The bonds of affection

[Sulajin]

((Just something I've been thinking of for a while. A series of short stories about what love or affection can do. Romance and all that. Hopefully a nice refresher from my usual Sulajin stuff.

If all goes well there should be one up per day.))

Taranis roared, and Skraajit fled.

This was how it worked. He had been warned. Oh yes. He had been warned by the others. No. That was a lie. They had never told him. They had lied! They had tried to play tricks! To slay! Skraajit had been clever. He had known! But it wasn’t enough. Taranis had found him. Skraajit had to get away.

“Go outside!” They said. “Time comes and it gets cool and dark! Yes! Soft light is all around! Taranis comes then! Taranis comes, and give light! Yes! You go! Go meet Taranis!”

Tanaris was angry! It was all falling down! There was too much! Taranis was going to get him! Skraajit had angered Taranis somehow and would die! Taranis through things at Skraajit and tried to drown him. Skraajit was fast. Skraajit needed to be clever.

Bright! Too bright for Skraajit! Run! Go! Escape! Something hit Skraajit! Poor nose… it hurts the nose. No no! Bad! Bad! Don’t hit poor Skraajit. He kicked the tall brown structure before him. It hurt.

Run Skraajit! Soon that will aid Taranis in his hunt! But it had been worth it, hadn’t it? Yes, yes… Skraajit found treasures he did. Skraajit found the most valuable of all. They tried to steal. All of them. Large creatures came down wrapped in rocks and tried to steal them from Skraajit. When they weren’t, the others were. Skraajit had to be on guard at all time.

But Belena would save him! Belena would welcome him. Belena would keep Taranis from drowning Skraajit or burning Skraajits eyes out with white spears! There it was just ahead! Belena opened wide to take him in and save Skraajit!

Quickly Skraajit scrambled through mud and loose rocks. The rain made his way treacherous, but in the end Skraajit found respite from the storm. But he was not safe. He had treasures to hide, and had to hide them fast. But it was wet! He had no way of saving himself when it was wet! Taranis had tried to drown him, and now Belena would swallow him up and Skraajit would be lost.

But there was something before him. It skittered and chittered. Light was creeping along the far end of the tunnel. What was he to do? It might throw him out! And then Skraajit would surely perish. He would have to fight it and then steel the light! Yes! That was it! He would hit it with a rock, steel its light and be safe from Belena!

Skraajit raised the rock over his head and hid behind a tree root. It would be there soon. It would come for him. Skraajit was ready. And then there it was. Skraajit did not swing. She was beautiful. Hair was white, and smooth. Her beard was neat and trim. Her eyes glinted in the light, and weren’t too big.

Skraajit stepped out from behind the rock, and proffered a treasure to her. “Help. Me no take candle.”

And in that night, there was peace in the embrace of Belena, though Taranis raged overhead.

[Fafnir]

((Took me a second to get it, but...bravo.))

[Sulajin]

((Kobold lovins!))

[Sulajin]

Vilmah dropped herself into the bed, not quite bothering to let her armor off more than to let her shield drop from a battered arm. They all thought that the shield meant she was safe. They all thought the armor kept her from harm. Ha! Had any of them tried to catch the mace of one of the Gronn with only your forearm and a thin sheet of metal? With every blow she caught she was certain her poor, over abused bones would give way and shatter.

There were hands on her head now, large, rough hands that lifted and pulled away the helmet and let a wash of cool air dance over her scalp. Nojinbu leant over her, gently kissing her scalp.

“Ya okay?”
“I think so…”
“Good, t’ings looked pretty rough out dere.”
“I’ll be fine… oh lamb, my eyes burn.”
“Jus’ rest a bit.”
“Allright.”

They were silent a while, as large Troll hands helped to peel the once bright armor from Vilmah’s body. She’d have to send it back to the blacksmith, again. Probably get another earful about overstressing the metal, and then get an inflated price. Maybe she’d ask one of the others to go help her out.

Finally, most of her green skin lay bare to the gentle breezes in the room, and Nojinbu lay her back down.

What was the point? Was she mad to lead this twisted, demented, group of hers? There were days when she would swear the only thing that kept her poor body from bursting at the seams was Diomade’s healing magic.

Nojinbu was next to the bed, taking his own leather armor off, and changing into his everyday clothes.

