Private Tales There Are No Kind Knives

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Everleigh Ebersol

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A flare of red-hot pain in her chest and stomach reminded Everleigh that she couldn’t over exert herself. Only hours later from her brief brawl with the letai she had encountered on the Lucky Star, her broken rib (or two, she had little time to assess the damage) was screaming to make itself known. Her body ached, every tight sinew of muscle beneath grubby skin and even dirtier clothing.

In this moment, she didn’t look like a dreadlord. A vagabond at best, a slum dweller at worst. Her violet hair was held back with the damp cloak that carried the dank smell of stale water and mold, a hint of tangy brine adding to the unpleasantness.

She wondered if Erland could smell her. She assumed he could, but if he smelled her than he must assume it came from a sickly rat from the docks. She felt more like a wet rat than a dreadlord. A wet, injured, and irritated rat. Everleigh’s violet eyes narrowed, watching another happy customer leave through the front doors.

Unable to confirm whether or not Erland was inside the building that preferred to have less windows than the average establishment, Everleigh had to wonder if waiting around was worth it. She was months late from when she told him she’d be here to get him out of the servitude he was forced into. Worse yet, sneaking around at night was now an unlikely option. She had to make sure that Miklan, now a stowaway, got to Alliria safely. Causing a scene was needed, she needed to create a fake trail to draw all eyes on her.

None of this could be relayed back to Erland, a last minute plan that was still being loosely formed in her head. She could only hope that Erland trusted her enough to leave with her. Especially after what she had to do.

Like the many times before, Everleigh crossed the street, quick for most but slow for her. She went through the doors and the moment she was greeted, the knife in her hand flashed beneath the candle light to slash a throat. The sight of dark red blood helped to get her mind off of the red heat in her ribcage that begged her to stop moving.

But Everleigh Ebersol was a dreadlord, and if there was one thing that the Academy had taught her was to never stop. If she couldn’t run then she’d walk, if she couldn’t walk then she’d crawl, even if it meant it put her in an early grave.
 
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There was a scream. After the short, sharp cry came another voice.

"Everleigh?"

He was sat just to the left of her line of sight. A group of three men clearly waiting to be displayed. One, a particularly large man with a look of the southern coast about him, stood up and grabbed a knife from the table.

Erland stood slowly, but his elbow moved quickly. One blow to the temple dropped Sicarius. It was as much for his protection from Everleigh as to defend her.

He had given up on his chance of escape. It had been months. Erland had spent hours lambasting himself for daring to feel like he could be a real, free person again.

She was here and she look like she had walked across a battlefield on the way.

"Are we going?" he asked. Weeks ago, he would have simply rushed to her side and started their escape.
 
One woman down, finished. One man delayed, he could talk later to the guards, Everleigh decided as her eyes went to the man on the right, clearly torn between flight and fight. She saw the hesitant glance he gave to Erland, how as he stood up he raised his hands and took a step back. Everleigh took a step forward and the man turned to run.

Like the hundreds of thousands times before, with practiced ease as if this was the same as blinking or breathing, she drew her own blood with a throwing knife hidden on the side of her thigh. Her aim was off as it pierced through the man’s lower back.

Get your shield and axe.” Everleigh said, her complexion sallow. Her bangs were dark with grease, hiding the angry colony of small, red zits on her forehead. The purple bags beneath her upturned eyes were nearly the same dull violet of her eyes, making Everleigh look like the monster she had been nurtured to be. The Academy had chartered her into adulthood before puberty had the chance to.

We need to go now.” The dagger in her other hand, steel tainted by blood was shaking. Everleigh was too far gone to control it. She heard heavy steps above them, looked to watch a whore and a guest beginning to make their way down the stairs.

If you don’t want me to kill your friends, hurry up.” She added, ignoring her limits to race up the stairs to silence the screams above them.

Erland Karr
 
For the first time since coming to know Everleigh, he felt a cold hand of fear grasp him as he looked upon her. He had always known that she was deadly, but he had never seen that look in her eyes.

He was far away from calling the other workers here his friends, but they were the only company he had. None deserved to die.

"Stay there," he pleaded.

He was torn. He wanted to move closer, to put himself between her and those that did not deserve to die. He always wanted to do as she said and get away from the house. Her appearance shocked him. He didn't know what she had been through, but it had not been kind to her.

Erland turned sharply, shoving his door aside. For a while he had been angry. He had started to tell himself that she had made such promises just to get the best out of him. Then he had started the slow slide towards accepting his fate again.

He might have imagined that having his axe and shield in hand would make him whole again. But they were just wood and metal.

Still, they felt good.

