ALDER IGNUS ━ 39 (281) years old | The Hero | Also known as "The Hero of Skohfjell" (Formerly), "The Errant Knight" & "The Blade of Echoes" | Sellsword & Member of the Warrior's Guild | Heterosexual | FC James McAvoy. [ Pinterest ] [ Connections ] [ Biography ]
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Luna couldn’t get over the surreal feeling of being back in the Ironwood Forest, in her wolf dreams, she had dreamt of her paws against the hallowed forest floor as she ran wild sheltered by the Skjaldwood trees that she had planted as seedlings and those that existed long before she came into this world, viewing them as wise sentinel elders. Froy, her best friend since childhood, was one of the arborists of Skohfjell and served as a Jarl. The Darkwood clan had been responsible for the harvest of Skjaldwood, working for generations as woodcutters and trying to blend into anonymity as the werewolf gene was buried and forgotten with each Darkwood that remained within the forest and never brought violence against mankind. She was sheltered from the Witchers whose mission was to purge the land of magic and imprisoned those who were found with arcane in their veins within the mines, the mines that now sat abandoned, the prisoners liberated and it had been contaminated as the hellhole it was. Even those who wanted to return to Iskaldrik and Skohfjell instantly had to do slowly as Iskaldrik had been under siege for long, blighted roots pulsed underneath the Skjaldwood soil and it would have to take all the wisdom that Luna had gained from her time within the Legion of the Dead combating the blight to rid the land of its curse.
With the dawn, she had risen from her bed, spooning out a bowl of stew from the ever simmering cauldron that resided in her hearth and set to work. The blight reached down deep in the soil but it couldn’t hurt her now, as she underwent the joining and it coursed through her blood. Digging out the poisoned roots, she planted new seedlings and added fresh soil. With her axe, she hacked at the thicker vines and slowly the forest that had always been her home began to emerge. The sun was beginning to set and although with her werewolf eyes, she could see for miles and there was not a thing that could surprise her within the woods, she retreated to the cabin to rest for another day's hard work in the morning. Adding to the hearth, the flame turned blue, a satisfying smile upon her lips and a knock came at the door. She knew who it was long before she reached the door, flinging the wooden door open. “Alder!” She dove it for a hug, grateful to see an old friend who she hadn’t seen in many moons. Pulling back so she could appraise him, he was different, they all were. None could survive such a state of the world changing as they had and remain the same. “Please come in.” She ushered him, having repaired the old armchairs that she and her father used to relax in after a long day of tending too and harvesting Ironwood, she was grateful that her cabin had remained although dust and decay had lay claim, the bones of the old cabin remained untouched.
Alder was surprised by the greeting, but did not push her away, instead, he embraced her in his arms and patted her back gently before she pulled back. A nod of his head was his response to the invitation. "Hope I'm not disturbing your evening by coming here this late..." He spoke, wishing he'd spent less time in the city and decided to go to his main destination earlier, but then again maybe he wouldn't even have found her there - or maybe she'd be too busy to welcome him in, afterall, she seemed to be working on a lot by the looks of it all. His eyes carefully examined the room, although momentarily, absorbing the environment and taking notes of how well taken care of everything was for a place that'd been abandoned for a long time not long ago; in his mind he could only think that she was working hard, and it was admirable. "I see you've fixed the place well." He pointed out, offering her a nice smile. "Looks as if not a single day has passed since...-" That was still a sensitive subject to most of the refugees that'd come back to iskaldrik, so he didn't know how she felt about it; her father had passed during the attack, thus he wouldn't blame her if she also didn't talk about what happened. "Well, since I was here for the first time." He ended up changing the course of his sentence to something way before everything that's happened, when he came around to Skjaldwoods to keep himself away from the people, fearing he'd do something bad - when they met and when she'd play around with Lor.
The small and one-sided battle that Juneau attempted to wage war against Alder with was cut short when he embraced her rather than retaliating or turning away from Juneau. For most of her life, she was used to the latter two options. She had grown used to being something people did not wish to handle, something they decided was too barbed or too damaged for any effort to be made. Alder seemed to welcome her back to his presence, range and all, and the fact that she was significantly punching above her weight class stalled out her half-hearted attempts to wound him the way his absence had been a dagger in her heart.
For a moment, her arms fell to her side. Juneau’s hands remained balled into fists, still and useless at her sides. She wanted to continue to rage at Alder. The idea of making him feel every bit as rotten and rejected as she had felt upon his departure surged from the back of her mind, tempting, but short lived. Before, she probably would have. The influence of the Dark and its motivation to corner her to make her more pliable to His will likely would have won out. It would have directed her to punish Alder, to rail against him in violent, malicious ways. But it wasn’t there anymore pulling at the strings at her raw edges–now she was merely a woman trying to outrun the wounds of her youth with only so much fight left within her.
“You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” This was said through gritted teeth, the side of her head against Alder’s front. “You promised, and then you just abandoned me. Leaving a note doesn’t change what you did.” Juneau pushed back from his embrace (though she had remained in it for the better part of a minute) to glower up at him. Her anger over it would temper with time in his proximity, but for now it was roiling and simmering beneath her skin. "You were gone for so long. And I needed you." This last verbalizations of his transgressions against her was spoken as if from the tone and perspective of a child. Her anger was quickly backsliding into something that felt like humiliation to fall apart like this in such a public space.
