Completed Licking Love Off of Knives

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Do I have more pleasures or regrets?

As Everleigh got up from the bed and made her way to the chair, her eyes caught on to her discarded clothing. Her pants, her shirt, the cloak given to her by the Academy with the badge of the dreadlords peeking out of the black folds with its bright blood-red sword point. With perhaps the strange particularity of a dreadlord and someone who had never much cared for their clothes, she kicked at her boots and cloak and made them into a mountain, far away from where the water would fall from the cloth in Erland’s hands.

She sat down on the chair and made a face as a slight squelch could be heard. Everleigh stood up, a hand going down to her inner thighs that were stained with red, the oil keeping the blood from drying. She wasn’t quite sure what else was on her fingertips. Her cheeks and the top of ears were red.

How embarrassing.

Holding out her sullied hand for Erland to wipe clean first, she went to sit back down on the chair, trying to keep from her mind how many other women had sat in this very seat and waited to be lavished further by Erland. It wasn’t jealousy but guilt that started to build up in her. Everleigh wanted to slouch, hanging her head in shame. She kept her back straight and raised her chin imperiously.

Her first time was to a whore. She had paid a whore to take her. How many times had she thought of Zael? How many times had she wished that it should’ve been Zael? Wouldn’t he be sickened by her? Not for getting fucked but because she had done it out of Marianne’s suggestion.
So what was it? More pleasure? More Regret? Both?

She laughed, harsh and bitter. Rolling her shoulders back and cracking her neck on either side, not satisfied until she heard a resounding series of pops, Everleigh looked over her shoulder. Violet eyes stared hard at the broken shield and sword.

“So, are those decorations or do you know how to use that sword and shield?” Everleigh asked, her compliant attitude beginning to fade away and letting her ego give her the distraction she needed.

 

[Erland Karr]

"Mmm your neck," Erland said. "Should not make a sound like that."

He took his time over the words. Their language still sounded alien in his mouth. Even after two years of virtual servitude in the coastal town.

"Mine," he said as he continued bringing the warm cloth to her pale skin. He was slow and careful in the work. It was usually a relaxing affair, but Erland could almost feel her mind spinning through the set and tension of her muscles.

It had been some time before he was permitted to have his sword back. His soul had been bound, he had been beaten, but it had taken a long time before they trusted the Northerner to keep a weapon.

Occasionally he saw it from their perspective. His people had been using the portal stone to set up a camp in Falwood and to cut trees for boats. Then they had been raiding along the southern coasts.

Pickings had been good into a trap had been set for them.

"You may look at it," he said, moving around to kneel before her and continue. "You are...fighter?" he asked.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

It felt good to be cleaned up by Erland. Something about it made Everleigh feel a comfort she had only felt as a young child. Like when her mother had bathed her. At the academy, it didn’t matter the age, initiates had to clean themselves with a coarse bristle-brush that was too prickly for even horses. Cold water, some soap, a quite brush over, and then rinse and hurry to get dry.

This was a luxury. The towel was damp and warm, the smell of lavender and other dried herbs filled the room, almost getting rid of the musk of sweat and sex.

Erland knelt down before her, and Everleigh looked into his icy eyes. Should she lie? Was there any reason to do so? Or was it a game? Did he not see the dreadlord symbol on her cloak? Maybe he did see it and wanted to ask about it, or collect some sort of information?

“I guess you could say I am, sort of.” A wry smile graced her face, angling her face to regard the blonde man. The coy expression suited her, especially when her smile turned into a grin and she playfully flexed her arms, showing off the firm peaks of her biceps. “What gave it away? The muscles? The joint popping?” She would have laughed, it was supposed to be funny.

Yet all the peacocking reminded her of Zael. How he flexed, how excited he got at any sort of physical activity. How he made sure only he rowed the boat when they escaped from the burning Pasiphae because of the expected workout he’d get. How many times had she caught him running around the academy shirtless? Her expression fell, the smile turning into a hard, thin line.

