Inability to Forgive

[Philomel]

Closed to Ioder, dracoboy8 and Quentin Boone. Here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27236-Just-a-random-Quest) is the original recruiting thread. It does have similarities to Unforgiven, but that is deliberate. I'm not claiming origionality on this one, at least in the opening. But that's just the prompt, will see what happens now ...

Adult content. Sort of.

It began with a scream.

When she first came to the Woods of East Inn - and Brothel - Philomel had not been expected to meet aggravation and descension. It seemed she had strolled from the self-admitting imperfect world of diverse society into a fiery pit of abusive vipers who swarmed and bit and threatened to devour one another. In an image not unlike the gates of hell she went from her supposed normality into a place which she did not recognise as being of her professional sector at all - all the grandeur and fakery was gone. In its place was obviousness, nakedness, brutality and rape.

Rape in the form of the clients taking what women they wanted, when and where they wanted. The payment all went directly to the Patron, a grand wisened man with thin wisps of white-streaked hair and the bluest of eyes. Here, in the chaotic Outlands, it seemed that there was no need to pay heed to laws of justifiable; in his opinion the whores belonged to him and him alone. He simply rented them out.

The assassin-whore, acclimated to her homeland of the now seemingly paradise world of Corone, entered into the Woods of East Inn to find an alien world. She had come only wanting work and what she received was not unlike slavery.

A shriek in the night in the hell and the faun sat upright, eyes flaring bright. Her tongue clicked behind her teeth as she was awoken from the brief nap she was being allowed between shifts. Leaping to her hooves she threw her blankets aside. Around her came a responding groan, then a yell as someone cried out;

"Shut it! Can't you keep the orgasms down?!"

Philomel narrowed her eyes slightly, looked over to the other side of the room where a young elf was pulling her blankets over her head. Her voice was pitiful but full of great annoyance.

"Why can't they keep it down?"

The faun hissed quickly. "Shut up. That's not just a scream of pleasure ."

"Pleasure. Pain. What's the fucking difference?"

As the shrieks rattled the timber walls again Philomel raised a hand quickly, holding up two fingers for silence. The elf fell so, but only because the noise was louder this time. Not only that but it was haunting, beguiling, horrifying. Her ears longed to recognise it as something of a client taking his moneys' worth, a simple night of working. Yet that was clearly less than the truth.

The clear sound of deafening, screeching agony rippled to the ears of the other whores, and stung their hearts a million times over. Remorse, hatred, fear spread through their bodies to every nerve and every vein, as slow realisation came.

Not bondage. Not pleasure. But true executionary wrongdoing. Torturous, excruciating, a true reminder that we are all, in the end, mortal.

Perhaps, except for the gods.

The faun assassin-whore grabbed what single weapon she had managed to keep from the Patron, and ran. Her hooves clip-clopped on the ground as she moved as fast as was faunly possible. Slip sliding, skip jumping, light leaping ... She entered the room.

Only to find the brigand and villain gone, leaving the dripping bloody remains of the human girl he had mutilated.

-------

Justice had to be done. It had to be served. Along with the head of the brigand who had done this deed, laid out with scent and flowers upon a silver tray.

As she held the shaking and red leaking form of Estelda in her arms, Philomel, the faun of love and blood, thought of a life where there was no pain. She did not get far, however, for that world was surely impossible. Pain came with pleasure, death came with life, and though pain was a metaphor in some cases of her profession for simply making the pleasure better, it was sickening to watch. In this instance it was undesirable. It was disgusting - no, it was against the gods themselves. What sort of beast would cut a woman like this? Slice open her cheek, attempt to carve off her breast and what was ...

Fuck me, Philomel gulped as she attempted to cover up the wound between the girl's legs. And in some cultures this is normal.

The mutilated - both genitally and mentally likely - human girl wept as she tried to suck in the pain. She could barely speak; she stuttered as she tried to describe the man, where he was from, where he had gone to, and why he had done such a thing.

"He did it because he is a man," said a sour voice from the door.

Philomel looked up. The figure of her bedroom companion, the complaining elf, was perched in the doorway.

"Have you told him?" the faun asked briskly.

The elf shrugged, looking down her long nose at the injured girl. Slowly she nodded, then shrugged again.

"Yeah, but he said he'd do nothing. Its up to the client what they want to do."

There was a horrified pause. Then -

"He what?"

"Philo-"

There was a grumble of pain as the faun dumped the human girl she craddled on the floor and clattered to her feet. Sauntering forwards she marched to the doorway, fury plainly inscribed on her face.