Only when she pushed him away that he felt the cold that she left behind once again, reminded of the worst few nights of his journey, the first three after his departure, when he'd wake up in the middle of the night wishing to check on her, to cover her with her blanket when she'd tossed it aside in her sleep, only to find himself alone with his darkness, and those that came after the message he received in his mind, one that he was yet to find out if it were real or an illusion caused by dehydration and starvation, one created by the beast to tempt and toy with him, a message which's contents regarded the days they spent together, his lessons not only as a Vuldak but as a man who'd seen her inner fights, her demons; one that meant death, and that made him despair, afraid that the quest he'd gone to in order to reclaim his own light would be the one that took the one he already had in Juneau away from him. He chose to think of it as the tricks of the creature, turning him against himself, making him lose hope, but, deep down, he could never trully believe his mind, always scared he'd arrive too late...
Alder couldn't say anything in response because she was right, a letter meant nothing, he'd been a coward to resort to such tricks back then, all of that because he lacked the heart to leave her even though it was warranted. He didn't have an excuse, nothing would justifty doing to her what he'd promised her he'd never do, because he knew her mind better than any other, it was her greatest fear, her most painful insecurity, and he'd neglected it because he was scared he'd lose his will to go if he were to speak to her face-to-face before doing so. The older of the two deserved the unkind words of the person he'd hurt due to his actions and he did not try to avoid them in any way. "I'm sorry." He repeated himself, sincerely once more. His eyes were filled with sadness, but he wouldn't let it show in other features, he didn't deserve to feel sorrow but he did deserve the misery his thoughtless actions could lead him to. "It was never my intention to abandon you... I didn't think it would take me so long to come back... I'm not trying to justify anything, but I do owe you an explanation." If his voice cracked at some point while he spoke, he didn't notice, but it wouldn't be surprising if it did.
It pained his heart to see her that way, to watch her rage from the pointy-end of that metaphorical dagger, but he couldn't help but feel relieved that at least she was alive and breathing, that had not come too late for her, that he could still be there if she needed in a future... Not a distant one, since his days were numbered, but one nonetheless. "I heard you in my mind... I don't know if it was a dream, an illusion or...-" He sighed, not finding a word to say that, and he didn't even know why he was saying that to begin with. "I'm just glad you are fine, kiddo..." To sum it all up in a sentence, that was that. "I just hope you'll forgive me one day, as you've done once before." He stopped himself from adding anything to it, but he did want to continue... "Because you're all I have left... And I don't know how much longer I can resist this darkness.", those were words he'd keep to himself for a while, afterall, that was not the time to say them.
There was familiarity in every step he took within that city, within the whole Kingdom, in fact, as he felt the same as in a déjà vu each time his gaze fell upon a store - some still under maintenance or construction - with a name he'd once seen so many times before. This would be his first and possibly last time visiting Iskaldrik in this lifetime, as his days were numbered; what once seemed like an eternity that he would have to endure as he first awakened as a blighted beast now was coming to an end... Alder's march through his hometown came to a halt, his weight shifting between his feet, wrists crossed behind his back, as the old Hero's eyes contemplated the statue of a historic figure from Skohfjell, the man who brought hope to the people, the swordsman who sacrificed himself to protect those who could not defend themselves behind the walls... A man who died standing in a battlefield only after achieving victory - not without cost -, and that, now, observed the symbol of his former glory, still ispiring children to become light in darkness, right before him.
His own weathered statue, which time had adorned with cracks and war had honored with a broken arm, the one that held his sword. It was funny to him, nonetheless, that it still stood tall as if watching over an abandoned city only to be reunited with its people after long, but not funny enough to make him stay and gloat over it with pride any longer than that. He did enjoy his view of his lost people, but his objective in going so far as to visit that Kingdom he'd rather never come back to again was another... His steps led him deeper into the Ironwood Forrest, some of the older trees of Skjaldwood reminding him of the past - still carrying the marks of his training -, to the doorsteps of an old cabin. Inside, he could sense a presence, one that he'd taken this long to find again after he left for his journey. He knocked on the door, although he knew @lunadarkwoodx would've known by now that he was outside, however, this time, his visit was not of a bearer of good news. As the door opened, he showed the girl him and Lor had once cared for and played with during his stays in Skohfjell a faint smile. "Hello, kiddo." He said with a nod. "It's been too long..." His appearance had changed nothing throughout those long years of knowing each other and hers had changed little since the last time they spoke, but he could see that, inside, she'd gone through more change than he could imagine.
Iskaldrik had been reclaimed during his journey and now, it was already recovering well from the aftermaths of the events that caused so many to flee from that cursed land with their tails between their legs to the Queendom of Lysara, refugees of a war that broke out too suddenly, one that came with loss and grieving, but one that had apparently served a greater purpose as the Kingdom and its people no longer held on to the fear and prejudice that once darkened their hearts. It'd been long since he'd left behind any wish to go back to those lands as they still carried memories of his darkest days, no longer holding any ties to the Kingdom that would hate him as a monter even before his soul had been touched by the blight, however, there was still loyalty, not to the crown, but to people, to all those in need, from Iskarans to Sinarians.
Thus, his path had led him once again to Haven, where he'd be able to offer a hand to thos in need in case anything happened both in Iskaldrik and Lysara. Alder walked through the streets of the city, helping old men carry supplies into their shops and stands, tossing coins to the homeless, offering smiles and short tales to the children; his gaze followed faces as he daydreamed about everything and nothing at the same time. A small bakery caught his attention, one that he'd not yet visited, different types of breads and cakes rested showcased through the glass windows, a few which he'd never tried. It took him a bit to notice @alrikhart on the other side, a smile being brough to his features as he nodded in greeting, entering the place to the smell of freshly baked bread. "It's been a while." He spoke. The last time they'd talked he was still a broken man with a lost pride, now, they both had changed for the better, as it seemed. "Have you been well, Alrik?"