“I’m a dreadlord.” She said after a moment, whispering it so only her and Erland could hear.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

She was wrapped warm and comfortable. Clear and dry. Every time he touched her was to soothe.

Erland laughed as she flexed, a deep and round sound. She did not have the body of a lazy, doted-on wife. Her expression and entire demeanour changed as she admitted what she was.

He knew what they were. Many people spoke to him in the aftermath of what they paid him for. No one had told him what kind of person had bound his soul, but it had probably been one of them.

"You did not want to tell me this?" he asked, mistaking the change in her tone.

He couldn't keep the look of apprehension from his face, but it was soon gone. He told up, walking a small circle and bringing large hands to her shoulders to start working the tension out of them through the soft towel.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“Not exactly that I didn’t want to,” Everleigh said softly, glancing at her cloak. The expression of Erland’s face wasn’t one of surprise, but it was neither one of a man who was digging for information. If he was playing a game then it wasn’t to see if she were a dreadlord.

Her gaze went back to his broken shield. She understood it was there on his wall due to sentimental value instead of usefulness. His sword looked in good shape, however, and was still useful as a weapon.

“Mm,” Everleigh cooed as Erland massaged her shoulders. His hands were so close to her neck. Magic or not, he could break her neck in a second or two and Everleigh would be helpless. The entire time she hadn’t used any sort of magic. Nothing to change her appearance, nothing to secure her defenses. She hadn’t even breathed a bit of poison into the air to put Erland to sleep just in case if….

If what? She had paid, Erland was doing his job well— what would happen here?

“I thought maybe I’d scare you away. Do you get dreadlords as clients?” She asked, closing her eyes. Sighing in content, putting in pieces about Erland together. Runes making the skin raw, that blue tattoo on his thigh, the broken shield, the sword, that strange language he spoke, the fact that he was still learning trade tongue. Erland wasn’t Anirian, that much was certain.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

"No."

He said it plainly, but without any force behind the word. Even in his own language, Erland could be curt.

His thumbs worked up the back of her neck and into the base of her hairline. As they came back down, small circles worked to find knots of tension.

"Others, yes," he said. They were not the cheapest house to visit. Erland was not particularly social with the other workers, but they did talk. They liked to spill the secrets they couldn't speak outside of these walls.

"You were not.."

Erland searched for the words as he put together a line of reasoning.

"...told of here. By another Dreadlord." he said, failing to remember the word he had been after.

"You are paid well," he observed.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“I’m paid as much as any third level. But I’m rather lucky when it comes to gambling. I can increase my earnings much faster than you think.” Everleigh replied, glancing back to the axe on the wall and then looking forward. Sometimes, when one wanted information, it was best to be forthcoming with their own info, especially about trivial matters. “You’re wrong though about one thing. My mentor told me to come here. She’s a dreadlord.” When Marianne had suggested the brothel, Everleigh had suspicions that she had partook in the business here.

She couldn’t imagine Marianne choosing someone like Erland. Not because he wasn’t attractive, Everleigh was certain that there was a unwritten requirement for the men to hold a certain look about themselves, but because he reeked of something other. Marianne was a better Anirian than Everleigh was.

“The Academy used to use the brothels in Vel Anir city after a mission for a reward. I never participated, or rather, I wasn’t allowed to. I’d be sent back to the Academy.” There was a pause, whether it was for Everleigh to figure out what exactly she wanted to say or because Erland’s skilled hands needed silence to be appreciated. “The republic stopped the brothel runs. Initiates aren’t stressed enough to need them anymore.”

A sad smile appeared, if only because Erland couldn’t see it.

