The Sun rises in the house of healing.

The Sun rises in the house of healing.

Postby Khalika » Fri Jul 13, 2012 9:03 pm

Hours had become days while they spoke....While he spoke. Spoke of his journey, of his prison, of her and others who haunted him there. She listened quietly, drifting in and out of slumber. Calmer she had become with each word, each pause, the throated tenor of his voice, of his words giving her some slivers of peace.

When he spoke of needs, and Friendships, she brought her eyes to his. They were an odd pairing. 'Feind and Gypsy, the was a rawness.. there was a need. Unexplainable, unfathomable, were there should have been nothing, there was need. She needed him....

When Daphne-Kyle came to look in on her with fresh linen garments, He was given a passing glance before she was sitting her friend up and removing the blood stained shirt she wore. A warm cloth washed away days of sorrow from the woman face. Beads of water roll over dark green designs that climb over and around her shoulders and arms. The skin trembles as its exposed to the cool fresh touch of the cloth. The older woman pausig only when the Gypsy's head drops to rest upon her shoulder. The cloth wiping hair back from her face, a further tip of the womans head and Daphne -Kyle was able to run a small stream of water through the thicket of knots and coils of auburn.

When her friend is settled once more she smiles, though her eyes hold their own saddness. A supportive squeeze to her upper arm above the bandages and a long look upon the silent one. Then she is gone, soiled clothing in hand, to speak to the doctor perhaps about the severity of her friends hands, Daphne-Kyle has had some experience in piecing the Gypsy back together. Not one word was spoken between the two, after all these years none are needed. the smile says "i'm always here.. The eyes they plead "Never again... The gentle Squeeze which lingers within a protective comfort? "Be careful..

When once more they are two, she looks to those eyes. Studying him for the first time with a more steady gaze a thousand questions came to her lips. How?..When?..Who?...But nothing is spoken out loud. She simply looked upon him, his covered face and tatter cloak. The damaged armor...Was he death? To many he was.

Too her?

Shelter...Salvation...Deliverance..

"Teron?, Where do we go now?"...
User avatar
Khalika
Member
 
Posts: 340
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 9:47 pm

Re: The Sun rises in the house of healing.

Postby Teron_Ashfiend » Sun Jul 15, 2012 7:40 am

It is a soft furnace which finds purchase for those gypsy's questioning eyes, a question birthed a few moments later. It is measured in the span of heartbeats and breaths, both of which he has forgotten how to count, as the sun's dimming glory washes the room in bleeding orange, yelow and scarlet. Darkened armor drinks all of it in, a hungry vastness contained now only by dimmed anger and livid memory. The light casts a soft glow to the symbol etched upon aged breastplate: a sword crossed by weeping, wilting roses.

"They will hunt you," he offered at first in that grating rumble of a voice. Words erupted like stones grinding upon one another beneath the scarf that masked his visage. "They will hunt you again, for I have returned, and these are not mere rumors which can be denied. They will hunt you because of me. I would see you... safe."

"Valinor is gone, I can no longer sense his existence. Either he has pried himself from my power, else he is destroyed. As you know, he rode forth to subvert Heath in my name. There is also the matter of Foggy Bottom," Teron paused at the mention of the town he had driven into mad, murderous frenzy. "And the matter of amends."

Moments passed in silence once more, a comfortable thing for Teron, before their surroundings spell out plainly a sharp reminder of what has happened. That a gypsy he has reckoned the closest thing for a companion has all but died, and survived not entirely by her wishing it. Yet they are strange impediments for him, the unsurety of all that has transpired setting his gaze to flicker like candles caught in a midnight storm. It drew him closer by a pace.

"I," hesitation knew no mercy for him. The green upon her bared shoulders had drawn his attention, turned his thoughts to that prison and to what had come before. Here, perhaps, was a green thing that his mere presence would not simply murder and destroy. Yet there was this question from the gypsy, with Vraal gone, the urn missing, and a Myrken he had been apart from for who knew how long.

Too long, she had said.

