The Serpents' Den

♦Dante Rottwel

Dante the Chaotic

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The Serpents' Den Jan 6, 2016 5:38:24 GMT

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Post by Dante Rottwel on Jan 6, 2016 5:38:24 GMT

Lightning flashed across the clouds above as the rain poured over the rooftops of the outer ring of the city of Byzantir. The storm itself almost felt supernatural, as if it were being called for by some unseen dark force. Thick, dark mud coated the cobblestone streets, clinging to the wheels of the last carriages arriving for the night. Carriages belonging to weary travellers seeking shelter after arriving in the city from their long days of travelling, to reach the capital, keen to trade their wares.

Almost all of the taverns and inns were full for the night, save one. A small tavern on the very outskirts of the city, aptly named The Serpents’ Den, was normally home to the most boisterous and vile of travellers. Often thieves and cut-throats spend a night or two at the Den before hastily moving on to their next ventures or exploits. Guards often showed a presence outside to discourage any untoward behaviour spreading into the town, however never ventured inside.

A particularly large cluster of guards were gathered outside tonight, standing beneath the parapets of the wall and overhangs of nearby houses. The Serpents’ Den was eerily quiet tonight. Where noise of merriment and frequent brawls normally filled the air, nothing but silence came from the inn tonight. It also seemed that a number of patrons had cleared out earlier in the evening, for no apparent reason.

If the guards had thought to investigate further, they would have discovered that a lone traveller had taken room for the night. His foul mood upon his arrival had sent chills down the spines of even the most vile individuals, causing them to pay for their food and board, rather chancing the storm outside. Only a handful of patrons had dared to stay, having nowhere else they could be for the night. After tossing a few coin to the barkeep, before he could protest, the traveller had grabbed a bottle of fire-whiskey and headed off towards the back of the tavern to turn in for the night. In the time it took him to reach his room, half the bottle was already finished.

Several hours later…

A loud crash of thunder that echoed through the establishment woke Dante from his troubled sleep, causing him to sit up suddenly. His muscular yet gaunt torso, bare at the moment, seemed to be completely covered in sweat. The scars on his chest and sides were ablaze with a fiery glow, although the heat and intensity appeared to dissipate slowly after having awoken.

Dante combed his fingers through his hair, pushing the matted hair from his brow. Carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, slipping his feet into his worn black leather boots. Head clasped in his one hand, Dante reached towards the side table of the bed with his other. Wrapping his fingers around the green journal, he pulled it towards his chest. Nothing. He could remember nothing of the dream. There was something important, he knew it. Opening the journal, he stared at the last written words, in the hope that something would come back to him.

Tempus.

That one word. With haste he scribbled it down, lest he forget. After a few more moments, his frustration got the better of him. He grabbed the bottle of fire-whiskey that stood next to the bed, and held it to his mouth. Two pitiful drops landed on his tongue. Dante threw the bottle against the wall in anger, smashing it into a hundred tiny shards. Standing up, he pulled on his white dress shirt that was carefully laid out at the foot of the bed and purposefully walked out the door of his room, slamming it behind him as he left.

Upon reaching the foot of the stairs, Dante noticed there were still a few patrons seated around small tables scattered about the establishment. It must still be before midnight, he mused to himself.

Turning the corner, he saw a few individuals seated at the bar. Pulling up a stool, he sat with a defeated thump.

“Fire-whiskey,” he murmured to the barkeep.

Hastily, the barkeep set out a glass in front of Dante. Hand shaking, he filled it to the brim. Two or three patrons seated at the bar stood and moved their conversations to the small tables towards the back of the tavern.

Dante grabbed the glass, spilling some of the contents, and poured it down his throat. The warmth seeped down into his stomach, and gently spread to the rest of his body. His demeanour seemed to improve a bit.

Unfortunately, no matter how much Dante drank, he could never stay intoxicated for long. Something that had to do with his “gift” made him heal quicker than most. And as a result, his body also seemed to metabolize the alcohol faster.

“Another,” he called to the barkeep, raising his glass. “And keep them coming.”

As he stared at the glass while it was being filled, Dante went back to his musings, clutching his journal closer to his chest as he did so.

♦Silisia Harte

Kat

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The Serpents' Den Jan 6, 2016 5:47:17 GMT

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Post by Silisia Harte on Jan 6, 2016 5:47:17 GMT

A gaunt horse and rider rode through the gates of Byzantir just after the bell signalling an hour before midnight sounded, indicating all was well behind the walls. Sentries shifted restlessly atop the fortified walls, looking apprehensively out onto the landscape absent of light. Under the watch of the new moon, the dark lay oppressively over the city. A dark, ominous cloud hung over the capital city, illuminating the darkness in brief flashes of lightening. Tales of horror, told by mothers to their children to gain compliance, lingered out in that darkness. But those tales remained whispers to children at night for the most part.