“Erland, you’re not from Vel Anir.” Everleigh said finally, wondering if she’d have to pry the answer from him or if he would willingly tell her. “That axe isn’t Anirian, same could be said of that shield, but it’s easy to pick up discarded weapons.” Everleigh turned her body and head then, pulling away from Erland’s strong hands so she could face him. Straddling the back of the chair, leaning forward on it so she could take one of his large hands and trace the lines of his palm she continued. “Your accent is unusual. Haven’t heard anything like it. Then that strange language you spoke. But most importantly, those runes and that strange mark. A tattoo, maybe?”

Everleigh looked up, violet eyes staring at the blonde man. “My guess is you’re a Nord, but I’ve never met one so I could be wrong. Besides, what would a Nord be doing in a whore house in Vel Luin? Unless, you’re something else?”

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

Erland spent a lot of time listening. Almost as much as he spent doing the main part of his job. He took it in, but rarely gave much thought to what was expressed.

He didn't even reply very much. The odd quiet acknowledgement or agreement. Apparently that was enough.

He didn't enjoy so many questions. People were always curious. He supposed in a place like Vel Anir, being from Eratejva made him exotic. There had been a half-elf working here in secret for a time. He had been remarkably popular given where they were.

"I am Nordenfiir," he said. There was a little defiance in his tone. He would explain the difference between that and Nord if prompted, but reluctantly.

What was more obvious was that he didn't address the questions about his marking and the tattoo etched across it.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

She waited for a moment, waiting to see if he would say more. But he didn’t. She expected he might not. She had hoped that he would have said more than three words. Three words weren’t enough to show her ignorance on the matter of terms used— Nord to her was just a shortened version of Nordenfiir.

“It’s hard getting a reaction out of you.” Everleigh said simply, looking only slightly disappointed. She couldn’t help but compare Erland to Zael. Zael wasn’t the quiet sort, always cracking jokes, always ready to laugh. She supposed she was more like Erland in that regard, reserved and not willing to reveal a card that had yet to be asked of them to show.

There was a emptiness inside her again. The burden of loneliness she was still processing that she’d have to carry with her again. Selfishly, she kept holding onto Erland’s hand. She knew a way to make him vocal and affectionate. Soon enough, she’d get him to that state and then she could pretend again.

“You like the cold, right?” Until then, she’d remind herself just how different Erland was from Zael. “Are the summers here in Vel Luin too hot for you? They’re a lot better than central Vel Anir because of the sea. Although, I suppose it’s still muggy before the harvest season.”

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

"Hmm," he went.

A thoughtful expression crossed his face, but it quickly smoothed out. The girl had just been through a fairly significant event in her life. She didn't just want tenderness, she wanted some conversation too.

He had been told not to ask many questions unprompted and clearly wasn't comfortable talking about his own circumstances. He had to do a little better than that.

"I would not say I like the cold," he said. "I would say your summers are hot and unpleasant."

Erland offered a wry smile. A rare sight. He let his free hand rest on her shoulder, thumb idly tracing back and forth.

"I do not speak well enough to talk of home," he apologised. "The tundra it is...white. It is beautiful. It is not busy. And I miss it."

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh visibly brightened up as Erland spoke, even if it was of nothingness, she inclined her chin towards him, tilting her head slightly to show that she was listening. When his hand went to her shoulder, she leaned into it and smiled. Little things she didn’t realize she was doing as she listened to Erland speak. Both of her hands held his, exploring the lines in his palm and the callouses that she could find.

“Hot and unpleasant,” she repeated, the smile turning into a grin. She was quiet for a moment again, thinking to herself. A part of her did feel guilty for trying to make Erland talk so much, especially when he didn’t seem confident in the language. The dreadlord part of her thought it was good to push him out of his comfort zone and get him to talk.

Everleigh pushed the dreadlord part away.

“I’ve never been past the spine. I don’t like the cold at all. I think the only thing worse than hot and unpleasant is cold and unpleasant. Let’s switch places.” Everleigh said suddenly, letting go of Erland’s hand and pushing herself up from the chair. “I’ll clean you up. And we could talk about something easier— if you don’t want to talk of your home.” She glanced back at the axe and shield on the wall then looked back at Erland. “You could maybe tell me how old you are? Or,” a mischievous glint in her violet eyes and with surprising clarity, she repeated a few of the garbled curses that Erland had shouted out. “Tell me what those mean. I figure they translate into something such as… ‘Oh, Everleigh, you’re a absolute delight, a true lady of good grace and even greater gentility.’ Or close to it.”

