Bleed for me...

[Lavinian Pride]

(Closed to Slayer of the Rot)

The drink in her hand felt far heavier than she remembered. As she sipped the glass she sighed as she tried to forget the memories that haunted her. The words were said, and neither one of them were willing to go back and undo the past. As she sighed she let her hair form a curtain, taking her from the public view as she sought to drown out the memories...

"So the rumors are true! You're just a fucking Scarecrow!"

It seemed the more she drank, the more she wanted to forget, and the more she wanted to forget the more it paraded in front of her. Her eyes closed as she tried to fight it away. She just wanted to pass out, wake up and move on with her life. She snorted as she thought about those past thoughts, no, not her life. She was just a piece of soul in a corpse...scarecrow.

Another sigh escaped her lips as she closed her grey eyes. She never wanted to be alive, yet here she was. Her life was borrowed time. Until Seth found her, or she found him, these feelings would persist, the emptiness, the bitterness at the world that encompassed her. She knew she wouldn’t be able to control herself, and it would be over, one would kill the other. Perhaps this is why she felt so alone, she actually wanted to die. The alcohol, the sex, it wasn't what she wanted. It was merely what let her forget until the next pain took hold. As she felt the tear slide down her cheek she flexed a gloved hand involuntarily, angry as her emotions began to go unchecked.

As she moved her hand to her face, she wiped the tear away hiding the action under the pretense of brushing the hair from her face. Sipping the vile fluid again she sighed as she said softly, "At least I am free to do as I want with this time..."

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Are you sure, mister Lagh'ratham? Too much of this stuff can kill a man..."

The enforcer's table was cluttered with a vast and wide array of bottles, most clear, others dyed blue or green or amber. All of them were empty, save for the one he clutched in his shockingly steady hand. From his posture, something the waitress' soon discovered indicated his various moods, she didn't expect an answer, or really an answer at all, as he let his head fall back, long black hair flowing down the back of the booth, tipping the bottle to his lips and finishing off the strong dark brown liquor inside. Setting the bottle down, the girl let out a little sigh of releif when a warm smile dawned on his lips. "Don't worry darling, there's not enough poison in this Pub to kill me. Let's just say when I started working here I like to drink, and Tshael used to hate to run my ass off to the hospital after I drank all the liquor on the shelf and started fights over people's drinks. Get me some ahhh...scotch, eh? Just bring the bottle."

She stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape and with an incredulous light in her eyes, then shuffled away slowly, holding the wide black plastic tray tightly to her chest. In truth though, if they knew what was going through his head ate the moment, they'd have known much better than to let him take the first sip out of the first bottle thnat he could barely remember. The memories floated through his mind again like they had every night in his exile at the deserts, milling about him like curious ghosts. Meredith's smile. Claire's smell. That old and lost innocent taste of victory. The trust he'd placed in his trecherous family. The terrible words he'd told Sarah Dahlios in the Citadel, words he wanted painfully to take back. But with the distrust the persistent rumors of the untrusting Radasanthian still spread, he didn't dare. It was unbeleievable to some extent how they refused to believe that it had not been him, but it was totally understandable how they wanted a criminal face to crucify. With a sigh, Dan shut his eyes, hoisted his ankle across his knee and leaned back into the booth, and laid his hands over his chest, ignoring the butt of the pistol poking into his wrist from the shoulder holster.

No matter how much of that liquor he'd downed in the past few hours, the demon blood in his veins seemed to burn it right up to fuel some other need. He was as stone cold sober as he had been that morning when he'd woken up. The mirror of the bathroom gave him only fleeting images of a black and red beyond, of iridescent obsidian horns sprouting above eyyes that always flickered with a fire. It was for this, the monstrosity that he really was, that he was drinking so much, though if that had been all, he'd have walked down to the Citadel and started a fight. Or so he thought.

Honestly, he doubted he'd be visiting the Citadel or the Theatre of War anytime soon. His sensitive nose often quickly overcome with the smell of spilt blood or sizzling magic discharged from fingertips by mere mentions of words. What had once been a powerful, overbearing warrior had fallen to a mysterious silent man, hiding behind a screen of hair that should have been cut long ago and silent lips. He heard the clunk of the bottle as the girl set it down on one of the few available spaces left on the table, but he didn't make any move to drink from it. He simply sat, silent, the faces hovering far beyond the dark of his eyes, content to simply stay as he was.

[Lavinian Pride]

"You know darling, there are far better ways to forget pain than bottles of Ale..." A voice cut through the stupor. Her head snapped to attention as she glared at the person in front of her. What right had he to cut her off, especially so close to the toxic oblivion she craved every night. The black out that allowed her to sleep, not knowing what she had done the night before. She slammed both her hands flatly on the table as she snarled;

"I pay for them, you keep bringing them."