“Don’ worry, ya do well. None of us a’ died yet.”
“I know, but sometimes it all seems so pointless.”
“Sometimes it does, but we’ve ‘elped a lot o’ people.”
“Yeah…”

Diomades healed her. He was a good friend, and a dependable sort. Sometimes she thought that he was the single person who most embodied Sanctuary. Even when he wasn’t out to save the world, he went around and helped anyone who came to him. A detective service, he had called it with a smile. He was calm, gentle, and seemed to be wise beyond his years. The only thing to remind Vilmah how young he really was, was the way he mooned after Niethan.

“It’s just that sometimes it doesn’t feel like we’re getting anywhere, ya know?”
“Well we da a lot. Not all of it can shake de foundations of such a long standin’ hatred.”
“But maybe we should be doing more?”
“We da plenteh, we ‘unt down dose dat t’reaten de piece, and in our off hours we save de world. Isn’t dat enough?”
She chuckled slightly, then coughed a bit. Her ribs did not approve. “But we can’t just go around killing people who threaten the peace. If we did that, we’d be no better than the Grim. I want Sanctuary to unite people. I want it to be a place of respite from the conflict, not ‘Peace Through Annihilation’”

Sulajin and Niethan might. The mage was a dark, terrible figure that lurked in Sanctuary’s ranks. A hold-over from what he called “the old ways”. A shady practitioner of blood magic, and the terrifying old religion of the Darkspear. He was always on edge, always watching, afraid that the world in general would try to kill him. So he’d run and hid in the hellish Burning Steppes, in a concealed cavern underneath the Blackrock Spire. He killed people, innocent people, women and children without a second thought. Simply to keep them from killing him later.

Niethan was almost a beast. At least, he looked that way. A slew of deranged forces had captured him, and done something to his blood. It had warped his body, and now he was coated in a scales, and his limbs were long and clawed, like the raptors he rode. First sight of him was a terrible thing. But he was tender and sweet, a loving parent and a loyal friend. She had to be careful of what she said around him, or he’d soon be in tears. He was sweet, and tender, mostly wanting to cook for his friends.

“But dat’s why you left Death Before Dishonor. You stood in defiance to dat path, and started an alternative.”
“An alternative, but it doesn’t feel like one. It feels like the same thing.”
“But it ain’t.”
“It still feels that way. Like an apple, shiny and sweet on the outside, rotten and riddled with worms on the inside.”
“But i’s not an apple, an’ we aint worms.”
“Do other people see that?”
“Dey do. Sanctuary continues to grow, and people saw ya stand up to the Grim so long ago.”
“Who saw?”
“Ah did”

Nojinbu was there. He was always there. Watching from the sides. Fierce, brave, and loyal. After the day’s work was done he crept out, hunting down still more adversaries to slay. He followed them into their own towns, their own cities, and quietly made select individuals disappear. And then he always came back. No matter how much she worried, he was always there at the end of the day. He smelled of blood, sweat, and death. But beneath that was purity, purity that Vilmah liked to think of as his old innocence. Like wind driven snow. She knew how the conversation would end. For all the death Nojinbu dealt he was a doctor, and would try to get her to rest, to heal, so that she could feel better in the morning.

Nojinbu padded out, to do his nightly tasks, and Vilmah let sleep overtake her. They were, when all was said and done, almost like a family. She had to wrangle them to get anything done, but when they did manage to pull together they could accomplish great things. Sulajin might be a monstrous holdover who clinged lovingly to a heritage of hatred, fear, and violence, but he was also a dedicated father, and a loyal friend. Niethan might have his world shattered by minor slips of the tongue, and a misplaced world, but he always managed to rally and come back the next day with a smile on his face, and remember that Vilmah didn’t eat meat when he made breakfast. She’d lost count of the times she’d walked into the two arguing about whether or not spoons were cutlery. Diomades was about as stubborn a beast as you could find. He’d charge in to woo Niethan, screw it up somehow and be dejected and inconsolable for a week. But by the end of that time they’d make up and be friends again, as surely as Dio would start the process all over again in a month or two. Vilmah herself would wade into this mess, trying to make heads or tails of the situation, and get swept under by the tide of madness that pervaded them, and then Nojinbu would be there in the quiet of the night to hold her close, and remind her why she cared.