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who: @heroic-ignus
where: The Stumble Inn
when: after the Heros Unite quest
notes: Alexa, play father figure by George Michael
Most of Juneau’s scant earthly possessions were situated in drawers, shelves, under floorboards, and in the shadowy corners of Julian’s cabin in Haven. What little else she owned remained on the nearly bare shelves of her small bedroom in Jamie’s home. Even so, she felt compelled to return to the Stumble Inn upon the return from Iskaldrik. The Innkeeper would not let Juneau hear the end of it if the wily blonde never showed up to prove she was still alive, and who knew what state the garden was in after the stretch of neglect. But it wasn’t home to Juneau any longer.
She had cleared out the few items that she and Alder had carried on their backs into Lysara from their shared room at the Stumble Inn months ago and what they had accumulated as a pair since, but she had stopped living there months ago upon returning from the Kossith ship. Alder’s scent lingered in the room, memories settled into the floorboards, but so did his absence. Juneau clung to the items that reminded her of Alder, scolding those who were too curious about them or who threatened to tarnish the memories or scents that still clung to them.
It was not altogether uncommon during her stay at the Stumble Inn that the dim candle light would cast shadows at just the right slant that a stranger’s back appeared to her as Alder. But when she drew closer or they stepped into better lighting it never yielded anything but disappointment. She suspected her haunting of this old stomping ground this evening would be no different, thus she ignored the familiar frame in the corner of her peripheral vision for as long as she could. The surly little thief denied herself hope, reminding herself that the phantom scene of Alder had duped her many times before–she would not allow the rug to be pulled from under her now.
But as the figure turned and she was afforded an uninterrupted view it became clear that the sense of familiarity was not the betrayal of memory or a trick of the light–Alder stood in the inn’s tavern material and real. Juneau’s expression darkened, then softened, then broke as she maintained eye contact. Without thinking, spurred on my pure reflex, her feet carried her in his direction with such conviction that her footfalls were audible to their sensitive hearing over the din of the crowd. One small fist lifted as she came within an arm’s reach, lifting and then arcing downward with a dull thud as she slammed it against his chest. And then the other hand, again and again and again as the color in her cheeks rose and her glassy eyes reflected the flicker of the candles overhead. Her assault might have broken the rib of someone lesser, but as creatures of equal constitution her fists were little more than mere annoyances–and she didn’t mean to hurt Alder regardless, but rather to display the tempest of her fury over what she perceived as being abandoned.
It had not been long since his return to Lysara, but enough for him to have traveled the Queendom in search of that one person, the family which's bond was, to him, stronger than blood. There was no place he hadn't been to, no rock left unturned, and yet he didn't find her, a scent, maybe, but always too thin for him to follow, or too mixed up with that of others for the old Vuldak to sense a clear path. Maybe that was his punishment for leaving, perhaps his last less than two decades of life as a man would be spent alone as he slowly faded from Alder Iguns to blighted monster. It was almost funny that the results of his search for light would be the decision he'd regret the most in his final moments, if not for the fact that loneliness wasn't the only feeling inside the mended heart... He was afraid.
Afraid that something had happened to Juneau, that fate had taken her from him the same way it took Lor, that his absence had left her lost, thinking that maybe he could've waited one more year, or even one more day, before his sudden departure. Deep down, he knew that this fear was irrational, born from the uneasiness and care of an old man that had for a long time forsaken himself, a symbol of his concern regarding the path which she'd choose to follow because, even deeper, he was afraid that because he was the one who taught her that she'd follow his previous steps to the edge of darkness, where light did not dare shine.
There was a part of him that entertained the thought tha maybe she just didn't want to be found, that she'd moved on, away from the memories of her old mentor, after all, he knew what she'd been through in her life, that it could've seemed like he'd done to her the same thing pained her the most, that he'd abandoned her like everyone else beforehand. Perhaps she didn't find his letter... Maybe it fell under the table or got washed away by rain that somehow got past the closed windows of the shared room... Now that he thought about it, he didn't even know if the girl knew how to read to begin with.
Alder was back to The Stumble Inn, the place in which her smell had always been stronger, led by his guilty steps that did not dare go past the main hall to that door ever since he found the room empty when he came back. His eyes stared at the stairs leading up to it, his mind lost in thoughts and sadness, not even realizing that the scent grew stronger with time until his eyes shifted towards the moving person, his body turning as the dim light showed the figure of the person he'd been looking for. He watched as she walked towards him, "is this a dream?", he wondered, maybe he'd fallen asleep at a table... No, the pain of the hits to his chest were enough proof of it. She must've felt betrayed when he left, abandoned... His arms did not stop the punches, reaching around, embracing her in a hug that held the strongest of feelings. "It's okay... I'm back." He spoke softly. "I'm sorry for leaving you..."
It hadn't been too long since he left Lysara, only a year and a half had past since the beginning of his journey, that was nothing to a man that had lived for so many centuries, especially since he'd been so busy during his adventure, helping people, following the path he'd chosen, the path of a hero. Alder walked amongst the people of Haven, where he remember spending a while back when the refugees reached the Queendom, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth upwards, something he'd lost a long time ago but had recovered during his personal quest, that feeling of being satisfied with life. His eyes watched the people around him, the engraving on the hilt of his swords catching the attention of the few that knew what that meant, demanding respect, although he, himself, did not wish to be seen as more than just a man taking a stroll through the city.