Erland left his small room with his best boots on, shield across his back and axe in hand to see what she hand done in those seconds.
 
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Everleigh didn’t mind that the woman screamed as she went for the man whore. Her quick eyes caught the moment the bovine man blinked blurry blues towards before turning to the horse-faced teflon beside him. It all moved in slow motion, herself and the whore whose face reminded her of a cow. She was also reminded how killing was easy, how natural it felt, how right it was.

There was the flash of thrill before boredom overcame her. Analyze and assessment was what was needed— watching the movement, assumption of the future movement, looking towards familiar cues, remembering all the fights before.

Killing was easy, she hardly noticed how warm others were. Sometimes it felt like she was the only girl in the world, surrounded by fragile sculptures of shapes and things but lacking in a knowing way, in a pitying way. Sometimes it felt like she was doing them a mercy. Like killing a lame horse or butchering a cow.

The screaming stopped as Everleigh heard his feet pounding down the hall. She wiped her wet hand against the stair railing. The first step downward was dizzying, an explosion of pain in her side, sweeping from her breast and rib, maybe two ribs with how close Everleigh was to retching. She caught herself before she could stumble forward and inevitable fall down the stairs.

She focused on her breathing, on her heart beat, began counting backwards from a hundred, realizing it was doing nothing and instead began to count playing cards. It distracted her little better than thinking of numbers. Everleigh held fast to the railing, stomping down the wooden steps. She gritted her teeth together in dull agony, thinking now of chess and the combinations.

You’re gonna have to get ready to kill people.” She spat, storming over to Erland as if it was his fault that she split blood. She reached up, grabbing a fistful of Erland’s tunic to lean down towards her. “And you better be ready to run.” Violet eyes, normally playful, were full of cold caution. “I have a little clue on how to begin erasing the rune but we’ll have to lose them if you want to try it.” As if Erland needed more convicting, more reason to run. Her opened her hand, looking at the red stain she left on the tunic.

She touched the blade of the axe with her bleeding hand.

Erland Karr
 
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"Fokk," Erland said. The word did not need translating, it had come form his people in the first place.

He looked down at her bleeding hand. When he had pictured this moment, Erland had foreseen a simple escape in the night. A knock on the wall and Everleigh using her rank to march them out of the city.

She looked like she was close to death.

"I will fight," he said simply.

It might have been buried but that core of rage was there at his centre. Erland had adapted to survive, but he would never forget being chased down, bound physically, bound magically and discarded.

He strode with purpose to the door, his gaze on the way forward and not the blood around them. During their raids of the southern shores, he had done far worse.

"Who is coming?"
 
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You will kill,Everleigh corrected, as cold and faceless as the proctors in her head. She said it nicer than they had said to her. With a wheezing breath, she moved to the back of the brothel, deciding to sneak away through the gardens and then into the sinuous alleys beyond until reaching their first major hurdle: a gate. Vel Luin had many gates, with many guards standing at attention. They were ready with their rondel daggers and misericordes, even if they had armor that was nowhere near the heavy fashion of knights.

Everleigh spat a glob of blood soaked spit, realizing then that turning her head too far to the left was painful. There was a momentary flash of yearning to stop and sit and sleep, but neither of those were an option now. She had made the decision to forgo those simple pleasures when she attacked Salak and broke his cane to then throw down the stairs.

She shoved open the back door, momentarily greeted by the scent of wet dirt and new green leaves. She hadn’t come up with a good answer for Erland’s only question, and it was only a struggle because it was a warrior’s question. He didn’t ask about what she knew like some hopeful youth, he didn’t ask about the plan like a neurotic citizen.

Everyone will be after us.” Everleigh said finally, deciding to tell him what she had told Miklan. “It’s going to be only you and me. And sometimes, you might not even be able to trust me. Sometimes you shouldn’t. But you’ll have to if we’re to make it to a portal stone alive.” She couldn’t crouch, folding her body onto itself was a recipe for pain. She bent her knees, moving through the trimmed hedges and spotting empty verandas. Good. She had no more poison left, no more magic.

It was time to sink to the level of her training.

Erland Karr
 
"I do trust you Everleigh," he said firmly. "Not that Erland has a choice now."

Without his raiding band, in enemy lands he did not know, he had small hope on his own.

The outside air caused a chill to ripple across his exposed skin. Another sign that he had been here too long. He watcher Evie closely. He'd seen large nord raiders fight through deep wounds, only to drop dead when the fighting was done.

He opened his mouth to quietly ask questions. He had several. Would Dreadlords come after them? How had she been wounded? How far was the stone?

He fell silent as he heard people running. Heavy boots. Armour.

