Post by Annasiel on Apr 22, 2022 1:09:38 GMT
♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿
"We can't keep doing this."
Sersha wrapped her arms around Duvlas' shoulders, leaning into him. Every night they met, it was another risk, another chance someone might stumble upon them and run to tell Lord Keenan of their transgressions. He wasn't as petty as some of their household lords, but he was Rithe all the same. She'd heard, once, of a serving girl that had let his food touch a silver tray, and he'd nearly had her flayed alive. Silver was the blasphemy of House Doyle - in House Brenner, they knew the metal to be no better than poison. If he caught wind one of his briga was dallying with the captain of his personal guard -
She shuddered to think.
"We can't keep doing this," she repeated, pulling momentarily away. "They'll find out. They always find out, and when they do, you'll get offed. This is - right heresy, Duv. We shouldn't even be talking, let alone -"
Sersha turned her dark eyes away.
"This."
Duvlas kept his posture tight, arms crossing with the whisper of rustled armor as Sersha lamented. Despite the commonality of their tryst and the brazen comfort he had attained over the months of their routine, he had worn armor this time. Perhaps he had a post to return to, or a round to finish. It was what she would think, and that was enough.
“We needn’t hide. Not anymore.” He stated matter-of-factly. In a moment, he was by her side once more, gauntlet resting upon her shoulder. A twist of his palm turned the briga maiden to his front, and he held her close with haste.
“We can leave. Tonight. I promise you.”
The ever-soft rustle of paper broke the silent weight of his words. From his pocket, a simple iron amulet. Duvlas did not hand it to her, for he knew she could not hold it.
“I promise.”
Her eyes widened. She reached out a hand, then pulled it back, clutching it tight to her chest.
"You - that isn't." Sersha turned to look up at him. "That isn't. How did - who did - you fecking idiot!"
Anger flashed in her eyes, then fear, then - something else entirely. Tentative hope. Longing.
"How. How did you find it? How did you even get it? They'll - they'll come for you, you know. You aren't supposed to have this. They'll come for you, and they'll - hang you by your ankles until all the blood clots in your head, they'll bury splinters in your ears, and - by the Rithe, Duv, I was scared about them killing you, but if they see this, they'll make you wish they had!"
Her knuckles were tight, fingernails digging tight into her bloodless palms, chest rising and falling against his as she panted shallow, empty breaths.
"It's real, right?"
She knew it was. She would've been able to touch it, if it wasn't.
"It's mine?"
The lordling only stared impassively from his helm, the midnight veiling any glimpse unto his nature as he nodded. There was silence, again, for a good long moment. He merely watched her, locket still swinging as he clutched the beaded collar in his fist. The iron did not gleam under the night, for there was no light to give it luster.
“Keenan will not find me, nor will he find you,” He began, tucking the charm into his pocket once more. “And if anyone else follows, I will see to that. Though know this, Sersha.”
He took his hands in hers. Cold, tarlike steel upon the chill of her own grey flesh - so sweet in tender frost.
“House Brenner knows thy Name no longer.”
Her body relaxed, shoulders drooping. Slowly, her hands slid out of his, one moving to entwine around the dagger-handle at her hilt.
"I'd guess we don't have much time, then."
The blade drew with a shink of metal on metal, runes engraved on its edge glowing faintly in the dark. She held it against her chest, blade askew, point flickering in uncertain grasp.
"There's a path to the north, by Lord Collum's spire. We'd need to pass by the Speiren Observatory to reach it but - once through there, we'd only have Collum's briga to contend with. His men are fast asleep, at this hour, and he sent his bloodcurs away to hunt a house traitor, so we shouldn't have to fight them."
A blessing. There were many ways to die in Loch Duwain, but the swiftest was certainly to catch a bloodcur's nose. Shadows could be lit and briga could be fended, but bloodcurs knew not doors or walls, feared not swords or spells. Dark things, they were, and dangerous, even to their master. Only the most desperate of the Rithe turned to such sorceries.
"From there, we should find a pass through the mountains, and then -"
Whatever lay beyond.
“It’s the Night of the Pool,” Duvlas replied. “Collum will be away from his manor, drinking from the vat by now, as will any Rithe from Speiren. I will deal with whatever remains.”
At that, Duvlas drew his sword from upon his back. Blackblood glistened bright upon its face like raindrops from the pool as he moved ahead of Sersha with conviction.
“I shall guard thee with my name. Through and through.”
A smile crept onto her lips as her fingers tightened around her dagger. He moved ahead - but her eyes trailed behind. He was a brave man, a headstrong man, a honest man - one who took every fight with honor. One who many would be keen to stab in the back. She would be his guard, then. His shadow. Her knife would find the heart of any who wished him harm. He swore to protect her with his name, while protecting her own against his breast.
He swore to protect her with his name.
And I will live for you with mine.