"Eh! I said don't!" the elf screamed, whipping out an arm to block her way. "Seriously, don't. He'll only do the same to you!"

The two whores stared into each others eyes. One was full of rage, the other full of seriousness, and strangely, without pity.

"I am warning you now. The Patron doesn't like to be disturbed."

"Estelda is going to fucking die!"

"Yes, and we can heal her!" the elf yelled, "But just don't ask him to act on this. This is his brothel, his money, we are all his. Surely of all things you must have learnt this by now. Don't go to him, faun, if you honestly value your life ..."

[dracoboy8]

After what seemed like an endless trek through human city by the ocean, Drake embarked on the dirt road into the lonely wilderness of a forest. He had arrived shortly after nightfall, but now it was late in the night. For the first half an hour or so the wilderness brought a sense of peace and calming to Drake, then fatigue and exhaustion began to wash over him. Further down the road he began to sense an aura of malicious deeds and sinister characters.

Walking further down the path Drake found that the trees were thinning out into a small clearing, and there was a building in the middle of the clearing. Drake knew what kind of building this was, seeing as it was in the middle of nowhere, and there was an aura of evil emanating from it, but he was more exhausted than ever and needed to find somewhere to rest for the night.

Walking to the building he saw that it was called "The woods of east inn - and brothel -"

Drake didnt like the looks of this, but he walked in anyways, hoping to only stay a few hours until he could carry himself to another inn. Drake was above the selfish sins of the flesh in this world, as sin was not tolerated in his training. Sinning called for immediate judgement, and depending on the severity of the sin, the harsher the judgement was. Walking into the building, Drake could feel negative vibrations and an aura of pure evil in the very air. Every single inch of his existence begged and pleaded for him to turn out and exit the way he came in, but he felt as if he would collapse if he took one more step down the worn path.

Walking over to the only employee he saw, which was a man of medium height, he asked "How much is a room for one night?"

"That depends on who you stay with," the man said politely with a smile.

"I will be staying alone tonight sir," Drake said. The man raised his eyebrows surprisingly and his demeanor changed instantly.

"Alone tonight? We dont get many of those around here." the man sneered angrily. "I'm afraid the prices will be the same whether you sleep with or without somebody sir. It's bad for business if we have a large number of guests and the revenue brought in is below a specific mark"

"Whatever just give me the room" Drake said disgustedly and reached into his pocket to pull out the cash that Matthew had given him. After the room was paid for the man led him up two flights of stairs and down a hallway to a room on the right side. He pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door.

"Now if you change your mind and want someone come talk to me and we can arrange something. For a price of course..." The man said greedily with a malicious smirk.

"I can assure you sir, I will be sleeping alone tonight." Drake said firmly, scowling at the man.

"Suit yourself" the man snarled and walked back down the hallway.

Entering the room Drake found a mediocre bed with oil lamps burning in the corners. Drake took off his belt and knapsack and collapsed on the bed. Drake soon found there was no blankets, so he wrapped his body in his gray wings that he often kept hidden from the world. They werent golden yet, as they hadnt been charged, but they were still warm when he wrapped himself up.

Closing his eyes he felt the overwhelming negative vibrations and the aura of sin that engulfed this building. Why he had to be this exhausted at this point, he did not know, but he drifted away into a troubled sleep. Drake didnt know how long he was sleeping for, but he was awoken by a terrible scream of agony. The scream itself curdled his blood, and instantly Drake was on his feet. Grabbing his knapsack and putting on his belt he pushed open the door. When the door had swung open, somebody on the other side slammed it shut with incredible force that threw Drake to the floor.

"Hey!" Drake cried, struggling to his feet and throwing open the door again.

Turning to his right he saw the back of a figure walking down the stairs, only seeing his back. In one swift motion he pulled two shurikens from his belt and threw them at the man who undoubtedly had caused the disturbance in the other room. He was walking down the stairs, and the shurikens now whizzed dangerously over his head and sank into the wall at the end of the hallway. The man continued casually and by the time Drake was poised to throw his last shuriken the man had disappeared. Drake would have pursued the man if it were not for the second scream.

The scream came from the same person, but this one for some reason seemed to be worse. Drake had to go and help whoever was hurt, as to ignore it and go after the attacker would be violating every one of his instincts. Drake spun around and ran down the hallway. He could see that it bent to the right at the end, and could now hear a heated altercation going on between two females. Reaching the end and spinning to the right he skid to a halt, almost running directly into a faun and an elf in an open door.

