Fate - First Reply Into Thin Air

A 1x1 Roleplay where the first writer to respond can join
Interesting manners these elves had. Ralene slowly lowered her hands, eyes narrowing as she leaned to listen to Henk's whispers, and watched the first elf approach. The Initiate remained silent during the exchange, allowing the words to fill in on what she felt she'd been missing from the context of their first engagement with the caravan. Part of her wanted to argue that Henk had not sent her to parley with their leader at all, but that she'd already been speaking to him at the same time.

Hadn't been a coincidence, merely happenstance. Still, her interest peaked as the old crone finally emerged.

Head canted, eyes narrowed in mild suspicion, Ralene shifted her stance but remained standing beside Henk, "This curse you keep speaking about, if it even truly exists, how do you know of it and what does it have to do," she paused, blue eyes sliding to glance at the male elf who clearly did not want them here, "with the Ihmoen?"
 
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The way her eyes moved to meet those of the male was certainly taken as a direct challenge, and knowing Ralene, Henk wasn't entirely sure that wasn't exactly how she'd meant it to be taken. His tall body sized up, back straightening to stand tall as his lips pursed in silent fury. "How dare you even--"

His foot lifted from the ground to step forward, but the old woman once again extended her cane to block his back, and with a quickly reddening face the fiery-tempered elf held his tongue. Ralene's question certainly cut to the heart of things, and while Henk wouldn't have voiced such obvious doubt in the elder's beliefs, he was extremely interested in hearing the answer provided.

The Crone cracked a crooked-toothed smile, taking another few steps towards the pair of them. "I'm but an aging weaver of the arcane, young lady. I've been around curses for my entire life, and that is a long one, I assure you." As if to further her point, she taps the end of her cane on the ground, and the stone of the pavement underneath her glows a vibrant green, with vines of light spreading across the ground like overgrowth. "From the look of you, I can tell you know that when you've been around something for that long... you can practically smell it."

The vines of light stopped short of the pair, instead moving to avoid their feet, circling them before dissipating entirely. "Something dark surrounds you both, and you reek of old magic. A stench that hasn't faded since our first meeting. The Ihmoen tracks that scent like a loyal hound, seeking to kill its target when dawn comes."

Henk furrowed his brow at the sight. more than a little disturbed by the display. It certainly lended to the theory he was 'tainted' in some way. "But... wait. Earlier, you called it an Allita, not an Ihmoen."

A loud cackle coughed up from the Elder's throat and she nodded. "Allita. Ihmoen. They are the same. Ihmoen is what the Korabari called it, you are correct, but to think that there has only ever been one of them is short-sighted no?"

Henk closed his eyes, sighing. This was all just conjecture. There was still no hard proof the invisible beast existed, and even if they knew for a fact that it did, Henk wasn't sure where it left them. Turning his head to Ral, he shrugs. "I'm not sure why, but I believe her. What do you think?"
 
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No, a direct challenge hadn't been her intention, but far be it from Ralene to back away from the rising temper of another. The Initiate's fists clenched at her side, the dark kohl of her eyes closing in around deep blue while she listened and watched. Flashes of acidic emerald reflected in her gaze, catching the sense of suspicion she still held for the old crone. Proctors often warned about the untrustworthiness of mystics and witches - though Ral had to wonder if that grew from their own racist mindsets.

Henk wanted to believe, and that was his right, but she wasn't yet convinced.

"Then how do you explain entire families going missing on the trade routes into Maraan?" her eyes leveled with the crone, "including innocent children. Traders and merchants, too. I find it hard to believe so many curses would be following so many people just going about their lives trying to make a living."
 
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A brow quirked on Henk's face. Ralene had a point. If it was simply them that had been cursed, that didn't explain the reason they'd been sent out here in the first place. Many were supposedly being attacked in the Savannah, not just the two of them.

Orsola too seemed somewhat troubled by the fact, bringing a bony hand up to her cheek and running her long fingers down its wrinkled surface. "Mmm. That I do not know for certain. I have some suspicions, but none I am confident enough to state as fact." Mumbling something under his breath, Orsola's caretaker turns and seemingly departs back to the wagon as she waves her cane again. "The curse I speak of is real, though your belief in it I can not change. Something else is afoot, though. Something foul, indeed. What it is, I cannot say."

Henk felt himself deflate a little bit. If their "wise woman" was just as lost as them, where did that leave things?
 
