Fable - Ask The Fires of the Heart

[Lyssia D'avore]

The realm she occupied was not the same one Kiros did, nor any of the hurting, sick, worn out citizens of the city. She moved with mechanical motions, and while her eyes could take in the wounded and see their hurt well enough to judge whether they would live or die, her soul was turned inward to her own struggles. Unlike so many others, her magic did not require all of her attention to accomplish. That only putting half a mind into that work was dangerous was without doubt, but she had gone beyond caring.

Everywhere she looked were the faces of her family, bloodless flesh and blank eyes staring at her uncomprehendingly. The only thing she could hear was the derision of the city and its people; their pleas for help did not reach her ears. Regardless of either thing, though, she worked her way through the people, being guided by this person and that.

The way forward that the guardswoman - the harsh tone that Lyssia heard directed at her and not the crowd, making her flinch back - clearing the path to another. Lyssia moved along stiffly, as if she were little more than a cadaver animated by some will. Lyssia seemed to be oblivious to the others round her as Kiros was led forward, and she followed like a tiny ghost in his wake.

Alric lay before her in a circle cleared out by the few guards that were present, his flesh charred and face twisted in pain despite the fact that he was out cold, breaths coming in ragged, labored gasps. The woman - Alric, what have I done to bring you here? - would likely die if nothing was done, and would probably still die anyway.

Lyssia stepped forward, and laid a cold, clammy hand on the woman's chest, flinching back at the fiery heat of the wounds she had suffered. It was as though she could feel the ghost of the flames that had seared her. A moment of confusion on the girl's face - was this Alric or some woman I know nothing of? - before her pallid features set. "I will save you this time, Alric," she murmured softly to the young woman - clearly not seeing who was laying before her, but seeing someone else.

At the door, further commotion. More soldiers of the city were coming in, and with them were other healers. The reinforcements the garrison had sent had finally arrived to render aid, although they were far too late to stop the elemental from causing all the damage it had wrought.

Before any words could be exchanged - the new arrivals immediately set about restoring order - the fiery haired sidhe unleashed the flow of magic, letting it pour into the wounded woman like water into a vessel, snaking through every artery, every fiber of her being to undo what had been done. For her part, the nameless lass moaned in agony as her flesh writhed and knit itself.

An eternity. A moment. Within that realm, there was little meaning to either concept. But nothing is forever, and the healing was done. Lyssia stepped back from the woman - from the girl, from Alric her brother, from all the other delusions floating in her eyes - and smiled. "She will be fine," she announced.

And then, seemingly in slow motion, folded in on herself and dropped like a puppet with the strings cut. Lying on the floor, motionless, blood ran from a delicately pointed ear, from her nose.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The transition from the brief serenity of the night’s rain to the chaotic bustle of the hospital had been one of jarring contrast. Their egress back into the building was akin to travelling though a portal between worlds; strewn with blood, cries and panicked faces once more. Kiros had his attention split between assessing those wounded whom he might tend to later, the direction of the guardswoman who assertively escorted them through the crowd at urgent pace, and the well-being of the red-haired healer. Relieved at her presence and the lives she could help save, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of remorse at pushing one so evidently untrained and unprepared back into such a fray.

But of what else were healers for? Whether she pursued the art of her own volition or whether it was bestowed on her by gods or by fate; Kiros held that it was not simply magic that she wielded, but responsibility. Were she to shy away here, would she shy away elsewhere? How might she live with herself should she witness another die that she might have saved? The priest held belief that whatever terrors one might face, helplessness would make them all the worse.

If only he knew; she already did.

A continued struggled He felt was no true priest; he had squandered that opportunity years ago, along with his soul's guaranteed place within the Astral Valley. Now, what arcane talent he held could only be applied to such crude and limited magic as Itra afforded him. But healing was a task that made him useful and gave him purpose; not that he relished such a situation that granted it. Even his acquired emotional numbness did little to diminish the dreadfulness of the duty before him; it made the matter not more bearable, but only motivated him to tolerate it and perform the task.

Wading his way through the injured crowd, Kiros passed by patients with painful, gruesome injuries that were yet not severe enough to threaten life; and those who had already passed too far towards death for him to render aid. He ignored pleading expression and word with purpose in his movement; aware of required priorities and triage that they could not possibly be.

But something seen out of the corner of his eye gave him reason to pause and reconsider his assessment. His head and attention turned to it immediately – a body badly burned over every inch he could see, with skin that hung like putrid rags on one in such grisly condition as to be wholly unrecognizable. But Kiros watched on for a second more, and upon seeing the twitch coming from he could only guess was the victim’s chest he rushed down onto a knee to confirm the given sign of life. This one drew breath, and could be saved still.

There was another twitch when he laid his hand on the burned body, and a spoken prayer ushered forth the familiar glow of his holy blessing that took effect. Skin began to reform, and the bloodied and wretched body began to take on a more recognizably human form – that of a young woman who jumped to life with wide opened eyes and a gasping breath for air she had previously been struggling to breathe. Her revival was noticed with clenched teeth from the sharp, stabbing headache his magic had inflicted on his own mind. He was magically exhausted, and he knew it.

