Malevolence within Darkness

She gently took the stranger’s hand, gripping his palm rather clinically, as if she were about to look it over for open sores. She did no such thing, and instead led the strange man around the corner of the house towards the door. She briefly let go of his hand and adjusted how she carried the basket again, feeling as though she were dealing with a child.

It took her a moment to find her key, but hastily opened the door and guided the stranger inside.

“I’m Buck,” he replied. He could feel warmth radiating from in front, and the smell of burning wood filled his nares. A fire was here. Letting the scent fill his lungs too, his chest swelled forth, before deflating once she set his hand on cresting rail of a chair. He felt around the ears of the rail and, at her unspoken behest, assumed the seat.

“Careful near the walls,” he echoed. A resolute nod. “Got it.”

Of course he couldn’t count out coin but he was a large, eerie looking dog, with sharp teeth and too haunting of a stare to test what would happen. Especially after Braith had spread rumors that Micyne was a witch and Lichen was some sort of undead familiar. Which wasn’t true. She kept the animals that she raised strictly in her basement.

She tilted her head a bit, glad he couldn’t see the expression on her face. It was nothing short of utter disgust. Had she been able to smell anything other than a complete lack of hygiene, she was certain she’d smell some sort of narcotic or liquor. 

Maybe she was planning on killing him? Oh, wouldn’t that be a treat!

“Ah’don’t know what th’fuck the Bannered Mare is, but sure!” He bowed in a dramatic fashion, his yellowed, malodourous grin growing impossibly wider. “I’m ah’bit on th’blind side, so maybe y’should hold m’hand, mm? Don’t want me walkin’ into another wall.”

Her tone, though even and patient was laced only slightly with annoyance, before she got a closer look at his face as she walked towards him. It was hard to keep the light tinge of pity from her voice as she noticed his complete lack of sight. Inside her home Lichen began to bark and growl, startled by the sudden noise.

“Jus’ stoppin’ by!” Buck chirped, swinging his head back towards the source of the voice, acting as though nothing odd had just transpired. He shuffled even closer to the stranger while his mind hustled about, digging up whatever details it could through speedy analysis of sound and scent.

Woman. Short. Head just below the crown of his shoulders. Words muffled – maybe a scarf? A helmet? Something which obscured the mouth. Flowery smell.

Micyne balanced a basket on her hip as she conversed with the other merchants of the market. The basket was barely overflowing with an assortment of local flora one could find near the outside of the city’s walls. While all alchemic ingredients were useful, it was the sleeping tree sap and moon sugar at the bottom of the basket that was more important to her. She smoothed her apron down as she hunted for the key she no doubt slipped into the wrong pocket again.

She was alarmed to the point of nearly dropping her goods at the sudden thud of a body hitting the side of her house. She readjusted the basket and hesitantly peaked around the corner before immediately regretting it. The stench of the stranger was enough to cause her illness, but the man’s mangy appearance evoked pity in her. That and the fact he inexplicably walked straight into the side of her house.

Now, normally, Buck would’ve taken all that he could, but whimsy beckoned him otherwise. He wanted to go travelling, he decided. He wanted to visit other cities. Maybe even other provinces. A rank, yellow smile unfurled upon his lips, and he conjured some bullshit story about how he’d been told that some master mage within the vicinity of Whiterun had the power to regenerate body parts, even parts as sensitive and intricate as the eyes.

She swallowed it right up, promptly coughing enough coin for a trip to Whiterun and back. So, that was how he ended up here in Whiterun.

There was one looming problem, however. One that he hadn’t anticipated until he stumbled onto the city’s yawning, wooden gates. Unlike Riften, where he’d imprinted a mental map of every twist and turn, every property and road into the wrinkles of his brain, Whiterun was somewhere where he had no fucking clue where anything was. He knew no person, no street, no store. As a blind man, this was an issue.

An issue he cared about none whatsoever.

Buck walked with confidence, constantly tripping over things, constantly banging into walls and people. A few individuals hissed at him, while others quickly retracted their complaints once they spotted the empty recesses that laid where his eyes would’ve been. He didn’t care either way. He just wanted to experience this new place.

An experience that lead to him strolling face-first into yet another wall. Momentarily jarred, he recoiled slightly, before pressing his large hands on the wall. A house? A store, maybe? He couldn’t tell. A voice, closer than the distant murmuring of the marketplace crowd, piqued his interest. He craned his head towards the source, grinning.

There was something unsettlingly familiar about Buck. To his knowledge, Yngram had never seen him before, but something about his appearance, specifically his apparent blindness, was setting off all the warning bells in his brain. This man clearly wasn’t of sound mind, Yngram could tell that much by the state of his dress and the scars, many of which seemed self inflicted, running across his face. But the fact he had been so willing to stab a man over a pissed stained alley and then admit it to a complete stranger was what was more telling. Aggressive and crazy. The worst combination. He thought about drawing his bow the moment Buck stepped towards him, but he reasoned that he couldn’t just acknowledge the man was blind one moment and not at least warn him he was now engaging with a city guard the next.

A city guard. So he was right. The louder their voice boomed, the easier it was to pick apart and piece back together. It was deep for the most part, masculine and raspy and whatnot, enough for Buck to conclude that ‘they’ were in fact a ‘he.’ Good to know. The point where said voice birthed was indicative of the man’s height: slightly shorter than Buck himself, probably by about a few inches, give or take. In his mind’s eye, he extrapolated, gauging the remainder of the fellow’s body - his shoulders, his abdomen, his legs, his cock. Of course, a few things would be off and he could never quite be infallible unless he had direct contact with his target, feeling them up and down, mustering bodily details with blind hands, but that was to be expected.