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Henk wasn't the only one feeling the wash of disappointment, but the difference was that Ralene's version was heated by anger. It mattered not if this curse the crone spoke of truly existed. She'd told them nothing they didn't already know and frankly, this entire venture was proving to be -

"Useless," Ralene muttered under her breath, lip curling beneath a furrowed brow as she turned abruptly and departed from their parley, "your leader owes us back our wagon. You tell him I said we'll be back for it. He broke his end of the deal!"

Though she cared little for the wagon itself, it was the principal of the matter. They'd been promised safe passage into Maraan in exchange for their wagon. A wagon the elves now had, and they'd been left for the vultures in the desert. Breaking promises was not how Ralene operated.

Reaching her horse, she yanked the reins down from their tie and quickly mounted up with a look at Henk that suggested he should do the same. They were running out of time to get back into the dunes and hunt this beastie down.
 
Ralene was visibly frustrated, and Henk understood why. It seemed every time they followed a lead it led them to a dead end. That Orsola had no concrete answers for them was unfortunate, but even as Ralene mounted up and readied to head back to their room to plan the next move, Henk stayed put. No, they could still push farther.

"Fine. Suppose the beast is real. Forget the curse and forget about the randomness of the attacks." Henk crossed his arms. If asking 'why' wasn't working, then he would ask 'how'. "Let's put the lingering questions aside. In the end, they don't matter that much. How do we combat it? What can we do to act against the Ihmoen?"

Orsola seemed to tilt her head in thought, though a wry smile crept back upon her face. "Now, that is a different question entirely." Suddenly, she cast a glance over to Ralene, the smile on her face growing further. "Tomorrow at dawn, at the Twin Arches south of the city. We will bring your wagon, you will bring the woman." Henk turned to follow her words to his partner, a brow quirking high. "To what end?"

Henk slowly turned back towards Orsola, who was already taking a few steps backwards, a knowing smile plastered upon her withered features. "To answer your question, young man."

More theatrics. More vague riddles. Henk heard himself snap. "I tire of being played with, old woman! If you try to fool us again, I will not be so kind!" It wasn't like him to make threats, but to say the weight of everything that had happened today was beginning to weigh on him would be an understatement of the highest degree.

The old woman merely cackled as she was helped back into the cart she'd come from.

Staring only for a moment, Henk turns around and mounts his horse, biting down on his tongue to sate his frustration, letting go long enough to nod towards Ral. "Let's go. I need to sleep."

Ralene
 
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You will bring the woman.

Ralene's lip curled at the words, her anger surging up her spine like a rod of molten steel. She gripped her horse's reins so hard it snorted anxiously and shifted beneath her. There was something so disgusting about the old elf's sneer. Her cackle made Ralene's skin crawl and fingers itch for a blade that wasn't presently within reach. Despite all the years of growing up under the heel of traditional Anirian Proctors, Ral had never much felt the fire of prejudice.

She was right now.

Fucking elves.

Her heated gaze followed the old crone's figure until it disappeared back into the safety of her own wagon. Then, without a word, Ralene reined her horse around and spurred it off after Henk. She remained in a frigid silence all the way back to the room.
 
The two of them were so focused on their anger and frustrations, neither of them felt the eyes watching them from afar as they left.


"We'll come, and they know we'll fucking come."

The crumpled-up technicolor sweater hit the wall accompanied by a frustrated growl from Henk's throat. One thing after another on this god-forsaken mission. It was maddening. "It's the only line we have out of this mess and they're using it against us." Quickly scooping some water from the wash basin, he brought it to his face and poured it over his skin as though it would wash away the indignation painted upon it.

Looking over at his compatriot, he raised a finger towards her with ire in his tone. "And I don't like the way she was looking at you. That she singled you out for whatever it is they want tomorrow, it worries me." Granted, that would more likely offend or amuse Ralene than flatter her, she wasn't in need of anybody's worries.

The sound of books hitting the floor echoed in the tiny room as Henk casually pushed a stack of books from the mattress to the ground to sit on it with his back to the wall.

"Before you say it, I know you can handle yourself out there." Henk waves a hand to her, closing his eyes for a moment. "We need to mutually agree that if we're going out to the arches in the morning, we aren't leaving empty-handed, no matter what we have to do." The Initiate preferred pacifism, but even he had his limits. If these elves tried to trick them tomorrow, he would repay them in kind.
 
They seemed to be on opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to dealing with anger. Henk's words, thoughts, and emotions spilled freely. Ralene had maintained her stoic silence into the room and during his tirade. Her frustration with the mission had frayed the anchor of her typical patience, but it clung with a stubborn refusal to let go. There was nothing to be done for it - this insipid game the crone wanted to play.