Who would suspect a lone woman, in the dead of night and in the midst of this strange storm, to be a small embodiment of the fears rising up within the kingdom? The guards had initially been suspicious of the appearance of the rider at the gates. Once the small woman had lowered her hood, the guard, initially suspicious, had allowed entrance. (‘It isn’t often we have riders this time of night, mi’lady. Pardon my caution. One can never be too careful these days.’) Silisia shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, while lifting her hood back up to cover her face to stop the onslaught of rain drenching her completely. She knew this type of storm and it was far from natural. The storm pressed more savagely as she moved from the gates into the outer rings of the city.

Despite the storm, the outer streets bustled with late night activity. Prostitutes hollered potential clients. Vagrants, who pestered traveller’s in the day for coin, huddled around fires, smoking and drinking. A few unsavoury characters lingered in dark corners conversing. Taverns were alight with cheer. A haze of smoke draped the streets. The smells of cooking, smoke, incense, cheap perfume, and beer infused the street.

Silisia had forgotten how noisy a city could be (although how could she remember something she had never experienced?). Despite the late hour, the silence that had previously accompanied her on the road had been shattered. Her little horse, Bill, was hardly loud company. Outwardly, she demonstrated little discomfort. But she gripped her reins a little tighter and clenched her teeth. It had been two weeks since she had seen another soul. Rumours had reached the informal settlement, Namanda, that guards were inspecting those that crossed the border between Indir and Escar – searching for the brand that inscribed many of those banished to beyond the mountains. At the thought of her mark, a phantom pain seared her left shoulder. The only ‘safe’ path into Escar for those who were marked was through the Old Mine, and down the Old Trade Route, which went through the Jalon desert, before arriving at Byzantir. The path was treacherous, and lacked food and water at many points. The two weeks of travel had been taxing on both woman and horse. Silisia doubted that they would have made the next few days. It was a fine balance she had to strike between preserving her horse and preserving food enough for both of them. Her supplies had run out the previous day.

She finally found a tavern with vacancies for the night near the edge of the city and tipped a young stable hand to care for horse. A quick glance over the shaggy black horse revealed a thick coat of grim and a substantial loss in weight in condition. Silisia doubted she looked much better. She patted Bill wearily before he was led away and she made her way into the dingy (and surprisingly quiet) tavern. A group of guards, stationed outside of the entrance, regarded her suspiciously. Silisia had no idea that she had selected quite an infamous tavern for her respite.
She was not much to look at (drenched, dirty, and gaunt) and she doubted anyone in the tavern would notice her presence. Her oilskin cloak hung limp around her body, covered a plain formerly white tunic and soft breeches. In a deft movement, she lowered her hood as she stepped into the threshold of the inn. It was sparsely populated, with a number of people occupying small tables scattered around the room and a single man at the bar. The tavern was filled with soft, suspicious whispers and the atmosphere was visibly tense. Her eyes lingered on the sole man a little longer than the rest of the occupants. He seemed ordinary enough for this kind of place – a man drinking away his miseries. Yet, there was clearly more than met the eye.

Little attention was paid to her arrival by the other occupants, whose attention was still firmly placed on the lone man. It allowed Silisia to find a seat, two away from the man at the bar. She rummaged in the pocket of her cloak and produced a variety of coins (which she still had not much grasp on the meaning of these) and thrust them at the barkeep for a drink, food, and a room. The need for food outweighed her need for sleep or a bath. While she waited for her food, she removed her cloak and worn deerskin gloves and placed them on the bar next to her. It did not take long for her ale to arrive. Almost affectionately, the slight woman wrapped her hands around the tankard. A plain gold wedding band adorned her left hand, but other than that her hands were bare and dirty. The ring proved a mystery to her previous existence, prior to her awakening as something other than human. She had never taken it off. Some remnants of emotion had not allowed her to.

