Closed [The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Baelin wants to be a good Eiyon and Bakar would like to not die.

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Baelin Holt on September 22nd, 2015, 12:50 pm

Image
22, Fall of 515 AV

The overwhelming volume of people and noise in the Rearing Stallion never failed to give Baelin a headache within minutes. One would think that he’d get used to the boisterous nature of the tavern after having spent so much of his life in the cacophony of smithies, but there was something intrinsically different and distressing when the noise was from conversing people.

The tavern was bustling with activity and Baelin cursed himself for not being able to get out of the Ironworks early enough to get here when it was a bit more manageable. The half-Dhani took solace in the fact that it was at least somewhat removed from Stormhold. After five years in the fortress city he should consider himself a local, but the city still didn’t feel like home. If he was being honest with himself, it felt more like a prison. Large walls kept him trapped, Nuits roamed the city with liberty, winters were cold enough to keep him subdued and frozen, and there was an always present, overwhelming crush of people.

It was hell.

The half-Dhani passed the dimly lit tables and worked his way to the bar. He was here to try and “socialize,” not eat. And while the food did look interesting, Baelin saw little benefit from sitting at a table by himself and hunched over his plate with just enough light to make out what he was eating. The scenario hardly seemed to lend itself to information gathering.

He would have much preferred the Broken Casket over the Rearing Stallion. It was where he went for beer normally. The kelp beer was much cheaper, if saltier, and the foreignness of its patrons tended to make Baelin feel more at home than the mass of Sylirans packed into the more locals-oriented tavern.

Baelin stepped to the side to let a barmaid rush by him with her hands full of mugs. He caught a whiff of chocolate from one of the mugs and cocked his head in consideration. While the drinks here may be annoyingly overpriced, the quality was commendable.

The bulky man turned back to the bar and found an open spot to stand. The owner, a gruff older man, eventually took notice of him. Baelin leaned over the counter and said just loud enough to be heard, “Ale.”

The man’s mustache twitched with what Baelin figured was either amusement or annoyance. When Baelin didn’t say any more, the owner offered what was available, going through the limited variety with the monotony of a memorized list. Baelin didn’t particularly care and ordered whatever the last one was. Gnarled hands went about filling the well-used mug with a practiced ease. Baelin gave a tight-lipped smile in thanks as he fished out a silver miza from his makeshift pocket and passed it over.

The half-Dhani stood awkwardly at the bar with his drink, recognizing that he needed to talk to someone to make this trip worth it but being entirely unwilling to make eye contact. He stared intensely at his ale, slit pupils tracking the sway of the foam as the wood of the bar creaked slightly under the weight of its patrons.

Baelin sighed and rubbed calloused fingers into his forehead, the scythe on his palm contorting while his fingers worked. He had to make this work. He was an Eiyon now. He has been for two seasons. Dira had trusted him enough to give him this gift, whatever it was, and he hasn’t done shyke with it. The half-Dhani’s desire to put a final end to the walking corpses wasn’t only something he would like to do, it was a responsibility. And yet here he was, milling about a city with likely hundreds (or at the very least tens) of Nuits and he couldn’t find a single one.

Baelin hissed through clenched teeth in mounting irritation and took a swig of his ale. His lips reflexively quirked in approval of the drink. It really was rather tasty.

You can do this, he mentally grated, How hard can it possibly be? All he had to do was find someone, talk to them, figure out if they knew any Nuits, and then try to find some kind of way to track the blasted thing down.

Baelin scanned the tavern to pick out whom to talk to and felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. How on Mizahar was he supposed to do this? Baelin was utter rubbish at striking conversations with others. Very skilled at keeping to himself and even better at glaring nastily at anyone who dared to try to start up a chat. Not so much at reciprocating a dialogue or beginning one.

Stop being such a child, he nearly hissed aloud, Just talk to someone.

Or, at the very least, he could glare at them until they felt the need to snap at him. He’d count that as progress.
User avatar
Baelin Holt
Smith of Black Rock
 
Posts: 183
Words: 191254
Joined roleplay: July 25th, 2014, 12:36 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Mixed blood
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Bakar on September 22nd, 2015, 6:45 pm

Image
I promise I'm not that scary..