Ral had half a mind to refuse to play along, and instead set out on their own hunt. If what she'd said was true, their beastie would find them regardless of what direction they traveled. So what, exactly, was the point of playing into the crone's hand? An answer eluded her.

She stared at Henk for a few moments longer after he'd finally gone quiet and then nodded in agreement. Then without a word in response Ral took a seat and began to yet again remove her armor. If they weren't going to head out on their own, then she'd be sure to at least rest comfortably for the night.
 
It was unlike Henk to let his emotions get the best of him, but the frustrations of setback after setback were beginning to boil over. Ralene just let him vent, and to be honest, he was rather grateful for that. The flesh of his back was cold against the wall of the room, and it served to calm him slightly as he took a deep breath and watched Ralene pull her armor back off.

She was handling all of this a lot better than him.

"I'm sorry. Please, correct me if I'm going off course, Ral. I'm letting my frustrations cloud my sight a bit, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm ready to lie down for a while." Henk shook his head a bit, rubbing some of the sand that clung to his face away. "If that thing was to come at us right now, I don't know that I'd be on top of my game."

He'd never known clothes-shopping and book reading could be such taxing activities.

"Besides." A smile crosses him, eyes lingering on Ral, following the pieces of her armor as they fell from her body. "You might be ready to go, but I had to play doctor while you took a nice long nap with a bump on your head. You're ahead of me."
 
Piece by piece her armor dropped into a contained collection on the floor. Ral listened to him talk but offered little in response. She didn't blame him for wanting to rest; neither of them had really had any solid rest for going on a week now between taking shifts while they traveled the dunes, and then everything that followed after the attack of the beast at dawn. That they had a bed to share and the safety of this house was a blessing she wouldn't easily overlook.

Free of her additional layers, Ralene sat back in the chair with a deep sigh and took a moment to herself to figure out just how exactly she wanted to respond. She was tired, too. Mentally and physically, but she'd never say it aloud.

"No," finally a word, "you're right. We should rest. That was the plan from the start."

Blue shifted to look at him, "We can discuss what we'll do about the crone in the morning."
 
Henk lay back on the bed with a groan, taking her agreement as all the invitation he needed. For his part, he always remained at least partially clothed through his sleep out of habit after one too many accidents with morning sun through windows, so even the soft sheet against the skin of his torso was somewhat foreign. Certainly not unwelcome.

"I had fun though. With all the other stuff. I've never shopped for clothes before, if you can believe it. All my stuff was picked out by a proctor who went with me, didn't like the things I chose so he picked it all out for me."

He'd grown rather attacked to some of his gear, but it was certainly starting to show some age. The jacket was stained with time, boots ragged at the edges, and his now stolen spyglass had already been cracked down the middle of the lens.

Turning over on his side, he met the matching blue of her eyes with his.

"Thank you, for pulling me out of my comfort zone."
 
Was this normal chit-chat for others? Or was it just Henk being Henk?

Talking about feelings and memories. Saying thank you. It all felt somehow childish, but that was Ralene's avoidance of socializing talking into her inner ear. After a moment, she gave a light snort and pushed herself out of her chair, "All I had to do was give you a nudge," Ral said while pulling her tunic off and draping it over the back of her chair. She was left with her lighter leather and linen chest wrap while the skin of her shoulders and midrift bared every work of ink, scarification, and battlescar. It wallpapered her figure quite fully in most places.

"You fell out of your comfort zone pretty willingly after that."

Ral moved to the bed and crawled onto the open space next to him, sinking into the mattress with a grunt and a deep sigh.

"I make most of my own clothes and armor. Nothing else fits right. ...except for boots. I get those custom."
 
It almost felt wrong of him to watch her, to admire those scars, ink markings and muscular lines as she made herself comfortable, but the more he did, the more he didn't hate the idea of getting some of his own. Ink that is, not scarring. He was set in that department.

It did help that she looked incredible.

Henk slid to make room for her as she lay beside him, shifting slightly in some effort to hide his obvious unfamiliarity with the presence of another so close to him. "Well, I guess you're the first person who's bothered nudging me."

He wasn't expecting much out of her conversation wise, but Henk's mouth had a tendency to run when he was stressed, as she'd no doubt come to realize. Sometimes it got him into trouble, but Ralene never talked down on him for the habit. Perhaps that's why he felt safe doing it around her.