"You will need a place to stay, and heal. I would protect you," he hesitated with his confession. "If you would have me." It was a ponderous plea attached to such a question, a heavy request for such things as friendship and the simple nearness of one once reckoned for enemy now besought as friend. There was also the matter of Wryin, and though she has not spoken of it yet, his gaze catches, or perhaps projects, the agony of loss when love's bloom withers and leaves nothing but shadow. It had cast its foul length upon her. Yet it was a fresh thing, perhaps best not approached.

"The urn is gone, the lake is dry, Vraal is slain, Valinor vanished," he rumbled at length. There was need for familiarity, security, a simple vantage point from which to plan and prepare.

"I will take back Snowstill," he offered, thinking that it had served well enough in the past. "We can plan, then, what next to do."
User avatar
Teron_Ashfiend
Member
 
Posts: 234
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2007 5:11 pm

Re: The Sun rises in the house of healing.

Postby Khalika » Tue Jul 17, 2012 10:35 am

"Snowstill is not for me... The Gypsy has never been much for religion or the buildings which hold them. A shift onto her side to perch upon an elbow in an attempt to sit up against the bed. She seemed to be gaining strength once again, the momentairy lapse she experienced upon seeing him again has once more been pushed away and Wryin?...Wryin is wound that will never heal, a scab for her to pick at.

"If you recall, I have a home. I made a promise to never let the Cassion farm go unattended. I have left it to long in the care of others. Ahh Dexter, Captain Cassion after all these years you still hold her heart tight. "I will go there. A Pause as she tried to move her feet off the bed. Stronger yes, but still the body aches and wobbles in uncertainty. But I do not wish to be alone. If you.... A pause as she looks at him, the words dying on her lips.." Would stay with me, Perhaps we can help eachother find fresh ground to stand on.


she would leave that between them as her feet pressed against the wooden floor, Daphne-Kyle would have her head for trying to much to soon, but this was a being who did not take to laying around for more then the briefest of moments. the wood felt cold upon her bare skin, pain screamed through on hand as she used it to push herself up to stand. It was the smallest of victories, till legs gave out and she was crumbing to the ground..
User avatar
Khalika
Member
 
Posts: 340
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 9:47 pm

Re: The Sun rises in the house of healing.

Postby Teron_Ashfiend » Thu Jul 19, 2012 2:41 am

The gypsy dismissed Snowstill and, he considered, perhaps it was for the best. It had been a place of significance for him, where battles had beenw aged, prisoners kept, oaths sword and blood spilled. It apepared as a place of renewal, a symbl of what brought him to Myrken Wood before and, distinctly, what had returned him to its lands. At the same time, blood death and darkness bespoke a certain familiarity with things one, perhaps, ought not to feel comfortable with. it turned dead lips into a distinct scowl beneath the masking length of coiled gray scarf.

Teron had not remembered she had a farm, or any home for that matter, given the difficulty one often had in finding the elusive gypsy woman. It si soemthing spoken of with a note of possession, perhaps wistfulness, that stings against an unbeating heart. Such things as home and comfort are distant things, cold and fogged by uneasy memory, that Khalika delights in as she pleased. But then there is that offer, to accompany her to such as a thing as a home as this prickly gypsy possesses, likely cherishes.

He nodded in silent acceptance. There was, quite simply, nowhere else to go.

And then the gypsy faltered, and winces, and begins to plummet to a hard floor. The dead do not move, and yet this one movesin a flicker of strides to reach and grasp for the gypsy woman's shift. A mailed hand clad in tamed death plunges for that falling woman, who catches him in his lostness, and who bears him out of being alone.
User avatar
Teron_Ashfiend
Member
 
Posts: 234
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2007 5:11 pm

Re: The Sun rises in the house of healing.

Postby Khalika » Mon Jul 23, 2012 9:40 pm

"I may need some help getting there.. She admits with a feather of bemusment. Hanging there, with her hands wrapped up as they were she could not grab on to anything to steady herself. His form engulfed her in support as she tries to use her forearms to find a fraction of grip upon him. A tedious bracing allows her to find footing upon weakened legs that had not been stood upon in near a week. "But I do not think I should stay here any longer.