He further knew that more lives remained in peril, and there were only he and one other to help. He strained to make his way back up to his feet, but before he could find another to heal what he knew of the situation changed further still. More healers had arrived. There was no further need to strain himself further with what little arcane power he might have remaining to spend. Neither was there time to feel relieved, as with the removal of one fret, another took priority; the well being of the red-haired healer.

In the next moment he rushed through the throngs of people, now renewed with hopeful pleas given at increased volume and speed. A glance downward revealed her location sprawled onto the floor. There was blood, but he thought nothing of it until it continued to trickle from her ear. By now, all healers were engrossed with healing the many needful that required it. As tired and pained as he was, it would seem there was but one more incantation he would have to cast that night.

With another uttered prayer and a hand upon her head, he invoked his blessing of health upon her. It suffered the same inefficiencies as before and pained his mind further, yet he pushed on for whatever effect he might aid her with. Once his spellcasting was at an end, his world began to spin – he could not even check to see the effect of his healing with his mind so addled by the resulting migraine.

His eased his staff down as he took his turn to crumple atop the floor, one hand rubbing his slowly shaking head in an attempt to assuage the pain; a naive habit, as only time would do that.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

End over end over end, spinning through an endless darkness with no light to be seen. The sun had been swallowed, consumed in its entirety. All that was left was a bleak world devoid of its life-giving light; all was cast in shades of grey.

Shadows of the people she had known continually appeared, but when she reached to to grab hold of them, to draw them closer...they simply slipped through her fingers like sand. Her family, the people she had considered friends; one by one, they passed into the darkness forever beyond her reach. All the while, she could hear their laughter - the laughter of those who had cast her down, pushed her away from her comfortable life.

Here there was no power. Tumbling through the darkness, she was forced to face her deepest fear: the inability to have any meaningful control in her life. She could act, and it would have no effect; she was impotent and without agency, a pawn of the cruel fates and crueler individuals who sat atop this world and directed every dance and song, every ballad and every sonnet.

Falling. Falling. Forever falling...

"Well, give her my regards when she wakes. I have no idea what someone like her was doing there to begin with, but she saved some lives."

Lyssia stirred, and for a moment there was a thrill of fear that ran through her weak body. Where was she? The last thing she recalled before darkness claimed her was some woman lying out on the floor, horribly burned and...

...and the events of that night came flood back as quickly as that. She groaned and opened eyes the color of polish amythest. They seemed larger than normal, given the sunken look and the darkness underscoring them.

She lie on a bed in a large room, and from where she lay, she could see there were many others here as well. The air had the clean scent of a hospital, which was likely where she was. She did not remember getting here, and had no idea how long she had been here, either. All she knew for certain was every bone in her body ached, every fiber of her being rebelling at the abuse she had put it through.

"Captain? I think she is awake." The speaker indicated the prone sidhe with one gloved hand, the chainmail clinking as he moved. Clearly a member of the Dynast's army by the garb and by the sigils on his shoulders, of which Lyssia was quite familiar. The one he spoke to - a tall and imposing looking woman with striking facial features that would have been more striking if not for her severe expression - turned to look back. She turned to face the bed Lyssia was laid out upon with a scowl.

"You must stay here, d'Avore," she said simply with a look to the nameless man. "There is an investigation ongoing as to the source of that inferno and the beast it spawn. The Dynasty acknowledges your contributions to the efforts to contain it and assist with her citizens after, but you of all people should know how this will move forward."

She turned before Lyssia could even nod in acknowledgement. "Derek, please remain here and make sure that she doesn't go anywhere until the Guard can ask her their questions. I must go and oversee the efforts to clean up the rest of the mess that thing made." The man saluted, fist to heart, but the dark-haired captain was already out of the room, moving with the business-like and brisk pace of many command staff within the military.

For her part, she just lay there and stared at the ceiling.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He had been waiting here for gods knew how long. The better part of the morning, he wagered; though there was neither window nor any other means of gauging the passing time. While normally a patient man, worry had done much to erode it. He knew not what would be asked of him, but what was mentioned and what he had overheard was ominous. Upon initial request for the meeting it had seemed to be a simple inquiry; but now it appeared the conversation that awaited him would be far less benign.

A click of the lock on the door preluded the entrance of a well-dressed woman, while guards watched the meeting from outside the open door.

“Your name?” She asked in tone that seemed tinged in insincere decorum.

“Kiros Rahnel” he responded. A stretch of the truth; ‘Rahnel’ being the name he had been using and known by for these past fifteen years. He did not desire to use his birth name here, lest they connect him to his crimes in Amol-Kalit. Her learning that he was wanted for murder was doubtful to end well.

“Where are you from?”

“I was resident of Elbion, before the disaster.”

“Oh, you were present for that one too? A notable coincidence; but not what I asked. Where in Amol-Kalit do you hail from? Originally?”

