Private Tales Raising Hell

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel ran a hand through the shaggy mess she called hair, gently tugged at a few knots as she responded to his question, her lips bracketed by thin white lines at the memory of the incident.

"Once. In my homeland. There was a mage who had begun on a path to try and find an Elixer of Life and he was using plants from our home. After a while he stopped looking for a pure, or natural, way to extend life and he began using a form of blood magic," she sighed, giving up with one curl which had decided to turn itself into a dreadlock. She needed a bath. It also wasn't a particularly pleasant memory. "He raised the dead rather than extended lives in the end. It was a horrible fight, every person we lost was someone else for him to use against us...." Miriel cast her eyes down to her plate and picked at her food. She knew this night was a one off and that there were no strings, she didn't want to sound like a worried lover, but she was worried.

"It is about outsmarting and out thinking. Their weakness is the arrogance their power breeds and they get sloppy thinking they are invincible. Just.... be careful. Those monsters they conjure are slaves with one purpose born into their mind and that is to kill whatever they see as a threat."

 

[Baise]

Valthar frowned, taking a moment to decide if he was just going to admit his concern.

"I am not...well I told you that I am a fisherman and I will admit that I have had to fight ferociously to get here. I am not certain I will be able to out think a mage, no matter how twisted by dark magics."

Valthar offered a shrug. He was who he was.

"Magic axe and turning into a giant bear might go a long way though?" he offered with a soft chuckle.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel gave him a small smile but it was clear she was worried about the whole adventure. Nevertheless, when someone was facing a foe they might not beat, it was important they felt some sort of confidence about it.

"You need to get that thought out of your head right now," Miriel stood up and made her way around to his side of the table. Pushing his empty place out of the way she took its place instead. "Valthar, you have fought demons, literal demons, and you have survived. I do not care what ideals your people have of warriors or what thoughts someone has clearly put into your mind about you being just a fisherman. But fishermen can be warriors too when they need to be, and that is who you are in the south. A warrior. Magic axe and changing into a bear be damned, it's what is in here and here," she pointed to his head and then his chest, "That makes you one."

 

[Baise]

Valthar sat bolt upright at the table. He was left taken aback by the sudden talk a out his own place in this world. He frowned and looked down at his own hands.

No one hand made it his place to be a fisherman. He turned them over, palms upwards. They were rough from casting his nets, not swinging a sword.

"I am a fighter now," he said, curling his fingers into his palms. It was a difficult admission.

"But I know my limits too. I might not be able to outsmart a necromancer, but at least their arrogance is not a weakness I will share."

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel sighed. Had she overstepped the mark by talking so? She had always been told she could be hard and blunt in how she spoke, especially when it came to dishing out advice and techniques. She hadn't even seen him fight so she had no cause to comment or remark either. But, hearing his story and seeing the scars on his skin, there was no way she could sit quietly whilst he talked himself down. She felt guilt when she saw him mulling over her words which only deepened with the hesitation in his voice when he finally admitted he was a fighter.

"There is no harm to knowing your limits, but don't set your own limits below what they actually are," Miri hesitated a moment and then gently cupped his cheek and offered him a smile. "This isn't a permanent change of lifestyle, just think of your little boat and the day you don't need to be a fighter anymore."

 

[Baise]

"I do you know," he said quietly. Valthar placed a hand on her knee and chewed on his lip. "Think of home and my boat."

"I wouldn't be in such a rush...if you can call years of walking across half the world a rush...but my family don't even know I'm alive."

Valthar took in a deep breath, face turning onto a look of stoic determination. His eyes turned towards the axe, finer than any weapon he had ever wielded.

"I suppose it is soon time to go and deal with this necromancer. And then one more night in Alliria. I will think of that too," he said, allowing himself a small smile. Assuming he made it back.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel slid from the table into his lap, a smile tugging at her lips before giving him a long and slow kiss. When she pulled back she searched his face for anymore doubt or worry then slowly nodded to herself content such things had gone from his mind. Gently she patted his chest before sliding off his lap and giving a lazy cat like stretch.