Such words wouldn’t have made sense coming from a warrior like Erland, but she hoped it lightened the mood.

“You teach me some bad words in your native tongue and I’ll give you some really good insults to toss around. Good thing you look like you can handle yourself in a fight.” And to prove her point, she reached over, squeezing at his bicep before patting at his chest then midsection. “Look at that, bigger than the walls of Vel Anir.” Just like Zael, she could use humor to hide the bad, too.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

Erland grinned up at her. Even in his position, he was not above flattery. He tilted his head back to look up at her, a smile breaking out.

"Yes. That is what I said. You must know our words well," he laughed. It was a warm sound. His gaze fell to each glittering star, as if he was reading the night sky home.

"I have twenty four years," he said. "And I do like to speak of home. I like to think of home. But my words, they cannot describe it. A cold wind that makes you feel alive."

He stretched out in the chair as the first droplets of water fell from the cloth Everleigh lifted. There was a lot of him to clean.

"Vitthora. There is a good insult."

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh found joy, although it was silly to admit such a thing, in cleaning Erland up the way he had done with her. She had tipped the cloth back in that bowl, the water still warmed, and as she wrung the cloth to be damp, the scent of lavender filled her nostrils. She began with his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and then his arms. Her touch was soft and she focused on this task with unbridled glee.

“You’re four years older than me.” She’d be twenty soon enough. She gave Erland a look, playful and coy. “Yet you look so much older than me.” Everleigh moved behind him, bringing his long blonde hair forward as she went to clean his back. She was much too nervous to get close to his lower body, even thinking about it: kneeling before him, using the cloth on his thighs, on that tattoo he had— her entire body flushed hot.

Right now she needed a cold wind, if only for other reasons.

“Vitthora.” She repeated. “What does it mean?” She went back to get the cloth wet and ring it out, going back to Erland with steps that could barely be heard. “I’ve always enjoyed telling some men I’ll cut them from prick to throat, but they usually find that funny. Could always tell a coward they have pebbles for balls.” She added.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

"The words cunt and whore. Together," he said with a shrug. When you explained it like that, he realised, it sounded rather dull. It still rang off the tongue when snarled out.

"I hope if you tell a man such a thing that you..."

Erland drew a line up his own body from navel to throat and grinned at her.

"Pebbles for balls. Maybe...not best," he said, canting his head from side to side as he considered it.

She had confidence and authority for someone her age. Erland heard enough about Dreadlords to have a little insight into where that came from.

"You have killed man men, then?" he asked. Erland sat forwards, the sheen of water forming small droplets that rolled down his chest and arms.

He did not seem put out at the notion.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

When she had first arrived here, she had been tense. Riddled with thoughts and anxiety and a preoccupation of guilt and doubt. Now, everything felt more natural, or Everleigh supposed the better word to call it: comforting.

“You only say that because you don’t have anything to worry about. Some men care very deeply about what they have in between their legs.” Everleigh said, but there was a easy-going smile on her lips. “But maybe it doesn’t really roll off the tongue the way vitthora does.” Everleigh paused for a second at Erland’s question.

It wasn’t a bad question. She had admitted to being a dreadlord, and a third level at that. Besides, the way Erland had asked it… well, he didn’t seem worried at least.

“I have. More than you would think.” Everleigh said, resuming her task as if she hadn’t taken that pause to consider how to answer. “More than I know of.” She remembered everyone she killed, their face or pieces and parts of them. The island in Aina o Ka La that was still ruined after four years, the cult in the desert, the island of mages, guardsmen, elves, nobility, thieves, farmers, bandits, bakers, raiders, merchants, pirates, healers, forsaken, witches, thugs, dreadlords, initiates, proctors, Anirians, non-Anirians, the healthy, the strong, the sickly, the old, the young, women, children, innocents….