Ah, the Rearing Stallion. A great place to listen and watch for rumours. If Bakar were to hear anything of giant snakes, it would be here. There was something.. different in the area this time though. There was something.. off. This wasn't right. What could possibly be here that made her feel this uneasy?

"Must be the amount of people, is all.." She said to herself. She steeled her nerves, and pushed her way through the bar, into a seat in the back. There was a few people here, but it really was a last choice place, being so far from the bar. But it was where she was most comfortable. They were talking among themselves, but it wasn't about anything too interesting.

Attempting to gather information, she butted into the conversation. "S-so.. hear any interesting rumours lately? M-maybe... about the Bronze Wood?" The men just turned and gave her a look, before grunting and returning to their own conversations. O-okay, that didn't go so well.. She nervously rose and made her way to the bar.

The feeling of unease just grew as she grew closer and closer. What is this feeling? Shivers were sent down her spines. A feeling of unease was coming from the other end of the bar. She scanned the faces for anything out of the ordinary, but saw just faces of patrons. No one else seemed to have the same feeling as her. Everyone just stood and had a jolly good time. There was something wrong here. Something very wrong.

She had planned on striking up more conversation, hopefully with better results, but the feeling pervaded all other thought. She was getting worried about this now, and her mind refused to perceive anything else. She scanned the faces again, trying to pinpoint the origin of the feelings. It was clearly coming from that side of the bar, but there was so many faces, and they all looked so.. plain. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Last edited by Bakar on September 26th, 2015, 5:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
As of Summer, 63, 515, Bakar has a different body! If never met you before, then this doesn't really matter to you, but people I've met should take this into account, as you're really unlikely to recognize me. :P
User avatar
Bakar
The Quiet Undertaker
 
Posts: 176
Words: 136278
Joined roleplay: September 10th, 2014, 7:53 pm
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Baelin Holt on September 24th, 2015, 12:45 am

Image
The half-Dhani growled in frustration as he took another drink from his ale. He was on his second already and still hadn’t made a lick of progress. All his glaring amounted to was getting a bit more elbow room. Evidently his “please talk to me” look was the spitting image of a “get the hell away from me” look. And, predictably enough, his souring mood only amplified the unintended message.

At least the day wasn’t a total loss; the ale really was exquisite. Baelin rarely treated himself to good foods and drinks, instead opting for cheap over flavorful. The half-Dhani took a larger swig from his drink and relished the malty flavor, letting it sit on his tongue for a second before swallowing it down.

Baelin took another long sip and got a surprising blast of rotten eggs overpowering the ale’s flavor. The half-Dhani pulled back from his drink in shock and stared down on it, trying to see what had managed to get into it. He didn’t immediately see anything floating on the surface so he swirled it a bit, trying to see if he could see the shape of something.

His increasingly vigorous swirling only seemed to yield a skunky scent. Baelin wrinkled his nose in disgust. The taste of rotten egg was still on his tongue and, combined with the unpleasant olfactory stench, it was quickly becoming overwhelming. The half-Dhani reflexively gagged and, needing to get away from the foul combination, set his drink on the bar and pushed it far to the other side.

The distance, however, didn’t seem to do anything. In fact, the pungency only grew.

Baelin spat on the floor and earned himself a warning glare from a serving maid. The foul taste only continued to grow. Baelin searched the crowd, trying to find whichever jerk was causing this. Was it magic? Could magic even do this? The armorer had no idea; he usually avoided anything to do with the bizarre craft.

His already strained nerves flared in rage while he tried to find the scoundrel responsible for ruining his previously delicious ale. But all the other patrons seemed to be occupied in their conversations and ignoring him. Not a single person seemed to be watching the incensed man.

Well if they were going to be clever and give no sign that they were watching their mark, he would just have to try to be clever too. Maybe it was a distance thing? It made sense to Baelin that you had to be close to your mark to cast a spell. He couldn’t imagine how absurdly overpowered someone would be if they could cast spells from far distances. The armorer didn’t want to even think that it could be possible.

