Scared to Death

The witch could relate to Rowan’s loneliness. He had thought that he liked to be alone, but he had learned that was not entirely true. He hadn’t known what true loneliness was like until he was hunted down over and over by the beasts on the Island of Man. No, he hated being alone, but was forced to be regardless.

Marco was disappointed when Rowan stopped drawing. He wished he had just kept his mouth shut and let the moment continue. It was too late now and the witch silently sighed. “You ruin everything,” a voice whispered in his ear before he could push it back into unintelligible whispers.

But then the disappointment turned into excitement. Not the lustful excitement he felt every time he looked at the vampire. It was an eagerness to learn everything about the man next to him. He didn’t want to use the knowledge for anything in particular, but he just wanted to know the man. Really know him. He stayed silent as the vampire spoke about himself, not wanting to break the spell that had him divulging his story.

Marco mirrored Rowan’s smile and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course it’s important. If your friendship was anything like me and Oli…He was the only family I had as a child. My parents-” He didn’t like talking about his parents. He barely told Alivander what happened, although he certainly knew what had happened when Marco ran to him sobbing with a swollen eye or a bleeding nose. “They beat me daily. Without Alivander…well, I would have killed myself long before the voices–” Marco cut himself off, fearing he had said too much.

How rare was it for another being to touch him? One that he hadn’t paid or meant him harm, that is. His mother’s lips against his forehead, his father’s warm palm upon his head -- all those fond memories, and the feelings associated with them, were slowly beginning to fade. All too soon he would forget them, just as his kindred did. And then what would he have to find solace in? The companionship of whatever whores could bare his company.

But here was Marco, a hesitant smile upon his face, offering Rowan something he had so desperately needed. And the horror of it was he hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed it. This simple touch, this display of platonic affection, had Rowan instantly craving more. So how could he ever pry himself away now? Now when he remembered just how good it felt to feel as if someone cared.

He could only take comfort in Marco’s touch for so long, though. Soon, as their conversation turned toward Marco’s sordid past, it seemed as though Rowan was the one offering support. He could sympathize at least with the awful upbringing the witch had endured. While his own parents had been protective and loving, it seemed Marco’s familial ties were far different.

He could see young Marco in his mind, eyes cloudy with tears as pain overwhelmed his small form. What family could do such a thing to their own child? And for what reason? Rowan doubted he could ever understand such actions, but as Marco’s memories began to filter through his mind, he realized such questions were best reserved for a later date.

Concerning himself with Marco’s awful memories, the fledgling attempted to press calm and peace into his troubled mind. He mirrored the weak smile offered to him with something more genuine, hoping that the witch would feel at ease, for now at least.

“I’m glad that you had Alivander at least. Though what you went through no child should ever have to endure.” It seemed Marco’s entire life had been misery after misery, though. No wonder the grasp with which he held onto his sanity was so weak. Why, it was a damned miracle they could sit and have a normal conversation at all.

And that gave the fledgling some measure of hope for Marco. Though it would be a difficult path, perhaps Marco stood a chance of finding help for his issues. Rowan could only offer so much with what small amount of magic he possessed. But there was hope for Marco, he was certain of it.

He wasn’t certain that he could say the same for himself.

At the mention of his long lost friend, Rowan’s smile became bitter. “I did find him,” he said. “But I doubt our reunion was anything like yours and Alivander’s.”

He could remember the night with vivid clarity. The anguish, the pure hatred that had rolled of Rory had nearly choked him. How could he ever hope to forget? But Rowan didn’t know why he’d expected anything else. He’d betrayed his best friend, left him to fend for himself and become... Become someone whose affections he had to pay for.

His smile widened at Rowan’s cautious recognition. The fae put a finger to his chin, feigning a look of recollection. “Hmm…I seem to remember–” Water filled the busy room, the sounds drowning out into a garbled mess. Tankards and food floated upwards in the water. The patrons were going on as if everything was normal as schools of fish swam around them picking nibbles out of their suspended bread. A large shark passed between Rowan and Nayru and the fae transformed into the form he had been in the day they had met. A normal man from the waist up, but instead of legs a dark blue fish tail extended out of his torso.

The next second everything was back to normal. Nayru was in his fully human body, and the common room as dry as it had ever been. His grin widened again as if that was explanation enough. Spotting an empty table, Nayru strode over while beckoning the young man to come join him.

