Private Tales Snakes in the Garden

[Sylvian]

Her eyes searched the room for something to drink. In the darkest corner, next to a wooden shelf that stored two, three books Sylvian found a bottle of something.

“I wonder if that’s drinkable.” The elf rose into stand, wings disappeared with a flash of magic, and walked across the small room to pick up the beverage.

“I suppose we will have to pay for that too.” Her head turned to Ivar and she gave him a curious look. “Only if you dare, that is.”

Ivar’s words made her ponder what exactly Sylvian wanted for herself; did she even have a purpose anymore? Initially, the she-elf had run from her family and fled Thyasari to live independently, no longer under their rule.

The world under the clouds was interesting, but also foreign and dangerous. Sylvian liked the idea of adventure, but not adventurous by nature the elf felt lost at times. Not knowing what to do with herself, Sylvian simply clung to random encounters such as the Nord and bothered them until they made her day interesting.

Somehow, that always worked.

“They won’t, not yet at least. In a few hundred years maybe, when my mother retires and I have to fulfill her duties.” Giving back to society and all that. “What about you? What’s your home like, and your family?” Sylvian slid the bottle across the table.

 

[Ivar]

"They're dead." Ivar said as deadpan as possible as he took the bottle from Sylvian and bit out the cork, taking the first long swig.

It turned out the mystery liquid was a heavy rum, one likely brewed in the furthest reaches of the Bayou where no one would question the stench. It tasted of...well nothing but pure alcohol, reminding Ivar mostly of some of the stuff his father had made behind the hut.

A grimace pulled over his lips as he put the bottle down. "My mother died during birth."

He told her.

"My father died when I was fourteen, during his exile." He knew that his story was not a particularly happy one, in fact from the sounds of it he was the direct opposite of her. She had privilege, the life of nobility, wealth.

He'd had nothing.

Ivar didn't resent her for that though. Ten years ago he might have, but now? Now he knew the value of his own upbringing better than any other.

"There is someone I'd call family, but we had to go to our separate ways after..." He frowned. "Well, lets just say something went wrong in the Blightlands."

 

[Sylvian]

Of course they were dead. “My condolences,” the elf offered, uncertain whether it was appropriate or not. A smile tugged on her lips when she watched him take a large gulp from the bottle. Dare it is, I suppose. Sylvian took a sniff and cringed at the strong scent.

Clearly what was inside that bottle was the most dangerous thing inside this cabin.

“Much different from myself,” she concluded, reflecting on her own history. The word ‘exile’ was curious, and Sylvian wondered if her actions meant that, in a way, the Avariel had willingly exiled herself.

“You and I have nothing alike or in common, yet here we are. In the same cabin, on the same day, most certainly being chased by the same people.”

It was mind-boggling, but fate did work in mysterious ways. And Sylvian always had a natural affinity towards humans. She liked them, and she liked to see what they did with the little time they had on earth.

Her spine tingled at his mention of the Blightlands. She knew the area around the Spine, and that part in particular was no good. Not at all.

“That’s better than no one at all.” Sylvian eyed the bottle of rum, now with particular interest.

“Are you not going to share?”

 

[Ivar]

Ivar smiled, slowly pushing the bottle over towards her. "Never been great at sharing."

The Barbarian said with a shrug.

Braum was the only one who he'd ever really shared anything with, and the man had been like a brother to him. A part of him still wished that day had gone differently, that his friend could still be with him now. He would have liked Sylvian.

"Fate has funny ways." He told her. "That was what my father always told me."

Ivar shrugged his shoulders. "I have never much questioned where I go or where I end up, simply tried to make the best decisions I could."

That, or get dragged along by beautiful Elven women who seemed more riot than regal.

 

[Sylvian]

Sylvian's hand snaked around the dark bottle and carefully the Snow Elf took a sip. "Oh no." It was horrible. "I wish I hadn't wasted the honey ale." A rueful look crossed her pretty face. Her eyes fell on the box once more, and she uttered a sigh.