“...Annuakat.” He responded plainly, hiding his tension behind a stoic face. In truth, he was from a smaller town a day’s travel upriver; but for the same reason that he hid his family name, he had no desire to reveal the town from where he was born. That too could likely reveal his exile and the reason thereof – information he didn’t want to share.

“And what gives you business here in Dornoch?”

“I was travelling through on route to Thelios, in response to a posted contract.”

“The chase of coin is what brought you from the temple?” she responded with incredulity, studying his expression to gauge his response as he gave it.

“No. I am a Nasparite, a wanderer. My presence at the temples is seldom and infrequent; Arethil is my place of worship.” he responded with the prepared fabrication, in straightforward and direct tone. The reference to Naspar caused him disturbance; a holy name he felt himself unworthy to speak. That he had at least avoided invoking the name directly eased his hidden discomfort, somewhat.

“Then where do you reside now?”

“I’ve yet to find a permanent dwelling since Elbion.”

“Of course.” the investigator made her response with incredulous tone again, pausing to look upon Kiros before she continued.

“You show up, of no fixed location and on vague business; and within hours a fire elemental has wreaked havoc and slain many of our citizens.”

Well aware of what she was implying, Kiros held his tongue and looked at her in silence. It would do little good to make protest; and given her own leering expression while she awaited his response. But he saw no purpose in attempting to give answer to a question not explicitly stated; a lesson learned from experiences in dealing with his own deity.

“And you had nothing to do with that?”

“Of course not. I was only present as a healer and-” He responded with automatic and toneless words, before she interrupted.

“Could you tell me why you were warded against fire?” she inquired next, with her voice lowered and eyes narrowed.

“That was cast on me by another – a red-haired woman short in stature.” he explained.

“And can you tell me her name?” She asked, one eyebrow raised. She waited patiently in response, but all he would admit to was his own ignorance.

“...I never learned that.” He admitted. How the investigator took this statement he did not know, but he did note the look she shared with the guards before she made her departure from the room.

“Interesting. Well, we’ll speak again shortly.” she spoke the words without looking at him upon her exit from the room, leaving him to continue to wait and fret.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"I see," said the investigator as Lyssia finished her recitation of the events of that night. Apparently it had been the day before last, so long had she slept after the ordeal. "Well, as it so happens one of ours was there and bore witness to some of this," she finished.

For her part, Lyssia said nothing. What was there to say? Should she feel anger at being disbelieved and requiring the corroboration of one of their own Imperial soldiers? The answer to that was simply no; she was disgraced and she knew it, and so did they. Whether the accusations were warranted or not did not matter; the court had spoken and had rendered its verdict. Some days, she seethed with rage at the fact. Others melancholy gripped her tightly. And still others.

"Then you do not need to keep me here," she redhead replied in a thready voice. She sat on the edge of her bed, pale and drawn but still alive.

"No. You can go...well, wherever you will," she said. She held a tablet in hand with parchment and quill at the ready, but had never made a single mark upon that sheet. "Though if you need time to recover, it will be granted you the same as any other citizen."

Lyssia inclined her head. As the investigator turned to leave, though, she cleared her throat. That worthy turned and looked to her. "Yes?"

"There was a....priest, or something, with me that night." She looked up, pale eyes underscored by dark circles. "Is he still around?"

The woman's lips curled in a faint smile. "The one from Amol-Kalit," she said in a soft voice, and then shook her head. "Why not? Yes, he is still here. There was some suspicion that he had unleashed that devil, but the one who spoke of your innocence also vouched for his." The tone of voice seemed to indicate that she did not understand why, but of whom she was implying was a mystery. Likely Lyssia herself; what would a member of the Royals care for some foreign-born priest.

"I would...speak to him," she said, tripping over her words a little. The other woman snorted, and turned to leave.

"He is down the hallway, fifth door on the right. I will tell them to let you in. Someone should already have been down to turn him loose." A pause. "I suppose they will have to give the man back his coin. So much for a traveling priest to be carrying with him. Still, I suppose its not unheard of." She left through the door she had entered.

Lyssia sat very still for a moment. The coin had been her chief concern, the seed she needed to try - again - to set herself back on the path of vengeance and clearing the name of her family, be they dead or not. He still has it, she thought. He had not seen the type to be a thief...but she felt the strong desire to go and collect it from the man.

And so, a short while later, she stood before the door where they were holding the priest. She was already worn out from the short walk, but this misadventure was hardly as damaging to her as had been the one with Ellijah. Hesitating a moment, she rapped on the door. "It is I," she said softly. She did not know his name, nor he hers. so announcing herself was out of the question. "They said they were holding your for questioning...but I have some questions of my own," she added.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

It had been a while further in the empty room, and Kiros shifted in his seat. He’d not expected the interrogation received earlier, and it took little reflection for him to realize it had not gone well. Still weary from that disastrous night, he was completely blindsided and unprepared for it. While he had his cover story as prepared as it always was, he’d had no chance to tailor it to his situation. Much as he hated the reaction of his investigator, even he could see that there had been some reason behind it. He was honest in stating he had nothing to do with the elemental, and had little to hide regarding that. Rather he was worried they might discover what he did fifteen years prior. Should they learn the latter, he feared, there was little doubt they’d suspect the former.