The youth jumped as a shark swamp past them. Though he was startled briefly, he couldn’t help but to reach out and dare to run fingers across its side. But before he had the chance, all was returned to normal. The water all but evaporated, no signs of wetness anywhere. Rowan was admittedly a bit disappointed then. After all, sea life was so much more interesting, more beautiful than most things that resided on dry land.

“So it is you,” the boy murmured finally, a smile daring to spread across his face when the disappointment of the faded illusion left him. “You know, I tell our patrons stories about you all the time. Did you perhaps hear one of them and decide to make a visit?”

Rowan was certain such a fantastic creature had better things to do than listen to the tavern tales of mortals, but he was giddy with the thought of Nayru’s presence. He had so many questions he wished to ask him. Where had he come from originally? How far did his magic extend? And what precisely was he anyway? But he reserved his questions for later, focusing instead on the query that was posed to him.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said with a bright smile. “Though I daresay my day is rather improved now that you’re here.

“You digress. I came to encourage a fight in you, preparation. To dive deeper into what makes you a fighter on multiple fronts, and I am now having a conversation about death and dying. Opportunities like this don’t come often where they are gifted freely, without so much risk. Had this been a ronin wolf with a vendetta it would have gone into a fight without a care of your name or what you have seen,” Anton folded his arms cross the great expanse of his chest once more. Seeming to hold an expression of disappointment, but it was laced in concerns that he had maybe made a larger error in the creatures will to want to live at all. The jails incident had awaken Anton. He had went home and hunted– brutally a nest of rogue vampires with Lailah. The wolf had his releases when he needed them. But he was over all this. He was over it the day he left Athoria. 

“Being immortal means you have more time than you can ever imagine. You must train yourself to let some of this stuff go. Or time will pass by and you will miss out on living. It is why I am in Athoria at all. Meeting with friends I care deeply about, locating people I need to deal with. No matter how much events can hurt you. Always forward,” Anton’s brow furrowed, the bones shifting into a deeper structure that revealed more wolf than homid illusions to trick humanity with. Though an old, worn sharp fanged smile tugged along his lips. 

He hadn’t meant to make his friend so disappointed, but Rowan was hardly a fighter like Anton seemed to believe. Despite surviving his birth into death, he would have never described himself as such. But perhaps some small part of him wanted to be, if only to please his friend. Rowan could fight for those he believed in. He could fight until his dying moment for those he loved. But Rowan rarely fought for himself. He’d never really found anything worth fighting for, after all.

But he would do whatever it took to wipe the look of disappointment from Anton’s face. If that meant being stronger, learning to fight, then he would. Rowan had lost enough friends in the last year. He couldn’t stand to lose Anton as well.

So he listened to the wolf’s words carefully, doing his best to take them to heart. Anton had been through so much, too much, and yet he still continued to push on. Rowan should be like that too, shouldn’t he? Find some way to continue on with his hesitant grip on immortality and thrive. ‘Always forward‘ the wolf had said, and Rowan found himself nodding subconsciously, letting the words echo in his head.

It seemed his opportunity to prove himself would not come this day, though. Anton was all but prepared to leave, and though Rowan wished he would linger, he understood his need for other companionship. “I’ll be better,” the fledgling said softly. “I don’t know how. I don’t know who can help me. But I will do my best to move forward, to be stronger than I am.”

He hoped it was a promise he could keep. Rowan highly doubted any of his kindred would be keen on training him, but perhaps there was another way...

His eyes were squeezed tight when he felt the weight of the vampire settle on the bench beside him. Once the world felt more steady around him he looked up and drank in the beautiful landscape a little more fully than the first time. The silver light of the moon settled on the various petals and leaves giving the entire garden a seemingly magical glow. He had an inclination to try and enhance that aspect with a bit of his own magic, but decided against it. Even in his sober state it would more likely than not reduce the beautiful scene into a pile of ashes.

The witch was entirely ignorant of the awkwardness the vampire was feeling. Silence was nice sometimes. Why litter such a tranquil situation with inane small talk? But the sound of charcoal on paper brought Marco out of his reverie and back to his companion. Marco rested his elbow on the back of the bench and then his head in his hand. He was mesmerized as, slowly, the picture came to life to show the scene directly in front of them.

He looked at his drawing again, lips pursed as he silently critiqued his work. It certainly wasn’t as good as what had been displayed for the festival, so in response to the mage he only gave a little shrug.

“i wouldn’t have survived if I tried to make a living off this, though,” he said with a small, derisive chortle. “That had been the plan originally. not with drawing, mind you, but...”