"Well, I'm going to go and run a hot bath and enjoy soaking my muscles after a night on the floor with a bear," a mock yawn before she looked down at him again. "Perhaps I need to get in some more chocolate for this evening," for there was no doubt in her mind that Valthar would come out of his next challenge like he had come out of his others. She turned and then started up the stairs before giving a pause. "You're more than welcome to join if you can keep your hands to yourself."

 

[Baise]

"I promise nothing," Valthar stated, yet still he followed her up the stairs. He was still curious about what was up there. Apparently a bath, which was absolute luxury where he came from. Oddly he didn't spare their surroundings much of a look on the way up.

---

"The edge is keen," Valthar said as he ran his thumb along the edge of the blade. He stood by the door to Miriel's house carrying everything he owned. It was not much: a short sword that had seen better days, several knives with different purposes, fire-making equipment and the clothes he wore. On the road you carried what you could run away with.

"If I fall, I'll ask the others to bring this back to you if they can. Whether they will or not is another matter."

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

"You won't need to do much maintenance on her," Miriel leaned against the door frame back in her gear ready for another day in the forge. She was already later than she usually left to start a days work but she was in no rush; her work was wanted enough that people would wait. "I wish you would let me at least give you a new set of knives," her nose wrinkled; she had already teased him about the state of his sword but he had refused anymore of her charity stating the axe was more than enough. Pushing off from the door frame she sighed a little and ran her hand down the axe head, Miri had enjoyed making this weapon and she silently sent the metal a gentle ask to keep him safe. The metal glowed faintly in response to her question.

"She will find her way to me if you do not come back," the blacksmith's lips creased a smile across her cheeks before she turned her gaze to him. "Are you sure there's nothing else I can do, Valthar?"

 

[Baise]

"The knives are just tools for the most part. I haven't the time to look after them all on the road that we'll anyway," he replied.

"You could always come and fight a necromancer with me," he suggested with a heart laugh. "But then if the axe will make its way back without me it would seem unnecessary."

Valthar turned his gaze away as the light in the axe head faded. He turned back towards Miriel and stepped closer, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Get extra chocolate if you have time."

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Fight a necromancer?

Whilst Miriel loved her forge and her work, there was a part of her always looking for a fight. She enjoyed the hum of it in her veins. It was, after all, what she had been learning the art for over 100 years then had practised it in the rest of the world for nearly another 100 before she had settled down in Alliria to focus on her other skills. It wouldn't even be like she was missing out on a days pay if they were offering 10 gold coins per person.

The kiss to her forehead drew her back to the present and at his comment she gave him a sinful smile. But quickly it was replaced by a thoughtful look.

"Would your crew really need an extra set of hands?" Miriel tilted her head. "If so I would be more than happy to join you."

 

[Baise]

Valthar raised an eyebrow. This was a decision that he had not expected to be presented with.

"You don't have to come," he said. "Though I do not know anyone else that is going so I am not sure it is a crew..."

Valthar paused and took a step back, lifting the axe and resting it on his shoulder.

"If you do come there would at least be someone there I trusted."

It was her choice to make, there seemed no point lying to protect her when she was perfectly capable. He had met mercenaries and bounty hunters before. They were not the kind of people he would want watching his back.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel looked at him for two beats of a heart, clearly mulling it over in her mind, before she nodded once. Decisive.

"Two minutes," a promise, disappearing up the stairs. She left the door open so he could decide if he waited inside or out; it mattered little to her.

Miriel was clearly not one of those women whose two minutes meant two hours because she was back down with a second to spare. Gone were the casual clothes she wore to work in the forge, the elf that walked down the stairs was clearly a warrior. As a base she wore a soft blue leather collared tunic in the elvish style meaning it split around her legs. Her shoulders were covered in a series of metal braces, each intricately designed with a metal that was a peculiar blue almost the same as her tunic. On one side bore the symbol of a horse that was a sign of her assignment as a cavalry woman, and on the other a serpent which donated which unit she was in. Whilst she still wore leather leggings these ones looked thicker and more durable with similar metal coverings around the knee for protection. Around her midriff was slung her weapons belt and carried all six of her throwing knives, just in case the two matching curved blades that were harnessed to her back were not enough. Vanbraces protected her from wrist to elbow and on her feet worn but sturdy riding boots - with their own blades of course.

She walked over to him as she was redoing the braid on the left side of her face.

"Shall we?"