The ever pressing presence of the stranger next to her compelled Silisia to give him an extra glance – a glance that turned into an inquiring stare. It was perhaps the second drink he had been poured in the space of her arrival. Tall (although slumped), pale, and alluring, he remained the object of the room’s inquiry. And something, perhaps only she could sense, so familiar – a kindred bond, tainted with a sense of darkness. Being immersed in the streets of Namanda, she had not noticed that magic had a distinct mark upon the individual it occupied. In contrast with the plain people around them, he shone with difference. However, she could not assert if he was friend or foe. Foe, most likely. It was foolish to bank on anyone being a friend. Her eyes followed his hands to rest of the journal he fervently clutched to his chest, before briefly returning to his face. Social niceties were not her foray.
Clumsy and fatigued, the barkeep placing a hot stew in front startled her – the jumped and the tankard of ale went flying, spilling its contents over the bar and floor, and it rolled near the stranger’s feet. She hastily got to her feet and scrabbled to grab the metal tankard. It was only when she stood after retrieving it did she notice how much she had encroached on the stranger’s space.
‘Excuse me,’ she murmured quickly, briefly looking up to meet his gaze.

♦Dante Rottwel

Dante the Chaotic

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The Serpents' Den Jan 6, 2016 7:05:44 GMT

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Post by Dante Rottwel on Jan 6, 2016 7:05:44 GMT

After slugging down a second or third whiskey, not really caring to keep track really, Dante’s drinking was interrupted. His journal clutched to his chest, he heard the clunk of a tankard falling to the floor and rolling beneath his feet. Normally, he would ignore most things around him, but then the young women who had dropped the tankard scrambled to pick it up in the most awkward manner. Had the night not been so tense and taxing, he almost would have laughed out loud. Yet, it brought a slight smile to his face, something that hadn’t happened in quite some time.

Tucking his journal away in his breast pocket, he stood and moved to reach for the fallen tankard. However, the young lady being more agile than he anticipated, had already grabbed it. Her mumbled apology as she stood was completely unnecessary, yet as she muttered the words her face turned up towards him. He met her gaze.

Dante felt as if he was doused with a bucket of ice water. The usual burning sensation that spread across his torso and arms felt as if it had been quelled temporarily. A respite he hadn’t experienced since he awoke with this cursed affliction. The dark, brown eyes of this pale woman seemed to sooth him to his core. The atmosphere of the room seemed to ease slightly, and the storm had quietened outside.

Realising he was staring into her eyes, Dante quickly recovered himself and sat back down upon the bar stool, averting his eyes.

“I’d offer to refill your drink,” Dante called out in no direction in particular, “but you seem to have yourself covered.”

He nodded towards the pile of coins the woman had awkwardly placed on the bar.

“You could buy the whole tavern a drink with that,” looking around he added, “if it were full.”

He could feel the heat still deep within, pulsating in his body, but not growing any more at this time. He couldn’t help but smile sheepishly at the new development
. His eyes warming visibly.

“I’ll have what she is having,” as he gestured to the stew. The barkeep, still weary of Dante, scurried off to fetch a bowl.

♦Silisia Harte

Kat

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The Serpents' Den Jan 6, 2016 9:50:36 GMT

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Post by Silisia Harte on Jan 6, 2016 9:50:36 GMT

Silisia shifted uncomfortably as he held her gaze, as though caught in the claws of a predator. Her breath caught, and she remained unmoving, even though she would have like nothing better than to break eye contact and return to her meal as though nothing had happened. Her heart beat uncomfortably in her chest. It took her a moment to realise the storm had eased and the atmosphere lift. Confusion replaced fear and her gazed turned quizzical just before he broke eye contact and moved away. Dumbfounded, she remained motionless.

‘Oh,’ she muttered sheepishly, looking at the coins, her face going red. She quickly scrabbled to take up her coins and inspected each of them with an obvious bemusement. The barkeep refilled the tankard and placed it next to her with a curious glance. For a moment, Silisia regretted her decision to return to Escar. She feared she would be painfully obvious among the tide of people. Pocketing the coins, she returned to her bar stool. Shooting a curious glance at the stranger, she noted his distinct uplifted mood. A slight frown puzzled her brow.

She dwelled on that only for a second. The aroma of the simple stew returned her to her hunger and the stranger sat forgotten for a moment. Without care, she grabbed and broke the piece of almost stale bread and dipped it hastily in the hot meal. She swallowed an eager mouthful, hardly relishing the taste. It was hot and filling. That was enough at this point. A few more hasty mouthfuls followed before she found her desperate hunger waning.

‘You need to learn to control it,’ she mumbled cryptically, without looking at him. Perhaps she was wrong and the hard weeks travels had numbed her mind. Her words would be meaningless to him. It had taken her years to grasp even the smallest mastery over herself, never mind her abilities. However, she had been fortunate to have been surrounded by multitudes like herself and some with similar magic. But perhaps she was wrong, grasping for a shred of familiarity. She stood.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, allowing a small glance in the stranger’s direction. She started to gathering her cloak and gloves, and grasped the handle of the tankard.