Her mention of custom-made clothes got a laugh from him, not nearly as subtle as he looked her over once more, turning onto his side to face her.

"Small wonder you'd need to make your own. with a figure like yours. If you weren't a Dreadlord, you'd be out of luck. They don't make clothes that could do you justice."
 
Didn't mind his gaze on her at all. Didn't mind the proximity. There was nothing about anything they were doing that was out of sorts for her.

"If I wasn't a Dreadlord, ah-" Ral strained with a wince as she rolled slightly to withdraw a blade at her back she'd forgotten about. The snap of the holster on her belt thumbed open, she pulled it out from beneath her and set it on the nightstand.

"If I wasn't a Dreadlord..." she began again, lips pursed at the thought and brows raised in consideration, "well I'd probably be in dresses all day long I guess. Ain't that the fate of every noble house girl?"

She wouldn't have her muscles, either. Doubtless if she'd been born without magic, she'd just be another spoiled brat of the courts in the major houses.
 
A low, vibrating hum came from Henk as he thought about her words for a moment, sliding his eyes closed for a moment.

"No matter how you're born, somebody will find a way to choose for you. If I wasn't a Dreadlord, I'd probably be dead or rotting in prison for stealing bread. Aren't many future prospects for an orphan in Vel Anir, are there?"

In that way, he should have been thankful, he supposed. Waving a finger, the tip lights up for a moment, shining in the quickly darkening room. Henk would raise another finger, and the light would crackle as it danced to that tip, and then back again.

"It's easy to forget that something as simple as making light, or fire, or skill with rune magic is all that puts us in a different class as a normal human in Vel Anir. Without our magic, we wouldn't be special." The light slowly dims, and Henk moves to his back again with a light yawn, his muscles loosening underneath him. "Hell, I've never felt special regardless.
 
"Aren't many future prospects for an orphan in Vel Anir, are there?"

"I suppose not," she mused aloud, gaze following his hand. The light from his fingertips reflected in the blues like moonlight off the ocean. It was always interesting to see how the other Initiates idled with their magic - given the nature of their powers, it was a bit like playing with a live bomb.

Henk was quite introspective and philosophical, but Ral never found those means of thought to be particularly beneficial to her. She made a sound of thought, rolled toward him, and snaked her arm across his middle as casually as she might reach for bread at the dinner table.

"Being special is overrated," Ral muttered in reply as her head nuzzled into the pillow with a long exhale, "and too much effort. I'd rather just be me."
 
Henk didn't do much with his free time. Never one to socialize too much, and without anything that could be called a hobby, what was there to do but think? The words he said had been repeated in his head plenty of times before he'd ever said them aloud.

Henk felt himself stiffen as her hand found his midsection, but not nearly as much as he would have a few days ago. If anything, the events of this mission had made him quite comfortable around her, and after a few tense moments he relaxed and shifted his body closer to her, allowing her arm to reach completely around him.

"Being special is overrated,"

Something the two of them agreed upon, certainly. He smiled, nodding his head quietly.

"I'm glad. I enjoy you as you are."
 
Henk got a sleepy hm in return and that was the last of the conversation he'd get from her. Ralene was asleep in the span of a few minutes, the weight of her arm over him sinking in as she relaxed at his side.

Eventually through the night, she'd shift and nuzzle her way into him until she was fully curled and ensconced at his side. Head against the side of his chest, a leg looped through his own, her arm looped to rest across his hips - he'd get the full Ralene snuggle and there'd be no apologies about it.
 
For a time, Henk slept rather soundly as well. Exhaustion outweighed anything else at that point, and the sounds of Ral's sleep were a catalyst to his own in short order.

Of course, nobody had warned him of her overnight habits. So when he awoke in the middle of the night feeling oddly warm, he had to light a finger as he did before to see the sleeping woman pressed up against him.

Lord, as though she hadn't teased him enough.

It wasn't as though he could pretend he hadn't thought about what it would feel like against him, granted. That brief span where he'd let his walls down had given him quite an imagination. Still, this wasn't very ideal for getting a good night's rest.

His body liked it, but then his body didn't know better, the bloody thing.

Still, waking her would likely only incur wrath. And as odd as it was to admit, it was... almost comforting, beneath the other feelings it brought. He hadn't realized how warm the presence of somebody else could feel, how soothing it was.

Henk turned, bringing a hand gently to her upper back, the other lowering to rest on the leg that lay wrapped around his side. The light inside of him reacted, spreading out slightly from his palms to spread across the newly available surface, but not so much that it could bother her, more it would feel like warm rays of sunlight.