The half-Dhani was no one’s mark to be bullied. He hated being bullied. He was an Eiyon now for goodness sake. He shouldn’t still be on the short end of the social ladder. They should respect him. Baelin bared his teeth and hissed through them in his rage. Snatching his ale from the bar, Baelin stormed to the emptiest corner of the tavern. He moved quickly, pushing rudely past a few patrons who stood in his way.

Sure enough, the farther away from the bar he went the fainter the stench of skunk became. The taste of rotten eggs still clung with him, but it was no longer as difficult to refrain from gagging. Baelin took an experimental sip of his ale and, as expected, there was the faint taste of well fermented barley lying underneath the rotten flavor.

Baelin was nearly shaking in anger as he glared at the rest of the patrons, trying to pick out his tormentor from the crowd. Someone near the bar, he seethed, They must be at the bar.

It didn’t help that most people were crowded around the bar, happily bantering away with each other. But...there. Some woman was apart from the crowd. Still there, hovering around the others as if it counted for something (Baelin ignored the similarities to his own version of socializing), but conversing with none.

He glared vehemently at her, slit pupils honed in on her from across the tavern. Baelin tried to radiate off as much hate and rage as he could, hoping that she would catch the hint and stop whatever it was she was doing.

If that didn’t convince her to stop her apparently magic-fueled terrorizing, he would just have to think of something. The burly half-Dhani wouldn’t stand for this heckling. He would be respected...or, at the very least, left alone.
User avatar
Baelin Holt
Smith of Black Rock
 
Posts: 183
Words: 191254
Joined roleplay: July 25th, 2014, 12:36 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Mixed blood
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Bakar on September 24th, 2015, 8:04 pm

Image
I promise I'm not that scary..


There was a sudden commotion from the other end of the bar as a man shoved his way past some patrons. He was quite rough, and seemed to be in a hurry. Bakar's eyes followed him across the floor, watching him go and sit in an empty corner of the tavern. She turned back to the bar, attempting to ask about the man, but was just met with people stuck in their own conversations, so she didn't even bother. The feeling of unease followed him. He seemed to emanate the feeling. It was undoubtedly him that she was feeling. But why? She immediately didn't like the man. There was just.. something. But she was curious.

She turned back to the man, only to see him staring at her. She looked around, hoping that there was someone around her that maybe he was looking at, and she was mistaken. But no, it was certainly her. It was hard to tell, with the amount of people and the distance, but... it looked quite pissed.

What had she done? Had she offended him? Did it have something to do with the feeling she was getting from him? She wanted to approach the man.. but it looked like he was about ready to rip her head off! She motioned to the bartender, who approached slowly, dealing with others patrons first.

"What do you know of that man over in the corner?" She asked loudly, a laugh erupting from a table somewhere. He simply shrugged and told her he had ordered an ale, and simply stood around for a while. With that, someone called him over, and he bid farewell. She turned back, and he was still there. The feeling of unease had subsided as he went further, but was returning in full force now, likely caused by this gaze of anger.

She had resolved to go over, and apologize for an offense she had done. Surely he wouldn't do anything in the middle of a busy tavern. But then.. maybe that would be the time to do it, when everyone was loud and rowdy. Nonetheless, she had clearly done him some wrong, and wanted to apologize. She readied herself before walking across the room towards him.

She slipped carefully through the crowd before arriving at the table with the man, she kept her eyes down, her nerve breaking as she neared. There was something wrong, and she didn't know what. He made her more nervous than she's even been before. Nervous to the point where it was terror. She regretted coming to him, but it was too late now.

"H-hello, sir. I-I saw you looking at me from across the tavern, and I-I wanted to apologize for any offense I have done. I know not what I did, but it is clear that it was something terrible. I hope that y-you can forgive me." She bowed nervously, still avoiding eye contact. Surely they could sort this out, if she knew what she had done.
As of Summer, 63, 515, Bakar has a different body! If never met you before, then this doesn't really matter to you, but people I've met should take this into account, as you're really unlikely to recognize me. :P
User avatar
Bakar
The Quiet Undertaker
 
Posts: 176
Words: 136278
Joined roleplay: September 10th, 2014, 7:53 pm
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Baelin Holt on October 8th, 2015, 2:24 am

Image
Baelin twisted his mouth in distaste. She hadn’t stopped, even with his best dagger stare. In fact, she seemed to have taken his stink eye as indication that she should approach.