The reason he'd come all the way to Borderreach, closer to that place with which he had no ties anymore, wasn't because of a lingering desire to go back to "his" Kingdom, but to make sure he was close enough if a time came when his aid was needed by the people of Iskaldrik. It took him no time to recognize a figure standing close to the inn he'd chosen to stay in when he got to that city, one that he had not seen since even before he left for his quest, none other than @freydis-freydat herself, an Iskaran just like him, but definitely higher on the list of important people of that once cursed Kingdom they borderdered.
Alder smiled and waved, walking towards his old acquaintance. "Freydis." He greeted with a nod. "It's been a long time, huh?" Said the old Vuldak. It was a good thing they'd met there, it meant some of the faces of that tragedy were still around and had thrived through the fall and reclaiming of those lands which once held meaning to the Ignus, that land in which he met his most dearest friend and the one who loved him the most, the direwolf that brought him back to his feet each time he fell to his knees when the burden got heavier, Lor. "How has life treated you?" He wondered if after their conversation back in the encampment at the Lostlands she'd managed to find that something to believe in, they'd talked about, he hoped so.
Alder had tread a path between light and darkness for a long time. On the outside, he was a powerful swordsman, a Blademaster of the Guild, a noble warrior that carried the carved symbol of his pride on the hilt of that sword; on the inside, he was nothing more than a sellsword, a fraud, the failed "Hero of Skohfjell", the fool who couldn't control the monster and hurt those he'd sworn to protect. Deep down, he'd wished for death many times, not an honorable one, but one that could redeem the unredeemable; he fought through pain, loss, suffering, guilt and horror not for salvation, but to make sure that the innocent would remain of pure heart, saving from tragedy and damnation the ones who abode by the law, sacrificing himself for others in hopes he'd be forgiven... Forgiven not by the ones he'd hurt, for those had long been gone, but by himself. He embraced his darkness, devouring the wicked, consuming their souls, ripping through their flesh, never full, never satisfied, as the hunger grew stronger within, whilst shielding those with hopeful eyes and clean souls from the ever-growing vice of the evil that creeped inside the void, always present, waiting for its turn to destroy whatever was left of the once hero. For decades, centuries, he wandered aimlessly, holding tightly to the little humanity he still had, hopeless, empty... Until he finally found light.
Light came in the shape of a girl, one that showed fangs as soon as they met, one whose inner beast he knew all too well, one that, like himself, had been broken, but, unlike him, there was hope for her, she was still innocent, pure of soul and heart, even after becoming a monster, and in that moment he made up his mind... He was far past saving, but she still had a chance, a flickering flame that could still turn into a proper fire, perhaps one day even a soul, untainted by the shadow that consumed those like them, that had already feasted on his pride and tarnished the mantle of his glory. What had started as a distant mentorship turned to care and then to love... He loved her, not romantically, as a father would love his daughter. Together, they'd experienced pain, hardship and grieving, faced creatures you'd dare not search in the darkest history books, in each other's presence, they were allowed to show their true face, without the ever-lingering fear of another's judgement. Because of her, he finally found within himself the will to become better, to stop walking the path of the damned, to seek the light that once guided his heroic path, that led him to stand his ground before the threat that would have destroyed his people. However, in order to grow to fit the shoes of the man deserving of the love she'd cast his way, there was an unavoidable journey in which he had to go... One without her.
That night, the letter was left on the table where they both dined, centered, carrying the weight of the shackles that had bound him to that sense of security beside her; she looked up to him, he knew that, that's why he had to go. Alder had taught her everything he knew, every trick, every mean of control, he'd been her master as much as he'd tried to be a father figure, but how could he lead her anywhere if he, himself, had not yet found his own light? Walking in a darkness lit only by her source of light towards uncertainty ahead... It wasn't without hesitation that he left, leaving behind enough for her to live for another cycle, with hopes that his words would not become a lie, that he would come back for her, not as monster, but as man. When he finally found the will to leave, he did not look back, afraid he'd lose his heart as soon as he found those eyes he'd grown to cherish the most. Juneau would never let him leave, she'd probably say he was foolish, that they could do it together, that she wished to be with him, and he would comply, because he didn't have the heart to say no. She'd become his greatest weakness, the only one he didn't curse himself with and instead had been his blessing, but he didn't hate it, thus, he couldn't lie to her face, he couldn't say he would come back with doubt in his heart, he could only leave while she slept, while she dreamed, while she still regarded him so highly not seeing the lack he represented.
That night, an old Vuldak left the warmth of the room lit by his borrowed light...
Days and nights passed as he traveled the world, patches of dirt turning into full on roads leading to big and small cities, vegetation changing as he walked, climate often punishing cutting his cheeks with ice and wind, scorching his skin with heat, pressure crushing his lungs as he gasped for air in heights, dehydration and starvation twisting his mind, weakening his body; he did not die, his will was strong... Now, he had a purpose... He helped the people as he wandered, at times with simple tasks, farming, gathering, offering a hand; sometimes it was harder, his sword danced many times, whispering to the wind, painting the ground red, but no bodies were left behind, sacrifices to appease the beast, to give him time. Time that he so desperately wanted now, leaving behind that old vessel of negativity; the one that once longed for death now could only wish for another day... And the days came one after another, each one a challenge, each one filled with more and more hardship... But The Hero conquered them all, mending the cracks on his pride and honor, hoping that one day he'd be worthy of the image the people had of his former self, of the high pedestal in which his daughter had placed him in her mind.
