An Axe, Some Columbine, And a Dog

The room was flooded with light.  Two large lanterns hung overhead, and several candles burned under various calcinators.  Outside the sun was setting, filling the room with a warm red light.  Keenlin sat, watching one of them with a focus, finally pulling a beaker from the flame just as it began to boil.  As she placed it down to cool, a knock could be heard from the door.

Keen opened the door a crack, only for it to be shoved open.  She stumbled back and an angry orc towered over her.  He grabbed her neck, shoving the girl against the wall.  Behind him, a large human - nord in dress - filed in, a large mace out in his hand.

"Stop squirmin' gel if yeh know what's good fer yeh.  Yer sis' sent us ta give you 'er regards.  Make sure yeh didna tink she'd fergotten yah. Bu' don' worry, we're both gentlemen.  So yeh stop strugglin', we give yeh bit 'uv a bruisin', you go 'bout yer day.  Yeh don'?" He grinned, showing a mouth full of perfectly white, straight teeth. "We've got three others outside 'oo ain't gentle, an then we bring yeh to yer sis.  So.  Yeh gonna be quie' for us?"

She nodded.

"Good, now just stand 'ere pretty like an' let Trent mess ya up.  You fall down, stand back up."  The orc released her neck and stepped back as the nord stepped forward.  Trent began to beat the woman with a cold, detatched precision. He started with her arm, swinging hard at the elbow and bringing a started cry.  He reached out and seized her forefinger, stretching the arm out and smashing the girl's hand.

Up until now, the whispers that plagued her had been silent - banished in her concentration and surprise.  At this demand they roared back, swirling around her as they spoke.  'That's right, you know this is what you deserve.  You know that.  They know that.  Why don't you just go to her and let her take you again.  It'd be better for everyone...'

Throughout the beating, Keenlin stood there, staring straight ahead as her bones broke.  Hand.  Arm.  Ribs.  Head - clearly he pulled that blow.  When he brough the mace against her leg, it buckled and she fell to the ground with a sharp cry only to stand up again, the whispers still screaming around her.  When they finally stopped the beating, Keen didn't even notice - blind and deaf to anything that wasn't the whispers.  

Bitch.  Idiot. Fool.  Slut.  It's your fault.  Everything would be better if you were dead.  That's the coward's way out.  Go back to your sister - at least she made you useful.  Don't you want that?  

The whispers faded as she felt herself being picked up by the orc and thrown onto the bed.  He climbed half on top of her, pinning her in place with a knee to the gut, and pulled out a small crystal vial.  "Las' presen' afore we letcha get back ta yer li'l life."  He grabbed her mouth and forced it open, pouring the contents down her throat.

Keenlin's senses were quickly consumed by fire.  It spread from her throat to her chest, spreading out until every nerve ending lit up as if she'd been doused in Kindlepitch and set ablaze.

When she awoke, she was alone and the room was dark.  The lanterns had burned through and the candles had been reduced to small pools of wax at the base.  Her body hurt, and from head-to-toe she felt raw, as if strips of live skin had been pealed away.  

So much for work. You won't be able to fight with your hand - no way to repair it. And your leg - you'll be a cripple...

Keenlin struggled to stand, clutching the wall with her undamaged hand and leaning heavily on the leg they'd left alone.  She looked out the window into the darkness and bit her lip.  Without magical healing...there was no way she'd heal right.  Even with it, her hand was giving her doubts. That decided her and she began to drag herself to Jhacon's place.

It was a dark and stormy night...isn't it always?  David Cordenal glanced to the windows as rain pelted at the glass.  On the bed his young wife, Marie, wimpered in pain, sweat beading on her forhead.  Her normal meticulous hair plastered against her face as she groaned and pushed again.  The midwife - a woman younger than Marie - pressed her hand against Marie's swollen stomach and bit her lip uncertainly.

"It's turned, lass.  I need to...well, let's see what we can do."  David's stomach churned as the midwife - he'd never gotten her name - opened her basket and began to cover her hands with a sheen of oil.  The woman was new, but she was all the young couple could find.  Marie wasn't due for at least another month, and by the time David had found this one he was at his wit's end.  It was the girl's first delivery, and now there was a complication.

Marie let out a weak yell that became a wimper as she looked around, frightened eyes meeting David's.  The man clutched at her hand and kissed her, his eyes never leaving hers. As they clutched each other, the midwife began to slowly turn the child inside.  Finally she said, 'push', and laid a hand on Marie's stomach.  A small golden light flowed into Marie and her pale face regained some of its color.  With one final push, a head apeared - followed by the rest of the child.

As the midwife held the child by its ankle and slapped its first breath into it, David was struck by the strangest feeling.  On the one hand, the babe was quite possibly the ugliest thing he'd ever seen.  David didn't have younger siblings, so never had he seen a babe right after the birth - so purple and wrinkled and covered in fluid.  On the other hand - he hadn't seen anything more beautiful.

Then it - she - cried and it was like nothing else he'd ever experienced.  A fiercely protective warmth bubbled up in his chest as he looked at the girl, and then to his wife as the midwife began to clean the child off.  "She's small, but healthy, Ma'am.  Fierce set of lungs." This was punctuated by the babe testing out said lungs at full volume.  "She'll make it."