And, as she approached, the sickening stench amplified.

By the time she was within speaking distance, Baelin was having a hard time controlling his reflexive grimace. When she spoke, the Eiyon had a hard time focusing on her words over the overwhelming need to spit out the foul flavor.

And yet...she was apologizing. Baelin growled, not quite understanding. Was this some kind of trick?

But her apology seemed sincere. Was she doing this whole thing by mistake? Some kind of magic user in training who was botching a spell? Baelin had no idea how magic worked. He had no clue if it could be used on accident or if it could happen without the user knowing. Perhaps that’s why Syliras had put in tighter restrictions on magic users. Because it was unpredictable and wild.

Yet if it was actually some sort of magic gone wild, why did it seem to only be affecting him?

Perhaps this wasn’t her using magic at all.

A new thought began to trickle into his thoughts. Just the smallest ember of a thought as the woman stuttered through her apology. An ember which quickly grew into a wildfire as he realized the sense in it. Perhaps this wasn’t even the woman. What if it was him?

But that didn’t make sense. Baelin was confident that he no magical ability or anything of the sort. He was as human and normal as they come, scales aside. He’s never even really had contact with much magic. The only instance he could think of was when his goddess graced his palm with her kiss.

Baelin sucked in a harsh breath and jerked his palm up to look at it. His mark. He still had no idea what it did, other than prove that Dira held him in some kind of favor. Was the taste of rotten eggs and the stench of skunk coming from the scythe on his palm?

If that was indeed the case, why on Mizahar would it be acting up now? Baelin took the moment to study the woman more closely. She was avoiding his eye, but that wasn’t any kind of red flag. Some strangers found his large and strong bulk to be intimidating. It was a look Baelin enjoyed when it succeeded.

What was different was how absurdly pale she was. The fortress dwelling denizens of Syliras often were paler than what Baelin considered healthy. But this was beyond normal, even for a Syliran. And something was just off. Whether it was her pallor or the way the flesh around the corners of her mouth seemed to move too stiffly when she spoke.

Baelin couldn’t let himself believe the conclusion he was coming to. He couldn’t even begin to process that the shy, stuttering girl bowing to him was a monster. But the pieces were all fitting together and it made sense.

Scarcely believing that he was saying it aloud, surprise laced heavily in his tone, the half-Dhani hissed, “Are you...are you dead?”
User avatar
Baelin Holt
Smith of Black Rock
 
Posts: 183
Words: 191254
Joined roleplay: July 25th, 2014, 12:36 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Mixed blood
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Bakar on October 16th, 2015, 12:36 am

He sat silently for a while. Bakar's nerves were growing more and more on end as she awaited his reply. What his reply was, chilled her immensely.

"Are you dead?"

Her eyes shot up in horror, finally meeting his own again. There was anger, hate, rage. But also.. confusion, surprise. Like he knew, but didn't know how he knew. Or he thought he knew, but he wasn't certain. She looked around to the nearby patrons, ensuring that none were now interested in the happenings at the table. Certain that no one was, she quickly pulled a stool over and sat across from the man.

"Death is relative.. my body may be, but my mind is not.." She spoke to the table, refusing to meet eye contact again. Most people were not so open about their feelings around her, and less so suspected the truth. There was something about this man, and Bakar was unsure what it was.

There was no doubting it, he was very physically imposing. He was large, and knew it. His stare was practiced, like he knew what he was doing. But there was something else. Bakar couldn't place her finger on it. There was just something. She shifted, not being able to get comfortable around him. She felt.. unsafe around him. She took a look around, ensuring the population around the building. She doubted that he would hurt her here.

"I mean you no harm, I am just trying to live my life.. I have done nothing to you.. please.." She was almost begging, without really knowing why. She was free to leave whenever she wanted. She wanted to. Her body was screaming at her to go. There was something wrong. But she didn't. She sat and stayed. This man had known, instantly, as soon as she sat. She wanted to know how.

