of Sylira, and a more upstanding place then the clutches and bowels of Sunberth had proved. Yet memories, long thought dead and abandoned like a cadaver off some half run trail, came back to him at the divulgence of the groups aim. While he would not voice his concern, due to pledge and personal resolve to proceed forward instead of dwell on the past. It still struck a sour note on him as they neared the looming archway of the Sylirian main gate.

“There it is!” The excited voice of a child would shout, bolting from the safety of the group to surpass their lead by a few yards before the cautioning voice of his grandmother called out to him.

“Don’t you wonder too far, Caillin. We are still far off and glancing over our shoulders.”

It was with a steady gaze that obsidian eyes would fall upon the young boy. The group had grown to love one another as a mismatched family forced to unite in slavery and now forged within the hardening fires of trial and tribulation of their escape. It was a complication that he had not sought after. Typically his concern fell only to himself. As such it bewildered and perplexed even himself the reasoning for his assistance in escape. Of all that managed to break the bonds of slavery and retain freedom, or taste its glory for the first time in their life, he was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the collar or lack of chains in either way. A silent figure ever reclusive when it came to familiarizing himself with the rest of the group, though most had known him in the house of Gaius as something of an oddity among even the slaves.

His gaze was averted at the realization that the elderly woman had spotted his concerned study of her grandchild. Towards her he would offer only a frown, as if he was bothered by the boys’ adventurous ways. But even the best masks can’t hide all truths as the woman continued to beam a smile that lit up like a beacon of hope in and of itself.

“The boy will catch death of lungs if he does not mind himself.” Ayden would blandly advise, feigning to look back at the rest of the group with an almost dismissive glance. “Such cold air in rabid lungs can bring illness.”

“And yet you voice concern with attempt to harbor none.” She would coyly reply with the soothing chuckle that grew from the very heart of a being that had endured much, yet still held so much hope like the roots of a sapling cling to the rock faces of high mountains. Seemingly futile, given her age, and yet endearing to witness with ones’ own eyes the way that even time could not deny the flame of hope once kindled.

“Pfft.” Ayden would scoff, rolling his eyes in added emphasis while retrieving one of his three flasks of cheap wine. “More wine for me then, should the boys’ mouth no longer require warmth. Or your own, you upstart crone.”

Openly the gleam of the old woman’s smile would contort to a frown at being called a crone, but would quickly return without much hindrance as she watched the man pour his wine bladder almost to ruin down his throat. She knew that he was not a man who was open with many. Something lay in the very core of his being that drove him to shun proximity with anyone save for a self imposed selfish appearance. But though she was old, she still had eyes. And with those eyes had seen the actual man held behind a veil of ego. Deeds spoke in thunder, while often words merely echoed like whispers. Those very same actions were the reason why Ayden himself hardly wore a thread worth subduing the cold that lingered in the air while she and her grandson were all but swaddled in blanket. She had seen him better than most of the band who only knew him as one of many hands that aided in their escape attempt but hardly knew of the reason behind it.

“Drown yourself with wine all you want, but you will find little refuge or truth at the bottom of the bladder!” She would boldly state as they continued onward across the open snow covered fields. It was sharp, as she was sometimes known to be, though there was always a motherly air to her words. A forgiveness in a sense, and yet a strength that came only with age.

Ayden had no words of response, as he usually refrained, but this time the words struck a chord as he returned the wine bladder to his side. His eyes marking the old woman cautiously as she took off further up the trail blazed by her grandchild and the front man of their group. As was his fashion he would drop back, distancing himself from the old woman to prevent being called out any further. It was his hopes that they would reach the city by mid days sun, though that was hard to discern with the increased cloud coverage and snow fall.

Slowly he would fall further and further behind the group. Allowing the other members to pass him by without as much as a word in turn of one way or another. The only thing that he received was the occasional awkward glance followed by a murmur to the person closest to the one inquiring, “why is he always so distant,” or, “always drunk,” and, “so selfish?”

