Beginnings

[Séreméla]

((Closed))

Séreméla's back slammed into the dry ground as a cloud of dust wrapped around her. The fall had knocked the wind out of her as she gasped for air but only got sharp particles of dirt. Her eyes were closed but she could tell that her attacker was over her body, blocking out the sun's light. She opened them to catch a glimmer of the double-bladed axe heading fast towards her torso. Quickly she rolled out of the way as she felt the weapon slam into the ground next to her. She continued to roll while her attacker continously hacked away at the ground just inches from her moving body.

The trunk of a tree stopped her hard as Séreméla slammed into it with her ribs. She whimpered for a second at the pain that she had just inflicted on herself, then quickly moved away as the axe came barreling down where she was and buried itself deep into the tree. Séreméla stumbled to her feet and began falling back but caught herself.

She looked at her attacker trying to pull the blade out of the tree. Séreméla looked around frantically trying to spot her own weapons. The sparkle of her Elven sword lighted her way to the grassy patch near her as she picked it up and swung her bow and quivers on her back.

A hard metal stick flew through the air and smacked Séreméla across the back making her fall onto her stomach. The pain started to become unbearable. Another gasp for air. Now there were two of them. She thought to herself as she began recalling how she even got into this mess. Another blow across her back caused Séreméla to pass out from lack of oxygen. And there she was, in her mind in darkness, in unconciousness as her mind began to replay the events up till now.

[Séreméla]

((Earlier that day))

We will find you.
And we will bring you to him.
The faces of two hideous demons spoke the words to her mind. Their skin was tearing from their bodies. One held a large double-headed steel axe the other held a large metal rod. Séreméla had never seen them anywhere but in her own dreams and she could never figure out why. The sound of their harsh voice and the image of their terrible body sent shivers down her spine. They began heading towards her with weapons drawn. The axe was rising high into the air then just a quickly it came down on her.

The morning light was shining bright in Séreméla's eyes as she awoke. Stretching out her body she felt the cool breeze from the small pond a few feet away from her. The sound of rushing water had helped her sleep through another troubled night of dreams. The thought was still fresh in her mind. She had always had at least one dream a night about the two creatures. The sound of water seemed to be the only thing that kept her asleep between the dreams; it kept her safe in her mind from not waking up and thinking about every single dream.

She rubbed her eyes and crawled slowly over to the water then splashed her face. The cold water made her shrink back for a moment. Then she sprawled herself again on the ground and looked up at the blue sky.

Why do you haunt me so? What is it that is wanted of me?

The water she had splashed on herself began to dry in the sun and a feeling of drowsiness befell her once again. She didn't want to sleep, but she knew she couldn't fight it. They wanted to taunt her more in her dreams and they would always get what they wanted there.

[The Cinderella Man]

For two days now Victor was on the island of Scara Brae, and yet his feet failed to find the path that led to a place that once upon a time he called home. He didn’t know what made him take that damn ferry and return to the place that he left behind years ago. Corone was bountiful when it came to providing nooks and crannies for a homeless wanderer to explore and yet he felt that he needed a change of atmosphere. Because sooner or later everything started to look alike, every day an obscure déjà vu, and he started to climb the walls of his psyche. In such a confused state the mind reverts to the basics, resets, and for Victor it inevitably meant he should visit the place that he held so dear in his heart, he decided to escape from it years ago.

Because Scara Brae would never be as beautiful as that day when he met Delilah, his family would never be as happy as it was when his father was alive and Victor was on his way to become his father’s son, he wouldn’t never be as blissfully ignorant as the days he spent longing for his azure-eyed angel. And because he knew all that, he decided to close that chapter years ago, to still the perfect frame and take it with himself into the unknown, repainting the ugly events that happened afterwards with ignorance. If you didn’t dwell on something, it didn’t hurt, or at least it shouldn’t. But it did. Oh gods, it did.

Even before he stepped off the ferry and onto the Scara Brae soil, Victor felt the need to turn his back from the picturesque island. The grand city unfurled before him like a scroll, offering the well-known streets and their daily bustle, offering all the little details you remember only when you stand before an object that stood buried in your memory. The dockmaster was a little older, a little wrinklier, a little grayer, but was still the same foul-mouthed bastard that governed the docks like a tyrant. Victor pulled up the collar of his relatively clean black leather coat when he noticed the man; he didn’t need old acquaintances right now. They tended to ask questions that he had no answers to. What have you been up to lately? seemed to be their favorite. And telling an old friend you’re pretty much a bum that couldn’t fight for shit wasn’t really the way you wanted to start a conversation.