"I suppose I'll be the one to clean up after that." From what she understood, there's no way Ivar was going to touch that and Sylvian wasn't going to leave something potentially dangerous unprotected.

"Your father was right about some things, then." It was quiet in the realm. She could hear the air rustling the leaves outside the cabin and night had fallen over the country. The darkness had something comforting about it, and Sylvian felt at ease. She could use some rest.

"Do you think it's safe to stay here tonight?" She could fly somewhere else, if she truly had to. But Sylvian was tired. Still, the Avariel felt iffy about letting her guard down around the odd necklace and if Ivar didn't stay, neither would she. Besides, weren't there still people after them? She wondered if they would make it this far, but she doubted it.

 

[Ivar]

His shoulders shrugged in response to her comment. "I'll throw it into the ocean if you do not want to."

She was the one that had taken it, but she was also the one that had gotten him all the gold. Ivar felt a small amount of debt to her still, and he wasn't the type to walk away from something like that. It was against everything that his father had taught him to do so.

He glanced towards the box, taking in a breath.

Her next question caused him to pause, eyes flickering over the inside of the cabin in thought. The cautious part of him wanted to say no, but he knew that there was a difference between caution and outright paranoia.

"It should be fine." Ivar admitted slowly. "For a night or two at least."

The Barbarian doubted that they could be traced back here so quickly. "As long as we don't roam around the city."

People in the Shallows liked to gossip, something he'd noticed early on.

 

[Sylvian]

“It could be a Necromancer Amulet,” the snow elf suggested with a shrug. Sylvian didn’t spend enough time inside the merchant’s chambers to find out who he was, and whom he mingled with, but the assumption wasn’t entirely groundless.

“Do you consider them to be the type of people to stand in contact with sorcerers of that aptitude?” A hint of concern sparked in her eyes.

Wizards, human ones in particular, were greedy for knowledge and power. With what little time they had, they often found ways to make the most out of it and the results were often terrifying.

She sighed, relieved by his words. “Good, I didn’t plan on going shopping anyways.” Her eyes gazed out of the window. “I could build us an igloo around the cabin, but I suppose that might be too obvious?” Sylvian took another sip from the bottle before sliding it back over to Ivar.

He wasn’t much of a chatterbox, but made for decent company. Surprisingly so.

 

[Ivar]

"The men I owed money to?" Ivar asked with a shrug. He had absolutely no idea what mages were like in Alliria, or what sort of folk dealt with them. He only knew about the College here because folk had talked about it often enough that not knowing would have been impossible.

Some people liked that it was here, others...well not so much. They thought it was bad luck to have a bunch of wizards traipsing about. He supposed if they were necromancers...well then there was a point, but he guessed the College wasn't associated with the people he owed money to.

Didn't mean there weren't others in Alliria of course.

Ivar picked up the bottle as it slid over to him, taking a swig before answering. "I don't know. Maybe. They were certainly shady."

In truth though, he had no idea what kind of people a necromancer would choose to associate with.

"If it made them gold, those bastards would do anything."[/color[ That at least, he was sure of.

A chuckle escaped him.

"Aye." He told her. "Bit too obvious."

 

[Sylvian]

“Oh, goodness me.” She groaned, leaning further back against her chair until her head arched over the backrest and Sylvian was staring at the ceiling.

“What do you know, Ivar?” Her voice showed no irritation, but she found his lack of knowledge in regards to, well, everything concerning. More so that the barbarian seemingly remained unbothered by everything, throughout every event of the night.

Sylvian stood up and went for the only cot inside the cabin. The elf handed her companion the fur blanket, which she didn’t need. Her magic was oddly convenient for a traveler; she was never cold and she never froze.

In spite of her tall frame, the Avariel managed to curl up into a small ball and closed her eyes. “If someone attacks us, wake me. I will happily freeze them all to death.” Truth be told, Sylvian Sinderion was a little grouchy once she became sleepy.

It’s better not to wake her unless you had a good reason to do so – or she specifically asked you to.

 

[Ivar]

"I know how to hunt." He pointed out as she began to slowly curl up into a ball.