To him it didn’t matter. On the inside he was happy to be alive, and most of all free to enjoy this newly returned freedom. But with the past few months, and upon finding out the destination picked by the group, he found his livelihood to be of a sparse nature. All of those memories left in the past where they belonged. Nights spent with drink and rather questionable company served as a distraction. Even finding himself embraced by shackle and irons was merely a tool used, in a twisted sense of his mentality, to strip him of his woes and constant self loathing. He was entertained by the brutality forced upon him. Granted, not every minute was truly enjoyable for him, but there were many a moment where he found solace in the distraction wrought by harsh hands. Demands where made of him. Sometimes to inflict pain on others, at other times he was the recipient of severe beatings. All of it merely to cater to the sadistic egos seeking pleasure and satisfaction of playing god with the lives of those less fortunate. And it was all toppled by an ill fated stroke in anger towards a child, so frail and innocent…

His thoughts were drawn back as a cold, bitter impact struck his cheek and took his stride off course by a few degrees. He reeled with the explosion of tightly packed snow that had stripped him of his senses in an already oblivious moment. Once gathering himself he quickly deduced the origin of assault both by laughter, and the scamper of a child’s feet fleeing through snow... Noticing the young Caillin trying to sprint away was also a dead giveaway. His laughter goading the rare smile from Ayden’s lips as he promptly initiated pursuit accompanied by a laugh of his own. The momentary break in his silence had startled most of the group, but to the old lady it merely showed truth in her previous assumptions.

The two would harass one another with snowballs and frantic bursts of speed to either evade or gain grounds upon one another. Their short lived game would proceed all the way up to the gates where propriety found them with a curious stare from the stationed Sylirian Knights. The others arrived within moments, including the old lady who quickly gathered her grandchild to her as the Knights asked brief questions of each of the travelers. Mostly they inquired of their origins, why they held so little supply, and why they were of such a few number for traveling in both hazardous weather and distance.

Their reply was that they were from Sunberth but refrained from informing them of unneeded information, such as the fact that they were escaped slaves now seeking refuge in the safety of Syliras’ walls. As for the shortage of supplies they designated the man who had lead the troop, aside from Ayden and Caillin, to their very gates as somewhat of a survivalist. As he had proved capable in scrounging up food and reading the land to keep them on track, and safely out of most commonly traveled roads to avoid pursuers. They also informed the guards that there had originally been twenty of them, though now only nine stood before the guards. The hazards of travel had claimed a few; two had broken off of their own accord a week into their journey to head to their own homelands. Ayden himself didn’t remember the land they sought, but missed the satchel of wine that he had sent them away with more than the company itself.

It was only after a brief pause that the guards would allow them entrance through the main archway and finally through the second gates into the city. Six of their group instantly broke off with an array of goodbyes and farewells leaving Ayden, Caillin and his grandmother to their own devices.

“Would you walk with us just a little further?” Asked the elderly woman.

“Yes, would you? We’re going to my uncles to stay! You can stay with us, and…” Abruptly Caillin paused to look at his grandmothers aged features to see if he had overstepped his bounds. She simply patted his shoulder and steered the boy forward, assuring him that she had lent thought to the same idea without actually having been given the chance to do so before youthful haste took her very words.

“He is right you know… You have earned it, more times over then not.” She would assure him as they continued leisurely strolling, now that they were safe within the walls of Syliras their worries of pursuit and dangers lurking all around had well faded from mind. Odd, as it was, that it should pass so easily after two months of travel. But there lay the heart of man. Persevering over adversity only to casually cast aside woe in light of more favorable days. Effortlessly forgetting. It was something that Ayden was quite fond off, at least as he would have the outside world perceive of him.

“I am sorry, but I must decline though your offering is most alluring.” Carefully he would allow his guard down in front of them and a smile to creep up upon his lips even as he raised a new wall in his personal defense.

“You have your own lives to see to now. As do I. I am certain our paths may cross, if you are one for tavern or blood sport.”

“That life is behind you!” The elderly woman would snap with a short reply. A glean flashed within her eyes as if she were scolding one of her own children who had just spoken of seeking some lesser or nefarious form of station or duty.