"H-how did you know..?"
As of Summer, 63, 515, Bakar has a different body! If never met you before, then this doesn't really matter to you, but people I've met should take this into account, as you're really unlikely to recognize me. :P
User avatar
Bakar
The Quiet Undertaker
 
Posts: 176
Words: 136278
Joined roleplay: September 10th, 2014, 7:53 pm
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Baelin Holt on October 23rd, 2015, 10:21 pm

Image
Her response was instant as her eyes flew up to meet his, shy demeanor overwhelmed with what looked like shock or fear. That was all the confirmation Baelin needed. He sucked in a sharp breath, his own shock showing quite evidently as his eyes flew open and his brows lifted.

After having Dira’s mark for so long he was finally face to face with a Nuit. And she was hardly what he had been expected.

What had he expected? That she would have maggots crawling out of her nose and pieces of flesh dripping off her? If he was being honest with himself...yes. He had expected that or even worst.

Yet here was a woman who spoke to him with personality. A woman who’s soul was so evidently still with her, even if her body had long passed. Sitting there across from him saying that death was relative. Baelin couldn’t help but snort. Life and death were no more relative than the sun’s rise and fall with each day. It was a cycle. Fixed and beyond our control. Just because her soul lingered did not mean that she was still alive.

There was no hiding from the truth. The woman sitting before him was dead.

Baelin flexed his hand and imagined the scythe on it. It was his job to deliver her soul to Dira. Its lingering was a mockery to Dira. To death. Even to life.

She continued to speak, begging for him to leave her be. Baelin snorted again. He didn’t know how she could tell what he was, but perhaps it was much like how he could tell what she was. She stunk of it.

Which brought Baelin to the realization that her scent had changed. He cocked his head to the side in interest and sniffed the air again. The skunky scent had subsided in favor of the scent of rotten food. Perhaps the very act of confirming what she was had effects on his gnosis.

“H-how did you know..?”

Baelin snapped his attention back to her words, momentarily ignoring the scent of decay wafting off of her. He wrinkled his nose and tried to decide how honest he should be. Baelin never had been a very good liar and he was hard pressed to think of a good answer that didn’t end up with her running from him.

So he answered as truthfully as he thought safe. With a shrug, Baelin responded, “You reek of death and ssicknessss.” Which was honest enough, he felt. He still had the impulse to hurl from the taste of bad eggs. The half-Dhani didn’t even particularly care to limit his sibilance with her. What does it matter when he was going to deliver her to Dira anyway?

“You inssult life by lingering. You are dead, you died with your body,” Baelin tried to speak reassuringly. He had listened in the chapel back home, after all. He knew that, at least with ghosts, you were first supposed to try to counsel them. Urge them to seek death for themselves. Apparently everyone would end up happier when the ghost found Dira on their own terms. He imagined the same must be true for Nuits.

The half-Dhani leaned across the table and said as earnestly and convincingly as he could, “Let me help you.”
User avatar
Baelin Holt
Smith of Black Rock
 
Posts: 183
Words: 191254
Joined roleplay: July 25th, 2014, 12:36 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Mixed blood
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Bakar on October 24th, 2015, 2:25 am

Reek of death and sickness? She looked around herself, but didn't notice any patches of rotting flesh. Her body was relatively new, and was holding up nicely. Except for the few small cuts she'd acquired.. but other than that, she was fine. Even with if this man had a heightened sense of smell, she wouldn't really smell of death, per say. Just.. chemicals.

The man spoke softly, gently. But his words were harsh. And he said she was insulting. She had not died. Her very being had been ripped from her body. It was displaced into something foreign, and tossed out like a piece of trash. She lost her friends and family, and she was insulting life? What of those that took it with no thought except their own gain? What of the ones who toyed with others for sick enjoyment and pleasure. The man leaned in, speaking quietly.

"Let me help you."

She was holding back her anger. What did this man know? He's talked to her for one minute, and believes he knows all he needs to know to judge her unworthy of living. Trembling from her anger, she looked him in the eyes. Her emotion surely showed. "How old are you. Because I can guarantee you that I was younger when I was forced into this. When I watched my family murdered. When I was taken away so some sick bastard could experiment on me. When I was forced to leave my home because no one would understand what I'd become." She brought her fist down on the table, spilling the remainder of the man's drink onto the top. She watched the liquid flow across slowly. A few patrons looked over, but quickly returned to their own conversations.