Once he felt her hair against his neck as he brought his head down a bit, sleep began to chase him again. Of course, there were other urges within him, but the warmth was strong enough to distract any untoward thoughts that might keep him awake.
 
The extra warmth would only serve to encourage her. As Henk would learn, Ralene slept quite cold and seemed to absorb his body heat like a dry sponge absorbed liquid. When he turned to face her she shifted and stirred only slightly, drawing the arm that had laid across him back to herself, curling it between them to burrow deeper into that warmth.

She kept a dreamless sleep that night - as she usually did when sharing a bed, and did not stir much more beyond that until the early hours before dawn. Rarely did Ralene suffer from poor sleep and even Edric had said of her at one point that she could sleep through a war.

Unlikely. As most of the Initiates could attest, her own ability to awake at the drop of a hat was alarming. The Proctors certainly hadn't been kind when training them for that particular skill.

Which wasn't to say that she didn't enjoy those rare days that she could wake slowly and peacefully, as seldom as they happened. Ral and Henk had, for nearly the entirety of their travel through the desert, taken shifts in sleeping. Having to rouse one another after a few hours to switch out didn't always allow for deep and restive sleep. They'd both needed this more than they knew or were ever likely to admit.

But as was customary and perhaps habit when waking next to a bedmate, Ralene's hands and fingers absently began to slowly and lightly trace the lines and scars of skin within immediate reach.
 
Once he'd finally found sleep, it was rather sound. It could have been the unusual warmth of another, the drain of an exhausting and fruitless mission, or perhaps just the desire to put the day behind him to an end. Whatever the catalyst, he opened his eyes feeling as refreshed as he had in weeks. It wasn't the dawn that tugged his eyelids open though.

His pale eyes opened to meet Ralene, still waking from the throes of slumber. Henk couldn't tell if her eyes were open in the dim light that made it through the dark curtains of the room, but he could be certain her hands were wandering, one tracing the scars that littered the right side of his face, the other drawing shapes over the old wounds that ran down his chest.

There wasn't a sound in the room but their breath, but he could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears. It wasn't panic though, not like yesterday. What was it she'd said a few days ago?

"Henk, if I'm ever touching you in bed, you're going to be awake for it."

The young man felt a laugh build in his chest as he repeated her words aloud, but he held it to a brief chuckle as he tilted his head against her hand. Somehow he had a feeling this wasn't what she'd meant. "Guess the same can't be said of you, can it?" He mutters, moving one of his hands over the one that traced the scars on his face. "I suppose I wouldn't want to stare at these either though. I won't be winning any pageants..."
 
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Walking the line between consciousness and sleep, the level tamber of Henk's voice was like a mental dose of cold water. Took a moment for those words to register, and rightly she almost didn't realize he was quoting herself at first. That concussion had rattled her brain a bit, but the memory sifted through well enough to catch his humor.

"Hmmmm..." the low hum issued over a sleepy smile and tethered chuckle of her own. Her hands were, apparently, writing promises into his flesh that her mind wasn't fully aware of.

"I am awake-" Ralene muttered back, though her eyes had yet to open, "ish."

Now that she was fully capable of registering that sense of touch, she realized what he meant. Her left hand was on his face, tracing the scars that only her eyes knew well. That hint of self deprecation was about what she expected from him concerning his face.

"Some people find scars attractive, you know."
 
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There was a slight wince in his features. Yes, Henk had been made aware that some found markings like his to be alluring, but he couldn't understand it. To him, they'd always been a mark of shame, a reminder of his weakness and helplessness. He'd moved past it to a degree, but while his self-confidence had healed, it had left a scar just like the ones on his face.

"Are you one of those people?"

It was an innocent enough question. Or at least he'd meant it to be. Neither of them had made any attempt to disengage the other despite waking. Henk still held Ralene, and Ralene continued to idly trace her fingers along his scars.

"Sate my curiosity, Ral."
 
Bit early to be so demanding, wasn't it?

Ral's eyes slivered open as her thumb slowly traced the line of raised skin down the side of Henk's cheek, "Of course," she answered plainly in the same way she might've if he'd asked her if she was one of those people who liked food. Shifting slightly to tip her head back so she could better see his face, look him in the eye, Ral held his gaze through the gloom of the approaching dawn.

"They're marks of survival," she said, "skin scriptures of your story. Kisses of life."

Her thumb trailed to the corner of his mouth and slowly passed over his lips, "Call them what you want, scars are beautiful."
 
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