What a wasted effort. It seemed she suspected that now anyways.

Now that he was aware of what he was in for, there was time to fuss over his story; though it was too late to do so. Really, he could do little but fret about possible holes contained therein. Such as the matter of coin, which was an honest statement. Yet, it did not account for the fact that he formerly had with him a hefty bag of coin from the red-haired one. A fact that had that neglectfully slipped his mind in the stress of the situation. A concerning revelation too, especially given the fact that she made no mention of it. It seemed certain that this statement and omission would come back to haunt him, but for the meantime he could only fret.

The knock caused him to make a sudden and panicked shift in his seat with immediate attention turned to the door. His mind raced in preparation for the second round of the interrogation, but the familiar voice of his former companion was recognizable in an instant. Kiros eased from his former state of tension at the realization; he wondered if she arrived to help, but he did not wonder long. The money. He took it with him, of course; she couldn’t carry it, and he hardly imagined that anyone would hold onto the sum safely if he stated it belonged to someone of such social stature. But they had taken it for safekeeping and make a promise of its safe return; one he held much less faith in now.

“It is so; and I await further investigation, as it appears. Come in, doubtless your questioning will be far less....pointed as hers.” he replied, with tone that told of his worry and words that implied it.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Questions was really just a single question, but he hadn't needed to know that. She opened the door, heedless of the woman standing guard outside - whom looked at her with a scowl, no less - and stpped in, closing the door behind her.

She'd been bathed while she had been unconscious, apparently, and the hospital had provided her with her simple, freshly laundered dress. The coarse brown wool and shapelessness of the garment made her look more like a penniless child rather than a woman. That was unimportant to her, at least.

The furnishings in the room were sized for humans and not for her, and she had to pull herself up into a chair seated across from him - which she did not ask his leave to do. Not really surprising, given she was a native of Dornoch and their relative stations, even were she just a peasant, were weighted in her favor. Seated, she straightened her skirts, sitting on the edge of the chair.

"Any questioning by the City Guard or the Imperial army is going to be harsh," she said suddenly and without any preamble. "Dornoch was founded on military, protectionist principles. The law here can be harshly enforced, and any investigation is taken seriously," she said. There was a touch of bitterness in her tone, though, and she had turned her eyes away when she spoke of the last item. "Punishment for wrongs can be...particularly painful."

But he had no need to worry about that. Neither had started the inferno, nor had they unleashed a magical creature upon the city itself. "They took my money, didn't they?" She was staring into her lap.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He looked upon the door as it creaked open to reveal his visitor, the clothes that she wore earlier now replaced by simple woollen garb. While bereft of his own belongings, they had at least enough religious decorum to not deny him his own holy vestments. Suspect or not, he still carried himself as a priest; while such status would not place him above the law, some decorum had prevailed. Kiros was certainly not taking this for granted, and fully expected it to come to an end should they connect him to his prior life in Amol-Kalit.

Her mention of harsh inquiry certainly seemed understatement; it had been truly grilling. They considered him the guilty party, at least, from what he could tell. He held no clue they had already cleared him of that crime; it was not a fact the investigator made him privy to. His answers had clearly not pleased her, and how he might prove his innocence was a matter that held concern, but no answer.

“Neither is Amol-Kalit known to be land of mercy to the convicted.” He concluded, his mind turned to his homeland and the questions the investigator might might ask next. His gaze likewise turned downward, unaware that she too shared in the moment of shameful regret. That investigations would be thorough was further bad omen, and made him ever more worried that his past might catch up to him.

“No, that has been confiscated along with my remaining possessions. They made promise of its return; one I now doubt they will keep as they appear to consider me suspect.” He answered without looking at her. He had hoped her presence might ease his tension, but now he was more worried than ever. Of uncertain fate and none to help but the one before him; still a nameless stranger he knew little of despite the ordeals both had faced. Much as he disdained laying his shame bare before one that was mere acquaintance, he held greater fear that it might soon be unveiled before all.

“You know of my innocence to the accusations. Still, there are....reasons I cannot go back to Amol-Kalit.” he confided in vague phrasing, of too much shame to state exactly why; and of enough common sense to not so so here. Yet his eyes intensely spoke of the fear he held of his homeland, and the fate his cruel subconscious had so recently played out for him. What could he even say? Unable to make direct mention of his past, he'd need to phrase the matter...but how, he knew not.

“They shall not help me.” he spoke the words quietly, choking them out with a fearful tone that seemed quite unbecoming. Neither hellish inferno, nor the gruesome aftermath that followed had caused him to express such fear.

But before her now sat a man utterly terrified.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"If you have done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear," she said simply. If only the tone of her words matched the sincerity of the statement, it might have been a trifle more easing. Bitter anger tinged her reply, though.

She looked up with tired eyes. This man was not of this nation, and hearing the name Amol-Kalit only heightened that perception. She should have paid closer attention to some of the lessons she had been given when she was younger, but alas all she could recall was that the nation was far to the east, out in in the great desert beyond the plains and Savannah.