Last Edit: Jan 6, 2016 9:51:34 GMT by Silisia Harte

♦Dante Rottwel

Dante the Chaotic

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The Serpents' Den Jan 7, 2016 7:34:41 GMT

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Post by Dante Rottwel on Jan 7, 2016 7:34:41 GMT

Dante watched out the corner of his eye as the young woman hastily devoured her food, as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks. Curiosity got the better of him. He allowed himself to watch as she finished her meal, still at a loss as to what she was and why she had such a profound effect on him.

“You need to learn how to control it,” the words were barely audible. New understanding filled Dante. She was “plagued”, as the common folk called it. It seemed they shared something in common.

Dante had spent years wandering the lands, searching for answers. He had met many of those with the illness. By Dante’s understanding, many were born with the innate ability, flourishing as they grew older and were able to control it. Dante almost envied them. There were those who had tried to help him in the past, on his quest for answers and his ability. Nothing had helped with the fiery darkness within him. Compared to their gift, Dante’s power felt like a curse. An uncontrollable, unexplained fiery agony deep within his core. Until now.

“Excuse me,” she said as he was lost in thought. Dante’s mind rushing back into the present, he realized she was getting up to go. As she gathered her things, Dante was at a loss at what to do. This meek, travel worn woman might have the answers he was looking for, or perhaps help in find them in the least.

As she grabbed her tankard, Dante panicked. Not something he usually did.

“Wait,” he called. Reaching out as she began to turn away, Dante grabbed out towards her free hand. It was only then, once his hand was around her wrist, did he see her wedding ring. Realising how inappropriate he has just acted, and shocked at his own behaviour, Dante almost immediately released his grip.

“Sorry, I… ah I… don’t know what came over me,” he gasped out, his face beginning to warm in embarrassment. Yet another feeling he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he stood. “Dante Rottwell” As Dante spoke he gave a slight nod of his head, extending his right hand, palm upwards as is custom when greeting a lady.

“Forgive my actions, I don’t often interact with people. In fact, most normally avoid me when I enter the room.” Dante’s eyes flicked to the rest of the tavern briefly before he continued.

“I hope I am not being too forward. You seem quite weary from your travels and I know you must want to rest. I was hoping perhaps that we may sit and talk briefly, either tonight or tomorrow, before you leave. I have some… questions that I think you may be able to give insight too.” Almost as if by habit, his free hand reached towards his breast pocket, ensuring the small green journal was still there.

♦Silisia Harte

Kat

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The Serpents' Den Jan 7, 2016 11:32:36 GMT

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Post by Silisia Harte on Jan 7, 2016 11:32:36 GMT

Silisia quickly turned to face him at the brief grasp of her hand and panicked cry. Despite her weariness, she took pity on the previously imposing man.
‘Dante,’ she replied with a smile. ‘I’m Silisia.’
She remained rigid in response to his strange ritual. There were no such rituals beyond the mountains. And she did not give him more than her name – when she awoke from her illness she had been in a foreign land, far from anything and everything. Chucked carelessly next to her were papers with her name and her citizenship. Stamped across it in angry letters was the word: ‘BANISHED’. That was all she knew about who she once was so it seemed pointless to give the stranger an empty name.

His apology was unnecessary and confusing. Human behaviour seemed a little foreign. He had merely touched her wrist. She glanced at the pocket he gestured at – the one he had placed his journal in. Curious.

‘We should talk some place quiet,’ she said, with a nervous glance around the tavern. Although much of the hunting of those who were plagued had been hushed and happened at the dead of night, she doubted she could trust any unsavoury folk. Those who lived such unscrupulous lives would keep their ear to the ground for quick gold. ‘Come with me.’

She turned to walk towards a room just up a case of creaking wooden stairs and down a dark narrow passage. Her room was the third from the left. The door opened with a protesting groan. The establishment was hardly maintained but the room inside was clean enough. It was just a simple bed, two wooden chairs, and a metal bath tub. A smaller metal tub rested on a wooden table, below a clouded mirror. Her saddle bags had been placed on her bed. They contained a few changes of clothes, and assorted of herbs traditionally used by the people of the land for healing. The reason for this was twofold. The first was that her ability took a lot from her, so she used the herbs to assist with mild cases where she need not expend her valuable energy or to assist further healing. The second was not to arouse too much attention.

The bucket on the wooden table was filled with tepid water. She settled her cloak on the bed and placed the ale on a small wooden stool beside. She ignored Dante further as she quickly washed the worst of the grime from her face and arms. The water provided substantial relief.
Without turning to face him, she asked, ‘What questions do you have? I cannot promise to have any of the answers.’