Erland slowed, grunting softly at Everleigh. Better to be slow and quiet and be the ones on the attack. He let his axe hang at his side. Muscle memory had been embedded from a young age. His stamina would be poor, but his body would remember how to swing to kill.
 
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The shouting of civilians didn’t quicken her pace, nor did the discordant staccato thunder of boots and metal armor. Only a fool would run aimlessly and let their anxiety take over. Fighting wasn’t an option, but neither was running more than they needed to. At least, that’s what Everleigh had to remind herself as her heartbeat quickened, hairs on the back of her neck and arms raised in alarm.

The hedges provided good cover, although Everleigh found herself wishing that they were a foot higher. But what would a brothel need a maze for? She continued trudging on, quiet concentration washing over her face. She saw them then, an unexpected gift from Lady Luck that might give them the edge they needed. The yellow pendulous flowers hanging from a leafy bush that looked more like a stunted tree could have had Everleigh cheer if she were stupid enough to make noise.

Everleigh looked back at Erland, momentarily pausing to point at the golden blooms.

Angel’s Trumpet, don’t touch them,” she whispered, not needing an answer to why on Arethil a brothel would have the plant in a secluded corner of their garden. She made her way to it, wondering if without her magic if she’d still be immune to its effects. She wasn’t sure and wished it had been tested at the Academy. There was no time to lament it as she took hold of many flowers, rubbing it all over one of her knives, making sure to incorporate as much pollen as she could.

She left nothing untouched by the flowers, soon mangled and stained. When they were no longer useful, she hide them underneath a stone bench near a white bird bath that hadn’t been filled with water in a long time. She heard the door open, the heavy boots coming out into the garden, the clang of armor and whisper of chainmail.

Now Everleigh was quick, deciding with this knife, she’d lead the guards astray, to look elsewhere, maybe to spend more time in the garden. She wiped her bleeding hand on the bird bath, dropped the knife as if she had ran left, and took Erland to the right.

When they came to the end of the fence, she turned to look at his expectantly.

Throw me over.” She wasn’t in any condition to climb.

Erland Karr
 
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Erland would have questioned what she was doing, but it sounded as if the guards would be on top of them at any moment. He spoke slowly, but he was also unhurried of thought. He knew he would have the chance to ask before he could work it out on his own.

What would the guards possibly think? She had been in a fight and had been wounded. Then they had tracked her to a known brothel, finding more victims before chasing her through the gardens.

Throw me over.” She wasn’t in any condition to climb.

"Foot," he said, dropping to one knee and clasping his hands together.

She was light. As Erland straightened up he launched her over the fence. If she wasn't ready for climbing, she might not land well either.

Erland turned and looked over his shoulder. Having spent so much of his time in this place, he knew even the specific sound of the hinges of the door to the gardens.

He placed one hand on the fence, braced one foot against it and scaled it in one smooth motion. Erland was not in fighting shape, but he had scaled rocks at heights where the air was so thin it could barely sustain life.

He landed and placed one finger over his lips. Erland offered her a hand as he moved to slip into Dreddle Street. If she hadn't arrived bloodied and battered they could have walked for half of this escape.
 
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Over the fence she went, barely managing to keep herself from falling down. She landed with a thud and a whimper. Her ankles and wrists hurt, shaking from the impact. All grace had been taken from her, now all she had was grit. By the time it took her to begin getting up from all fours, Erland had already scaled the wall, quietly shushing her.

She ground her molars into one another. She knew she shouldn’t make noise, even a heavy breath could be enough to do them in as the skulked about. Slowly, she rose. Tentatively, she took a step. She was glad that she hadn’t sprained an ankle after her precarious landing. She hoped Erland didn’t think her to be some amateur, and yet at the same time, the thought of him pitying her while she was immense pain also enraged her. She had never thought herself to be fickle until her friendship with the Nordenfiir.

It was because of her bruised pride that she didn’t cling to him, even if doing so would have granted her some reprieve in holding up her own weight.

We follow the back roads,” she whispered, “towards the residential area.” It meant going the long way around Vel Luin, in reaching one of the main entrances and exits towards the northern wall. “I’ll have to change.” Another pause. “We’ll have to find coin.” She had given all she had to Strietz and his cat-woman lover, to carry Miklan long the sea to Alliria. “When we get to the main road, we’ll cross ways with a horse merchant who should arrive here by noon tomorrow.Everleigh looked up to the sky, the color beginning to turn and match the shade of dusk in her eyes.