“You need not throw away what blood and tears have already given! It would be foolish to do so, and an excrement on the names of those who couldn’t fill your very shoes! If you fear we offer pity, you have not earned ours, you are not pitiful, Ayden. Even if you announce yourself as, Ayden the Bastard, as you have with the guards just now to the whole of this world you would not be as pitiful as you proclaim! So stop wallowing in whatever guilt lay behind you, behind us all! Stop making light of personal suffering or see yourself the loathsome wretch you strive so hard to envision! There is a man before my eyes… Not a child… Grow mind and see him set to purpose!”

Once again he found himself silenced by the old woman. Scorned for his reckless nature of hap hazardously flinging himself off a cliff over stony shores and jesting about it in waste of the deep breath before his plunge. Caillin stood there just as cowed by his grandmothers’ sudden outburst, staring between the two while silence found them in the noisy thoroughfare. People passing by paid little heed of them as they went on about their daily lives… It was a creeping reminder, etching itself up Ayden’s back like an icy hand that they were so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, despite however right the woman was on some issues.

“I do what is needed… And that lies not with you and your family.” He would finally speak his voice soft as he cast his eyes to capture the returned glance of the grandmother.

“Your lives are your own now to worry about. Hand of force far removed and replaced by embrace of loved ones. As much gratitude for offering as I can give, has also to come with regretted deflection. See to your own. And worry not for ones in passing. He,” he would exclaim while emphasizing Caillin with the point of his finger, “is the most important thing in your life. Never forget that or let it fall to ruin.”

With a forced smile spreading to his lips Ayden would back peddle a few strides, offer a wave, and then pass forward to disappear into the people busying themselves with their own lives. Leaving Caillin and his grandmother to converse amongst themselves as they watched him depart and finally strike off on their own. Doubtfully to cross Ayden’s path ever again.

He would not break words with anyone or so much as make eye contact as he weaved his way in and out through the crowed much like the needle in the skillful hands of a master seamstress. Passing this way and that without an outward bearing as to his intended destination. But he was no lost soul, and while he was very young when opted to leave this city, he was still pretty sure that he could find his way to a tavern or inn with little problem…

[Alevadra Druva]

“I’m fine, really, I can do gate duty!” The woman spoke rather insistently to a man who appeared in his late 50s, perhaps early 60s, lines distinctly crossed his face from years of life. “Ale,” His voice was stern, as brown eyes identical to the young knights rose to meet her. “You have two day, regardless of whether you want them or not to assure you recover.” The woman looked rather irritated. “So I should just muck about?” The man sighed a waved her off. “It’s final, Alevadra, now go, enjoy a few relaxing days.” “If I was anyone but your daughter, I would be on guard duty without a second thought! It’s a scratch really, everything is all healed up, I’m not sick, it’s not like I am incapable.” A stern face regarded her. “Do not argue with me. Go.” His voice was callous as Ale matched his gaze. A moment spanned between them before Ale turned sharply and left the room in Stormhold, marching back into the throngs of people. It was still early in the day, and while it was early, there still were quite a few bumbling about. The minor scuffle Ale had gotten into the previous day while out on a day-patrol with another knight was nothing to take lightly but it was also nothing so severe that Ale could not continue her duties fore days. A wound across her shoulder and a bruise on her neck were nothing really, the slice had needed a few stitches, but it would heal without issue, a likely the scar would be minimal at worst… But, Alevadra had the position of being the daughter of Victor Druva and being in his company. It was a normal day, and Ale had grown quite used to all the snow and cold, wearing quite a bit of wool to keep herself warm and dry in the unusual weather that had passed over them. Standing before the door, dressed as a knight often was out of armor, the Druva crest upon her chest. Her boots were pulled up below her knees, fitted suede pants tucked in to avoid getting soggy. Her day was free—something Ale did not particularly care for. She couldn’t train, trying to use a bow would be a poor choice with the wound on her shoulder. And surely if Victor caught her in the training grounds she’d never hear the end of it for going against him. Her arms crossed over her chest, chin bowing down as her hair fell around her. It was a lighter hue than it normally was, more blonde with hints of blue and pink than the deep navy and magenta it so often was. Winter time was not the best for Ale’s regular routine of coloring her hair—the berries and plants she often used were no more and fabric dyes were too expensive during the cold season to even consider. As such—her hair was the pale color it had been in youth, though tainted with the slightest hints of her adult life. A slow sigh left her lips as she took a step forward, moving through the people with a practiced ease only learned from years within the cities walls. While she was unable to work—and it was far too cold to just bumble about, there was somewhere she could go that action would—on occasion—occur. Of course, that was the stallion. Drunks or arguments were always there to be found, or at the very least Kevith would offer her a friendly conversation with the local gossip—For a bartender, he was quite open with the knight. It took only a few chimes for her body to pass into the warmth of the tavern, quiet with the early afternoon. “Ah, Ale, a day off?” The man behind the bar greeted her as she moved to settle before him. “Two,” She sighed. Kevith raised a brow. “Two?” The woman nodded as Kevith motioned to get her a drink, the woman shook her head in a silent “no” before continuing. “Had a little incident just outside of the walls, nothing too serious, but I have to take it easy.” She shrugged, wincing at the lifting of her shoulder. “Aye, looks like that was a right choice.” A grumbled sigh left her before she waved his comment off. “Think you could set me up with something to eat, Kevith? And some hot water, the cold still bites even within stormhold.” The man nodded, wandering off to fetch the requested things for the off-duty knight.