Rowan’s words died away, a frown settling upon his lips when he realized how careless he’d been. Why was he telling Marco all of this? Was the mage’s inebriation effecting him as well? Turning to meet Marco’s gaze more fully, he realized that the witch was now all but sober. So why had he said that? Why had he told him something so personal?

He knew privately why he’d been so quick to divulge these stories. And that reason was loneliness. The same cursed loneliness that would not allow him to part ways with the witch. Marco was, for all intents and purposes, a captive audience, pulled in by the allure of Rowan’s magic and a possible death wish. But Marco hadn’t abandoned Rowan like so many others had, and until the day he drained him dry, it was possible he never would.

Rowan let out a sigh then, placing his sketch book aside as he considered his next words. It was stupid, incredibly stupid, to entrust anyone with his most intimate details. But Rowan grew weary of paying for feigned companionship. He grew weary of hiding away every single part of himself. So despite how utterly foolish it was, despite how he knew he would live to regret this, Rowan dared to let his guard down, just for tonight.

“I liked to tell stories when i was young,” he said softly. “i think I used to be good at it too. I could make people laugh and smile with just a short little tale, and it made me happy to give happiness to others.

“My friend...” He hesitated, shoulders tensing as he forced himself to continue. “My friend encouraged me to try my hand at storytelling professionally. He had a beautiful singing voice, and we were going to make a run at it, see where our talents got us. Live out our dreams together...

“But those are childish dreams, dreams that I didn’t realize were foolish until it was almost too late. I would have died of starvation or sickness trying to live off of my silly stories. So I quit, took up my family business.

“I was content.”

But not anymore, he thought. His quiet little life had been destroyed by the man he was now forever connected to. Things were no longer the same, never would be, and Rowan wondered if the life of a struggling writer would have saved him from this fate.

“I do know what it feels like to die,” he admitted with a rough tone from his partial phase. All his form stretched in a wide inhale, the disformed ribs along his left side pulled the thick skin thinnly over the bones. “I watched hundreds of my wolves perish around me Rowan. My children beheaded. Babies…” He visibly shuttered. Their echos haunting. “I understand what you feel on a level I can’t begin to explain to you. But I died that day. In the snow, I should have stayed dead.” 

He had felt everything Collette had desired those to feel selfishly that night as well. Rowan was shaken by it still and Anton for once didn’t have the strength to offer anything more but distraction. His suffering was never ending, had been for over forty years, there was no advice he could give to quell the concern the young one had. Because Anton was the poorest example. 

it wasn’t so much that Rowan grieved the death of Collette Markham particularly. He hadn’t known the woman, and her absence from this earth meant very little to him. but it was what she’d shown him, shown them all, that haunted him. Though it was Collette’s life that waste away to nothing, the morbid sensation of death still lingered in his bones.

Whenever his mind wandered, he could feel the flames licking at his flesh. Vividly, he would recall the excruciating pain, the pain that never seemed to yield. How soon before it was him burned at the stake? How long before he experienced what Collette had that night? These thoughts oppressed him in a way he could never express out loud. For now that he knew what death felt like, he could never ever forget.

He was distracted from his own morose thoughts when Anton’s voice broke through the silence. He cringed at the memories his words had forced Anton to recall. His grief was palpable in the air that surrounded him. Rowan almost wished he could offer the wolf some sort of support. But much like all that haunted him, there was very little he could do to heal that which plagued Anton.

“I’m sorry,” he finally murmured, his words even more unhelpful when spoken aloud. No amount of apologies would bring back Anton’s family, and it would not help him to forget his loss. A loss that Rowan had forced him to remember...

How selfish was he? To make Anton relive one of the worst moments of his life. And for what? His own issues were nothing when compared to what Anton had suffered. This man, his friend, had come to him seeking companionship, and Rowan had denied him the reprieve he so clearly sought.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, guilt weighing heavily upon his chest. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask such things, Anton. I hope...that you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”

He met the eyes of the wolf then, hoping to convey his sincerity through his expression. He didn’t mean to be so utterly unbearable, but it seemed that this was his constant state of being anymore.

No wonder his kindred so abhorred him. no wonder he had so few friends. Who would want to be a companion to such a pathetic, selfish creature? Rowan certainly wouldn’t. And he supposed that’s why he loathed himself so much.

A sad smile spread across the fledgling’s face then. “I wish I could make your suffering end.” The words were said softly, sincerely, for Rowan truly wished Anton all the joy in the world. Despite his own shortcomings, Anton had always treated the fledgling as a friend. And with each passing day, Rowan realized just how much he valued that most base affection.