He wondered briefly, oddly, if her wings worked as blankets. It was a stupid, drunken thought, but it was there nonetheless. Ivar couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image of folding himself into Sylvians wings, and before long the chuckle broke into an odd barking laugh that he tried to conceal.

A breath filled the Barbarian and he shook his head. "Yes."

He agreed.

"I'll wake you." Ivar tried not to laugh more as he slowly turned down the lamp and moved to one of the large plush chairs.

As he settled down Ivar was still chuckling to himself.

 

[Sylvian]

The elf’s wings spread at some point during the night and gently wrapped themselves around her. When Sylvian awoke the next morning, she felt nothing of that comfort, however.

Her sapphire eyes opened with the first rays of the sun, although barely any light made it through the cabin. The elf felt an aching pain in both her arms, and before she knew what was happening she stumbled out of bed and fell.

“What–,” her voice broke when she saw a singular, white feather float through the air and land on top of the still sleeping Ivar. “Hey,” she whispered, and reached for him, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him lightly. “Wake up, I think something is wr–” When Sylvian’s gaze fell on her own arms, the words got stuck in her throat.

From her fingertips all the way to her elbows, black marks had been burned into her skin, leaving behind a sight that could only be defined as one thing: a curse. “Ivar, wake up!” She demanded, and tears started welling up in her eyes.

She had been cursed.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar stirred, his head twisting slightly in a frown as her voice echoed in his ears. "Wha?"

Was all that he got out before he snapped awake and looked up at Sylvian. Her eyes were big and full of tears, his lips thinned for a moment and he looked up at her with no small amount of confusion pulling across his features.

"Whats wrong?" He asked her quickly, looking up and down as if he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

Magic wasn't exactly something he understood, the black marks on her skin not resonating with him instantly until he saw how far they'd crept. "Fuck."

He swore, gently grasping her.

"How?" Ivar asked, already knowing he likely wouldn't get an answer.

 

[Sylvian]

Fat droplets of tears poured from Sylvian’s eyes and a rosy blush had crept into the elf’s round cheeks. Her wings, neatly tucked against her body until now, spread carefully across the room and she gave them a good wiggle.

Feathers started falling out and the girl sobbed hysterically.

“I touched...the necklace,” she blubbered out and helplessly stared down at her arms and how badly they’d turned out. They hurt, not as terribly as they looked, but the Avariel was clearly more in distress about the loss of feathers anyways.

“It hurts,” she said with a small voice, and her head turned towards the metal box. Her gaze fixated on it and then she realized that for as long as they still had the necklace, they would be able to do something about it. But for that they would have to find the right person. And Sylvian didn’t know many people – and neither did Ivar.

"I look like an ugly chicken." She started wailing loud enough for the entire village to hear.

 

[Ivar]

Oh shit. Ivar thought to himself as a pang of guilt struck him.

Technically speaking it had been her decision to take the box. Her decision to steal from the men he owed money to. Her decision to...well touch the damned necklace, but Ivar knew that none of that would have happened had she not met him.

Fingers tightened for a moment, and then he slowly reached out.

He offered her a soothing touch, gentle as could be as he tried to reassure her of...well he wasn't entirely sure what. "It's alright."

The Barbarian lied.

"We can uhh..." Fuck. "We can fix this."

Though Ivar had no idea how they could. "We can figure out what the fuck this thing is, reverse it."

He was sure that he had heard Witches talking about turning curses. That was what this was, right? That was what Sylvian had said. He was sure they could figure it out.

 

[Sylvian]

Sylvian swallowed the rest of her tears and gently shook her head. “Enough,” she muttered under her breath, speaking more to herself than to her companion.

“It’s fine,” she told herself. “I’m fine, this is fine.” The elf repeated, like a mantra. Then, she looked at Ivar with big, round eyes.

“I’m over a hundred and fifty years old, I won’t die to some stupid necklace.” The Avariel clenched her fists and around her hands and under arm area, a thin layer of ice would form, covering her limbs like a solid glove.

He gave her a gentle pat and she was caught by surprise by his attempt at using reassuring words. She hadn’t known Ivar for very long, but he didn’t seem like the type to be empathetic towards others. At least not openly.