[Ayden]

Roaming the streets on the bitter day was not all that it had cracked up to be in his mind. Several times he found himself ducking down an alley to avoid the wind, not only creating a zig zag in his beaten trail but also futile as he always came right back into the face of winters bite. The respite was well received despite its inevitable return at the opposite side of those back streets. A little wine to warm his body, and haze his vision after another bladder was drained of its bitter contents. The chill didn’t hurt its flavor, if anything it made it a tiny bit more enjoyable though he would have preferred the typical warm atmosphere temperature in light of the current weather.

His thoughts were to himself, yet rampant as the city started coming back to him little by little. Places that he hadn’t seen in what must have been ages. Faces that he thought he recognized yet remained unspoken with flitted by just as the memories that ate away at him. Life passing by as it always had and would continue to do. His mind, however, had decided to lock itself within the confines of the past. A foolish place to take refuge. Though when coaxed there by drink and re-acquaintance it seemed a bastion more than a boon until so far down the road continuing onward was the only option instead of going back.

The brush of his shoulder gruffly against an anonymous bystander, and the accompanying sneer of repulsion from him, outwardly spoke of disdain for these mental pains though no one would be privy and merely think him to be a drunken jerk ambling about.

“Watch where you’re going, Scum!”

The outburst would cause a bought of laughter to fly from his lips, quit contradictory to the grimace presented not but a second ago. “You block path and place blame upon victim? There is drink. In abundance. It calls to me. And I am meant for it! It is you who owe apology if it need be given.”

Confusion. Plain and simple. It riddled the man who was rudely brushed and the bystanders who had stopped to take in the spectacle. Ayden merely stood there, convincingly subdued by his own ego and embellished drunken state. Soaking in the radiant bewilderment, it was almost palpable and brought a smile to his lips adding to the estranged encounter.

Concern spread across the man’s features, knitting his brow while leaving his mouth gapped in wonder before he shook his head and turned back to his personal task. Disbelief, but no further conversation would be attempted as surely he, and the other witnesses, thought the man too drunk and touched in the head to make any real ordeal of the situation. Once passed he would only glance back as Ayden gave a cackle of amusement and then hasten his stride to whatever personal venture he was on this afternoon.

The encounter had pulled his mind from dark places, even if just for the moment. Causing Ayden’s natural light to show as he brandished a smile and chiming laugh to those who joined the affronted man in letting the situation pass so they might continue on with their own daily tasks. It was as simple as popping the cork from his third, and sadly final, bladder of wine to wash down the laughter and taste of passive victory from his throat. But he knew all too well that his supplies were running low and that the day was still far too young to not root out more drink. After all the cold was upon them and without a source of nourishment or heat he would surely freeze to death by the end of the hour. As dramatic as that may be, and improbable, he made it stick to his mind as a caution and motivation to make it to a tavern unhindered.