And now there was Rosette. Her lovely little human daughter she’d adopted. People had decried her, her friends had called her a fool for taking the child in. But Vilmah saw a bit of herself in the indomitable cheer of the three year old. A spark that would surely flame brightly in the face of adversity. They said that it would be best to leave the girl off with a human couple, and never look back. But Sulajin had stood guard over her for three days, and three nights while Vilmah was lost. He smiled for the girl he called “Ro’zet” when he wasn’t calling her by various insect names. Diomades would sneak up as quietly as the massive Tauren could, when she wasn’t paying attention and hoist the child up above his head to spin her around. They would laugh, and she would ride on his back, broad enough that she could lay down comfortably on it, if she held onto his horns so as not to fall off. Niethan was probably overindulging her sweet tooth, but when he felt she’d have too much, he always cut her off, and stemmed off the tide of tears with archery lessons. And Nojinbu was the girl’s father now. He’d fight for her as surely as he fought for Vilmah.

She slept peacefully that night, and smiled in her rest as her husband brought in their child to rest with them.

[Vilmah]

((Maybe it's because I'm really tired, but you had me in tears.))

[Sulajin]

((My job here is done! I go to update myself on Foamy rants, now!))

[Sulajin]

Thumping. Niethan hated the thumping. Rythmic and steady, it was like a migraine. Each thud the blow of a hammer. With each stroke of the foul noise the tempo would increase. It would get louder, and louder, till he feared something would break. Something must, after all this. But never was the crack heard, never came the collapse. Much as Niethan wished otherwise.

It was a pattern Niethan knew well, soon would come the snarling, the groaning, and the snapping. He wanted to go. To flee. Find safety, respite, reprise, but knew that he would not. Niethan would sit, stay, roll over, and take it. He allways did. What else was there to do?

There it was. The sound of his best friend and once lover crying out his passion. Niethan heard Khiskiva, too, but paid her no heed. The calls brought with them memories. Painful, hurtful memories that Niethan cherished.

He remembered when it was not the foul temptress that made his friend cry out so. He remembered when it had been him who had satisfied his friend's every need. Now he had been relegated to the hallway, now he had been banished from the embrace he craved.

Niethan trudged down the hall, idly passing the Grom'ja that had once frightened him so as it carried a bucket of water on whatever task it was set to. For now Niethan would be on his own, alone in a house that was home.

The voices had almost become common knowledge. They spoke with his friends, fought and formed their own relationships. But they weren't alone. There were other voices in Niethan's head, ones he feared, hated and despised. A familiar voice to many people kept the hunter company now. It told him how easy it would be, how soothing it would feel to pull the userper's life from her body. How he could frame her, reveal her, and cast her from his love's heart. She would not last long after that, it said, and then he will be yours again.

Niethan simply sighed. As much as he might want to, he would not hurt his friend that way. Sulajin loved her, and was happy. Niethan had his chance, and did what he could. Even so, it felt that there wasn't much left.

Except for the basket that he kept in his room. Except for them. There was no surprise to find that they were not alone, Gom'zal had taken to escaping his crib to go bed with them. He was asleep now, so Niethan took the child back to the nursery before tending towards the basket.

They were all he had left of her, the little ones. Tiny, perfect, playfully fierce, when they woke. Sigrun's death should have shattered something inside him, should have split him apart with grief. It hadn't. He'd had a fit, had his grieving, and should have begun healing, but it hadn't. Like a wound gone gangrenous, he had rotted inside. The dull ache never leaving, the small spot in the back of his head once filled with her laughter staying silent.

Gently he scooped one up, holding the gentle fuzz against his face as the kitten stretched, yawned, and grunted. Not alone. He still had them. He still had his two daughters. Sulajin loved his family, Niethan would see them well tended to.

A massive thumb brushed away one or two beads of moisture from the little Grom'ja's side, and was half heartedly batted at, before the little one yawned again. His heart had been lost, and he had lost his chance to be someone else's gone too. But he was loyal, steadfast. He had not been cast aside, though it would have been easy to do so. And Niethan would not let his friend regret that. If not the heart, then the spine.

Brave words, to ease an aching soul.

[Vilmah]

((I feel so GUILTY..))

[Niethan]

((Very poignant and true to character, Sul. Bravo.))

[Sulajin]

((I aint the best writer, and I aint the best RPer. What I am good at, and take no small amount of pride in, is characterization. Niethan, I feel, is a very nuanced and subtle (if archetypal) character. So I'm very happy to have the guiding inspiration praise my interpretation! Thanks Nie!))

[Jeedup]

((damn Sul, very touching.))

[Redemptio]

((Wow vary nice ^.^))