Marie leaned back and closed her eyes, the color beginning to drain from her face.  As the midwife brough the child over - clean and swaddled - she looked down at the young woman and handed the babe to David.  "She'll be alright.  A little bit of tearing, but she'll heal.  It was a long time for the babe to be stuck and she's just exhausted.  What are you going to name the mite?"  She looked down at the infant.

Reckless. Greedy.  You'll hang.

The whispers fell down onto Keenlin as she left the Hawk and the cold air hit her. Turning left off of Turnip Alley, she walked a few blocks until she came to the tenement  flat she'd rented.  The building was sagging to one side, having settled in the century or so since its construction, and seemed to only be still standing through prayer and spite.  That was all the better - she wasn't sleeping here, and no one would pay much attention to the occasional smells and odd noises.

Couldn't be content with killing people with your axe?  Going to start pushing drugs too?  This is why she threw you away.  She knew you were going to go down this route.

"Shut up," Keen muttered to the little voice that whispered into her ear as she pushed open the door to the flat.  Everything was there as she left it - no surprise - and she set to work, mixing a new batch of energy potions.  Everything had been thought through.  The flat had been rented under a false name from a landlord that was drunk or high half the time.  The herbs had been purchased from an herbalist on the other side of town than she normally went to.  Even the recipes - things she'd learned mainly from watching Ehl - had been tweaked so there was no tracing back to Allison Keenlin, ex-army grunt and common mercenary.  Even if - when - Arram turned on her, it would be his word against her's.  And who would believe a drug dealer?

Who would believe a poisoner?

Now wasn't the time to be distracted by the voices, as she slowly increased the heat, the lumpy goup starting to liquify and turn from a sludgy brown into a sludgy green.  A soft hiss let out from the top as steam started to escape and she lowered the heat again.

What would Cedric think?

That whisper got a bark of laughter and she retorted to the empty room, "Who cares?"

What would Severin think?

That gave her pause.  What would Severin think?  I need the gold.  That much was true.  Carin Tenforth, the mage who maintained her scrying wards, had been killed a month ago and the only mage she'd been able to find that met her standards charged twice his price.

Severin would give you the gold.

"Harkpoint's still rebuilding." Keen muttered - though whether it was to the whispers or to herself it wasn't clear.

Convenient.

Keenlin scowled at that, focusing on the simmering liquid as it started to come to a boil.  Taking it off the candle just as the boil hit it's peak, she immediately poured it into the waiting wide, shallow stone dish and allowed it to cool as she crowned the porous lava-rocks.

You don't want attachment.  Coward.  Fawe's six months dead and you're still afraid to settle down.  You know what you should do?  Save Ehlayra the trouble and-

"SHUT UP!"  Keenlin screamed at the voice, flinging the  mortar with the powdered stones at the wall in a rage that welled up in her breast and overpowered her senses, leaving her deaf and blind to all around her.

Other than the whispers.

Coward. Idiot. Slut.  Fool.  Reckless.

Idiot.  Reckless. That the best you could do?  How could you almost fail at that? Could have been a trap.

If she closed her eye they were so convincing.  Open it was clear she was alone in the street in front of the mage's guild.  Perfect target.  Keen started moving without direction, her feet automatically heading towards the Hawk.  Maybe there was someone there - the whispers were always easier to deal with with someone else.  Arram was always good to talk with, and teasing Kira had the intended effect of distracting her. If nothing else, she was hungry and she could linger as long as it took her to eat.

Coward.  Bully.

They'd been easy to ignore earlier.  Focus on the lesson.  Focus on the Cedric.  Look at whoever was speaking to ensure they were real.  But now as she walked alone - slightly hunched over, single eye scanning around her - the whispers continuing to harry her steps.  I wish Sev was around. The thought came, unbidden, to her mind as she turned down Chandler street.  Severin was always good at driving them away, giving her peace of mind.  Small wonder, really, when he was one of the few people she actually trusted.  

You don't deserve hi-

"The War will destroy us all!"  Sandy Thender's voice broke through her thoughts with his usual prophecy of doom.  The man had lost three daughters and a son to the war, and after his wife had run off with an orc, what was left of his sanity took a holiday.  The world was always ending - usually it was Emric's fault, but on occasion his wife took the role of doom personified.  "Our leaders have been taken over by Daedric princes who aim to bring us all to our knees!"  

The man stood, propped up against the side of the tenement building, his red face testament to the fact he was already several bottles in.  As Keen passed he yelled at her back, drowning out the whispers.  "The daedra took your sight and your beauty - tell the world how they wronged you!"  Keen just rolled her eye and kept walking. Last time she'd engaged with Thender he'd attacked her with a cracked beer mug.

That could have been you.

House Used:  Autumn's Gate Max # of People:  6 Default permissions:  Visitor IC Location:  A little outside of Daggerfall

House Used:  Captain Margaux's Place Max # of People:  6 Default permissions:  Visitor IC Location:  Isle of Skye

House Used:  Coldharbour Surreal Estate Max # of People:  24 Default permissions:  Visitor IC Location:  A cozy little pocket plane

Note:  This is being saved for posterity, but the house itself will be redone in a few weeks(price of mundane runes and deco wax permitting).  Still an evil library, only considerably less Daedra skulls.