"They will return the coin," she said. There was little fear of them keeping it; there was little corruption within the army and even less within the Guard that prowled the streets. No, most of that was confined to the upper echelons of society. "The Dynasty is not peopled with thieves, unlike some nation states are."

She took a deep breath. and let it out. "And it does not help your plight that you happened to run into me, of all the people in Dornoch. An outlander like you might not know the history there, but it is not going to save you from scrutiny." Truth to tell, it doesn't make my life any easier. "I am called Lyssia," she said, not offering her last name. In all likelihood he had no knowledge of affairs within the city or the nation, but it had become second nature for her to omit that last part.

As though she were ashamed of her lineage, of her family name. Every time she reminded herself of her cowardice, it only served to stoke anger in her heart. As it was, she simply made fists with her hands until the knuckles were white. "I am sorry that you had to be mixed in with me," she added quietly.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He had no doubt that she meant to speak the words as reassurance. Taking her statement as sincere brought the exiled priest all the more reason to be concerned. He had little reason to disbelieve her, but what she spoke had implied Kiros had every right and justification to be fearful. He had done plenty wrong, and now he was lost to fret that it had all caught up with him.

“That bodes well. I'll request they return the coin to you, should I be detained.” He replied, in tone dry and emotionless; still with heavy doubt that he might be set free. She seemed to imply his homeland to be one of lawlessness and thievery. An awfully accurate assessment for one who had never been there, one he would not bother to deny in thought of the Amol-Kalit he knew of – one from decades past.

“And I am Kiros Rahnel.” He introduced himself with the same false family name he did with all. It was an awkward transition at first, but by now he had used it for long enough that it felt as natural as if it had always been his given name. Odd that she restricted herself to just her first name as she did, but Kiros wouldn’t question it. He had his own secrets, and little interest in throwing stones from within his house of glass. Besides, he himself neglected mention his title, or his god. Or any of the pomp and circumstance that priests tend to be notorious for. Her curiosity there was the last thing he needed.

Yet her words held implication that she did not speak of. She spoke of belief that her presence was the cause of his troubles here, but without mention of why that might be. On reflection, he mused that the notion held merit; but he felt guilty of digging that hole deeper during the interrogation itself.

“Of no need to make apology; you’ve naught done any wrong to me.” He answered, plainly. She had been helpful, and if her company had reduced his value in the eyes of the others, it was not in her direction he would direct his blame.

If only she knew what company she had in him.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could the door to the room opened again. This time, however, it was not the chief investigator that came in but rather another woman. It was difficult to tel lat first by her garb - she wore hooded cloak embroidered about the hems in thread-of-gold and silver, and through the part in the front mythril chain gleamed cold in the light streaming in from the window overhead - but it was the same woman who had been in the inn when the fire had started.

"You," she said as she stopped just inside the door, eyes narrowing as she pulled her hood back to reveal dark hair that gleamed lustrously in the light. "What are you doing here, d'Avore?" She glared at the diminutive woman with cold eyes, and then shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

She stepped into the room, and closed the door. She bore a a neat bundle under her arm, and this she set on the table. "Your belongings, Kiros Rahnel of Amol-Kalit. Whatever the Guard thought you had to do with that event, they were mistaken. I was there when those two fools unleashed that beast - intentionally or not - and know you only aided in helping people escape, and then aided further. The Pegasi acknowledge your assistance in this.

But..."

She looked to the sidhe, and scowled. "Do not leave the city. We will not hold you here, or in the gaol, for now. We have sent runners back to the Amol to verify the rest of your story. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks to hear back from the city proper. In the meantime, you will be a guest of the Dynast, although we will not force you to stay under lock and key. Your description has been circulated to all the gatehouses out of the city."

She turned to leave, and paused. "Do not try to leave until we have determined the rest of your story is true. Allissa felt you were hiding something, but she couldn't ascertain what. Also, if I were you I would be more mindful of the company you keep. This one is...an undesirable." With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her and giving no time for response.

Lyssia sat there with her head down, cheeks aflame and fists tight in her lap. "I may have done more wrong than you think," she whispered.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

His posture stiffened up again and his attention snapped towards the opening door. She looked familiar, yet he could not quite place where he had seen her before. Yet once she spoke and pulled down the hood from her head, the memory came back to him in an instant. She expressed her disdain openly towards his companion, speaking to her by reference of the name she hadn’t given – and giving answer to his former question he had refused to ask. Yet she evidently knew Lyssia all along, and was forthright with her low opinion of the Sidhe. He could only reflect on the apology he had been given; only now starting to realize what she had implied with it.

Eyes lit up with hope at the presence of his belongings arriving far sooner than expected, watching as the woman placed them upon the table. With relief that his ordeal was approaching its end, he listened attentively to her words. Lyssia had seemed confident that he would be found innocent; but it was far more reassuring to hear it from an actual figure of authority. And his actions had been noted after all; given that he had spent fretful hours worrying that he was regarded as suspected criminal, the mention was nothing less than relief to Kiros’ ears.