A year passed and with age the symptoms worsened, the beast was fierce, it growled and howled, features of wolf and demon watching him closely as it warned him he didn't have much time left, playing games in his mind, corrupting it slowly... Sometimes, Alder caught himself daydreaming, but they were all nightmares, he would watch a crowd of people, talking, laughing, eating, enjoying life, and suddenly he was no longer Alder, he was an observer of his own actions, his body shifting from man to beast, panick rising, they'd scatter like ants in the rain, blood painting the streets red, his ears ringing with cries and screams... And then he'd wake up from those dreams, he was still him, but those eyes were ever-present, gloating on his desperation, on the fear that lingered. His fate was unavoidable, he was close to the deadline, to his inescapable damnation, past what most could endure before letting go. Luckily, Lor was there to remind him of himself, of his purpose, of the reason he had to keep fighting, his partner, the one that kept him company for so many years - many more than a wolf should live... She was there to remind him that there was still hope, giving him peace... A peace that wasn't there because he believed he would conquer his darkest sin, but because, when the time came, he now had someone to stop him from wreaking havoc, from causing pain, someone who could save the last piece of his memory from being corrupted by fiendish claws; that someone was not her, although it pained her to see him hurt so much, it was the one he'd left behind - his borrowed light.
It was a miracle that the wolf had survived for hundreds of years, one that could only be attributed to the Gods themselves, a life that beared a purpose which wouldn't allow her to go, Lor cared for him as a friend and as the mother he never really had, she watched over him, guided him, helped him control himself, fed him when he was too weak to even hunt, assisted him in dangerous situations, she was his shoulder to cry on, the one who pushed him forward when he wanted to give up... So when the light in Alder shone bright enough to cast away the shadow and he found his own purpose to live, her duty was finally over. It was in the beginning of Autumn that the years started to catch up to her... Her fur became thin, she tired more easily, she lost weight and mass, it was painful for the man to watch the strong figure of the alpha direwolf turn so weak and frail. Alder was by her side when she took her last breath, her eyes kind until the end, loving, caring, telling him not to mourn her death but celebrate her life, he thanked her for all those years together and promised her he wouldn't cry, that he would stay strong; that promise was never kept... His tears wet the warm white fur as her pack howled throughout the night, honoring their fallen leader. The man buried his best friend on a hill inside the forrest, where her spirit could run free and enjoy the afterlife. When morning came, he departed to the end of his journey.
As the shape of a full moon, the end of a journey was bound to lead him to the beginning, completing the circle, a symbol of renewal. Half a year he traveled, back to the cities he'd once passed through leaving behind the pieces that no longer represented who he was now, destroying his cursed vessel so that he could rise anew, observing his accomplishments with pride; crops growing tall in the horizons, smiles worn with glee by the old and the young, lives he'd saved... There were statues of himself in some places where his blade sung against evil, not accurate enough to make him recognizable, but that inspired the youth like his former self once did back in Iskaldrik. Eventually, he was back to where it all began, to the high walls of a Queendom, to the crowded streets of its capital, to the doorstep of a place he once called home... But that simple rented room meant nothing to him now, because his home was not a place, but a person, and, wishfully, he could meet up with her once more in the future.
That day, a Hero stepped into the cold of an empty room in hopes he could one day show the last of his family his newfound light...
It wasn’t okay, the things she had said to him or the wrath that her voice had held within it as she said those things to him. Juneau had lashed out at him, and he had not deserved it. Alder had been the opposite of deserving, and yet he found himself on the receiving end of so much of her anger, grief, and hopelessness. It confused her why Alder put up with it, why he hadn’t simply put her back down and washed his hands of her entirely or given her a much-deserved piece of his mind as Ivar often did. Ivar–who had gone so far as to send her into an almost certain death. Who had known she was a codependent fool, so desperate to cling to what she had–whether she wanted it or not–that she would refuse to see reason even if it was waving in front of her face like a wide field of red flags.
“You should hate me,” she cried, pawing at the tears on her face. “It’s not okay!” Her voice was small, but assured of her opinion. The tone of her voice wavered, and she made her body smaller. She wanted to get up and crawl into his lap, to be near him to soak in some type of physical comfort, but if she had tried such a thing with Ivar he would have pushed her to the ground, so she didn’t. Instead, she simply continued to argue with him with the logic and posture of a small child, as if she were regressing from the half-grown, half-wild woman he’d come to know her to be.
Juneau was silent as he tried to apologize, and she struggled to accept it. She didn’t feel like Alder was in the wrong, she was so certain she was. But that washed away after a few moments as she turned her tearful eyes back to him and looked confused. “What do I want to do about what?”
Alder could understand what was going through her mind, the pain, the confusion, the self loathing and then the aching heart from treason, but he knew better than anyone that those feelings only led down a path of selfdestruction and more suffering. He himself was on that same path... One of undeserved redemption, always further into the darkness, never peeking over his shoulders as he knew he'd find the light he did not deserve. Even so, he tried to be good, to do his best, and that's the only thing he had to offer and to teach in that moment. She was better than him, she'd always been, and he knew that now more than ever, just by looking at her in that moment. Juneau could recognize her own wrongs and evolve from them, something it took the stubborn man a long time to decipher how to.
In that moment, looking at the crying girl in front of him, he was reminded of himself, but back then he had no one to cry to, he only had himself in an empty house until his father returned and things got messy again, and again, and again... It was unfortunate that bad things happened to good people. "I would never hate you." He replied simply but firmly. It was but an honest obvious truth to him, and that was all he could say. Alder pulled his chair closer to the girl, not really knowing all too well how to defuse that situation, but doing his best to be there for her. "It really is okay, Juneau..." He tried to calm her down, but that was a new thing to him, to be fair.