With his feet set to purpose he would arrive at a tavern. None too soon as he weighed the half full bladder of wine and took one final pull to prepare himself for entry. Then, with a smile upon his lips filled with confidence at completing the oh so taxing task of venturing to a tavern, he would push the entrance ajar and step inside. By now the wine had a firm grasp upon him. While he managed his balance rather well if one looked closely enough they would notice the clear gleam in his eye and overly noticeable smile. The world had a bit of an echo to it by now. The warm fire in the hearth though across the room still graced the tavern with a homely feel of safety. The patrons’ voices ebbed and flowed, since he was starting to really feel his empty stomach and now almost three full bladders of wine, in that distinct beginning stage of intoxication.

“Ale!” He would shout, leaning back just a bit in shock at his own voice giving call for drink. Little did he know that there was an occupant within who went by that very alias. Another blast from the past waiting to waken like a volcano rumbling from slumber.

“Or mead… Wine preferably!” To anyone else he was junk a boisterous drunk that had started in a bit too early for his own good. A potential trouble magnet, due to his nonchalant demeanor and seemingly cocky grin as he studied the room and occupants. His obsidian gaze scanning tentatively for the bar which once found, was his final destination for the evening as far as he was concerned.

“Ah ha! There you are, you beautiful unicorn!” It clearly didn’t bother him, the way the patrons gave him side long glances or whispered to themselves about this apparent drunkard that moved as fluid as a dancer through them only to unceremoniously plant himself at the bar. Quite literally. As he splayed his arms and all but slammed his face into the large wooden surface. Embracing it. Caressing the as much of the length as he could with little concern over whose proximity he was encroaching upon as he grasped at the countertop like it was a lover long removed from his arms. And oh what a lover it was, baring many a secret and delicacies for him. Filling him, feeding him, and keeping him from roaming too far astray… He had, quite the relationship with frequented taverns. And although he was far too young to enjoy this particular one when he was once an actual citizen of Syliras, he still had a history within the establishment. Usually in a back room or after hours when he was paid to fight for meager scraps or a hand full of copper mizas. Sometimes he got lucky and received a silver or two.

“Mmmm…” He would sedately groan as he drew in a deep breath of the dingy counter, not even concerned with what his face might be pressed against as he basked in a rekindled memory of simpler times before his fights were a means to actually survive.

“I will see full payment for a fresh mug of whatever is strongest in house, and the refilling of my own reserves.” Without lifting his head, though tilting it to a degree which allowed him to look upon the man who stood, confused but with a purpose, behind the bar. “Just give pardon my ways and keep them flowing to see it done.”

[Alevadra Druva]