♦Dante Rottwel

Dante the Chaotic

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The Serpents' Den Jan 8, 2016 8:06:06 GMT

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Post by Dante Rottwel on Jan 8, 2016 8:06:06 GMT

Dante was practically pulled along, almost against his own will, as he followed Silisia up the staircase and down the corridor that led to the rooms. As she opened the door to her room and ushered him inside, Dante felt a faint sense of déjà vu, as if something similar to this had happened before. Or perhaps may happen in future. Dante could feel a bead of cold sweat running down his back as he crossed the threshold.

Once inside, Silisia closed the door behind him, elevating his natural weariness and unease. Briefly inspecting the room, Dante noticed the saddlebags on the bed.

So she came from afar, he noted to himself. Looking around further, there seemed to be nothing else of much importance. Stepping to the side and pulling out a chair to sit down, Dante patiently waited as Silisia finished rinsing her face and hands. Wiping his sleeve against his brow, he secretly wished he had thought to bathe before sleeping earlier that evening.

She turned to him and spoke. What questions did he have? If only Dante knew.

“Well,” Dante started, not sure entirely how much he should share with this woman. “I think the first thing I feel that I should ask is… what are you? I mean, I have met plagued before, but the moment I looked into your eyes,” he paused. “I felt something - more. If that makes sense…” Dante’s voice trailed off, thoughts drifting slightly as he tried to gather the words.

“I don’t want to scare you, or make you think I am crazy, but there is something dark inside of me. Something that I have been searching for answers for. I have no knowledge of where it came from or why I have this evil within. The only thing I know, which burns me to my core, is that I made a bargain for it. I gave up something to receive it. And, as it is with those who are plagued, I gave up my memories with it.”

Dante looked towards Silisia, seeing if her face betrayed any knowledge that she was more than what she appeared to be. Can this simple, pale faced girl really help him? Perhaps he was getting his hopes up, but there was definitely something about her.

♦Silisia Harte

Kat

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The Serpents' Den Jan 8, 2016 11:45:15 GMT

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Post by Silisia Harte on Jan 8, 2016 11:45:15 GMT

While Dante spoke, she pulled out the other chair, took a seat, and regarded him warily. His story puzzled her. She had not heard before someone who had been able to bargain for their abilities. It had struck unexpectedly and taken only their memories. This darkness he spoke of she had never heard of before. Perhaps he was not the same as the others she had met.

‘What- what am I?’ the question flummoxed her and she dropped her eyes to avoid his inquiring gaze. She couldn’t give him the answers that he sought and there was nothing ‘special’ about her.
‘I am Plagued. Nothing spectacular or different in any sense – well, each of us is unique in some sense. We- we all have different gifts. I- well, the easiest way to explain it is that I can heal people. But with that comes the knowledge of how to destroy their body too. So a better explanation would be that I have a great understanding and influence- well, I dunno. I can ‘look’ inside your body and I know what’s going on and can fix it, if I want-‘ she let her ramble trail off with a brief shake of her head. There was no easy way to explain it.

‘I have not heard of this darkness or anyone who has bargained for this life,’ she added quietly. She returned her gaze to him. Dante Rotwel. Rotwel.

‘Just beyond the border of Escar to the North lies the settlement Namanda, filled with people like me,’ she was careful not to select the word ‘we’ for she had begun to doubt whether he was of a similar affliction. ‘Those who live there all fear going north, despite their great power, and that’s why they keep pressing South, to reclaim a land that they can’t even remember. The story changes depending on who tells it. Some say it’s a great being which roams the Dark Woods, turning the creatures into terrible beasts. Others say it is an artefact submerged beneath a great lake and corrupts the land and turns the people mad. Some Plagued, long ago, ventured North and brought back a name. Your name. Rotwel. But that is all I know.’

‘May I?’ she extended her right hand to him, intending that he place his hand in hers. Despite her years mastery her ability, she still needed human touch to make the connection. Her gift may not be as powerful as many of the others, but it was useful enough. It read the human body as a blue print: age, health, massive physical traumas among others. But for the Plagued, she could gain some semblance of knowledge around their powers.

♦Dante Rottwel

Dante the Chaotic

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The Serpents' Den Jan 10, 2016 10:07:50 GMT

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Post by Dante Rottwel on Jan 10, 2016 10:07:50 GMT

Dante listened earnestly as she spoke of the North. The stories she spoke of aligned with the information he had been collecting in his journal. She mentioned his family name, and instinctively Dante brushed his hand against his top pocked, ensuring his journal was still there. His green-leather backed journal, the only object he possessed that linked him back to his past. Across the front of the worn cover, etched in finely-made gold script, read the name “Dante Rottwell”. His name. His family’s name.