Speaking in more hushed tones, Bakar continued. "I'll die when I feel I've lived my life. Because at this point, there's so much I've missed out on. You have no idea what it's like. To be alone, and hated, all for what you are. Why do you believe that you're more entitled to life than I am? You've lived more than me, shouldn't I get a chance?" She unclenched her fists and spread her palms over the table, trying to calm herself down. "I have done no wrong in my life, but have suffered more than you can imagine. I just want some peace, for once in my life. I just want to be happy." Her fists were clenched again, anger rising from her own words. "But people like you. Who think they know me and what's best for me. Who think they're entitled to mark me as less than a real being."

She looked him in the eyes once again, anger boiling to the point of eruption. The feeling of unease he put out just made her angrier. There was still something about this man that he wasn't revealing about himself. He knew what she was, and it wasn't because she smelled. He knew, before she had even been close. As soon as he had seen her. Just as she knew something was off about him. Relaxing her hands again, she spoke softly, slowly. She refused to look away now, eyes locked onto his. She spoke through her teeth. She felt that if her teeth opened, her anger would burst out in full fury, so she was doing all she could to hold it back.

"How. Did. You. Know."
As of Summer, 63, 515, Bakar has a different body! If never met you before, then this doesn't really matter to you, but people I've met should take this into account, as you're really unlikely to recognize me. :P
User avatar
Bakar
The Quiet Undertaker
 
Posts: 176
Words: 136278
Joined roleplay: September 10th, 2014, 7:53 pm
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Baelin Holt on November 3rd, 2015, 4:04 am

Image
Her response was frustrating. He tried, didn’t he? If she was unable to listen to reason, then that was her own sorry fault. Baelin watched with a frown as her face seemed to twist in anger. The Eiyon took note of a tremor in her hand and felt a hint of hope. Perhaps she realized the error of her ways and finally felt death looming.

No matter how well he understood the necessity of death, it would always spark a bit of fear in him. It shamed him, but he would not fault others for fearing it as well. Escaping it however…

But if there was ever any battle between anger and guilt or fear in her mind, her rage won out. She asked how old he was. But it wasn’t a question. She insisted she had been younger than he. Yet so had his mother: Dira still took her. She said she was forced. Yet no one is forcing her to continue this blasphemy.

She said her family was murdered. Yet they were granted the ability to move on while she remained here. To rot. To defy death. To make a mockery of life.

She said she was experimented on. And Baelin could feel pity.

But he could not forgive.

She said she had to leave home because no one could understand. And Baelin could only sneer.

She should have listened to them.

Her fist came down. His beer spilled. Yet Baelin barely even noticed. His eyes were locked on her twisted yet unnaturally stiff features. He watched her colorless lips and followed her still neck. There was no pulse with her anger. It was flat. Lifeless.

And then she leaned forward and truly began to light a match under Baelin’s rage. She would die when she felt like it? No! he wanted to snarl. He nearly did cut her off right then, yet she carried on, barely taking a breath, and Baelin couldn’t help his learned nature of keeping his mouth shut when others were talking.

The selfish, egotistical, self-centered, narcissistic piece of vulgarity barreled on, oblivious as Baelin’s nostrils flared with his anger spiked breath.

No idea what it’s like to be alone and hated for what he was? He came into this world under the shadow of his father’s hatred for exactly what he was. He had lived without friend or companion for the past five years; alone in a foreign city since there was no place for him in his home. Because of what he was. Because of what his bastard pupils and aberrant scales meant. She accused him of assuming false of her, yet she assumed false of him. The narcissism of it enraged him even further, yet he wasn’t surprised. Not after all she’s said. She is selfish.

How dare he think she should be dead? How could he assume that he knew best for her? No. He had every reason to think she should be dead. She was dead. Her being here was stubbornness at best and baneful at worst.

Baelin struggled to form words, yet his anger rushed through him like a tidal wave and snatched with it his ability to make a rational argument. He knew with every fiber of his being that she should be dead. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There wasn’t any “oh but it wasn’t fair.” No! Death is the most fair. Death didn’t discriminate. It didn’t pick any one demographic over the other. It reached out to all.

