Private Tales Tight Knots and Burning Flames

[Ianthir]

A VILLAGE NEAR VEL ANIR
Ralene

---

Ianthir knew it had been a bad idea the moment they looked at him.

It was not disinterest, neither fear, nor worry. No, there was hatred there. Inhumane hatred which had nothing to do with what Ianthir did. They couldn't have known he roamed the forests around Vel Anir and fed from the animals after all. A mistake, yes, and this was confirmed when the crowd rushed him. A tidal wave of organic meat rushing over him, catching him in thick ropes and chains.

The iron burned his skin but the humans were heedless of this.

His pained screams only made them more happy as they led him down to a pole at the center square. Detached Ianthir noted the pole seemed to have gotten quite a lot of use.

The wooden surface was pock marked by gashes you only could get from panicked nail scratching.

"What have I done?!" He tried to scream, but halfway through someone had the idea to gag him. Foul stench and oil forced itself into his nostrils and down his throat. He overheard them grinning how well this elf would burn. So that was it. Ianthir would be burned at the stake (or pole) for being half of something he did not even identify with.

His eyes closed as they pinned them against the stake.

He went dead inside. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but in this state Ian discovered he felt no pain, no sorrow, nothing.

It would be better than feeling every fiber of the flames licking at his skin.

 

[Samantha Black]

Of all the missions to be assigned within her first month as a Knight, patrol was certainly not among the desired. Usually left for those of lesser standing, Ralene furrowed any resentment felt into her obligation of duty. Post Revolution, the roads around, through, and along Vel Anir had taken some curious turns of late. Not necessarily for the worse - there were more travelers now that tensions were slowly descending between nations. But more travelers of varying origins often meant more disputes.

Petty disputes, but disputes nevertheless.

This might've been grunt work and offensive for a Dreadlord, but Ralene reminded herself as she and her mare climbed the hill toward the next village that she was out here fulfilling a purpose...

...and no longer at the Academy.

As they crested the hill, rider atop mount, the breeze brought with it the scent of oil and the noise of a crowd. Curious. A festival, perhaps? A market? An opportunity to walk among the people of her nation and patronize their businesses wasn't such a bad thing. These small hamlets were so rarely graced by the presence of Dreadlords, it would be a good way to impart upon them something positive about her and her ilk.

So with a cluck to her mare, she pressed forward at a steady trot, following the dirt road along the hillsides and toward the shapes of the village ahead.

 

[Ianthir]

They were chanting something.

Speaking in tongues that Ianthir could not understand.

It was an offering to the local spirits and gods. This specific hamlet believed that a ritual burning of elven blood would keep their crops healthy and standing for dozens of days to come. As one might expect this meant they went through elves rather quickly.

If Ianthir had more experience he might have heard of the rumors. That elvenkind disappeared here. But he had run from his birthplace without talking to anyone.

How could he have known?

They lit the fires and Ian wished to scream. But even this was denied to him as he struggled against the ropes. Some of them snapped against his strength, until the iron bit into his skin once more. They sapped his strength and now Ian felt even weaker.

His boots were already melting.

His skin getting crispier.

Ralene

 

[Samantha Black]

By the time she arrived within the village, a crowd filled the square surrounding a central pole. From her vantage atop her horse, she could not directly see the man tied there but the whole energy about the place felt wrong. She dismounted as the chanting began and Ral turned to look left to watch a villager stepping forward, shouting something indiscernible, holding up a torch - and that was when everything clicked.

This was no festival or market. Not even a town hall around a crier or speaker. This was a ritual and something ... or someone was about to burn at the stake.

"What's going on here?" she demanded of the woman nearest her.

"We've caught another! Filthy knife ear in the woods poaching our deer."

"What?" Ralene blinked, slow fury rising in her eyes, "You're burning an elf?"

"The Gods will be pleased and thank us with good harvest!"

She pushed forward through the crowd, at first keeping her own strength in check so as not to hurt anyone, but when it became clear no one was listening to her calls to clear a path or step aside, that their rapture was fully focused on the flames growing at the center, Ral stopped caring. She gave a great shove and toppled the mass of people before her to cries of surprise. With a determined frown her boots stepped over and through them. Nearing the structure at the center and the holocaust scene before her, the Dreadlord's lips parted to utter her own ancient words.