She sucked in a sharp breath and turned her head to look out of the window. “Do we go back?” There was still the question of why someone as plain as that merchant owned something so dangerous – and what the final consequences of the curse were.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar suddenly felt very young, though at the same time wondered if Elves just happened to mature far more slowly than humans did. A frown touched his fave for a brief moment as she looked out the window, as if searching for something.

Fingers curled back, and he ran a hand through his beard in thought. "Yes."

He decided quietly, looking towards the box for a few moments. Ivar didn't much like the thought of going back, but...well it was the first step in solving whatever the fuck it was going on with Sylvian's wings. He doubted any other method would really work.

"But." Ivar added quickly. "We'll have to be careful."

He told her. "And it'll get violent."

The Barbarian was sure of that.

 

[Sylvian]

A wave of gratitude washed over Sylvian. “You are going to help me?” Her eyes filled with tears again.

Her wings were pure white and quite beautiful. Puffy and fluffy, like falling powder snow the large pair added to her innocent and youthful appearance. She was, by the standard of her people, still young after all.

“Okay,” she agreed and gave a nod. The wings disappeared again, and once more the elf hid her secret under a strong spell, one that would continue to protect her identity.

She gave her arms a look of concern before reaching out and stretching them. They felt fine at the moment, but she could feel a sense of heaviness lingering in them. If they had to fight, they better do it now before things got worse. “Come forth, Dandelion,” she commanded and from a seemingly invisible portal, a silver, sapphire studded rapier appeared. She took her weapon and gave it a graceful swing.

“I’m ready.”

 

[Ivar]

He blinked for a few seconds as she summoned a sword into her hand, lips thinning as he tried to wrap his head around more magic.

"Uhh." Ivar looked Sylvi up and down, frowning as he glanced towards the blade and reached up to rub his face a bit. He couldn't believer that she was nearly five times as old as he was, and then she had the nerve to say he didn't know anything.

His throat cleared.

"We can't walk through the streets with weapons drawn." Ivar reminded her. "The City Watch might be looking for us."

Their best bet was to sneak into the city and then make their way back towards the building they had burgled the night before. "We need to sneak in."

Then confront the bastards who'd started all this.

 

[Sylvian]

Sylvian’s Dandelion vanished into thin air, magically disappearing once again. It was a short reunion, but she had reason to believe that soon they would meet again. The snow elf only rarely used her weapon – an actual blade – against enemies and even though she was skilled with the rapier, she relied on magic more than anything else.

“You are right,” she sighed wearily. “I got a little too excited, I suppose.”

The woman rose from her seated position and dusted the dirt off of her clothes. She lifted up the metal box, the one containing the amulet and headed for the door. “At least we will find out the truth about this necklace,” she said with a weak smile and stepped outside.

The Blightlands were as gloomy as ever; the air was sticky and grey clouds hung in the sky. No sign of daylight, even though they were past sunrise. “How do you propose we sneak in?” She asked Ivar. Clearly it was time that she started listening to him more.

 

[Ivar]

He couldn't help but chuckle a little. Despite the difference in their age it seemed that Sylvian had a tendency to jump forward with both feet.

Ivar was not sure if that was a sign of their respective maturity, or if he'd simply been bitten by life one too many times. A breath filled his lungs, and he took a deep breath as he looked outside the window for a brief moment. "Getting into the city is easy enough."

He told her.

"But..." Lips thinned. "Think we use some of this gold to buy new clothes."

Something that didn't stand out so much. "Then get in the way you did last night, except come from the back alleys and not the streets."

So no one would see them.

 

[Sylvian]

“Oh!” Her face immediately brightened. “I love shopping!” Of course she did. Sylvian’s eyes sparkled in the dim light and the elf clapped her hands together with excitement.

Yes, she was old enough to be mature and level-headed, but the Avariel had spent most of her years disobeying her family and as a result, grew up to be a mischievous deviant rather than the regal lady her parents wanted her to be.

She was dreamy, free-spirited and a rebel.