His eyes were fixed on hers for a moment, but he did not reply to her question, he knew she was aware of what he meant by that. A choice he'd given and one that he wondered what she'd turn into. "We are ones who deal with bad people with our own methods... Aren't we?" That was all he would say.
There was a fleeting strike of emotion in Alder’s eyes before he spoke, like the blurred tawny streak of a rabbit as it darted into the brush. Ormir’s guard was not poised enough to catch it as it flew by. Suspicion lingered as he continued. Why would he be compelled to lie about such a simple thing? Surely Alder didn’t think so preciously of what Ormir thought of him. Ormir listened with heightened intrigue, but he resisted the instinct to distrust one of few people he could name as a friend. “Our journey has made for strange bedfellows.” He echoed the words of another Guildsman, the Ankhurian who he’d often sought at the campfires in the Lostlands.
“I cannot imagine the Kingdom will be able to repay you and the other volunteers as you deserve,” Ormir said, “But know that you have my gratitude.” His voice was warm, uncharacteristically soft considering the roaring atmosphere it was bottled in. An unfiltered stream of words bubbled up and out of his throat before he could stop it. “And consider me owing you a favor.” The late addition left an unpleasant aftertaste. Why would he extend himself so needlessly? Scores of Iskarans, foreigners and Legionnaires had rallied under the High King’s banner. If the Lord Hand doled out favors to each of the smallfolk who took up arms against the darkspawn chasing their own glory, he’d soon be scrubbing bedpans. A small voice argued for Alder’s distinction. He’d time and time again the Blademaster had proven his stalwartness, his unshaking commitment to the realm. He deserved to be rewarded.
Ormir stifled the smile that had broadened on his face. Luckily for him, Alder had not pressed for further details into their fumble in the mines. “To surviving.” Ormir agreed, raising his flagon of ale to match Alder’s toast. He drank, mindful of every beat that his eyes were not level to the horizon. If any more of Haven’s inhabitants got any testy ideas, he wanted to know of it.
The drinking horn clacked on the tabletop; a single, stamping hoofbeat. Curiosity boiled over, and Ormir could not live on the empty calories of speculation any longer. “Where were you?” The question had been burning in his throat since Nornwatch. It came out more fiery than he’d intended. “In all those years between our last outing and the siege. You must have been occupying yourself with a worthy cause.” There was a woundedness to his tone.
"I don't need payment from the country, Ormir. It was my duty as a blademaster and as a citizen of Iskaldrik... Protecting those who need me will alway be my priority." He dismissed the idea of being owed anything; his only true intentions were to do what he could with the limited time he had to help those in need. It was nice, however, to see this other side of his friend, one that seemed to care and would go so far as to offer his own gratitude for something only the people benefited from - in fact, he would go as far as to say Ormir was a perfect fit for royalty, if he'd even seen one, and he'd gone as far up as one not born from the highest blood could go. Deserved. "Your gratitude is enough." A smile was offered. Just knowing he'd done something decent and helped many on the process was more than enough for him - it meant he was capable of doing good even as a toy for the darkness inside.
Alder drank as the other matched his toast, feeling the flavorful beer reinvigorate him, a good cold ale at the end of a stressful series of misfortunes was something he'd always appreciate. In Lysara, the Hero was conflicted, however, mixed feelings flooding his head as he tried not to think too deeply - his true face had been revealed to the Tower wizards, but they did nothing... They didn't lock him up or try to hunt him down. It was weird, especially as an Iskaran, to receive such treatment, more so when they probably knew of his circumstances. His mind was again brought back to the present moment by the question... Where was he?
"I was traveling through the Midlands, going down to the Southlands." He spoke the truth. It wasn't a secret, and neither would he keep it hidden from a friend. "You know how I earned my title... The Errant Knight..." He smiled towards The Raven-Feeder. "I try to do it once a year, you know? Travel around... Help people... Well, this time my plan was cut short by war." It was unfortunate, but he did help people as he intended, though not the way he would have preferred. "How about you?"
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It had been long since The Hero taught another, it was something he hardly ever did in life, only few had been apprentices to his sword and some of them even went on to become powerful people, but there was a reason for him not to teach: he was harsh and his talents had shown at a young age, so he couldn't lower his bar for those who did not match his expectations. That wasn't a quality, it was more like a flaw of his, and he knew that all too well, but he never cared to change, it was something that pushed those who wished to follow the blade away from him and that was good since he didn't want others to get too close.
Alder had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his mind focused on what he had planned for today, and it was only when he felt the other Vuldak's presence that he was brought back to the real world outside his mind. "I noticed last time, in our mission, that you had good awareness of your surroundings." He started with his back still towards her, then he turned around, releasing his arms as he led a hand to the hilt of his sword, sliding his fingers towards the sheathe and undoing the clip on his belt, as he walked towards the girl. It'd been long, but his eyes had never been sharper. "I believe you have potential." And he needed her to become even stronger, to lead a life of comfort when he was gone. He threw his sword to the side, grabbing two sticks from the ground and offering one of them to Juneau. "Do you want to become stronger?"
He expects Juneau has talked about him to the man in some capacity, Adrian, too. Jamie hasn't really had any reason to approach before, he cares for the blonde but he'd like to think he's not overbearing. Adrian was a bit different, he was bonded to the witch by actual blood and frankly, he seemed too trusting for his own good. "Said certain blonde we have in common." He answers with a nod of acknowledgement, hands in his pockets casually.