But her words actually effected change - a shimmer of red light pooled over her figure and sizzled as she stepped forward directly into the flames. Rough, gauntleted hands reached for the elf's bindings and snapped them as easily as wheat stalks. The crowd around her began to panic and rage at her interference, crying for the elf's demise. Ral pulled him from his fiery fate and slung him over her shoulder, then turned and marched straight through the pounding fists and grabbing hands to drop him into a nearby water trough.

One hand held the elf's scruff to keep his head above water, the other reached to pull her shortsword from the sheath at her hip. When a villager decided to jump on her in his anger, a sharp backward jab with an armored elbow sent him spilling to the ground. The tip of her blade moved to hover over his chest.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed the Dreadlord, "I am Dreadlord Black, Anirian Knight of the Western Army of Vel Anir and I will have order!"

 

[Ianthir]

Ralene

Blup, blup, blup.

From one moment he was burning and the next he was unceremoniously dropped into a trough of water. First Ianthir assumed they changed their mind. Not about his death, no, the kind of hatred in those eyes? Those might have wanted to prolong his suffering.

Except.

There was an argument now and then the bellow caused his ear drums to whine in annoyance.

He glanced up towards the person holding him by his scruff. Then to the crowd that seemed entirely uncertain what to do next.

"I believe they are wondering how many of them will perish if they rush you." His silky smooth would cut through the resulting silence. Though it might be more accurate to say that it would have cut through the silence if not for the gag still in his mouth.

Instead it came out as something like: Ilvieveee, thesdfawonrrrdr hw- You get the gist. He paused halfway through that attempt and sighed.

This was a long day.

One of the townsmen, the blacksmith by the sight of a hammer hanging off his belt, stepped forward.

"Dreadlord ye might be, but where were ye when our deer started disappearing, ha?" This got some thumping chest noises and general sense of agreement. "This cretin don't belong here! Who else could have been poaching our forests?"

But just as it seemed it would embolden the crowd to continue his eyes squinted at the sword hovering over his son's chest.

"Take him. But unless ye hang around here every day, you won't be here for the next one or the one after that."

And then he stepped aside. After some grumbling... a rough and shoddy path was formed, cleaving the aggravated crowd in half.

 

[Samantha Black]

"I intend to stay," Ralene replied flatly, "and see that this never happens again."

She had authority now as a Dreadlord to do so, but not the freedom of schedule. An Anirian Knight couldn't be pidgeon-holed into watching over a town and ensuring they followed the new edicts of the Republic, but she could stay long enough to send a missive for a Marshall and wait for them to arrive.

Level gaze following the smith as he departed, it slowly fell down to the boy on the ground, "What's your name?"

"G-grant," he answered, eyes wide with terror. It was entirely plausible he'd never seen a real sword in his life, let alone had one pointed at his chest by a Dreadlord.

"Does this village not have a sherrif of some kind?"

"No, Ma'am ... Sir ... m'lady?" how did one address a woman Dreadlord anyway?

Ral furrowed her brow, "An inn?"

Grant frowned deeper and quickly shook his head, "We don't see many travelers."

"I will need a place to stay while I attend to your town, find one for me. The host will be fairly compensated," her sword lifted from his chest and returned to its sheath.

"Yessir ... ma'am, right away," and off he scrambled with the tenacity of someone who'd just watched their very short life play before their eyes.

She turned her attention back to the elf and stooped to grip him beneath the arms and lift him free from the trough, "Let's have a look at you," the gag was the first thing to go, "I'll tend to your wounds but first, tell me your name and exactly what happened."

 

[Ianthir]

Right after Ralene took out the gag the 'elf' gagged even more, turning his head quickly to the side and retched up a thick string of oil and other garbage.

The iron on her armor didn't hurt.

Nothing hurt right now.

But it also meant he wasn't experiencing joy from being rescued or anything else. His movements went by cold action points. Unobstruct his airpipe, dryheave, hang against the trough as he tried to get his chit together again.

Then finally.

He sighed and pale rosé eyes looked up at his savior.

"I was named Ianthir, after the first avatar of the crossroads." His voice harsh and strained from the dry-heaving and the coughing and the oil. "I came upon this hamlet after leaving my ancestral home for the first time in my life." Ianthir twisted his head, trying to unknot the firmness in his neck.