Very few people he had come across had ever heard of his family, and none had known what they did. This could be the break he was looking for. The answers he was looking for may be to t
he North. Is it possible there was something he missed there in his travels?

Lost in thought, Silisia was reaching out her hand towards him. Dante was not learned in the way of magics and abilities, but he could sense that this was no ordinary gesture. Cautiously, he placed his hand in hers. As he did so, he could feel some of the scarring on his torso almost burn in protest.

His hand now in hers, he peered once again deep into her eyes, attempting to relive the soothing effect he had felt earlier.

“These people you speak of,” Dante spoke quietly, so wandering ears would not be able to hear. “How can I get in contact with them? And, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you here in Byzantir?”

♦Silisia Harte

Kat

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The Serpents' Den Jan 11, 2016 5:26:12 GMT

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Post by Silisia Harte on Jan 11, 2016 5:26:12 GMT

It was harder to keep the barrier up between them when his skin made contact with her. Involuntarily, she clasped his hand quite tightly and tried not to slip into the tide of his being as he continued to talk. Her abilities were not a perfected art. As much control she had gained over the years, it still needed continued effort.
‘You will have to go north, past the border to Escar, into a small settlement called Namanda. The people there are suspicious and it will take them time to trust you. You will have to speak to those who have been there the longest. Those who have only been there for a short while fear the north, but do not know why,’ she replied. ‘I came to Byzantir in search of a particular book, and a sense of purpose. I have nothing except a few trinkets related to my history. I am… curious.’
A curiosity that was a terrible thing. She knew that it would be better to leave that world behind and forge a new one. There was only heartbreak was an outcome of these travels. But those north of the mountains hardly needed a healer. Her skills had more meaning in a magicless world.

‘Hold still,’ she murmured softly, returning his gaze and placing her left hand over the top of the hand placed in her hand. A deep breath took her inside the workings of his bodies: her awareness rushed through his veins and took stock of the state of his being. Indications of past traumas lingered in the fibres of being – traumas beyond which any man should have survived.

Then she found it – coiled in the centre of his being lay a powerful magical store. She had never seen a magical being residing in a human before. It was both part of him and separate from him. However, a darkness radiated from the being which left a sour taste in Silisia’s mouth and throat and made her stomach roll and heave. It detested her presence within Dante. Her instinctive reaction was to drop the connection between them, but she willed herself to persist. If she had a small chance of assisting him, she would make the effort. For powerful, emotional Plagued who had just come into their abilities, the elders would bind their power into a more manageable strength. It was done to protect both the person and those who surrounded them.

Reaching into herself, she took a strong strand of her magic, and moulded it into an encasing for the evil that burned within Dante. It would do nothing more than restrict the thing that dwelled in him. The parts that had attached to him she could nothing about. Burning the being out would kill him, and probably her too. But her binding gave him a semblance of control over himself and relieved some of the burning discomfort. The binding, however, will not last that long. Perhaps a month if he was lucky. She would have to do it again, and more frequently after that. The being was much stronger than her and she had an inkling that Dante, somehow, had subdued it in some way. Perhaps if she were better rested she would have bound the being more tightly within him, but weary from travel, she had done what she could.

She released herself from him, and slumped in her chair. Her hands once hot from her magic, were cold and clammy. Her vision swarmed with black dots as she fought the need to lose consciousness. She had done too much on too little strength.
‘That is all I can do for now,’ her voice weary and guarded. In that moment she understood that in some sense he had chosen this life and that thought frightened her. She had heard rumours of humans that had bargained with beings of terrible magic to possess the power they owned and the cost was always great. The effort it took to speak took the last of her strength and everything went black.

Last Edit: Jan 11, 2016 7:58:11 GMT by Eleanor Arana

♦Dante Rottwel

Dante the Chaotic

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The Serpents' Den Jan 11, 2016 13:55:51 GMT

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Post by Dante Rottwel on Jan 11, 2016 13:55:51 GMT

Dante listened eagerly to the information she was giving so freely - out of the good and willingness of helping others. Few would share information without asking for something in return. Normally, he would be suspicious, people don’t normally help him. But there was something about this young women sitting before him. Something he could feel about her. Dante wanted to trust her. But more so, he wanted answers.