"...not if you honestly value your life." the elf said to the faun.

Seeing Drake, who looked like that of a 19 year old boy, the faun was unsure whether to take a defensive stance or push past him but the neither the faun nor the elf was Drake's main concern. Drake's eyes widened in horror as he looked past the two creatures to find a bloody disfigured girl in the center of the room...

[Philomel]

Philomel turned her head, instantly tensing at the sound of his voice. Switching from glaring at the elf girl to glaring at the newcomer, she blinked once, then twice, meeting the bright blue stare. The elf whore raised her chin, similarly turning to the man and folding her arms over her breast, standing like a sentinal of defiance; the two women equal suddenly in opinion and attitude.

"Who are you?" Philomel demanded quickly.

Instinctively she moved, curling her arms closer to her chest. The dying form of Estelda mumbled a little as she was moved to the faun's covered breasts, moaning in quiet pain. She was barely alive yet still not dead - a terrifying endowment of the two. So much fear, so little hope. And she had barely done anything except be what she was: a whore.

With the noise the elf's eyes flickered over to inspect Estelda. She simply watched for a while, and then she observed, seeing for the first time all the detail.

The top half of her dress was ripped to expose her breasts, where the right one had a savage jagged cut around the outside. More blood poured from wounds upon her face along with vivid purple bruises, adorning her skin and brow like some ill-begotten fashion make-up. The rags around her that she lay on were far too similar of that of a pregnant woman; red and sodden with blood, barely keeping the pain in or the scraps of flesh that had been literally carved away.

Memories of the night, of the cold high screams and beggings that she had so disturbingly mistaken for pleasure came to her memory's ears. The mess of body and sorrow there, the anger and damage, and all done by the scurge of the earth; men.

She swallowed a gulp, then altered her opinion of the situation. For here was a man suddenly in their presence, and in this case her ally was the only other well female. Therefore she ground her teeth together, faced the man defiantly and addressed Philomel, so careful not to show further "weakness".

"Philomel, we must protect Estelda," she said in a sudden change of voice.

The faun of love and blood, the Nightingale, gave a short nod and hugged Estelda closer to herself. She wished she had more than her keris dagger to defend herself with, but it had all she had been able to hide upon first discovering the truth of this hell-hold brothel. The rest of her weapons were somewhere in the Patron's room, or perhaps in his oubliette in the cellar. In all honesty she could not be sure. Therefore she had only her knife to defend herself and these girls. Female against male, whores against clients.

She raised her chin at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man and repeated herself.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

[Ioder]

"Sis!" Ioder say aloud in excitement as he heard the sound of pure agony off in the distance. The screams first sounded like those of his dead sister who perished long before he had ever become a seraphim, but he only mistook them as such for only a brief second before his quick happiness as crush under the weight that is his reality. Regardless if it was or wasn't his sister's screams he was drawn towards them as if they were calling him. Now running on the path that he had been traveling, he rapidly approached a dirty and smelly building presumably where the screams were coming form. From the looks of things and the scummy people seen coming to and leaving it appears to be a nasty brothel of sorts.

Back in the days long before Ioder's rebirth in the Seraphim of Judgment Israfil, he and his sister lived lives filled with death and hardship. He once belonged to a race of people that were severally persecuted and discriminated against, up to the point that even though they were simple knowledge loving people, they were killed simply for being who they were. He and his sister lived alone for many months doing what they could to survive and stay hidden from the man populous. But both he and his sister had been exterminated soon enough as one day he was careless and lead hunters directly to their home. Just as an innocent children they were his older sister was killed for being different that from the norm, feared for their impressive knowledge and brain power. Still to this day Ioder blames himself for the death of his sister, the only person he had ever loved.

"Such a disgusting place," He says as he feels ashamed for mistaking anything that could come from this place for his sister. Still mildly concerned with what could be going on inside he approaches the front door, just as it flies open from a kick of a heavy looking man. The door nearly snaps the hinges it carried so mush force, but the man seemed to not care about any destruction he might make. Insulting really as he didn't show any respect to Ioder rather he placed his hand on the seraphim to move him out of the way. This was the number one way to get Ioder infuriated with a person, not the touching but the lack of respect. Though touching him definitely was a quick way to get put on the ground, as with one swift knee movement up Ioder's knee hit the mans privet parts with a lot of force. Enough to knock the breath out of the man and put him on the ground in one motion, now the brutish man was on laying down in a fetal position. Moaning about the pain and crying all at the same time, serves him right for his actions.