As the iron chains were removed from him by Ralene he straightened out to his full height and glanced down curiously to the remaining binding, which the woman didn't seem to want to remove yet.

"I thank you, brave warrior." His voice was seeping back to warmth and consideration. While his eyes remained cool and airy. "My days were numbered. I was told the days of elvish burning was over, but it seems I was told a lie indeed."

A sigh there, stretching again, because every part of his body was strained.

"How can one such as I repay you?" Batting his eyes gently at her.

 

[Samantha Black]

Right proper speaker, wasn't he? She'd not met too many elves, but those she had refused to speak common or implied they could speak very little of it. His words could have fooled the best of Vel Anirian nobility if it weren't for those pointy ears.

She relieved him of his bindings while he spoke, save but one set of irons clapped around his wrists, and noted as she did so the state of his skin where the iron had touched him. From the heat, maybe.

I thank you, brave warrior. My days were numbered. I was told the days of elvish burning was over, but it seems I was told a lie indeed.

"It's a work in progress..." Ralene replied shortly. Outlawed by the Republic did not necessarily mean those beyond their immediate reach would follow suit. That's where Marshalls came in, though by the looks of it a Marshall and a small contingent of soldiers to uphold his word might be needed. These people were craven.

Those batting eyes weren't missed, but her stony expression shifted not for his gentle placations.

"You've not told me why you were taken by these people to begin with."

 

[Ianthir]

A soft smile there, playful, and shrugging again.

"Would it be difficult to believe they told me no reasons nor rationale?" It was not strictly a lie. They hadn't told him anything. He also was deeply skeptical about their claim it was about the deer disappearances. Something told him they would have grabbed him regardless of the state of their cattle.

"They grabbed me the moment I set foot in the hamlet and gagged me shortly after. All they could speak of was their excitement for finding another 'knife-ear' in their borders." Which sounded like it was getting more difficult for them to find more.

Perhaps that was the outlawing by the Republic at work here.

"I overheard them spinning a tale of me being a poacher." Brows furrowed lightly and oh so graceful. "Do I look like a poacher to you, brave hero of mine?"

And his hands rose up slowly.

He was clad in expensive fabric, perfectly accentuating and soft in make.

"I aimed to dine here truth to be told, but clearly that was a mistake."

 

[Samantha Black]

Did he look like a poacher?

Judging by the clothing, the grooming (regardless of his singed and soaked state), and the lack of proof she had to disagree. But...

"People never look like most things," she digressed. Aside from heresay of missing deer, neither side had presented any hard evidence. And, frankly, hunting deer in open woods was hardly a damning sentence. Her hands lifted to clamp around the irons at his wrists and she peeled them apart for lack of a key but an excess of strength.

"Come with me, I'll fix you up as best I can, and call me Black. I'm not a hero, I'm just a Dreadlord."

 

[Ianthir]

A melodic chuckle slipped out of him.

"Perhaps not, but perhaps your occupation simply does not allow you to be very trusting." Teasing there softly as he glanced around. "You may have temporarily stopped this. But I suspect that the moment you look away, they will try to come for me again."

There were still those on the edges of the square. They pretended they were doing menial work, but he felt their attention on his skin.

It was unpleasant.

"Thank you." Looking back at her and nodding, following along to whichever house would be designated for her by the blacksmith's son. The boy seemed incredibly uncomfortable now. Sneaking looks at him at every opportunity as he guided them past the streets.

"A Dreadlord? This sounds ill-fitting." Ianthir smiled at her. "You do not seem dreadful whatsoever, Dreadlord Black."

Had anyone ever called her THAT? But Ianthir didn't know any better.

All these human customs were strange to him.

"What brought you to these parts anyway? This does not seem like the place for someone fierce and powerful like you." Lithe tone, gentle and pleasing to the the ear.

Could anything be trusted when spoken from such a silk tongue?

 

[Samantha Black]

He wasn't the only one that suspected such things, which was why it was important to get him healed and escort him far away from here so he could be on his merry, safe way. Wherever it was that took him.

"Appreciate the sentiment," Ral replied as she strode over to her horse and collected the reins loosely at hand to continue following Grant, "but you know fuck-all about me."