Yet there was more, and she paused to scowl at Lyssia again before she continued on. Was she in trouble now? But his concern for her safety would only last a brief moment, before becoming eclipsed by concern for his own.

“We have sent runners back to the Amol to verify the rest of your story.”​

Kiros paused – frozen absolutely still, taken from a place of relief and delivered to one of horror in a single sentence. His greatest fear and worst fate caught up to him, and as she put it, he would remain their forced guest for but a few weeks before no doubt being delivered to his fate. But he’d have to disguise his state of tension for now, lest his demeanour give away clue as to what he was hiding. He listened on, ever focused on the terms of his diplomatic detention. Not only had they sent runners to Amol-Kalit; they had his description on written record. A false name would only hinder them so much, but a description would most certainly connect him to his crimes. He well knew that he was enough of an outlier in appearance as to make such a task easy.

“I understand.” It was all he could say, giving no reaction to the final derogatory remark she directed upon Lyssia in departure. Once she left, Kiros’ posture deflated with his forearms resting upon his knees and his gaze directed downwards, as if staring upon something miles beneath the ground itself. It was only when Lyssia broke the silence that he broke his stillness and made motion to look upon her, his eyes filled with the same terror as before.

“They will kill me.”

It was all he could say – and even that much communication was a struggle. He slowly reached to the bag on the table; the clatter of her coin audible from within. So crushed beneath traumatic realization was he that motions appeared forced, and words delivered without his former noble’s decorum. Instead, he simply looked to her with belongings in hand.

“Your coin.”

He stated plainly. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to deliver himself from this mess, but he still had her coin. It was a problem he could solve.

A current distraction from the hopelessness he saw within his other problem.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She reached across the table and snatched the sack possessively, hugging it close to her body. As silly as it might seem, it represented a chance for her to strike back at those that had wronger her, although the method and path she would have to take was circuitous and not likely to be easy. A journey of a thousand miles always begins with one single step, though. An old proverb, but an apt one.

"Thank you," she said after a moment. There was a lot of emotion held in those two simple words, a lot more than would have been expected. "I thought I..." she began and then trailed off, unable to finish. The darkness waiting just behind her seemed to thin a little, even though her overall plight had not changed much.

"I would offer you a place to stay," she said after a moment, completely missing the wooden tone of his voice and he obvious terror. "I would, but...I do not have any place to offer." A sobering thought. "I will be on the street again, alas. Perhaps I could give you some of this to help pay for an inn," she said, lifting the bag slightly. There might be seventy or eight gold coins in there. She couldn't use it to pay for a room for herself, either; she had need of it beyond accomodations and, in any case, it was likely that most inns would decline her patronage.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Her words were met with a slow nod; the only sign from his otherwise still body that she still held his attention. No doubt her words were genuine, delivered through a tone of happiness he hadn’t heard from her lips until now. The bag of coin he’d disparaged brought her so much joy. He imagined it was so out of simple greed, and in his state he almost envied her uplifted mood brought on by something so tangible. Not that he could know what the money truly represented to her.

“Most welcome.” The words lacked the energy and oratory tone they formerly held – spurred on by little more than the reflexive noble tact he still held. That he was no thief was truth; he stood accused of worse transgressions.

She spoke on and he listened; but he was so engrossed in his newly discovered troubles, it wasn’t until she spoke of lodging that he gave the notion any consideration. He clearly wouldn’t be leaving the city after all, he would need some place to stay. What wealth and items of trade he had brought with him had been destroyed in the blaze; it wasn’t much, but its loss was of greater weight now. He looked up at her, and her offer. Lyssia was the only help he had in the city at all.

“I will need lodgings now, it would seem. Nor can I deny my poverty, and need and gratitude for the charity.” he responded, reluctantly but needfully applying his attention to the problem of finding temporary quarters to dwell within.

“But where will you go?” He inquired in response. It was a moment of honest curiosity; the blaze had taken her dwellings too and upturned her life; and welcome distraction from fret over his own fate

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She had not considered the question for months. The work she had been doing at the now-gone inn had been almost insulting to her, far beneath her station as she saw it. But it had been a bed, and a roof over her head, and some money - every last coin of which was contained within the sack she now held, plus the few that were offered as tips by outlanders. She had received nary a coin from anyone who actually resided in Dornoch through that entire miserable stint.

She undid the draw strings of the bag, and fished around inside. "There was a warehouse down near the docks I stayed out for a while. If they haven't patched the hole in the wall, I should still be able to find a place to hide and rest within." She dug out silver, a dozen silver coins, and stacked them on the table without looking up. Which was just as well; the realization that she had fallen nearly all the way back to square one was a grim one. "if not..."

She shrugged. "In an alley somewhere. Down under the docks. I will find a place to go," she said with more confidence than she felt.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

She’s going to need that money, he mused. Furthermore while he could take advantage of her generosity now, would it remain in a few weeks time once she had learned of what he had done? By now it was increasingly clear that she had done something herself to warrant her situation and perception by the city. But as low as her position and their regard for her was, they allowed her to live and walk free. Whatever she had done, quite clearly, was incomparable to his crimes. Perhaps accepting the money now wasn’t right. While she volunteered the offer, he could not help but fret that she made it to who she perceived him to be, and not what he truly was.