Sersha wrapped her arms around Duvlas' shoulders, leaning into him. Every night they met, it was another risk, another chance someone might stumble upon them and run to tell Lord Keenan of their transgressions. He wasn't as petty as some of their household lords, but he was Rithe all the same. She'd heard, once, of a serving girl that had let his food touch a silver tray, and he'd nearly had her flayed alive. Silver was the blasphemy of House Doyle - in House Brenner, they knew the metal to be no better than poison. If he caught wind one of his briga was dallying with the captain of his personal guard -
She shuddered to think.
"We can't keep doing this," she repeated, pulling momentarily away. "They'll find out. They always find out, and when they do, you'll get offed. This is - right heresy, Duv. We shouldn't even be talking, let alone -"
Sersha turned her dark eyes away.
"This."
Duvlas kept his posture tight, arms crossing with the whisper of rustled armor as Sersha lamented. Despite the commonality of their tryst and the brazen comfort he had attained over the months of their routine, he had worn armor this time. Perhaps he had a post to return to, or a round to finish. It was what she would think, and that was enough.
“We needn’t hide. Not anymore.” He stated matter-of-factly. In a moment, he was by her side once more, gauntlet resting upon her shoulder. A twist of his palm turned the briga maiden to his front, and he held her close with haste.
“We can leave. Tonight. I promise you.”
The ever-soft rustle of paper broke the silent weight of his words. From his pocket, a simple iron amulet. Duvlas did not hand it to her, for he knew she could not hold it.
“I promise.”
Her eyes widened. She reached out a hand, then pulled it back, clutching it tight to her chest.
"You - that isn't." Sersha turned to look up at him. "That isn't. How did - who did - you fecking idiot!"
Anger flashed in her eyes, then fear, then - something else entirely. Tentative hope. Longing.
"How. How did you find it? How did you even get it? They'll - they'll come for you, you know. You aren't supposed to have this. They'll come for you, and they'll - hang you by your ankles until all the blood clots in your head, they'll bury splinters in your ears, and - by the Rithe, Duv, I was scared about them killing you, but if they see this, they'll make you wish they had!"
Her knuckles were tight, fingernails digging tight into her bloodless palms, chest rising and falling against his as she panted shallow, empty breaths.
"It's real, right?"
She knew it was. She would've been able to touch it, if it wasn't.
"It's mine?"
The lordling only stared impassively from his helm, the midnight veiling any glimpse unto his nature as he nodded. There was silence, again, for a good long moment. He merely watched her, locket still swinging as he clutched the beaded collar in his fist. The iron did not gleam under the night, for there was no light to give it luster.
“Keenan will not find me, nor will he find you,” He began, tucking the charm into his pocket once more. “And if anyone else follows, I will see to that. Though know this, Sersha.”
He took his hands in hers. Cold, tarlike steel upon the chill of her own grey flesh - so sweet in tender frost.
“House Brenner knows thy Name no longer.”
Her body relaxed, shoulders drooping. Slowly, her hands slid out of his, one moving to entwine around the dagger-handle at her hilt.
"I'd guess we don't have much time, then."
The blade drew with a shink of metal on metal, runes engraved on its edge glowing faintly in the dark. She held it against her chest, blade askew, point flickering in uncertain grasp.
"There's a path to the north, by Lord Collum's spire. We'd need to pass by the Speiren Observatory to reach it but - once through there, we'd only have Collum's briga to contend with. His men are fast asleep, at this hour, and he sent his bloodcurs away to hunt a house traitor, so we shouldn't have to fight them."
A blessing. There were many ways to die in Loch Duwain, but the swiftest was certainly to catch a bloodcur's nose. Shadows could be lit and briga could be fended, but bloodcurs knew not doors or walls, feared not swords or spells. Dark things, they were, and dangerous, even to their master. Only the most desperate of the Rithe turned to such sorceries.
"From there, we should find a pass through the mountains, and then -"
Whatever lay beyond.
“It’s the Night of the Pool,” Duvlas replied. “Collum will be away from his manor, drinking from the vat by now, as will any Rithe from Speiren. I will deal with whatever remains.”
At that, Duvlas drew his sword from upon his back. Blackblood glistened bright upon its face like raindrops from the pool as he moved ahead of Sersha with conviction.
“I shall guard thee with my name. Through and through.”
A smile crept onto her lips as her fingers tightened around her dagger. He moved ahead - but her eyes trailed behind. He was a brave man, a headstrong man, a honest man - one who took every fight with honor. One who many would be keen to stab in the back. She would be his guard, then. His shadow. Her knife would find the heart of any who wished him harm. He swore to protect her with his name, while protecting her own against his breast.
He swore to protect her with his name.
And I will live for you with mine.
♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿ ♉︎ 🜍 ♐︎ 🜔 ♓︎ ☿