Such was the way of things for her and he wasn't the first person she'd made that statement to. Nor, Ral believed with every fiber of her being, would he be close to the last. "I happened to be passing through," the Dreadlord glanced his way, "got here just in time for your party."

Grant finally came to a stop and gestured meekly toward a small house.

"Who lives here?" Ral asked of the boy.

"Miss Olan," he replied, "she's the village weaver."

Weaver. Ralene eyed the home with a keen gaze. Definitely not a career path she'd ever thought of. "It'll do. Here," she put a few silver coins in the boy's hand, "for your help."

Grant's eyes grew big but he didn't stick around long enough for a thank you. Ral snorted lightly at his hasty retreat, no doubt to bring word to his father.

Miss Olan appeared at the front door, an older woman with a dour look about her, "Is that-" she stopped short and wiped at her mouth, "he staying too?"

"Until he's well enough to travel again," Ral replied as she stepped to her horse's side to filter through her saddlebags, "that going to be a problem?"

"It'll cost ya extra," said Olan, "I don't make enough to feed three mouths."

 

[Ianthir]

He eyed the boy as he ran off and then finally the weaver.

"I do not expect to stay here long enough for your, I am sure, delicious dinner making." Said sotto voice and so gently it was as if the weaver hadn't been in the crowd and cheering on his death just a few minutes ago. It was odd how Ianthir had no angry bone in his body nor fury in his eyes.

Just cold observation as he witnessed the world in front of him.

"Something to drink will do while my wounds, such as they are, are patched." Absently Ianthir glanced down the line of Olan's neck, but it was so brief it could have been just a harmless look.

Only then returning his attention to Ralene.

"Unless you require my continued presence for a longer duration? I do not wish to be rude, of course."

 

[Samantha Black]

"I do not," she replied as she looped her horse's reins through the hitching post out front. Slinging a saddlebag pack over her shoulder she motioned for them both to go inside and followed after. No neck-oogling gazes were noticed.

She bid the old woman bring her water and alcohol then strode into the first empty room after Ianthir. The furniture in here was small ... sized about right for a young child. All scents and evidence no longer remained. The home seemed overly quiet and empty.

"Drink this," Ral passed the elf a bottle containing blue liquid, "it's a healing potion. Won't fix everything but it will fix enough. The rest I'll tend to myself."

 

[Ianthir]

His wounds would start knitting themselves together in the next hour.

As such it was a good thing she was giving him the potion.

Less suspicion.

Ianthir accepted the bottle, his graceful fingers brushing her hand as he accepted, smiling at her with a thankful nod. "What would I do without you?" Then the smile turned slightly more ironic. "Burn at a stake, I suppose, so we know this already."

Sitting down he curiously looked around the place.

He sniffed.

It was almost clinical in its clearness.

"I suppose life in this town is difficult even for those with houses." What else could have happened to a small child by the looks of the room? The chairs were a bit too small, but the bed worked fine enough as Ianthir sat himself down. Oh, so, elegant. Every move he made was art. "You seem to be close to my age, I suspect but might be wrong, of course."

Once again the curious look aimed at her.

"Yet, you seem very formidable. Are humans around these parts always like you? Or is it this 'Dreadlord' thing you spoke of."

 

[Samantha Black]

"What would I do without you?"

He got a brow raise out of that one and, thankfully answered his own question. Indeed, he'd be quite overdone by now and she could only imagine what the people here would have done with his ashes. Ralene busied herself pulling medical supplies out of her pack and setting it out neatly on a nearby corner table. Wasn't paying him much attention as he continued talking, her thoughts briefly lingering on Henk and his ability to hold a conversation with himself in the silence of a companion.

Why was it always the talkative ones?

At his remark about her age she had to look at him, half indignant and half curious. What did age have to do with anything? Then she blinked.

"You ... don't know what a Dreadlord is?" Ralene liked to think she had a fairly open mind about the world and it wasn't beyond her belief that there were whole populations of people who had never heard of Dreadlords before, especially way the fuck out here at the ass-end of nowhere. But an elf? This close to the Falwood? Not have a clue? He had to be lying.

"How? How does an elf from the Falwood not know?"

 

[Ianthir]

Head tilt there at her reaction.