"Still I wonder what is al the commotion inside." Ioder says as he delves on more forceful and well placed kick to the mans ribcage, aiming to break one or two before he steps over him and into the building. Still you can hear a small amount of panic in all of the rooms as someone must really be in anguish.

[Quentin Boone]

The sun had fallen well below the trees and its scant heat was fading even more rapidly than the light that penetrated the canopy in narrow shafts where leaves left gaps in the forest's ceiling. Quentin threw another small log onto the fire and let his hands hover over the flames. It had been a long time since he had need to light his own fire, and in a twist of irony he actually longed for The Empty Hand in Radasanth and its not-quite-comfortable beds in rooms hardly large enough for anything more. The stone on which he sat before the fire was in no way anything near comfortable, and he shifted a little in an attempt to alleviate a numbing buttock.

"I 'ope 'others are all right." Quentin sounded disgruntled, as well he should. He had been left to find his own way home after the war in Eiskalt, and if he remembered the maps accurately, he wasn't much more than a couple of weeks from Salvar. His homeland was a place he was loathe to return to, not for a dislike of the cold, harsh country, but for fear of The Family. They had hunted him for years, demanding payment for the son Quentin never intended to kill. His escape had led him to Radasanth where he met other people in desperate situations like himself, and over the years, these people and Quentin had become their own family-like unit. It was they who the bearded brawler had on his mind.

He was tired and hungry, for the forest yielded no game in his untrained attempts at the hunt, but he dared not sleep yet. Experience told him that dusk was a favoured time for assassin's, and he'd encountered The Family's goons in all manner of places. He kept himself awake by shedding the sleeveless leather coat and letting the cold refresh him; he was accustomed to cold but not impervious from it. He subconsciously checked for the knife on his belt and the throwing daggers strapped to his wrist. They were all present and correct.

Quentin clenched his left fist and used the spikes on his hand wrap to scratch an itch on his cheek; his beard had grown longer than he usually kept it over the past two weeks and was a frequent cause of irritation. "If only I 'ad some scissors."

Somewhere to the south, a piercing scream echoed through the still twilight air and Boone's hand went instinctively to his knife. He drew it as he stood awkwardly to look around the small clearing he'd make camp in. The fifteen feet of clear woodland was masked in a monotone grey making all features indistinct any further than a few feet from the small fire, but the brawler froze to let his ears do the work. A loud thud almost made him jump before the realisation that it was some distance away. Slowly he sat back down on the rock, knife still in hand, ears cocked to the south, ready to defend himself.

I really didn't know where to put this in terms of Quentin's chronology, so figured that after the war would be a decent place. Hope this doesn't disrupt anything for you guys. Let me know if it does and I can change this up a bit.

[dracoboy8]

“Who are you?”

Drake stared at the figure in front of him, then he realized that he was still holding his shuriken.

Oh shoot he thought, realizing how offensive he looked.

His gaze moved from his shuriken, to the harsh cold eyes of the elf, and back to the shuriken. Here he came to help, and what an impression he had made. Dropping his weapon Drake raised his hands out in front of his shoulders in a universal sign of surrender.

“I’m not an enemy, I’m here to help.” He said quickly in an earnest voice.

“Oh really?” the elf snapped tensing up. Drake could hear the bitter lash of cold loathing in her voice. “Then you can help yourself back to your room!”

Ignoring the comment, Drake stared directly into the eyes of the elf. "Did you not hear me?" she hissed, "Leave. Now."

“Look, I am a healer,” Drake said. Pointing at the girl in the faun’s arms he said, “I can help her, but we don’t have much time. Please, just let me.”

“Really?” The elf hissed hatefully, “Give me one reason why I should believe you.”

Drake sighed and let his hands drop to his sides. The elf had him cornered, as he had no way of proving that his intentions were richeous. Drake’s face drooped in submission, making him look even more like a kid than ever.

“That's what I thought.” The elf spat turning away.

"Please. I just want to help her." Drake said

The elf's face hardened as she scowled, and Drake's face flushed red with impatience. We don't have time for this, Drake thought.

In a last ditch effort Drake closed his eyes and reached out to the elf with his consciousness. As he touched her mind, he opened his eyes and saw that she jumped at the foreign presence. Closing his eyes once more he began to communicate with her telepathically. Drake sent her the feelings that were on his heart, how he was scared for the girl who was dying and all he wanted to do was help. How he was only staying at this place because he had not the strength to continue that night. How his heart ached from the monstrous nature of the crime that had been committed tonight.