In his rage his vision tunneled in on her. Her cadaverous eyes locked on his own serpentine ones were all he could see. There were no Sylirans. There was no tavern.

There was only a Nuit. And she was speaking.

Better judgement escaped him as he hissed, “Becaussse I’m an Eiyon, you ssselfissssh fool. Because I resssspect life and death! You don’t get a ssecond chancce as a corpssse becausse you think you desssserve it. You go back in the ccycle like everyone elssse. Why do you not get a chancce?” Baelin’s face scrunched in derision and spittle flew with his sibilance, “Why doessn’t a child who ssslipsss while playing get a sssecond chance? Isss that any lessss of an “unlived” liffe?”

It was Baelin’s turn to lean across the table. His typical desire to speak little and avoid sibilance was lost in his rage. The lukewarm ale that soaked into his shirt as he pressed into the table didn’t even register.

"Without death, there cannot be new liffe. You. Are. Ssselfissssh!”
User avatar
Baelin Holt
Smith of Black Rock
 
Posts: 183
Words: 191254
Joined roleplay: July 25th, 2014, 12:36 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Mixed blood
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets

[The Rearing Stallion] A Nuit & an Eiyon in a Bar (Bakar)

Postby Bakar on November 19th, 2015, 8:25 pm

Her answer just angered the man. Good. She smiled as his own anger rose. This was more fitting for what she expected from him, the angry glare had hinted towards. She had no idea what an Eiyon was, but that was at the very back of her mind at this point.

Yeah, there were times where she had thought herself a sickness. A being who shouldn't be here. But coming from someone else, someone telling her that she shouldn't be around. It just made her annoyed. It made her cocky. She enjoyed pissing this man off. Her normal self, quiet and polite as can be was gone. There was something about this man where she didn't mind making him angry. Her unease was growing, but she shoved it down. As she did the unease turned to more anger. Must be why she was so confrontational. But she was too busy to think about that right now.

She smiled at the man wider, laughing quietly. "What are you going to do about it, Dhani?" She leaned back and shrugged, shaking her head, still smiling. "The eyes were the first thing I noticed, honestly, before even the hiss. It's weird, the last Dhani I met knew something was off as well, but for a different reason. They could smell, they could taste it. I wonder why you couldn't."

"That Dhani.. honestly, she wasn't the best person. I can't say for sure, but I can not put murder past her." She laughed now, remembering her experience in the woods. "No, murder is certainly a thing she would do. I was almost a victim. My being is what saved me. 'Too dead'. But with my limited knowledge of Dhani, that makes you a murderer, doesn't it? That one Dhani murdered, so all Dhani must murder!" She laughed again, her annoyance continued to rise. "While I'd like to think like that, it's just not my way. But that's the entire population's way of thinking about me and my kind. One bad experience and suddenly everyone hates us."

She knew that she wasn't going to convince him. But the least she could do was piss him off as must as she could. Make him lose his cool. She had already learned one thing, what else could she learn?

"Oh no, I believe they deserve a second chance as well. Not everyone gets that chance though. You think I'd want that child to just die? You think I wouldn't do everything I could to save them? 'Oh, they fell. I better just walk away. Death is death.' No, what kind of monster do you think I am? At least I wouldn't eat them!"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "Yeah, I guess I am selfish. Everyone has an instinct for self preservation. I am no different. I hurt no one, and continue on with my life. I respect life and death. But someone who dies before their time, I can't respect. I know it's an accident, I know that it happens. But still, I'd do anything I could to save someone. Honestly, I think that makes me more humane than you. You'd murder and eat children while shrugging, saying 'that's life for you!'. I'd do all I could to save them. Who's the real monster here, hm?"

She smiled but she was far from happy. Happy or not, she was having fun, for the time being. Her unease was transmuted to anger at an alarming rate, and this man was just putting off more and more of it.
As of Summer, 63, 515, Bakar has a different body! If never met you before, then this doesn't really matter to you, but people I've met should take this into account, as you're really unlikely to recognize me. :P
User avatar
Bakar
The Quiet Undertaker
 
Posts: 176
Words: 136278
Joined roleplay: September 10th, 2014, 7:53 pm
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal

Next

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests