Take What You Will (Closed to Maia)

[Lye]

The winds of this frozen nation blew relentlessly against the figure of a man clothed in arctic furs. His black boots crunched into the layers of powder beneath him. Strands of long, messy white hair whipped about, freed from the confines of his hood. Each step carried the weight of a lifetime lost to sin and regret.

Here, in the bastard sister city of Knife's Edge, the streets remained still. Unlike the capitol, Old Knife housed strictly residents and those businesses not wealthy enough to enjoy he security of capitol walls. They were a tougher people, a cautious people, and lacked the already scarce compassion offered by Salvan masses.

As the hunched figure trudged on through the streets, he felt the presence of eyes on him. Short, small, and curious children parted crude cloth curtains. The orange glow of light flickered behind them as they slaked their interest. The figure paid no mind and like clockwork, toughened mothers and fathers pulled their kin from the windows with a shut of the curtains. The hollowed husk of a man carried on, verdant eyes staring forth at the whited out horizon.

No direction. No objective. No purpose. He carried on.

With a deep breath, he exhaled a cloud of vapor quickly consumed by hungering winter winds. He halted.

His hood turned toward one of the dozens of homes to either side of the white washed street. The firelight shone brightly through its curtained windows and smoke billowed thick from its chimney. Most of all, its covered front patio whispered temptation to weary legs and battered soul. The hallowed form shifted its path.

He approached the home, silk and lace curtains obscuring the contents beyond the glass. A figure moved about in front of the hearth, alone with no muffled voices from within. The size of the fire, the make of the curtains, and condition of the home boasted a wealth greater than its neighbors. One person, a warm interior, food...

The figure flexed his hands and loosed the thin layer of frost from their gloved surface. Memories of spilled blood, panicked screams, and laughter coursed through his mind. The husk looked toward the snow kissed brass of the front door.

A moment of silence swept past on frigid winds.

He looked away and toward the fenced corner of the patio where two barrels stood defiant against the eastern snow drifts. Planks of wood hidden by ice crackled and groaned as the figure lowered himself into the corner. Back against the wall and shoulder pressed into the chilled iron band of a barrel, Lichensith Ulroke braced his elbows against his knees. Powdered wisps danced over his head from the lids of oak as he stared toward the dimly glowing homes across the way.

Aching muscles coed their relief and chilled skin finally worked warmth into the arctic furs, now safe from the thieving grasp of the storm. He took another slow inhale, and breathed a cloud of haze.

Fate was a cruel mistress, karma a relentless judge, and existence without cause, the worst punishment.

[Maia]

My trips into the little town of Old Knife was always interesting in one way or another. It was an old city, and they clung to old ways. Old rituals, and old strategies, old recipes and older winds.

Even the Ethereal Sway was new to them.

I loved it, they knew how nice it could be to have someone like me living in the town. Even so close to the capital, the people knew how nice it was to have a Witch living in the town, and how helpful when it came to certain odd jobs around the town. Even if they were a little less approving of my preferred title, they would grumble and offer thanks when I helped reset a child’s broken arm.

It was a quiet understanding, and especially helpful whenever I needed supplies. I lived on the outskirts of Old Knife, about two or three hours walk. I had a pattern down by this point. I would come to the town for about a week, buying wine and cheese and meats and much more wine. The inn I stayed at was built around one of the many way stones of Althanas, at a crossroads. Names and owners came and went, but the inn remained like mountain. I never really bothered to remember its name. It’s not like there was any competition.

During that time, I’d take stock, help with any long standing little problems for the people that they brought me, and then take a large wagon home filled with whatever I needed back to my small house. Not that it stopped me from spending time at said Inn in-between. An hour’s walk is ten minutes by air, and what’s ten minutes among friends?

The knock at my door was mostly expected by this point, one last little request before I left. I gave a little sigh, making sure I wasn’t heard. Ten minutes later and I would have been on my way.

“Maia?”

I opened the door, looking down at the shorter inn owner. She was an old, hard thing, with hands more comfortable with a warhammer than the kegs and ciders she handled nowadays.

“One last little question, Fray?”

I grinned, picking up the small bag of coin from the bedside table and pressing it into Fray’s hands. She accepted with a nod. Witches always paid what they owed.

“A little problem actually.”

She nodded, stepping into the room and crossing to the window. I followed, looking out. I followed her pointed finger to a huddled over man.

“A bad snowman?”

“Stranger in town. The kids’re scared of him, and he’s been out there for nearly two hours. Probably dead but…”

She shrugged, old muscles revealing themselves through the softness of old age.

“Small chance it isn’t either.”

Fray nodded.

“I’ll take care of him if you don’t, but it’ll be messy, and I don’t have the equipment to warm him back up properly. I know you helped that Jon last winter when the fool broke his leg in the snow storm.”

“I’ll pick him up. I don’t have anyone coming back with me this time, so I got the space.”

The innkeeper smirked, a big fist punching me lightly in the arm. I rubbed it, smiling without shame at the woman. She opened the purse of coins, counting out a few. I noticed they were the golden ones of Knife’s Edge. She pressed the purse into my hands, nodding with the unspoken agreement.

“Remember to come back soon. I love my patrons, but it’s nice to see someone who isn’t half frozen.

************

The sun was past afternoon by the time I got the wagon and two horses out of the stables The featherlight spell on the wagon and its contents took nearly an hour, but I had made the trip before without it. They were strong beasts, shaggy and well suited to the chilling air, but they didn’t enjoy dragging enough supplies for four months without a little extra help. I had a barn they would stay in for the night after the journey, then I’d ride them back the next day.

They snorted as I brought them to a halt by the frozen man, mostly in annoyance. They well suited to the cold, but they hadn’t had a chance to warm their muscles yet.

I comforted the animals, sneaking them sugar I had imported for this occasion. There was a reason they loved me. It certainly wasn’t my personality.

I could feel some of the small eyes on me, safe inside houses and behind curtains. I gave a little wave to them, and a thumbs up. It was comforting, seeing the small smile of a kid.

“Now then, you’re not dead yet, yeah?”

My hand reached out, touching the man’s face and turning it. He was unconscious, and covered in warm, furred clothing. Probably the only reason why he wasn’t dead.

I nodded to his little hiding place, brushing off some of the stray snowflakes that were beginning to fall down. The storm was flurrying, but I could see the anger and frustration in the sky. It was going to be an awful one, but we had at least a few hours yet before it fully began.

“Clever little spot though, keeps the wind off of you.”

I pulled down his mask, trying to guess at his face. It was pale and handsome, and reminded me of… someone. I felt like I had seen it before, or at least someone close. I couldn’t place the name, or why my belly ached with a forgotten pain. I hesitated, looking back at the wagon with its shuffling horses. I couldn’t get a driver this time, so there was no one around. I could just leave the man, let him sit there.

I turned his face the other way, letting a warm breath escape me. I gave a groan, then leaned forward, picking up his heavy body. I groaned, stumbling as his limbs rag dolled and did nothing to help me put him into the wagon’s passenger compartment. Inconsiderate jerk. He fit in nicely, most of his body on the only open seat, and a strap keeping his body upright in the chair.

I climbed to the driver seat, getting the horses moving. I breathed out, going over the plan as the wagon lurched. Get the man into my guest bed. Feed him some soup and let him warm up. He probably wouldn’t wake up too quickly, so I could take in the new supplies to the storehouse attached to the house. Get the horses to the stable, set up the markers between there and the house so I could find my way there in the snow storm that was about to break.

I groaned, slumping in the driver’s seat. I just wanted to drink my hot chocolate, sleep and stop wearing these uncomfortable working pants. Maybe the man wasn’t going to be a huge pain when he did wake up. That'd be nice.

[Lye]

An eternal slumber - reprieve from reality, abandonment, loss...

"Hey, Lye!"

A voice called out in the fog.

"Dude, you alright?"

Weary eyes opened and gave light to the darkness. The alcohol soaked grains of a wood table blurred into view on the tail end of a seething headache.

"Ugh..."

He lifted his head to the faintly familiar faces of three rugged men ranging from teens to twenties. A youthful hand pressed against throbbing temple, eyes focusing on the scattered remains of empty tankards and joyous laughter of a warm tavern.

"Dude, you passed out there! You should have seen your face! You were --"

"What is this?" he asked, painting a look of confusion on those across from him.

"Uh... celebrating?" one of them replied, befuddled.

"We just made it through training! We passed basics!" another chimed in with a wry smile and rosy cheeks.

"Basics?"

"Yeah, man. Geeze, that shot must've knocked you more than unconscious. How many fingers am I holding up?" the third contributed with three fingers jammed in his field of vision. He leaned back at the gesture, catching a glimpse of a polished mirror behind the bar.

Scar over one eye, vibrant green eyes, exotic platinum hair cut short and windswept...

He touched his face.

"Is this a dream?"

"No silly! This is home!" a new, far more effeminate voice replied.

He looked up to see the sleek feline features of an odd cat-woman. Her fur short, white as snow, and eyes blue as ice. She smiled at him, pulling at his arm as they walked through the warm summer streets of Radasanth. The Citadel looked cleaner, nicer than before. The old, shriveled men that stood outside now seemed in their mid to early years.

"Home?" he asked, head still pounding.

"Come on, dad! I don't want to miss the show!" something small cried out, clung to his leg. A little girl, similarly feline and swaying her black and white tails in chaotic rhythm. Her innocent face twisted in a smile with a single tooth absent from the pearly lineup.

"Dad?" Nothing made sense. "Who are you? Where are we going?"

"Jail!" a hoarse voice shouted, a sudden jerk on his shoulder and pain in his wrists. "Where filthy family killers like you deserve to go!"

"No..." he mumbled, a knot in his stomach forming.

The hulking guard threw him into the cold stone cell, slamming wrought iron bars. The subtle click of the lock echoed faintly against the weak coughs and groans of cells nearby.

"I hope you rot in hell," the guard spat.

"No... No! Get me out of here!" he cried out, hands reaching for the bars. They closed on empty air and sudden warmth.

"Why....?" a voice groaned by his feet, blood-stained hand reaching up.

He stepped back in a panic, the blood on the ground pooled and stretched toward his boots. Both hands now painted crimson and shook. His eyes opened wide, several bodies of the guard stretched in Radasanth's dimly lit streets.

"What's wrong Lye...? Those who feel nothing will go far," a familiar voice stated from behind.

He spun around, barely pulling back in time to avoid a pair of ivory and onyx daggers destined for his throat. Another attack came inbound, blocked by his own blade suddenly in his hands.

"Can you feel it?" the stranger with full chocolate curls asked in his ensemble of white. "Can you feel my pain?"

A rush of agony swelled in his body, dropping him to his knees as lightning crackled across the sky. Bombs ruptured in the darkness, followed by screams. The ground beneath him cracked like splintered wood.

"And you call me a monster..." another threatening voice proclaimed.

He looked up, just in time to block a massive broadsword with hardened bone jutting from his arm. The new face glared at him with a seething hatred, a face he somewhat remembered.

"You killed all these innocent people! You are guilty for your actions and you alone!"

The ship ruptured, casting him into the biting cold waters of the sea. His body lashed against the coral and tore open. Blood seeped from the wound, spilling onto cold stone floors.

"You're still awake, aye cutter?" a pale demon asked, slapping a bloodied knife in his palm. "Have'ta say your one of my most resilient pets. Aye Junior?"

A monstrosity on his shoulder raked a hand of razors across his cheek. He stirred to get away to find himself bound and helpless. A sharp and gut wrenching pain in his chest forced him to heave and buckle.

"In case you get any funny ideas," the black veined face of Madison Freedbird stated, her hand buried deep in his chest. "This is what you get for Eiskalt."

Then black. Sweet, quiet, endless black.

"You're not done yet..." his own voice called out.

"Please..." he begged in reply.

"Now wake up!"

---~~~===+++===~~~---

Lye gasped for air, shifting his body upright as several brightly colored pillows retreated from him. Soft silken sheets and expensive padded comforter slide free from his unclothed chest. Beads of sweat rolled off his neck and down the valley of his shoulders. Deep, panicked breathes slowed and shortened as confusion settled into the back of his mind.

Across from him stretched a room decorated with all things bright, colorful, and exotic. Shelves of books mashed up into glass cabinets filled with oddities and treasures. His eyes drifted to the unusually bright sconces which flickered with flame but no wick or oil. Lye's eyes drifted to the floor, his body turning and several more cotton stuffed pillows spilled to the ground.

"Pillows?" he asked in a dry, hoarse voice. He looked up to the thick wooden beams that protected him from the elements and noticed the lack of biting winter wind. Instead, the faint aromas of vegetable stock and smokey hearth reached his senses. He directed his head to the source - a bowl of soup rich with carrot, celery, noodles, and pulled poultry.

The drifter opened his eyes wide, realizing the dull ache of fatigue reassert itself over him. His body slumped into the sea of cotton, colors, and fluff as the world threatened to fade away.