Kevith has wandered off to fetch Ale some stew and bread—as well as water. She sat rather quietly for a spell, listening to the calm murmur of patrons chatting over their own meals. Early hours like this were often quiet, and quite relaxing really. The drunkards had yet to wake often—at least, that was often the case, and the city was calmly going about the early afternoon’s tasks. The small knight rose from her stool, hoping onto the worn, wooden floor which creaked under her weight. She moved calmly over to the fire place, taking the poker to prod at the embers before tossing a log from the pile beside the stone mantle onto the dying light. It was warm and melted the cold tips of Ale’s fingers. Where she less stubborn, she would have asked Kevith to bring her food and drink to the table by the growing flames. However, Alevadra Druva would not be Alevadra Druva if she asked for things such as that. Anyone who knew her knew that Alevadra was stubborn, and not one to show her weaknesses. A shuffling of feet raised Ale’s attention to the bar as Kevith reappeared and set the bowl of stew and piece of hard bread on the bar before fetching a glass of steaming water. “There ye are, Ale, thanks fer tendin’ the fire.” The woman smiled and nodded slightly. “It was nothing, more selfish than not, I don’t want to get chilly.” The woman returned to her seat and gave the meal her full attention. A wood spoon prodded the floating potatoes which were few and far between. It was mostly broth and chunks of meat. After all, any sort of fresh vegetables were not common in the winter season—especially with this cold. Her mind wandered, mainly to what was going to happen within the city without her active duty. Probably nothing of consequence, at the very least she could help out Kevith by being at the tavern from time to time. In general, though, Ale would just have to occupy her time otherwise, either with readings or… Ale drew a blank, what else could she do? Tend to Lyris? There was only so much tending a horse needed in a day. The wooden implement stirred up the murky meal before she began to ingest spoonful after spoonful. What a dull life this was. Sitting about, eating… Socializing? It wasn’t the Alevadra was against conversations, she just was not one to really seek them out. They would happen, from time to time. Occasionally she would entice it if the mood struck her and the company was suitable for such. Often, though, Ale was much more for action than words. Only a handful of souls, few and far between were able to elicit the want of socialization an contact. And more often than not, those souls were quite fleeting in her life. The woman was at the bottom of her bowl, which was when the bread came in handy, soaking up the remains of broth and small bits of meat. “You were a little hungry there, weren’t you?” Ale smiled as she took a bite off the stew-soaked bread. “Have you ever known me to eat slowly, Kevith?” The man let out a laugh and shook his head. “Nah, you eat about as readily as any slob that comes in off the street.” He winked to show his jest to the knight. Before the woman could retort, the door opened and a rather loud man entered. “Ale!” He shouted, to which, Ale raised her head and gave him a glance before realizing, he certainly wasn’t looking for the knight, rather, the drink. With a sigh, Alevadra went back to her bread. “Have fun with that, Kevith.” She murmured, taking another bite of her bread. The man gave her a glance which one garnered the response: [color=purple “Off-duty,”[/color]. It seemed the man had quite the love affair with taverns—possibly this one especially. However, from his look Ale assumed he was a traveler, he had a ragged-around-the-edges sort of appearance that so many travelers had. His hands stretched out the length of the bar, and had Ale not lifted her bowl, he likely would have knocked that clean off. A glance was given to Kevith who was busy pouring the man some wine and setting it down before him. “Of course, here you are,” Kevith made a motion for the empty bladders. The knight seemed to busy herself with finishing the bread and hot water, paying little mind to the rather rank patron a few stools beside her. “Ah, well, thank you, Kevith,” Ale said, setting down the half-empty cup of hot water before pulling a few mizas from her pocket to pay for her indulgences. “Ale, you do not wish to stay for anything else?” The man asked, glancing between the knight and the rather queer fellow embracing his bar. The woman smiled and shook her head. “No… No, I believe it is the opportune time to visit some old, dead, friends.” Of course, Kevith knew what that meant—the stone garden, a memorial to fallen knights. “Well, don’t stay out too long, would want you catching cold.” She waved him off, feeling no need to be babied. The knight rose from her stool and picked up the wool cloak, placing it over her shoulders and doing the clasp. A glassbeak—the Druva crest, was stitched upon the breast as well as present in the clasp. “And as for you,” She leaned over next to the drunk man, minding her space. “Take it a little easy, wouldn’t want Kevith to have any trouble, he’s a good man. Best mead in all of Syliras.” She rose and nodded to the bartender, barely allowing time for the man to speak before venturing to the door. “ ‘Ave a good day, Sera Druva,” Kevith called after her as she slipped from view, a single hand raising to wave him farewell as she moved back out to the cold. The streets were not as busy as they normally were, people hurried from one location to another, seeking the refuge of warm fires and rooms. Few bodies remained out and about huddled together to socialize. The lack of bodies made reaching the stone garden rather simple, her feet creating fresh prints in the snow. The stone garden was quiet, as if in another world from the bustling city. Luckily, drunks rarely made it to the gardens, preferring the warmth of taverns and questionable maiden’s arms to the cold stones of memorial. No names were listed, but the indication was there. Ale knew of knights who died, two of which were exceptionally close. It seemed a regular thing for Alevadra. Grow close to another only for them to do one of two things: croak, or vanish. The knight paced in the plantless garden, her chin downward as she moved about the fresh, thin layer of snow that coated the rocks. Was this what her free time was meant to be spent doing? Lingering in the house of the dead, pacing and recalling distant memories? The living were so fickle, but the dead were just that—Dead. The cold bit at her ears, forcing the woman to lift the hood of her cloak. As much as she could silently sit with the stones that surrounded her, paying them their dues with her time, it was not as those would wish upon her. A final glance about the large memorial and the woman turned leaving a trail behind, heading off once more. Her travels were winding and without an ending destination, meandering about the city, nodding kindly to those around her, as was right to do as a knight. Ultimately, though, her journey had no set end, only the desire to spend the days bells in order to sooner return her to her duties.