He knew the route to his mother’s house as if he walked it yesterday. He knew the route to Da Lesius Manor as well. They all beckoned him to explore, to catch up with the recent development. And their voices scared the hell out of him. Would he be able to withstand a meeting with Delilah? Would he be able to accept her happiness, her coy smile and the fact that she was in the arms of another? Would he be able to look into the eyes of his mother and tell her that her son was a failure? Would he be able to withstand the past? He didn’t know and because of that he fled outside the city walls, hoping to find an answer to it. For two days he walked through the Scara Brae wilderness and the answers failed to present themselves to him. If anything, the more he walked, the vaguer they became.

On the morning of the third day it was more of the same. The morning sun was struggling to chase away the mild chill of the night, the dew still twinkling across the countryside like fairy dust. The flowers shyly opened up their petals, summoned by the mirthful chirp of the birds and the first buzzes of restless insects that scudded through the spring morning. And yet, though the daybreak announced the revival of everything around him – spraying lively colors ardently over the countryside – Victor found no solace in the dawn. The night at the inn in the outskirts offered no solution to his problem and as he started yet another stroll through the countryside, his brooding face was on like a mask.

In a sad attempt to break the gloomy monotony of his mood, he decided to visit one of the springs in the vicinity. The gurgling of water in motion was always a soothing sound for the prizefighter, and though it offered no answers, it asked no questions either. He swerved into a small groove adjacent to one of the many roads that swiveled through the Scara Brae countryside and simply let his feet recollect the correct path and take him to the nearby pond. This, unfortunately, left too much time for his mind to mull on the same things over and over again, making his thoughts spin on a never-ending spiral leading to nowhere.

It was perhaps because he was so deep in thoughts that he didn’t immediately notice the presence of another in the small clearing. He stepped through the wall of bushes carelessly, dry branches and leaves crackling and rustling below his plowing feet, his eyes set on the crystalline trickle of water that cascaded down round stones in a myriad of tiny waterfalls. Only then he noticed the lying figure that slept beside the pond. He stopped in his tracks instantly, and though his mind told him to leave her current abode as fast as possible, he paused for a short moment.

The black haired woman was stunning in the morning illumination. Her black-and-red hair was spread around her fair face gently, encompassing what should’ve been a blissfully serene expression. Only it wasn’t. She seemed to be struggling, fighting some unseen battle or running away in that futile manner that people always run in dreams. This should’ve been Victor’s cue to leave. There were plenty of other springs in the vicinity. Besides, any girl that opts for a bed made out of foliage obviously did so because she didn’t want to be disturbed.

And yet, he didn’t leave. He told himself it was because this girl might be poisoned or something and she was suffering a fever, but that was just a poor attempt to make an excuse. The truth was, it was a new day and he got tired of running. So he stepped forwards in what should’ve been a stealthy approach and wound up looking utterly ridiculous and inefficient, until he was about three paces away from the girl. He squatted before he spoke in little over a whisper, as if he was trying to wake her without disturbing her, as unlikely as it sounded.

“Hey there. You alright, lady?”

[Séreméla]

They had been chasing her once again in her dreams. She wished they’d just leave her alone. One lunged at her with the large axe. She quickly pulled an arrow out and released her Earth Arrow into the air. The creature’s body began to glow a bright red and as the arrow met it it caught fire and disappeared into a pile of ash on the ground. The magical properties seemed to just add to the speed in which it came at her. Her eyes widened as she turned and began to run again. Séreméla felt the force of the axe coming closer to her. The pain of its blade grazing her back made her fall to the ground creating a puff of dirt. Her face was covered in a thin sheet of dirt and she could feel a little trickle of blood begin to run down her sides. The cut began to burn from within as if the axe was coated with something. This had been the first time in her dreams they had actually harmed her. Every other time she awoke before the touch of metal. Her body lay there as the creature bent down and pulled her head up by her hair and came close to her ear.

…We are real
We are coming…
…And we will find you.

The creature released her head and it slammed into the ground again. She began to cry as the burning from her back grew. Séreméla heard the creatures as they disappeared into the void of her mind.