The intial shock her muscle felt when being so rudly forced into use has slowly worn off, old memories of strength and drive have her now nearly standing full, yet no sudden urge to stand alone, she continues to build reason for departing the remedium.

"The doctor and his aid have done all they can for me now, no need to linger and place them in possible conflict, when word of your returns finally filters out.. she was surprised to the point of troubled as to how they remained unhindered for this long. not even a stray gawker to peak in and see if the rumor was true. Perhaps they were merely waiting till they left the remedium to save the doctor and his place of business. If that be true perhaps they best stay indefinately..No, sooner or later one of them would come knocking and she would sooner have the door be her own.

There was a breif period of time before she slowly stepped back towards the bed, a bandaged hand falling across the scared breast plate of his past..
"Could you remove it?....If you wished to? She speaks truly of the entirity of the battered armor that mark him as much the Ashfiend as Deliverance did. As that icy touch.

"could you start with a new beginning?..
User avatar
Khalika
Member
 
Posts: 340
Joined: Mon Dec 09, 2002 9:47 pm

Re: The Sun rises in the house of healing.

Postby Teron_Ashfiend » Fri Jul 27, 2012 5:54 am

Wounded and fragile, her bandaged wounds drifted across the hammered oblivion of his armor. Mailed hands drifted towards her sides, as once they had striven for her throat and to pummel her into oblivion upon the mountain. Her howling shriek in the midst of that battle echoes over her murmured words and the two twined in dissonant chorus. His armored bulk served to help balance the injured gypsy as she found the memory of her strength and stood, somewhat, on her own.

Yet that balance came with the cost of that biting chill and daggering frost that crept and laired protectively about him. Simmering eyes flickered within the dark depths of that aged hood as her bandage traced over the ghost of his memory etched upon his breastplate - a sword crossed by two weeping, wilting roses. And with that gesture a question of more than armor, but anger and memory and ashe stirred by ghosts recently exorcised but not forgotten in the dim wind of his age-old anger.

Teron glanced at his armored hands, armor which she and his enemies had already begun to forcibly remove over their many conflicts. Beneath dark plates and scorched steel lividly white flesh lingered on in the imagination of life. He flexed one hand into a fist and loosened, watching the tautness of his flesh through the ruin carved into ancient metal.

"It is more a skin to me than any other," He rumbled into the silence between them. Glancing down at himself, he noted the play of metalwork upon itself, the points of binding, the wrents and tears, the buckles, the charcoal and rust. Khalika asked for him to be laid bare beneath the sun, before her, and for all the world to see. Her question sank into pale flesh with hideous barbs that whispered such things were no longer necessary. Such things might inflict harm upon her, upon others, even upon himself in light of this new grace given to him.

"I may need it in the future," Teron resumed in a hollow murmur. "There are several with whom I would speak. Ariane, the mapmaker. Calomel." He paused as his eyes flickered in reflection of the fires at the Kaczmarek farm. "I would see Foggy Bottom again," he continued as that fire dimmed in the recollection of his sinister and malicious madness. "They will know, soon, that I am free. They must know that I no longer seek to fill a grave with the world. They must beware of pursuing me. "

Old devices die hard, old traps linger on, old gears easily spin to crush and rend and tear. those words lend tension to his hands and sparks to that unearthly gaze secreted away in merciful shadows. "They must be made to do so, if necessary." A pause. "Yet, it may draw them to you all the more quickly."

Dark eyes finally settle upon her own from the stirred miasma of memory that blossomed anew in the chill that hovered faithfully about him. "When it is time, I will remove it. I doubt that it is time. Not yet."

Another pause.

"What do you think?"
User avatar
Teron_Ashfiend
Member
 
Posts: 234
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2007 5:11 pm


Return to The Rememdium Edificium



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 5 guests

cron