He listened to her plans of vagrancy, and there was no need to ask why more formal lodgings were excluded from them. Lyssia still held mysteries, he’d no idea what transpired to leave her in such situation; but he now held answer to his former question of why an inn servant would speak with a noble’s flair.

“You can’t possibly carry that coin across the city in your search. I could accompany you on your search and do so.” He offered; he’d seen her prior struggles and imagined she could well use the help. Kiros, likewise, could use the walk; and additional time to build up the requisite gall needed to confess what he stood accused of.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"I've no intention of carrying that coin anywhere further than I have to," she said. "I won't have it much longer in any case."

That coin had to go to good use, and part of that use was to establish herself in some capacity within the city beyond some wandering waif. Disdain was an unwelcome way to be treated, but too many treated her like a child when they did not know of her perceived crimes.

"I won't stop you but I can take care of myself, you know," she said stiffly. Nevermind terror so great she'd literally wet herself. Nevermind that she had been bamboozled once already and lost everything due to her own naivety. Stubborn pride was definitively not a strength of hers. "Either way, I am not going to stay here any longer than I have to. There are...nevermind." What she had meant to say were there were certain individuals who loved to rub her face in her own misfortune, and whom she was sure had also orchestrated the entire chain of events leading to this particular moment.

She got up, sliding out of a chair not designed for her small stature.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He imagined she spoke of a purchase, but it was a hefty sum of money for spending; one that no doubt took an ample amount of time to accrue. Perhaps the value of the coin was best measured in the time needed to gain it than the actual monetary value it held. It was certain both were of significant quantity.

“Of no doubt. But as I cannot leave, I’ve not any better activity to occupy myself with.” He replied; she said she’d not prevent him from carrying her goods, thus he would. He’d seen her struggles with the bag of coin before; to Kiros, the weight was one he could carry with ease. He was used to carrying his belongings around which weighed far more; a burden that was now regretfully removed from him.

“These weeks will take an eternity to pass.” he uttered, more to himself than to Lyssia. Nor was he sure whether that was good or bad. There would be plenty of time to internally debate it on the walk. Kiros walked towards the door as she sat up, as ready as she was to make his departure from this place.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The corridors of the fields hospital were an unknown to her, but the way out was clear enough. She walked as primly as she could in the coarse clothing, ignoring the fact that she was, once again, unshod. Of the people in the corridors, she neither saw nor deigned to acknowledge. She had suffered too much of recent to pay attention to the open derision of the citizens of Dornoch; her ego was already a bruised mess.

But not all of the people in these halls looked upon her with disgust or disdain. Some fundamental thing had changed between them and her, and she couldn't see it for avoiding the problem all together. Gratitude shined in the eyes of some of them, recognizing someone that had been there that night.

She wasn't about to relive that nightmare again just yet.

"I have to drop this coin with someone. Maybe we won't sleep out of doors for three weeks..but for tonight, at least, we will." She stepped out into the early sunlight, and blinked back against the glare.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

His robes were now neatly packed away in his satchel of belongings. Instead, he had donned more neutral attire for the trip; brown trousers and a white tunic. Well crafted, but a far cry away from fancy – it set him aside from the commoners, but if such a state of dress belonged to a noble, it was one who pinched pennies. Silently he cursed himself for his former attire; much as he did when he first learned She required such vestments be worn. A silly idea and now it had caught up to him. Of no usefulness it would be to ask her to remedy the situation; he had no doubt She’d simply blame and scold him. Why, She’d likely remind him that healing the injured had been a voluntary act; one he didn’t need to perform and thus, he didn’t truly need to be wearing his robes.

Still, he noticed the attention of the others. It was some solace; despite the great price he now paid for his good deed. At least he had done good here, saving lives and mending tragedy.

“Of no worry; I’m no stranger to it. I’m closer to poverty than appearance might have you believe.” He replied. Matters could be worse; to the commoner, his own monetary loss would no doubt be devastating, and the idea of bankruptcy a horrifying thought. Even in destitute times Kiros remained a healer, and wealth could be recovered though his profession. A pittance compared to the greater sums he could have held; by now he learned to hold gratitude for whatever came.

With Lyssia leading the way to the unknown destination, the two headed off through the city.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The streets of Dornoch were certainly crowded this time of day. Lyssia felt naked, though, without the hood she usually wore to hide her face. She did not like the shame she felt whenever someone scowled at her, or spit in her direction; there was a fair bit of that most days.

"I hate it," was all she said. She did not further elaborate on that whole situation or on the circumstances that had led to it. "I shouldn't be..." She went silent, focusing instead on picking her way through the crowd.

The smell of the fire from the days before lingered faintly in the air. It was likely that it could have been scented anywhere within the city; at least two blocks had burned to the ground in that inferno. Lyssia did not like to think of how many had died in that catastrophe, mostly because she did not like to think about the people she could not save.