She awoke startled to the sound of another around her and on instinct and fear that it was one of the creatures pulled her sword and swung it in the direction of the voice. The blade was more than a few inches from her target when she realized it was just a man asking if she was alright. Her breathing slowed from it’s rapid pace that started when she opened her eyes. A sudden sharp pain went through her body as her arms stretched out during the full attack with her blade. Her back was still burning from the dream. She felt its breath still in her ear. The pain from her back made her drop the sword as she rolled hap hazardously on her side. Séreméla felt the side of her garb touch her body with a wet feeling. Totally ignoring the man standing a few feet away she pulled off her shirt quickly and felt her back. The graze from the blade was clearly stated on her back. She felt a sort of heat glowing from it. She closed her eyes and began to cry a little.

After a few moments she opened her eyes and looked at the being and turned her glance over to the tree line. In her mind she didn’t know what to do or say to him. She laid there quietly as the glowing heat from her cut continued to burn.

How was it possible that they harmed her outside of her body? What were they and what did they want? She asked herself over and over in her head.

A single bird flew overhead and the rushing water seemed louder in the silence with another now more than ever.

[The Cinderella Man]

The good news was that he managed to tear her away from whatever nightmare made her cry in her sleep. The bad news was the blade that followed the awakening, the woman drawing it with such speed and skill that Victor toppled backwards and on his behind just from the surprise. Before he even got a chance to flee though, she steadied her hand inches from his undefended neck, making his breath pause somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. His first thought was that she was a rogue vixen, an agent from the Scara Brae Scourge that hid in the forest and out of the reach of the town guards. That would explain her rather edgy disposition. But then he noticed her eyes.

Peering at him and through him, as if gazing into another world, her blue eyes looked terrified, bewildered. They weren’t the suspicious eyes of a knave or surprised eyes of some runaway maiden that left her jealous husband behind. No, there was something more sinister in them, something that reflected the turmoil that came as a direct result of whatever she fought with in her nightmare.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, lady! I... I mean no harm. I just...” he tried to explain, raising his hands at his sides as if to prove his point. It seemed to be working because even as he did so, the woman dropped her blade carelessly. For some surprising reason though, it worked so well that she proceeded to pull her shirt over her head. Victor almost allowed a thought how he wished he had this effect on more women, but still, those eyes of her reminded him that this was not a jovial matter. As if to confirm that, the girl reached for her back with her hand and instantly whimpered a little, making another set of tears trickle from her panicky eyes. Only then the prizefighter understood that his poor excuse from when he decided to check the girl out was actually closer to truth then he could imagine.

Disregarding the fact that the woman’s torso was now clad in nothing but her undergarments – which was a fact that was very tough to disregard given her perfect porcelain skin and her shapely curves – Victor pushed himself up and, still holding his hands at his side, slowly circled around the collapsed woman. “Were you attacked? I’m just going to check your wound, alright?” he spoke in the softest, most benign tone he could conjure, sidestepping around her as carefully as if walking over tripwires.

The gash marred her perfect wan back ruthlessly, oozing the crimson liquid down over her fair skin. It was fresh, there was no doubt about it. Victor saw his share of cuts and bruises in his life as a boxer, and though those wounds tended to be different when it comes to the origin, cut flesh technically always bled in a similar manner. And this girl was cut recently, like a couple of minutes ago recently. He dropped to his knees hastily, looking at the gash and having no real idea what to do. He was a boxer. When he fought, he usually had people that tended to whatever mess his opponents did out of his face. If they didn’t, he just cleaned his ugly mug after the fight and let the natural regenerative process do the trick. Given the fact that a corner team was unlikely to appear from the bushes as well, he reckoned he should at least clean the wound up.

“I’m just going to try to wash it a little bit... or something...” his voice was panicky now, his fingers uncertain whether or not she should even touch her. Still, he found enough reason to pick up the shirt she discarded and dip it into the nearby pond. Once he soaked it enough, he placed it above her would and squeezed gently, allowing the water to pour down her back and over her bleeding wound. He went on the repeat the process two more times, asking another question at the third splash. “What happened to you, lady”

[Séreméla]

Séreméla didn’t even release the man had moved until she felt her cold wet shirt against her back. The pain from the wounds made her flinch slightly. She attempted to keep still sensing that there was no danger in this man. His words echoed through her mind from one wall to the other. She turned to look at him making sure her hair was covering her eyes so that he could not see her looking.

She watched as his hands moved with the shirt cleaning her wound. She still didn’t know what to say to him. It had been a long time since she had last spoken to anyone. The way she liked to live by herself in the woods. The burning feeling from the wound began to subside as the cool water dried in the wind on her back. She was sure how badly the cuts were but she knew what they were from. The thought of the cause made the voice return in her head.