He had come to know so much disdain and hatred in his undead life, and Anton was one of the few to offer him a reprieve from that. Shouldn’t Rowan offer him the same?

“What is with you?” he humored to his own ears, knowing he would be heard regardless. The sigh. The stance. The barely contained trust in the beast when he had believed such things should have been established months ago when they were faced with an impossible challenge and prevailed. Was this another strange vampire thing? Did they not hold moments of honor as highly as the wolves? It wouldn’t surprise him actually. He just hadn’t expected to be met with this. 

He cocked his head. 

It would perhaps be more worrisome if the fledgling was lusting for a fight, eager to paint the floors of the forest with his friend’s blood. No, that was a feeling Rowan would very much like to avoid. So when the wolf snorted at him incredulously, he couldn’t help to respond similarly.

Defensive, the fledgling crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s with me? You’re the one stalking the night looking for a fight.” The pout that settled upon his face might have been endearing if not for the edge of annoyance in his voice. “All I wanted was to clear my head, to just...try and forget...”

His brows furrowed further, lips curving into a deep frown. He’d never truly be able to forget what he’d seen, what he’d felt when Collette Markham met her death. But dammit, he was trying.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel yourself die, Anton?” He looked up to the wolf with a grim expression. Looking over his many scars, he imagined the wolf had some understanding of that which he spoke of. “I’ve experienced my own death twice now. Two years ago, when I was turned into this...thing, I realized what it was to die a mortal death. I felt my heart slow to a stop. I felt my body growing colder and colder until...until there was nothing left inside to warm me.

He heard Tanner’s anguished voice as the pain continued to ebb through his body. He won’t hurt me, he’d said. But Rowan had always thought he could say the same of Tanner. That wasn’t true anymore, was it? Being near Tanner was… It was dangerous, that much was clear. So when the werewolf reached out for him again, tried pathetically to stop his bleeding, Rowan bared his fangs and hissed.

“Don’t you touch me,” he growled, his hands wrapping around the arrow still protruding from his calf. He pulled at it carefully, a small cry passing his lips as he did so. “Don’t you ever touch me again. This is all your fault. I don’t need your bloody help…”

But he did need someone’s help, it seemed. He wrenched the first arrow from his leg swiftly, a howl of pain ripping forth from his throat as he did so. Blood continued to gush forth from the wound, his lips curled into a pained snarl as he braced to give his opposite leg the same treatment.

The arrows were only the beginning though. It would take at least an hour for his wounds to heal properly, and by then another set of thieves could find him. How could he protect himself now? All but incapacitated, he needed someone else to help him.

But he’d be damned if Tanner was that person.

But it didn’t seem like Rowan was interested.

“Okay – okay,” the boy shook and flinched at Rowan’s words, and he cowered into himself when his supposed friend moved away. He couldn’t expect Rowan to understand what was happening, because Tanner didn’t even understand it himself…

The scene was a mess. Blood spilled against the cobblestone, combined with broken pieces of glass that had shattered from the assassin’s potion bottles. Rowan was vulnerable and hurt and even if Rowan didn’t want his help, Tanner was going to do the least he could to make sure he got out of that ally okay.

Tanner crawled to the painting and gathered it in his hands, blood staining the framework and now dripping down its beautiful canvas. Disheveled and entirely too upset for his own well being, he stood to a fragile stand and stepped away from the vampire, leaving him in peace as he requested. “I’ll lead everyone away,” he mumbled, not sure where the strength was to even manage to put words together. “Try to get out of here…I’m sorry,”

The wolf ran back the way he originally came, leaving his fallen friend behind. If luck was on his side, the guards would follow him a different way and give Rowan time to get out of sight. 

At his words Anton literally laughed. It sounded like the wolf was coughing, a hack catching in his ribs at that hilarious shout. Fine young one.

With a violent collision of bones, contorting and shifting into longer homid shapes. Anton appeared wolfish in nature, not taking on all aesthetics of man. A gleam of sharp teeth, and strangely a rare smile. 

“I don’t kill unless it’s necessary,” Anton’s deep voice resonated into a growl in his thick chest plate. Gray hairs meshed with dark browns across most of his skin, revealing old scars in painted clarity. “Plus, do you think so low of me? Come on–” he hit his chest, settling into a fighting position. Lupus long, disjointed legs gave Anton a long, tall lycan appearance. Shaggy hair twisted in a mess of curls around his face. Pointed ears elongated, forward. 

Skittish as ever, he backed further away as he watched Anton’s body transform. But despite his fear, he lingered, still hoping he could make the wolf see reason.