“I killed men a few hours ago.” She went around the chair, facing Erland. Her voice had been even, unbothered, but there was a apprehensive look in her eye as she kneeled down before him. “It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? I’ve killed thousands but before tonight I was still a… well, you know.” Bashful, Everleigh placed the cloth on Erland’s thigh, keeping it close to his knee. She wouldn’t get close to his mark and those runes until she had to.

“That scar on your back, can you tell me how you got it?”

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

In his culture, the stories were often exaggerated. It was the way the story was told that kept the group entertained.

Everleigh provided an assessment in such a matter-of-fact way. She wasn't boasting, she was simply answering the question. Even if they hadn't been in this situation, he would not have offered any judgement. As it was, it would have been breaking the rules.

"I killed a man first too," he said with a shrug. It did not seem so strange to him.

"On my back? The spear of southlander," he explained. "We were leaving. This man was not so happy. Because we took his things. He had good throw."

"This," he said, pointing to one across the front of his shoulder. "My fault. Holmgang. Duel. I was drunk. Very rude. He won. Stopped because young and stupid and drunk. Good lesson."

"You have weapon? Magic?"

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“Holmgang.” Everleigh repeated, her eyes looking at the scar over his shoulder. “How young were you?” She asked, surprisingly rather curious about this story. It almost reminded her of initiates and proctors, but a proctor wouldn’t have stopped because someone was young or stupid.

The proctors liked letting the initiates knew there were plenty of others to replace them, that their lives meant little else than a means to serve Vel Anir as a weapon.

“I use a lot of weapons. Swords, polearms, small throwing axes, throwing knives and daggers and flat blades.— even needles. I have very good aim.” Everleigh leaned towards him with a smile, playfully leaning against the inside of his leg and imitated throwing a blade right between his eyes. “Much better than that south lander.” She teased. It made it easier to talk about her magic.

“My magic is having a killer smile and a body women would kill for while being oh-so-humble. You can’t believe how hard it is to be as gifted as me.” The grin was there and Everleigh let her joke linger in the air between them before lowering her gaze. She turned still and somber before speaking again. “I can make poison. I used to be called the poison eater. It’s why I’m purple.”

Everleigh brought her violet gaze up to Erland’s face, holding her breath as she waited to see his reaction.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

Erland looked off to one side, trying to count the years.

"Seventeen," he said. "Had I been this old he would have killed me for what I said."

This he found amusing, rather than a somber lesson from his past. His people had been raiders. They took to the dangerous seas and they took from those who could not protect themselves. Harsh lives. Often short lives.

He barked a laugh at her joke, before covering his mouth. Brief. Honest.

Erland reached down, gently running a curled finger up her cheek. He slid it under stands of her hair, letting the steam of Violet run softly over his finger.

"It is good that you know weapons," Erland said. "I would not like to die of poison."

The involuntary reaction showed her that he clearly agreed with the jealous women.

"Poison eater? One of these women, they tried to poison you?" he asked with a low chuckle.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Well, now she had to know what Erland had said and done. But that would be for later. Pathetically, she leaned into Erland’s touch, closing her eyes and clearly relishing his gentle caress.

“It’s not so bad dying from poison.” Everleigh whispered. “I just have to get them once— even if it’s just a scratch. They suffer less because of it. Like a mercy kill.” She left out the part when she had reveled in exploiting others and hurting them. She had wanted to hurt others the way she had been hurt. If it weren’t for Zael, she’d still be like that. Brutal and ruthless, like the monster parents warned their children about.