The plan was simple, but there were gaps— and worst of all, the reliance on a factor that neither of them could control. The horse merchant could arrive tonight, or worse, he had already arrived. Everleigh hadn’t heard of news of the titled merchant who boasted about his connections with House Luana. She also wasn’t sure if these were the elite horses from the family, but she hoped they were. Even if they would only have a few hours head start, if they had horses used for the Anirian Calvary then their chances of getting away would be high.

They passed a fence, a dog barked at them, jumping up to view them and then snarl viciously. She turned her head, the front door opening, an older woman scolding the dog with a nasally cry of “shut up!” Everleigh pulled her hood tighter over her head. She didn’t need to worry about the future, she needed to worry about now.

Erland Karr
 
I’ll have to change.

That was a problem.

We’ll have to find coin.

That would have been an even bigger problem.

When we get to the main road, we’ll cross ways with a horse merchant who should arrive here by noon tomorrow.

A dog barked and his hand went to the handle of his axe. It wasn't a hunting dog that had been unleashed by the guards, but a common mutt. He'd seen these houses a hundred times from the front, but never picked along the old cobbled path that had been half-reclaimed by nature.

"Does the merchant need to be paid?" Erland asked. His hand went to the pouch at his belt.

He had a small amount of coin on him. It could buy a reasonable amount of food, or lodgings for several nights but it was not going to pay for a horse. Horses were expensive.

Erland tried to mentally place where they were. If they needed clothes they needed a house without any occupants. One with hedges that obscured the view would do, he decided. At least it reduced the odds of being seen.

He pushed the gate open and walked towards the back door of the house. Erland leaned against the shutters and listened for movement inside. There was nothing.

People did not own many clothes. They might own a pair of shifts that needed to be washed, but clothes over the top would be repaired for as long as possible. As he pushed open the back door he realised they could be risking discovery for nothing.

Suddenly his raiding days did not feel like they were so long ago.
 
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She had no more magic left. The arcane fatigue was already settling in, mixing with her injuries from earlier and quickly spreading through every tight sinew of muscle she had. It was only adrenaline that kept her going. Even her Dreadlord training wasn't enough to keep her moving. The same words kept roving around and around in her head.

Escape was her only option, and failure was not.

"If I had planned better," Everleigh admitted bitterly, spitting out the words as if they left a bad taste in her mouth. "I could put him to sleep. We either get some coin to fool him or make the dumbest move we possibly can right now and stop by the alchemy shop for an elixir to replenish my magic." She knew she didn't have to explain why that wouldn't bode well for them.

She waited by the gate, a hand clutching the clasp of her cloak firmly right under her sharp jaw.

"I'll keep an eye out." That was all she had time to say. She wouldn't stumble after Erland or make more of a mess than she needed to. She leaned against the wood, never truly dry from the wind that carried the waves from the port into the city. A dull violet glance to the right, another to the left.

The seastorm gloom continued to spread, and the sun began to set. Like an animal, Everleigh was already emboldened by the oncoming twilight sky. She hoped Erland would be quick and that he would have luck on his side. This was usually the time when the dock workers would begin to make their way back home. Loading up a ship and setting sail at night was rarely done.

And maybe with the Guard after a rogue Dreadlord, the docks would have sent workers home earlier than usual.

Erland Karr
 
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When they had raided small settlements there had not been any sulking about in the shadows. They might have been quiet and approached during the night, but then it had been a loud and chaotic affair. Blood and screams and fear. If they had wanted to keep their belongings then they should have protected them better.

The door sounded loud, even with guards shouting in the distance. Whatever she had done, she had stirred the nest.

He moved quickly and quietly. As soon as he established that there was no one in the house he gave up on quiet. He took a bag and threw a kitchen knife, wooden bowls and spoons into it.

Erland rushed back out the back.

"Sorry," he hissed.

His quick search had only turned up a heavy hooded black coat with a hood and a set of grey mens hosen.

"The only spare clothes he owned. I will convince the merchant to part with the horses," Erland said firmly.
 
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A sidelong glance akin to a snort of disbelief toward Erland made Everleigh feel a little guilty. He meant to do good, to be a part of his escape. She told herself it was just the pain talking, knowing they didn't even have the time for an apology. She inspected the cloak and could appreciate that it was not sullied by grime and gristle, blood and bone. The men's hosen would be loose but clean.

"I need to change,"
she wheezed. Looking around them, she heard unhurried but heavy footsteps behind them. There weren't many good places to change, with the arrival of so many soon to come. People could linger and pay attention to things they didn't usually see. "We'll go to where they dump their shit." Everleigh decided. She held the articles of clothing close to her chest, bowed her head, and began jogging to the other side of the homes.