Opening his eyes he saw the elf's face soften, and she looked down. Turning to the faun she spoke in a small voice, "Its okay Philomel, he's alright..."

The faun opened her mouth to say something, but before she could they all heard somebody pounding down the hallway towards them. Looking around the corner Drake saw that a boy, seemingly Drake's age, was running towards them.

[Philomel]

"I'm here to help."

Philomel had heard this statement many times. It was often repeated in earnest, or in jest, and in other cases in absolute sincerity. In those cases Philomel could often discern the truth and lies behind them - by staring at the man full in the face, by watching his every movement, listening to any increased heartrate.

But this she could not hear from this far across the room. Neither could she concetrate on holding Estelda close and trying to stop the bleeding, and try to notice the significant paling of his cheeks at a minor endurement. Therefore she let the elf do the work. The elf, who had barely any name, apart from "Coco" that she went by. Definitely not an elf name. Therefore, to Philomel, she was still, "the elf".

The elf began to interrogate the blonde-haired man, squaring her shoulders. Assessing the situation quickly enough, the faun-whore of love and blood deduced her duties were better off trying to save the human whores life, than argue. Grabbing the nearest rag of cloth she could she began dabbing at Estelda's cut-up face, then realised her best efforts would be upon the breast. It was as if the bastard had literally tried to carve it off like a hunk of meat. Similar to her Mister Draak's handiwork, but a lot more fearsome to look at. This, after all, was not a carcass of a deer.

"Philomel, he's alright, he is here to help."

With avidly burning eyes, Philomel looked up and stared right into the elf's eyes. Her jaw dropped as soon as she saw the soft rosy tint in the cheeks and the calmness in the gaze. Switching to the blonde-haired man her brow furrowed, but she still said nothing. Instead she took the few minutes to figure out that the same strangeness in the elf's eyes was closely similar to what she felt when experiencing the same from Felix - the half-imp telepath she had met on random and rare occasions.

"Heal her," Philomel found herself saying fast, gaining to her feet. "Coco, elf. Take hold of this," she gestured to where she held the rag to the breast wound. I need to go to talk to ..."

But her sentence fell away to nothing. No sooner had the elf moved than another being appeared in the doorway. All stares moved there, to where another ... another blode was standing. He was out of breath, as if coming from a run, or a fight.

Immediately Philomel was on her guard. She drew her dagger sharply from her belt, and spoke faster.

"Coco, take hold of Estelda. Blondy, help her. Heal her if you can ... I," she raised her chin as Coco ran over hurriedly, her movements still flustered. "I will go downstairs. I have some business to attend to."

And with that the faun stood, keris dagger in hand. She left the human carved-up girl to the care of the capable elf, and strode over to where the blonde healer and the other stood. She looked from one to the other, her expression dark.

"I want the perpetrator found. And brought to justice. I, personally, will offer one hundred gold to whomever serves this out. I only want to see him serve the punishment for the crime he did here, and I will take no less."


OOC: for purposes of the flow of this story I am going to take power here and say the brigand has managed to get away since Ioder kicked him. It will make the whole story a lot better. He can be injured, but in the original plan this is a hunt for the man. Ioder, I hope you don't mind my minor bunnying.

[Ioder]

This was just the start, its only ever just the start.

-Later-

Ioder had agreed to help out the faun for the simple reason she wasn't a human, a break from the norm, she was exotic. The strange blond headed boy also had agreed to come in search of the ruffian who had done such a disgusting thing. The three of them had just left the now freshly healed girl in the care of Philomel's elf friend and set off on the round. When Philomel described the man they were looking for Ioder felt incredibly stupid, he had just kick that man in the honkers just a few moments beforehand. He was heading south the last Ioder remembered and that was the way he was leading them.

"Ioder," Ioder said to the others. Both the faun and the boy looked at him like 'what did he just say'. After a second he looked back at them and continued "My name, its Ioder nice to meet you. Even if under bad circumstances."

(I don't know where to go with this, so I figure ill just get it going a little.)

[Lye]

This thread is under the 10 post -or- 5,000 word minimum to qualify for full rewards. As a result, points will be rewarded based on a score of 35.

Philomel:

182 XP
21 GP


DracoBoy8:

102 XP
14 GP


Ioder:

112 XP
14 GP


Quentin Boone:

56 XP
7 GP

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!