"Right so, we both obviously care for her. She's nae in any trouble, is she?" Beating around the bush isn't something he really does, not unless it's on purpose or for the sake of some banter. It's all said nonchalantly enough, but he does look to the other man pointedly.
Alder's brows furrowed at the answer given to him, wondering what could the other have thought of such importance to come discuss with him about the younger Vuldak. Had she, perhaps, told him of her situation? The old blademaster would not test that theory, but it was something that crossed his mind. "Ah, yes, I see..." He replied simply, and offered another smile, listening to what he had to say, curious and carefully.
The taller figure nodded at the man in front of him in response to the assumption that they both cared for her, he certainly did. "I'm not sure... Why would you ask that...?" He questioned, feeling like he'd missed something now that he said that. Had her past come back to haunt her or something worse than that? Had she joined a gang? What could that man be talking about?
There was an entire world out there that Prospero had barely scratched the surface of. Going to Iskaldrik had not ever been his full plan, but wherever money was, he would follow. Not to say that he was the kind of guy that only looked at the materialistic kind of thing, but he'd grown up a certain way. The farm was a quaint little life. Yet it had brought nothing but hardships his way. He wouldn't ever look down on it, but, well, he'd only ever hoped for better for him and his family. He took on all of these jobs to fill some sort of void that was left behind from their loss. There was a part of him that wondered if it was the same for Tek. They didn't know each other that well for him to ask that yet though. Maybe next time.
"Oh, well, now you've got my attention. Not to say you didn't have it before, but a drinking partner is right up my alley." As long as said person was okay with him drinking a little more than was probably needed. Maybe they'd even have to carry him home if it was a bit too much. Again though, that would be a next time thing. Still, he patted the other's shoulder and looked off towards where Lysara was waiting for them. "Stay safe there, Tek. And don't do anything that would warrant me collecting a bounty."
"So, we are to agree then," plainly mused, the barbarian had never been known for in depth retrospection or revealing deeply rooted sentiments of himself or his outwardly opinions. To put it kindly, in Lothar's sense, he thought the festival was bullshit no matter how much one could spin it was a tradition; sometimes life did not favor the cyclical churn of tradition, not when war breathed on the outskirts of this place, waiting to set ablaze another section of land under it's unyielding boot. He was pleased to hear that the Bladesmaster could agree to some extent but Lothar was scornful and he would not attempt to lower himself to the idea of falling into this trap of celebration.
He was just one person, albeit a mighty barbarian and mercenary of the guild, but he would continue to train until even an Aetherian mage would be fearful of his human strengths. "Are you asking me to dinner, Blademaster?" There's humor edged in his tone, but it's laced with respect for TEK and his accomplishments; one who earned the mark was one that Lothar could not truly be irritable towards.
Affirming what TEK stated, he gave a curt nod, "Mostly the social factor, definitely the Lysarans." A brief sigh as though TEK's mindset about the festivities was to be considered and was effectively whittling down the irascible brute, "I've been contracted to Lysara in brief stints over my.. career, but I've never bothered to stay for long." Mostly because, well, he hated them just as equally as they hated him.
Alder looked over at his company before his gaze fell back to the crowds of people. "I believe so." The Vuldak nodded. Culture was an important part of society and it represented its ways and past, he was not beyond respecting tradition, but the world was changing rapidly and it would only progress further into something darker with the fall of Iskaldrik, as Alder believed, a shift in balance. One that would only lead to trouble further on.
A smile appeared on his calm features as the other cracked a joke at his invitation, and soon a short laugh followed. "I am asking you to a friendly meal, sure." He replied, now in a better humor than before. Being annoyed was something he rarely was, so getting rid of that emotion was something he would gladly do.
The older man could not argue with that, the Lysarans sure were too stuck up to his likings, but that was not all of them, he was sure. He'd met a few others of the Queendom before and sure did not feel judged or belittled at all in their presence, maybe it was their status as refugees doing the trick? They'd been checked by magic when they arrived and that alone had left him uncomfortable. "Lysarans are... Something else..." He agreed. "Yes, I do have a story much like yours with this place... Maybe with time they'll grow on us?"
“Why are you apologizing? I don’t recall guiding me to the mines,” Shenuvun points out with bemusement, even as she takes a breath to calm her raging mention at the apology. It had been the first apology she had received since she had freed herself from the mines, and it hit harder than she wanted to admit. Still, she was far too old to cry, despite being admittedly somewhat charmed by the sincerity dripping from his words. “In fact, my biggest impression of you is that of you fighting to help us. I should be apologizing to you for all the trouble.”
Apologizing and thanking him until she had run out of breath, for choosing to risk himself for a group of virtual strangers for something other than duty to the Iskaran crown. Her time in Iskaldrik had taught her that people are not inherently as she had believed, but all the small acts of kindness she had seen through her time with the troupe was telling her that no matter what, they were still worth the effort.
“I am indeed, I don’t partake on the day to day operations much, but I take care of the vineyards with my ability,” she explains, sharing his smile. “It would be my pleasure, and I will even make it on the house, for one of our rescuers,” she tells him firmly before laughing softly. “We mostly specialize in wine, and I will have to get back to you on the food, as eight years is long enough that my information might be a bit out of touch. I did enjoy the charcuterie boards, however.”
Alder remained silent when she said those words, knowing all too well that probably still haunted her by the tone of her voice. It was a delicate subject and one he didn't think was a good thing to talk about when they'd just recently met. He was glad she only saw him as someone who came to help her instead of a man carrying the weight of his kingdom's sins on his back. "I did it out of my own volition, there's no point in apologizing. I didn't even do that for glory or gratitude," He mused with a short shrug. "I did what was right." And that had been his whole life so far.