It made her think of the man that was with her. "Where did you learn to heal?" She asked.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

New attire made him less conspicuous, though far from entirely so with the company he kept. He noticed the occasional glance and foul looks directed towards them. Though the worst was plainly directed upon Lyssia it remained discomforting, resembling those imagined, sneering faces envisioned in his nightmare a bit to much. Hopes that the walk would help take his mind off the fate that awaited him in his homeland were tossed aside; he now simply wished to get wherever they were going quickly.

“Fate is cruel.” he uttered. It felt like it implied lie, that fate had been responsible for his situation rather than his own impulsive error. He evaded his trial; he knew full well of his guilt. Had he more restraint in his youth, he’d not be wanted for murder. No, he’d be dead; but at least his untainted soul would be off in the Astral Valley. It was his own cowardly action that had secured this consequence; he had merely managed to avoid facing it until now. The knowledge that he’d soon need to raise her awareness of the matter sat like a lead weight in his gut. But she’d learn of it inevitably; better to be forthright.

“Within Annunaki temples; priesthood was my noble birthright. I was granted religious and magical education within. The temples teach arcane skill; but the gods grant us arcane power.” He explained, speaking quite honestly and candidly. Most other forms of magic were either innate, or required only study to wield – even if said study was often incredibly rigorous. While it was truth, it was not quite complete. He no longer followed those gods he had studied. He knew they would no longer bless him; given what he had done, he had only one regrettable option available as arcane source. He hardly wanted to confess here, where streets were so crowded. But neither did he wish to wait to expand on his statement, for fear of perceived dishonestly.

“But I have become estranged from the priesthood.” He uttered, forcing the regretful words out soon after.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She could relate to his estrangement with his order, though perhaps not in the way he thought. "If the gods grant your kind arcane power and you have...drifted away, then how can you still use it?"

She didn't much like humans use of magic, but surrounded by a city full of them doing so made it common enough that she seldom thought much on it. At best, most applied their practice with brutish, unsophisticated methods. Drawing power from some mythical gods was yet another in a long litany of things she had heard spoken of, and she had never understood how they could not understand that it came from the source of power, not from some trumped-up beast or person claiming to be all-powerful.

She slowed, looking around to get her bearings. "My talent is inborn. All of my kind are born with a certain affinity for specific kinds of magic; I am gifted at handling the weather and at healing." Innate; she did not require nor had she been given training on how to do what she did with her magic. With the affinity came the knowledge, and all she had to do was practice for proficiency.

"Is it because of your estrangement that you dread their contacting your priesthood?"

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Her remark carried barbs she could not be aware of, and implied that he was undeserving of the power he was able to wield. That he agreed with the notion made its sting ever worse. One so wayward and estranged from the gods deserved no grace, and he justifiably held none from the Six whom he no longer dared to pray. Yet his discomfort, great as it was, was but the more minor of obstacles in giving her question an answer; the greater of which was the very nature of Itra Herself. Of the few things She had made clear, one was Her desire for secrecy; for the best, as he likewise held reservations about inflicting Her presence upon Arethil. He’d much rather avoid such a topic; but Lyssia's inquiry was fair, and shutting her down with feigned anger would alienate the only ally he presently had. Further, he’d rather refrain from lies, yet was religiously restricted from divulging full truth.

“There are many gods who watch over Arethil.” He explained. While the idea of abandoning one’s ancestral deities to serve another was often ill-received among other clergy; she was clearly not of their kind. The manner in which he explained likely made arcane sense, though it was theologically crude.

“A natural talent?” He was surprised; it was far from unheard of, many of Arethil’s other species had an affinity with magic of similar nature to a far lesser degree. He had seen what Lyssia wielded; he knew nothing of how it worked, but was privy to the flow of arcane power. He remembered his scrying, and the uninformative answer it had given him – perhaps the fact that her ability was innate was the very reason the answer had been so.

But her next question was the one that invited the dreaded answer had had long been steeling himself to deliver. Kiros looked to her, unable to conceal his own shamed expression despite his efforts to. He merely affirmed it with a nod, hesitating a few moments more before he followed his gestured reply with verbal.

“I fear what they might do should we be reunited.”

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"I am fae," she said after a long moment. "Although not a part of the Courts of old, I am still fae. I have not been with my own kind, outside my family, for my entire life." She sighed. "Its more than a talent; the prim is what gives me succor beyond fueling my Art. Without the essence of magic, I would...die."

Or fade away, or simply cease. She did not know the answer to her own question, and doubted any alive would. Magic had always been, since the time of the first dawning and the rise of the Old Ones. "There is only one divinity, and that is the Balance and the prim. That primordial force is what governs all things, but it has not a sense of justice, or of compassion, or even a conscious will within it. Although, sometimes..." Sometimes, when she was drinking deep of herself, she thought she could feel the faint echo of something down the corridors of time. She had always assumed it was just a fancy, though.

"And what might it be to fear? It isn't as if you've killed someone." There was an odd inflection to her words, and a distant look on her face.