“But I doubt we will get anything nice here,” she quickly added after taking a look around. These swamps didn’t look very luxurious and the snow elf had a certain standard to upkeep. The plan was simple, and surely fool-proof although Sylvian did not like the idea of using her wings one too many times within the city walls.

She would have to leave Alliria for a long time after that, so much was certain.

“What kind of clothes were you thinking?” She asked Ivar.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar rubbed his face again. Of course she loved shopping. "Just...clothes."

The Barbarian wasn't exactly and expert.

Most of what he wore he had either made himself or bought back in Kjos. The fur cloak he carried everywhere was of his own creation, but he knew that his garb marked him out as a foreigner here in Alliria. They needed to blend in.

"What they wear." He gestured broadly. "Once we blend in no one will look at us twice unless they have a reason to."

Ivar explained. "Most people don't tend to look for things that are the same as they are."

Something he'd learned early on in life.

Standing up, Ivar pocketed some of the gold from the table and took the shorter of his two swords, motioning towards the elf to follow behind him.

"Come on lets get it done." He told her. "You can decide once we're in the city."

At least the outer-city anyway.

 

[Sylvian]

“Well,” the snow elf’s eyes showed a hint of uncertainty and with worry she glanced down at her wounded arms. “Since we are basically rich now, we might as well spend some of the coin to spoil ourselves.” Sylvian said and nodded towards the bag of gold and gems they had stolen earlier today.

“Whatever it takes to free me off of this.” The Avariel held her hands up and furrowed her brows. If she were at home, perhaps there was someone who could help her, but the travel was long and the elf weary.

Besides, she liked Ivar’s company. This whole situation had stopped being any of his business a long time ago, but he showed a sense of altruism by not abandoning her and she appreciated that.

The Avariel had been in search of a friend for a long time, and maybe this was going to be it.

“You remember the way,” she said as a matter-of-fact, grabbed her cloak and followed behind after the nordsman. “I guess we will have no choice but to get to know each other better.” The sneaky elf suggested with a hint of a smirk as they walked down the muddy road. She had noticed quickly that Ivar wasn’t much of a talker, but Sylvian was having none of that.

Contrary to her people’s standard, she was quite the open-minded girl after all.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar did in fact lead the way, though he went in a different direction than they had come in.

It was a practice that he had learned in the Tundra. When you were being hunted it paid not to retrace your steps, lest what was following you caught on. So the Barbarian quickly stepped through the muck of the Shallows, leading Sylvian back towards the wall.

"There's not much to know about me." Ivar commented with a shrug.

He had pretty much told Sylvian his life story already, or it felt like it anyway.

The Barbarian did not think himself particularly interesting. His life had begun in tragedy and he had somehow managed to push through it. For him that was more than enough, for him that had lead him here and everything else was just incidental. "I have a friend with Giant's blood."

Ivar mentioned casually.

"I guess that's something else." Though he wasn't sure if that was what she had meant.

 

[Sylvian]

When Ivar stepped along a different path, Sylvian followed without question. “Maybe your life isn’t all that interesting,” the she-elf deduced with no amount of malice or mockery in her voice. The Avariel spoke in an almost matter-of-factly manner and when she gave Ivar a keen glance from the side, her sapphire eyes shimmered in the moonlight.

“It’s because you are young,” she then explained calmly. “You barely lived, of course not much has happened yet. It’s the same for me, in a way.” Sylvian shrugged, then continued on. When put into perspective, Ivar and Sylvian were of similar age, although she could be considered younger by the standard of her people. "Although I was married once." Apparently marriage wasn't particularily interesting or special to the humans though and from what Sylvian had learned, most people got married sooner or later.

"Are you married?"

When Ivar mentioned a friend with giant's blood, the Avariel almost laughed. "I guess you have a knack for meeting strange people and rare races." She said, and gestured at herself. "My kind is pretty rare too, and very sought after. So you can't tell anyone about me." Her index-finger pointed upwards and she gave him a long, stern look. This was something Sylvian was very serious about, because she did not want any trouble with hunters.