The shit pit, as many locals called it, was the slums of Vel Luin. They would dump their waste there and let it slowly filter into the ocean instead of their clean water. Everleigh would match the inhabitants with sores on their skin and matted hair, and besides, who would listen to a person who was poor as could be? She knew it must be sickening for Erland, but she was certain he could handle it. She turned a corner but quickly stepped back into Erland, who followed after her. A wagon pulled by horses was coming down the lane. Those who could afford it paid someone to carry their excrement away.

Everleigh knew what the worst job of all of Vel Anir was: a dungman, a play on words with the far better title of dustman.

Erland Karr
 
Now he knew why he felt so lightheaded when the wind came from the south. The stench seemed to claw it's way up his nose and then down his throat.

Why were they so frail down in the south, yet they could stand something like this on the edge of their cities?

He dry-wretched and stopped.

Everleigh then stepped back into his chest. He placed an arm on her shoulder in case she was falling, but she was simply moving away from a cart. It passed and Erland had to bundle up a sleeve and press it to his nose.

"Fuck."

"Go. Go change fast. I wait here."
 
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Everleigh pulled off her cloak, bundled it up and then threw it onto the back of the cart; barely missing her mark but luckily her cloak was heavy with sweat and blood. The Guards could dig through shit to find it.

She didn’t have time to feel bad for Erland, she didn’t even have the time to feel bad for herself. Instead, she scurried away like a field mouse that didn’t even rustle the grass around it. Everleigh wasn’t as quiet or nimble as she usually was, but she was not careless. There was time take to decide whether she would go here or there, and when she found a spot that gave covered her from three sides, she took it.

It was painful to change, somehow these movements that should have been more simple than all the rest, ended up hurting the most— reminding her that she was in bad shape, perhaps even worse than she originally presumed. When she had kicked off her boots and begun pulling her breeches off her legs, she wasn’t shocked to see the ugly mosaic of purple, brown, green and yellow bruises. She hardly looked human.

Someone came against Erland’s side, a hand fumbling along the bag which carried a knife and wooden bowls and spoons.

“Mm.” He opened his mouth to show he had no teeth, a heavy white film over his tongue. “Mine.”

Erland Karr
 
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He watched Everleigh go.

He had played through possible scenarios of escape over and over. For weeks it had been his obsession. A glimmer of hope had sparked a fire inside him. The idea of freedom enough to rekindle a little of his spirit.

In none of those scenarios had they ended up changing clothes in a shit pit.

That hope had started to fade. It had even begun to twist into resentment.

Whatever her plans had been, they had gone wrong. If the timing didn't tell that story, her wounds did. She was running herself down to her limits and she would need him in the coming days.


“Mm.” He opened his mouth to show he had no teeth, a heavy white film over his tongue. “Mine.”

Erland turned slowly, placing a hand over the bag.

"No," he said calmly. They didn't have time for this.
 
The man stopped pawing at the rucksack and instead reached for the clean beard of the Nord. His fingertips couldn't tickle the hair much less grab hold of it. His back was hunched from malnourishment and slouching to contain warmth during the cold nights. The dark circles that ringed his watery brown eyes and the sunken skin around his cheeks showed this man had little strength to stay standing for much longer.

"Get off him." Everleigh barked. The man slowly turned his head towards Everleigh and her unkind face. "You want something? Here, have at it." She threw the clothes she no longer wore at him, waiting for his expression. The man held them up to his face, breathing in the stench. When he looked back at Everleigh, his pupils had dilated.

It was good to see that her blood, even dried, remained poisonous. He continued to sniff at the clothes. Everleigh went to Erland, taking hold of his arm.

"I need...."
She couldn't say help, even if her nose wrinkled in agony with every step she took. "You have to support my weight." If they were to move quickly, she could only keep up if Erland carried along at his loping pace.

Erland Karr
 
Erland recoiled from the disgusting creature. His people might have lived harsh lives in the eastern islands, but the lowest of the low suffered far worse in the gutters of these cities. Perfumed and sheltered, he kept away from the worst of it. And not just because of his sense of smell.

"I need...." She couldn't say help, even if her nose wrinkled in agony with every step she took. "You have to support my weight."

It didn't even occur to Erland that Everleigh had deliberately poisoned the beggar. He got on with the task at hand.

Erland dipped his shoulders, sliding an arm under her shoulders. She would barely have to move her good leg to keep pace with him.

They took paths that wound behind houses and avoided the main roads. She led them to an abandoned guard house on the wall. It looked as if it had collapsed. As Erland pulled some wooden boards aside, he found it still had a set of stairs leading to the ruined lookout.

"Noon tomorrow, horses," Erland said. "We will need sleep and a hiding place off the road."