“Something like that.” Her lips were pulled into a thin line that wanted to dip down. “My magic isn’t like some others. Some can make something from nothing. For my magic, I have to use pieces of me, like blood or spit. So if I wanted to become stronger, I ate things. Many things.” Frogs, snakes, spiders, sea creatures, scorpions, plants… but those had been easy. As she grew older, it became worse when they realized it wasn’t just poison or venom but anything toxic. She had been starved, her face shoved into shit or rotting corpses, beaten until her skin was a bruised mosaic of blue and purple.

No wonder why she had liked hurting others.

“Is it okay if I wash your other leg?” Everleigh asked, clearly meaning the leg that had his mark.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

“It’s not so bad dying from poison.” Everleigh whispered. “I just have to get them once— even if it’s just a scratch. They suffer less because of it. Like a mercy kill.”

"I suppose if I were to die in battle I would not mind a quick death," he supposed.

He would not have wanted to die a coward's death.

He would not have wanted this fate for himself either. Soul bound, serving their womenfolk for coin.

Erland had to look at himself and realise that he was more of a survivor than a man who stuck to his principles.

There was something more romantic about a drop of her blood poisoning a blade than her spitting on it. Erland couldn't think of a way to explain that in her language.

“Is it okay if I wash your other leg?”

"Why do you worry?" he asked. "Of my other leg?"

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh raised a dark brow at his questions, making a show of getting back up straight on her knees and holding out the cloth. She must be doing a horrible job in cleaning him off, she took such a long break just because she wanted to talk to him.

“Your tattoo.” Everleigh said, looking over at the outside of his thigh. “And those runes.” Gingerly, she placed the cloth over the blue-gray mark, and as if she were carefully washing clean a cut, slid the damp cloth gently his thigh. Tenderly, she clean him, as if with some compassion the runes would magically disappear.

“It looks painful. If I touch it, does it hurt?”

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

"Not really," he replied.

He watched her intently, actually thinking about Everleigh. He rarely gave much thought to the lives of those who saw him. He just tucked away enough information to feign interest.

"Do you know the runes?" he asked.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“Some are familiar.” Everleigh said, continuing to still wipe away at his leg, her eyes focused only on the mark and the runes. “I know someone who is very good with runes. If I drew these out for him, he’d be more help than I’d be.” She let the cloth hang over his thigh near his knee and then brought a hand to trace over the runes.

“See how these three make a triangle?” Everleigh said, tracing over three in particular. “Positioning matters with runes. Triangles are binding. Three points, three things that need to be broken.” She glanced up and over at Erland. “I have one, too. Just binding me differently.”

She turned her head away from the Nordenfiir and moved all of her wavy, tangled violet hair over a shoulder.

Below the base of her neck, where the shoulders connected before the curve of her back, three marks in a triangle. They weren’t runes often seen, and Everleigh certain it wasn’t anything from Liadin. The issue was, she hadn’t ever seen anything close to it.

“Keeps me in check with my magic.” She explained.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

Erland felt a flutter of hope. He hadn't allowed himself to feel something like that for a time. This night was forcing him to do an uncomfortable amount of self reflection.

He turned his knee in to make the icon and runes easier to trace for Everleigh.

"You have one?" he asked as she pulled her hair back.

Erland reached out. His hand, so much larger than her own, tracing the tattoo.

"Three things," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't whole any more. He was still young, just not as young as Everleigh. His younger, angrier self, would have been broken to see him living like this.

"Why would someone do that? To you. To a Dreadlord?"

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“To control me.” Everleigh replied simply. She shivered at his touch, and looked down. She felt far more vulnerable now than she had before. She showed him her weakness, a thing she was shamed of. “Some dreadlords are taught to go all out. Others are taught to hold back.” She moved her hair back over her shoulder, to hide the purple mark.

It didn’t help that it was purple. She never liked the color of her hair or eyes much.

“So what are they making you hold back?” Everleigh asked, looking up at Erland, still somber. She had little knowledge of Nordenfiir, not realizing the different for Nords and also not understanding what this mark on his thigh actually represented.

Erland Karr