C A H I R ( ᶜᵉᵃˡᵃᶜʰ ) ‘’
* CONTINUED ASK / @putrefactie !
THIS WAS NOT PRECISELY THE SORT OF GREETING HE HAD EXPECTED. He thought… He thought of the times when all had been unlike the way it was then, when the world had not yet had its chance to change them. Those times, it seemed, had long ago ended. Both Cahir and Hector were no longer boys, but war-weathered men. Not long was his joy meant to last when Hector agreed to his request as a spell came forth, which knocked the former Knight to the ground.
Stubborn as ever, Cahir did not remain on the ground, but slowly stood to his feet, raising bare hands to Hector’s sight. “Wait,” he whimpered, “I’m not armed!” Of course he was armed, by the Great Sun! He was always armed. The knives in his boots, for one, were always with him, his truest friends and companions in times of need. He had only discarded his sword so as to emphasize his intent to Hector, namely that he meant no harm. He grew to tire of fighting.
“I’m merely here for a drink.” A truth. “It has been, forgive my wording, a fucking terrible year.” An understatement. Evading his captors had drained him of his strength, and Cahir was lost, so lost. All he had ever known was a lie. All of it! What was he to believe now? Was he even to believe ever again? “All I want is to sit down, grab the biggest pint of ale they have, and possibly drown in it. You can come with me or you can simply let me be, Hector. I have no wish to fight you.”
VINES READY TO HOLD HIM DOWN, they wither and dust they become once more. His spell dies as his determination to draw blood also fades away. The strangest form of plea saving the knight from the wrath of a wild sorcerer, surprise also was part of his salvation ( Hector remembers a proud and devoted soldier, a man so eager to accomplish his duty : but today, a stranger stands before him ). CURIOSITY DRAWS HIM CLOSER TO THE DESERTER, like a curious beast trying to understand what stands before him. So alike, and yet still full of mysteries, Cahir was a good liar - but as far as the mage remembered, he was also a good man, an honest one. Could be it be that, at last, he grew tired of the war and its horrors ?
— What happened to you ? “ COMPASSION BURNS IN THE PITS OF HIS WINTER EYES, his hand frozen in the air as a gesture of kindness ( the relic of a past filled with love and sweet intentions ) is put to an halt before his fingers even grazed the man's cheek. — I'll follow you if you tell me. “ THOUGH HE DESESPERATLY WISHES TO BELIEVE HIM, to find in him something that brings them together again ( an army of two against the pain an Empire has condemned them to suffer ) , should it be a vengence, to believe in something, you need a story first. To trust him, he'll have to known that the Knight renounces the teachings of the vilest of art ( war ). For his pain is too great for him to ever freely have faith in humanity again, Hector needs the words of another to understand that he was not simply going mad - resentment have this power to make you doubt your own anger and righteousness. But above all those concerned laid the fear of what might have happened to such a gentle and passionate soul such as Cahir's : for one who loved his nation so much, his emperor so much and his mission too, a man who welcomed blood on his hands for the sake of Nilfgaard, he spoke like someone whose heart had been shattered in a million piece. WHAT HURT HAD TRANSFORMED HIS SOUL ?


