It was clear that his questioning had caused a bit of a stir with her. Apparently these Dreadlords were famous for one reason or another. Of course, if he had been part of the civil society of Fal'Addas he would have known it all and then some.

But nobody had been interested in helping a mutant halfblood grow up.

The orphanage, as it were, had been a bad place to become an adult in. "Presumably because elvenkind did not particularly look fondly on me either." Bemused there as he rubbed his wrist. The iron had left its mark there, but that could have been just a simple burn.

Probably.

"I grew up in an orphanage and was not allowed to leave my room for most of my youth."

A little shrug there.

"I did so anyway, of course, such is the ambition of youth. I spend my days in the library." Explaining perhaps why he spoke so... formally. If books of study was his primary reference to communication. "Sadly said books were rather uncaring about these Dreadlords."

 

[Samantha Black]

None of his story made a lick of sense to her. Elves uncaring of their own kind? A library with books that didn't even hint at Dreadlords as a part of elven history? Vel Anir's history books were full of elves. Dead elves, mostly, but elves nevertheless. There was no way that even the most disgraced orphan of Vel Anir grew up not knowing of it.

The Dreadlord furrowed her brow. Usually when elves lied it was to save their own skins and she could only assume that whatever reason he may have to lie to her, here and now, was to cover up some very sordid past indeed. Her instincts told her not to trust him. Her gut told her not to trust him. But something in her mind wouldn't let her make assumptions so easily.

Assumptions lead her to a place where Zael and Sable couldn't find a kind word to say about her. Where everyone who knew nothing about Edric assumed the worst of his defection. Where people believed Elias Sirl was an idiot and a lost cause.

"It's not my job to educate you on the history of your people. All you need to know is that for as long as anyone can remember, Vel Anir and the elves of the Falwood have been at war. They've spent centuries doing horrible things to one another and the Dreadlords of Vel Anir were at the forefront of it. My predecessors wouldn't have thought twice about you burning at the stake. They may have even helped."

She turned back to him, a jar of healer's ointment in one hand and bandaging in the other, "But that's not how it's supposed to be anymore. There was a revolution in Vel Anir a little over a year ago and now we're trying our best for peace. A lot of people aren't so keen, that's why it's a work in progress." Ral dropped to a kneel before him and set the bandaging down to assess the burns on his legs.

"Once you're fit to travel, I'll take you away from here and make sure you get onto a safer road."

 

[Ianthir]

Ralene

"Sounds positively... dreadful." He remarked finally and it was clear that Ianthir was positively satisfied with his own little pun. In truth this war between the elves and the humans was boring to him. Certainly, everyone seemed to want to lump him in with the elves.

"Your people" indeed.

But Ianthir knew better. "His people" had been disinterested in claiming him as theirs all the same. So what did he care if they were stringing up elves left and right?

At most he wanted to avoid being the one burned at the stake again.

"You are very kind." He added brightly at her insistence to get him on a safer road. "I hardly know where to go in these trying times. I was planning on visiting Vel Anir proper, but the way you are making it sound... it might be too risky for one such as I."

Sure, revolution and all, but this backwards hamlet showed even a revolution couldn't just change the hearts and minds of people set in their ways for decades.

"Do you have advice for me where I could go? I wish to see the world... but I also wish to not be burned on another stake, since I imagine I won't have another darling hero such as yourself to save me all over again."

 

[Samantha Black]

"Ahem," Miss Olan stood in the doorway holding a bottle of spirits and a pale of water looking positively scandalized.

Ral, with a glance over her shoulder at the woman, ignored the attitude and tapped the floor, "Right here."

And there Olan put them, ensuring to keep her gaze averted from the living, breathing offense in her house, before making a sharp retreat back into her home.

The Dreadlord set to work cleaning the burns and administering ointment with a firm and experienced hand that couldn't be called gentle.

"West," she replied at length once giving his conundrum a thorough think, "to the Empire or Cortos. Elbion in the north. Or much farther east, to Alliria. Dornoch and Oban are on the way. Any of those places would be better for you than here. The only reason a non-human should go to Vel Anir is for pain of death."

"It's not ready to share the world yet."

 

[Ianthir]

Ralene

"I see." He murmured there as he let those names wash over him. Some were familiar enough. Elbion had the greatest academy of magical learning. The only reason Ianthir hadn't gone there to begin with was because Vel Anir was closer and he assumed it would be possible to find some assistance with his problems here.