The man jumped back at the rather hostile way she spoke. Her body formed a rather intimidating visage as she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. The man gulped noticeably before he said, "Alright alright, who am I to tell you when you had enough...How about next one's on me?"

She sat down in a huff before she spoke sternly, "Lavinian Ale, anything else is too watered down for my tastes..."

The man quickly moved to get his peace offering as she clutched her forehead feeling a headache come on. The man had rattled her out of her mellow thoughts, and the quick act of thinking had strained the alcohol marinated brain, thoroughly cooked with the life that clung desperately to its inner workings. As she closed her eyes groaning, she slumped a bit in her seat. It wasn't that she couldn't hold her liquor; it was more she wasn't used to strenuous activity when drinking her liquor.

Soon the peace offering was offered and the hand that snatched it quickly uncorked it and took a swig, before she nodded. She then dismissed the well meaning man with a hand gesture as she said, "Piss off, I don't need a knight in shining armor."

The man's face fell before he muttered about her being a cross between dog and woman before he moved back to his friends. Soon more ale was poured in glass as she held yet another heavy one. Wincing slightly in pain as the noise of a chair squeaking she sighed as she muttered, "Why does every man have to try and get up my skirt...why can't I just drink myself to oblivion in peace?"

[Slayer of the Rot]

When the man got back to his table, he found a new drinking buddy, legs crossed casually, one arm slung over the back of the chair. A little smile was worn across his scarred lips. "You see that, above the bar there, Darryl?" The man looked over his shoulder as he sat down, up towards the back of the Pub, above the dozens of multi-colored bottles. There, on some very strong metal hooks, anchored to a stone slab on the other side of the wall sat the Rotslayer. It was the sword thhat had made Dan Wilson Wilmhearst XXVII, and had made Dan Lagh'ratham's name nigh unforgettable. It was a sword not able to be lifted in many hands, and was a symbol of power and will. The dim lights of the Silver Pub flickered over it's brushed titanium blade, polished down now that he was back at home, wholly presentable. It may have been impressive now, but soaked in blood and viscera, it was terrible.

"Yeah, we seen the damn thing everytime we come in here, Lagh'ratham. What's yer point?" Dan gave a little, indifferent shrug, and looked up at the sword. "Simply put, you come in here, you come in my domain. You be civil in here. I don't want to hear an insult against a woman like the one I just heard come out of you again, or I'll toss you throw a fucking wall." A lump formed in all the men's throats that were gathered, and they nervously turned their eyes back to their drinks. "Don't mean you can't have fun. I just appreciate it if you're not dicks, eh?"

"What's your deal then, Lagh'ratham? You were never like this before with women..." Dan motioned for one of the young waitresses and gave her the common sign that the next round was on him. "That little lady," he said, pointing at Sarah, the Lavinian Succubus, curvy in all the right ways and the absolute poison of all men, "Is just a little much for you guys to handle. Yeah, she might be a rose of a woman," he continued, with the guys nodding, almost enraptured, ignoring the girl as she brought them fresh beers, Dan included, "She's got some wicked fucking thorns. Dripping green, steaming venom that'll stop your heart and leave your wallet bare. She's a girl out for blood, and there's none more suitable for her than man's, so she'll cut you if you step wrong. She's something not even a Mercenary King can tame."

Sighing, he got up slowly from his seat, carrying the unopened, frosty bottle of beer with him, fingers gripping the neck passively, and walked over to Sarah's table, pulling a seat out, sitting down in it. He pulled the cap off the bottle and took a deep drink, and looked over to the thief, smiling a bit. "So, how goes the life?"

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah looked down and sipped her drink as she heard the chair slide and the weight of Dan drop into it. The question went unanswered for a bit before she spoke, "You know us scarecrows, keeping the crops safe while wishing they had a life of their own..."

The words were bitter the acidic quality enough to melt through steel. A bit of anger and resentment at the comment so long ago, that had torn through her carefully laid defenses. It was that fucking night that continued to haunt her ale induced stupors, parading back and forth as she tried to prove herself different, only to be marked a scarecrow and dismissed as nothing more than Seth's shadow.

She refused to look at Dan as she continued to remain silent. Defiantly she emanated an aura of hostility towards the warrior that had cleaved her cleanly in half. The Rotslayer had been her executioner long ago, and while she had felt for once that she was someone other than Seth Dahlios, it had not overcome the bitter sting of his words. He had said perhaps the worst thing he had ever been capable of.

As she gently rimmed the glass with a slender finger she spoke, her tone none warmer than the first, "I suppose the farmer is here trying to make sure his scarecrow is in good condition? Make sure that she's being a good little bitch and not scaring off the wrong things?"

She then snapped her head up to look dead into Dan's eyes her anger flashing within them before she stopped, tilting her head a bit as if trying to read something in Dan's eyes. Something she couldn't quite figure out. Her eyes narrowed before she looked down and drank more of the ale.

[Letho]

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