The Errant Knight did not hide his fascination towards the subject. "Ah, yes, magic and stuff, right?" He asked, taking part on the curiosity of what that was all about since he knew very little of magic in general. "I always wondered how one would know of their connection to such power...?" The old Vuldak knew for a fact that he wasn't in any way connected to magic, but it was something he wanted to know.
A short laugh left the man's mouth. "Oh, now that I know it's wine, I'll have to take you up on that offer!" Good alcohol was something he could appreciate as it was one of the only things that kept the beast inside at bay when it awaited its offerrings.
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"A girl can hope, can't she?" She misses the wolves, hasn't felt right since leaving Haven and exploring more of Eterna, the sea was beautiful and the buildings were gorgeous and yet there was a sense of disharmony as if the paved roads hid something darker, all the riches in the world couldn't grant happiness but people were going to lose their hearts trying. The refugees were all complex and could be called difficult in their own ways but there was a sense of understanding, a common link of tragedy that had connected all of them. They were salt of the earth people and once again, she was homesick for a home country that no longer existed.
She nods, falling into step with him and relaxed at the notion of losing a few hours to company with a friend. "I decided to join in the Neptualia games on a whim, wasn't good at swimming or fighting Gladiator style. Found the temple underneath the sea first but ran into various force fields that nearly killed me and they wanted us to fight a Dracodile that was held against it's will with the nobles of Eterna holding it's eggs as a tribute gift."
Honestly, as a member of the Warrior's Guild, Gladiators seemed like brutes to him, fighting for money instead of using their strength for something that really mattered, but he wouldn't get into that now, not with the story she was telling him. "Wow..." He exclaimed after hearing her story, slightly concerned, but at the same time more impressed than anything. He had no reason not to believe her since he knew she was something that would not be lying to him, she had nothing to gain from it anyway. "You sure know how to keep busy..." He joked, with a short laughter that was followed by a shake of his head.
"That must have been quite the adventure." It was, at least, more than what he'd done so far, as most of his time was spent doing nothings and working for the Guild. "Did you kick those nobles' asses?" He questioned. There was no doubt he would've loved to do so if they really just took the eggs from a poor creature to make it aggressive and 'entertaining'. Those were the worst kind of people really... Maybe he could get their names for another time.
Juneau didn’t have a better answer for why he may have wanted her to go than the fact that she had shown up unannounced and unplanned. Perhaps if she was thinking more clearly she might have realized that, at least with Alder, she had been relatively responsible when it came to reporting her coming and going. But it seemed like that wasn’t the right answer to his question, so she just stared at him with a tired expression on her face and shrugged her shoulders. When he asked her to stay, she didn’t argue or try to leave–it was easy to take him at his word that she was wanted; even if the idea of being wanted was unfamiliar. She turned her head downward again in the cradle of her arms and couldn’t help but think of all the things she wanted to say and explain about the Mystery Box, but she couldn’t.
“You were right,” she finally managed once he had gotten up, although she wasn’t specific about what he had been right about immediately. She turned to face him, a heaviness about her features as she placed her chin on her knee to look at him. But she only adopted this posture for a moment or two, because a few seconds later she was unlatching her arms from around her shins and lifting them to clumsily wipe the tears away from suddenly tearing eyes. “I’m sorry I said I wouldn’t forgive you,” she half-whimpered, “and that I said I never wanted to talk to you again.” He might be able to intuit what she was referring to based on what she apologized for. “I didn’t mean it,” she promised, her voice likely sounding much more reminiscent of how she might have been as a small child if there were anyone around for her to bond with enough that it would matter that she’d hurt them. If only anyone had ever loved you.
The glass he poured her was left on the table, though she might drink it if he prompted her a few moments later. But the soup and whatever was in her glass felt unimportant–she didn’t feel like she could swallow anyway. It felt difficult just to breathe under the crushing weight of the truth he’d been right about and the anger she’d lodged against him when she insisted on clinging to the false hope she carried within her. Alder had done little but try to protect and mentor her, and she felt that maybe she ought to leave even if he had told her he didn’t want that. She was undeserving of his help and cruel when he tried to offer it, and she saw little redeemable within herself.
There was a world in which she could've lived a life of ignorance and innocence, where she could remain happy, counting her years until she was old. In that world, the only betrayal she'd had to go through was that of time as her hair turned white and her body more tired, but that was a world they would never know. He'd missed his chance at a life like that when he chose to turn that figure his people had created into reality, to be the one to protect them when they needed it, but Juneau? She didn't choose... Her life had been one bad thing after the other, he could see it on the way she portrayed herself, he'd seen many like her throughout his stretched out lifespan. It was upsetting to the point of relentless rage. Many times he had found himself restless in his bed wondering if he had done right in telling her what she needed to hear, and he never really got to an answer.
Now, more than ever, seeing her like that, he questioned himself on the matter. She brought them back to that day at the campsite, when she uttered those things in a moment of anger, and he never really blamed her for her words, he did overstep her boundaries, and they didn't know each other that well back then. The more she spoke, the more heartbreaking all of that seemed, but Alder didn't open his mouth until she'd let all she had to say out. "It's okay." He replied simply, his voice calm and filled with genuinity. "You've gone through too much, and it was hardly my place to tell you that..." He could recognize that now. "You didn't need more problems in your mind. I'm sorry." Honestly, that wasn't the type of conversations he was good at. Instead of wailing over all of that, however, he paused, watching her for a moment. "What do you want to do about it?" He then questioned regarding the situation between her and that other person, wondering what she had in mind.