This did not seem to be the case.

Ianthir, in his current state, was unconcerned about pain. Since he felt none. But death was a different matter altogether.

"You mentioned to these..." His lips curled into distaste. "...people you are staying here to ensure what occurred here will not happen again. Will your Dreadlords keep a permanent placement here to protect any future elves finding their way here?"

It would very likely save any new ignorant elf coming this way, this was much true.

But it would also make it difficult for Ianthir to exact his revenge.

A pickle, to be sure.

 

[Samantha Black]

"Not quite," Ral admitted, "Dreadlords are too valuable to post in a little village like this. Its a waste of their power and strength. I'll send a missive to the Army of the North to post a Marshall and a small contingent of soldiers here for a while until things can be sorted."

She felt the weight of those words on her shoulders and how it shifted the way she lived now. No longer was she a student, beholden to the Academy that took care of the messes. Now Vel Anir's people were her responsibility as much as every other Dreadlord or soldier. Ral couldn't just walk away and expect someone else to do the thing.

Made for a slower lifestyle for certain, and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it just yet. Too new to her to tell.

"Once I've escorted you out, I'll return here and wait until the Marshall arrives." Didn't need to say that could take days ... or longer. Either way, she was about to become very familiar with this town and they very familiar with her.

 

[Ianthir]

"I do not suspect a Marshall and some soldiers will be able to quell the sort of hatred I experienced, Dreadlord Black." He eyed the concoction that the older woman had left with them. "What are the odds that she poisoned it before handing it over to you?"

A soft sigh there.

"Behold me. I have grown paranoid and it only took a single unfortunate encounter." That was one way to describe being almost burned alive.

"How many elves have had unfortunate encounters here before, do you reckon?" Switching tack there as Ianthir studied her curiously. "And will they receive justice? I suspect the Marshall will not be here to exact judgement for these practices they have wrought in the past and today."

Ianthir assumed not.

Humans protected humans. This much was becoming clear to him.

He wondered if he could take his own pound of flesh from these villagers. He wondered if he could avoid hurting this Lord of Dread. She seemed nice, saved him after all, but also seemed rather formidable in her own way.

It would be dangerous to encounter her in the field of battle.

 

[Samantha Black]

The Dreadlord quietly worked while the man spoke, content to let him dribble on his surface thoughts if it might help him focus on something other than his pain. She, of course, had no idea he felt none of it. She also did not believe the old woman would have poisoned anything - not with the presence of the Dreadlord here.

"A Marshal and a retinue of soldiers will be more than enough to handle the village," Ral remarked as she moved to wrap his burned legs with the bandaging, "but you're right, their presence won't undo centuries of hatred. It will take a firm leading hand to put these people on the path the Republic has set for them - that's what the Marshall is for. It's their job to pass judgement on the people here, not mine."

As for the death toll of innocent elves? Well, likely more than she could guess and more than she cared to comment.

"There," Ral tucked the tail end of the bandage in on itself and stood with a deep sigh, "what are these marks on your wrists ... they're not burns."

 

[Ianthir]

Slowly nodding there.

"So a Dreadlord does not pass judgement?" It was a genuine question. Because to him the role was still a bit unclear. The name quite literally said they were Lords, so that suggested a degree of power. Yet Ralene seemed mainly to be an enforcer of some kind.

Which was not Lordly material at all.

A hm? when she mentioned his marks.

Ianthir looked down saw the remains that had been left by the iron. "I am... not entirely sure? They itch a little bit." With the iron gone, the burning sensation was fading away and in a few hours his skin would be perfectly unmarred once more.

"Doesn't seem to be as bad as when I had ropes and shackles wrapped around me however. Perhaps some sort of rash?"

He was aware that iron had a strange effect on him, but it wasn't like Ianthir was often randomly cuffed with it. The blood desire was a different animal entirely, of course. He knew he was some sort of mutant. A monster that craved the life-tears of others.

That was the main reason he didn't point the link to iron.

If the human villagers wanted to lynch him just for being an elf. What would this woman do if she knew he craved blood? Exactly.

"Is there an ointment in your arsenal of alchemy to help with that?" Teasing her lightly.