She was frightened now of her dreams. They had now come out of the closet and were truly hunting her. But Why? She thought to herself again. A sound in the tree line made her snap her head back looking deep into the wooded forest. She held her breath waiting for whatever it was to come through the leaves. She didn’t know if the man was still talking or not, she didn’t care. She just sat and watched.

A bird erupted through the branches and flew into the sky. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest at the sound and surprised. She began to laugh quietly to herself. Her body was tense and she was allowing herself to believe them. They really weren’t coming. They really weren’t real. Nothing more than that of a series of bad dreams. She had just allowed herself to keep replaying them, that’s all…Right?

She kept saying to herself it was nothing but a dream.

“Nothing but a dream…”

Repeating it over Séreméla let it slip out then caught herself. She looked back at the man a smiled uneasily.

“I guess I rolled on a rock while dreaming. That’s all. Thank you for your help.” She said. The sound of her own voice surprised her a little. Being alone for so long made her realize just how much she didn’t talk.

[The Cinderella Man]

It turned out that he was making a big fuss about something relatively insignificant. The wound looked mighty ugly, but then again, so do most when they are fresh and bleeding profusely. He remembered looking at himself in the mirror after the battle with John “The Backfire” Henry but before the medics took care of all the swellings and the cut above his left eye. He looked like he just fell into a meat grinder. Two days later he looked spic and span again... well, as much as he could anyways. That same happened here. Once he got a couple of splashes of water down the length of her back and tended to it as gently as his rough prizefighter hands managed, it turned out to be a surface gash that gradually allowed the coagulated blood to stop the bleeding.

Her explanation seemed plausible enough. Or rather it would seem plausible enough if he didn’t instantly survey the proximity to find nothing that could cause such a wound. Especially not such a clean cut. Rocks didn’t do that, weapons did, he knew that much. But it was not his place to pry into the matter. She was a stranger and she was obviously as surprised as he was with the whole ordeal, so he decided to let the issue rest. “Maybe she’s a sleepwalker or something, and she cut herself on that blade of hers. Yeah, that could be it.” he tried to reason in his mind as he finished up with the cleaning strokes once the blood ceased to pour. Only that wasn’t it. The explanation just didn’t sit right, leaving the bland taste in his mouth. The eyes, there was something in her eyes, indescribable and disturbing, a reflection of some dread she held to herself.

She cast a look over her shoulder and smiled uncertainly, coyly, and he returned the gesture with a nod and a smile of his own. Compared to her own, it was a haggard looking thing, but then again, she was a beauty and he was no prince. Her voice was melodic though, as fair as any he ever heard, Delilah included. “You are welcome. I just don’t know how much of a help I was. I think you scared me just as much as I scared you.” Victor spoke, trying to lighten up the gloomy atmosphere that seemed present from the second they noticed each other. He moved up from behind her and took a seat before her, still holding onto her shirt that, beside the hole made by the “rock” was now rosy with blood.

“Besides, I ruined your shirt. I think I have a spare one in my bag, but it’s bound to be a bit big for you.” he spoke, lowering the bag from his back and opening it up. He started to rummage through the contents, removing his eyes from her own. He always had a problem with eye contact, especially when it came to women. He always felt like the person before could peer into his thoughts and he was afraid of what they might find there. “I also think I have something we can use as a bandage.”

In order to get to his spare attire, he had to take out his boxing gloves, his iron plated gloves and his fighting shorts, all kept in perfect condition. He might be a prizefighting bum, but didn’t mean he was a filthy slob. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, a small velvety bag rolled out of the bag as well, in it a small lock of brown hair and a torn armlet. When he finally found what he was looking for – a folded shirt with a couple of patches and a torn pocket and a couple of rolls of makeshift bandages – he looked up to the girl again.

“I’m Victor, by the way. Victor Callahan.” he spoke, offering the woman the shirt with an honest smile. There was something peculiar about helping people, something that made a person feel like he was on the top of the world, this sense of doing something right when everybody else was doing something wrong. It made the prizefighter feel good and that was something he didn’t feel for a while now. “So what are you doing here, sleeping out in the wilderness and all alone, if you don’t mind me asking?”

[Osato]

Due to inactivity this thread has been closed. If you wish for it to be opened again PM the moderator who closed it and ask them to reopen it. However, do so only if you are going to actively roleplay in it again.

Thanks,
~Osato