Dante wanted to pull his hand from hers and write down everything she was saying. But something was wrong. Silisia’s grip on his hand tightened, and was starting to worry him. He could feel her reaching out inside of him, exploring and searching down to his core. Her eyes were open, but her gaze wasn’t focussed on him – it seemed to be focused on something deeper. She could sense the darkness within him, and she was trying to find it.

Before he could reach out to stop her, the scars on his arms and torso lit up, burning a fiery red. Dante felt as if his whole body were being torn limb from limb. Whatever she was doing, “IT” didn’t like it. The skies above unleashed a torrent of rain as lightning crackled against the sky, thunder shaking the heavens. The guards outside the Inn looked up nervously at the sudden downpour, shifting uncertainly beneath the overhangs and ramparts, trying to stay out of the almost supernatural weather.

All of a sudden, as quickly as it had come, the burning stopped. The angry red that covered Dante’s arms faded into a golden yellow, before subsiding entirely. The dull agony that usually burned deep within him had been placated once again – at least for now. The rain was still falling outside, however the storm itself seemed to have calmed.

Twice in one day, Dante thought to himself. His brow furrowed, this time was different to before. Looking up at Silisia, he could see beads of sweat marking her face. Her eyes closed now, it almost seemed as if she were concentrating on a difficult task. He kept silent, watching her carefully, trying to sense what she was doing.

Suddenly, Silisia’s eyes opened and she withdrew from him. He felt her presence leave his body, but some small part of her lingered. Her voice seemed weak when she spoke, although defensive at the same time. She slumped back into the chair, eyes closing. Her body went limp.

It took Dante a second to realise what was happening. Leaning forward he reached out, cupping one arm around her back the other beneath her legs. Deftly he lifted her weakend body as he stood, preventing her from sliding to floor.

Somewhat shocked at how light the young women felt in his arms, he peered around the room, her head now resting on his shoulder. Across from where he stood was the bed, up against the wall. Dante crossed the room in two long strides. Placing her delicate frame across the rough material that adorned the bed. After removing her muddy boots, he pulled one of the thicker blankets up from the foot of the bed and placed it over her, moving her saddlebags to the floor.

Using her ability must be taxing on her body, Dante mused to himself. I wonder how long she will be out for.

He hadn’t chosen a particularly safe establishment for the evening, and now his concern was for the unconscious young woman who lay before him. With a large sigh, Dante picked up the two chairs and carried them over to the door. One he leaned ever so precariously towards the doorway, the other directly in front of it.

Sitting down on the first chair, Danted lifted his legs and let them rest on the other. If someone tried to come in here, he would know about it. Fortunately, he wasn’t accustomed to a good night’s rest.

Taking a second to recall the evening’s events, Dante steeled his mind. Something was definitely different within him. Looking towards the lamp on the table, the flame flickered in the breeze. Raising his hand, he gestured toward the flame - the reaction was instant. The flame grew in size, bending and swaying as he moved his hand. Lowering his hand, the lamp went cold.

Well, that’s new, thought Dante as he closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

Several hours later...

Dante awoke with a start as the door to the room opened, colliding with the chair he was seated on and nearly knocking him to the floor. It took him all of three seconds to climb to his feet, grab the intruder and have his back against the wall. Dante’s blade, which was usually nestled out of sight within his boot, was pressed to the man’s throat. Glancing to the side, Silisia had still not moved an inch from when he lay her down earlier.

The man before him was short, round and balding. The clothes he was dressed in seemed to be of finer quality than those he normally met outside of the city.

“What do you think you are doing?” Dante hissed beneath his breath. “I have no issue slitting your throat right here, and leaving you to bleed out.” Dante’s eyes flared from his usual piercing blue, to a golden yellow.

“There are two of you?” The man exclaimed, looking from Dante to Silisia. “Please, don’t hurt me. I am the owner of the Serpent’s Den. I came here to warn her!” he gestured towards the sleeping woman.

“Warn her about what?” Dante snarled, not trusting the man, the intensity growing in his eyes, gold beginning to flicker with hints of red – anger starting to fill him. This was a feeling he was familiar with, the raw power inside of him.

“Fifty guards in file are marching down from the barracks of the castle to this inn as we speak. They have heard that one who was banished has returned. Someone betrayed her, I came to warn her!” he cried, spittle flying from his mouth. “Look,” he said in a softer tone, “They don’t know what she looks like, or her name, if you leave now you can get away.”

This was not good, Dante thought to himself. They needed to leave as soon as possible. Looking across towards Silisia, she still had not moved. She would have appeared lifeless if not betrayed by the gentle heaving of her chest, and the soothing sound of her breath as it escaped her lips.

“Why do you want help her?” Dante asked as he began contemplating their escape.

“I don’t give a damn about either of you. Do you think those soldiers are going to take kindly to someone harbouring a plagued? I was hoping to get you out of here before they decide to burn this place to the ground. Hopefully, if there is no sign of you two, they will leave me in peace!” he spat.

Releasing his blade from the man’s throat, Dante opened the door and pushed the man into the passage outside.

“Wait here. If you move, you are dead!” Dante spoke softly, and calmly - his voice seemed almost menacing. The man froze up, not daring to move. Dante walked down the corridor to the room he had been sleeping in earlier. Swinging open the door to the room, he immediately went for the bed. Reaching below, he withdrew a short sword and leather-hide pack. After fastening the scabbard to his belt, he pulled on a cloak that had been hanging behind the door, still damp from the rain earlier that evening. Finally, he walked up to the desk and pulled out various papers and diagrams from the drawers.

Stepping back out into the corridor, the inn keeper had not moved an inch.

Good, thought Dante as he moved back toward Silisia’s room. A brief, but thorough inspection of the room revealed she had nothing besides the saddlebags that he had laid on the floor earlier that evening. Not wanting to waste time, he grabbed her boots and shoved them into the saddlebag.

“Forgive me for this,” Dante whispered quietly, as he gently picked up Silisia and placed her over his free shoulder. Walking out into the corridor for the last time, Dante turned towards the inn keeper.

“Take me to the stables, now,” Without protest, the small man began wobbling his way down the corridor, in opposite direction to the bar. He led them through several doors, the final door opening up into the rain. The keeper pointed across the narrow alley to the building beside the inn. As soon as Dante had stepped outside, the door was slammed shut behind him.

Upon entering the stable, Dante could see two horses. One black horse, as gaunt and travel weary as the women across his shoulder, and another brown steed – well rested by all appearances, saddle still on. Someone had either just arrived, or was about to leave. Taking a moment to consider, Dante threw the saddlebags and his pack over the brown horse. Looking around, he quickly found the saddle for the other.

Using some of the rope that was there to tether the horses in the stable, Dante tied the limp form of Silisia to the back of black horse. The animal seemed to give a concerned snort as he did so. Perhaps it was Dante’s imagination. Pulling a blanket off from a pile to the side, he covered the unconscious woman, making sure she was safe from the rain, and prying eyes. Taking the reins, he fastened them to the back of the saddle of the brown horse and stepped back to admire his handy-work. He hoped that it would appear more like supplies than a body, to the unsuspecting individual.

It had been a while since Dante had ridden. He mostly travelled on foot, as horses normally bolted when he was near. Whatever Silisia had done, seemed to supress most of the aura that normally accompanied him. With one smooth movement, Dante slipped his foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over the horse, whispering to him gently, trying to keep him calm.

“It’s ok boy, I know I’m heavy. But we have some precious cargo following behind us, so let’s move fast but carefully.” Dante said, as he rubbed the side of the stallion’s neck, looking back over his shoulder. He knew they were going to raise suspicion, so it had to be timed carefully. He gave the horse a slight kick, and immediately they were off at a trot.

Dante, being more perceptive than usual, could see a number of guards now, standing out of the rain and in the shadows, watching the Serpent's Den. Pulling up his hood, he led his horse down the muddy road, towards the gates of Byzantir. Luckily, it was not a great distance away, having picked an inn on the outskirts of the town for this exact purpose.

Nearing the entrance of the city, the guards came out from under the ramparts to investigate, standing in the road, blocking his path. It was unusual for a traveller to leave so early in the morning, especially in this weather. Raising his hand in greeting, one guard moved from the path in front, to inspect the horse behind him, while the other started making his way to the side of Dante’s horse.

“Morning,” Dante called out from beneath his cloak, face mostly hidden by the hood. “I am just making my way to Arana. It’s a long road, and I want to get an early start.”

As the guard moved from the path, creating the opening he was looking for, Dante held out his hand, his voice sounding almost guttural as he yelled out. The guard flew back, impacting hard on the stone wall that made up the gate. Bringing the reigns down, and kicking his heals into the sides of the horse. The creature bounded into a full gallop, and practically dragged the other horse as it bolted through the city gates. The second guard called out loudly for assistance, but by the time help could come, Dante would be very far along.

North, Dante thought to himself, along the Great Road. Well, this should be fun. With a glance back, ensuring his unwitting travel companion was still there, he pressed on through the rain.

Last Edit: Jan 12, 2016 13:13:54 GMT by Dante Rottwel

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