“I don’t kill unless it’s necessary,” he’d said. But how did Rowan know that his death wasn’t necessary in Anton’s eyes? For all the mishaps he’d experienced since his turning, he could only wonder if his continued existence wasn’t more problematic than anything else. But, thankfully, it did not seem Anton was interested in murdering the fledgling. A bit of sport was what he was after, it appeared, though Rowan was hardly interested in playing.

“You can’t blame me for being cautious,” the vampire said with a sigh. Perhaps Anton did not remember their escape from the Athorian Jails clearly, but Rowan did. It would be stupid of him to let his guard down entirely, especially with all the strange occurrences that now seemed overly rampant in Athoria. He couldn’t trust anything, not fully. And that he trusted Anton for the moment was dangerous in itself.

He hadn’t the time to answer the queries the wolf posed to him, not before he was urging the fledgling to attack. Lips curved into a frown, Rowan said, “No, I’ve never fought your kind. I like to avoid fighting as much as necessary.”

These were probably the entirely wrong words to say, of course. That knowledge would more than likely have Anton goading him on even more. But there was the barest glimmer of hope that his words would get him off the hook, let him escape without a tussle in the dirt.

“Certainly it has. “ she smiled gently, moving closer with a sympathetic look to her face. She knew her wolven senses well enough to know that something was different about him, but with no guidance she had little way of knowing what scent meant what. So she couldn’t tell that he was a vampire. But what did she know. He was a man who not only needed help, but could also provide her with some answers.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I know how to get you to a place to rest. Just follow me, sir. “ she smiled genuinely. Her curiosity or the fear of her situation would never stop her from helping people in need. If she didn’t get answers, so be it. She helped this man. And that was what really mattered.

It seemed only a second had passed before Rowan was narrowing his eyes at her. Perhaps she was only trying to be friendly, but after what had transpired, Rowan would have seen danger in any words she spoke.

He crept into her mind after she posed her question. And as he rummaged around for a deeper, darker reasoning for her query, he realized then that she had experienced the same strange phenomena as himself. That gave him pause, a beat of silence that lasted too long sprawling out between them. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to answer her honestly but it still seemed smarter to keep the truth hidden away.

He emerged from the shadows. All sharp teeth in a wolfish smile that was more terrifying than appearing friendly. His monstrous form walked out like it was a nightmare. The sharp bend of his shoulders uneven bones structures and shorter back left leg gave a distorted strut to what should be a fluid step. Fur was permanently scared over with rough, hard wolven skin from where his bones had broken against the rocks and pierced through the muscles and flesh for days. Rebuilding. Healing. To be reopen with one shift of movement in attempt to get his body down from the chains. 

As the wolf drew nearer, Rowan made sure to remind himself that this was a friend. He would not harm him, not intentionally, and he should be able to trust in that. But the glint in Anton’s eye made Rowan anxious. Perhaps the wolf was remembering something horrid from his past, something that would make Rowan seem like an enemy. Still Rowan stood firmly before his wolven form, putting on the bravest face that he could.

His trust, of course, was misplaced, for as soon as it seemed all was well, Anton was launching himself forward. Rowan let out a yelp of surprise, quickly jumping backward before the wolf could catch him in his grasp. “Just what are you trying to do?!” the fledgling shouted incredulously. “Kill me?!”

He kept the connection to Rowan, looking for something that could signify where he was, something that would make the younger vampire able to find him, to save him before he felt some terrible fate. Then he saw it, a sign carved into planks of driftwood, pointing him from the beach into Hallowed Oak, into the direction of Monir. Where there was some path waiting for him. He took a mental snapshot and sent it to his brethren. “Here. This is all I can find. But it is something. I suppose I could take the path and make it to Monir and meet you there. Anything to get me out of here. “

Finding himself upon the outskirts of Monir already, Rowan considered the many paths heading east. There was, of course, the path which would take him to the Ports. But if Roman were near the Ports, surely he’d have seen a ship or two by now. No, he was somewhere else, which left Rowan with only two more options. The path which would lead him northward to Chile Village, and the other which... Well, he wasn’t quite sure where it went.

There wasn’t time for the fledgling to hesitate, he knew. The longer he waited, the more danger his kindred was in. His decision made, Rowan stepped onto the nameless path and ran. It would not be long before he reached the eastern beaches, and then, hopefully, he would finally see Roman again.

The Peacekeeper Inn, Athoria

@rowan–murdoc

Traveling there was easy. Only a thought and there he was standing across the dirt road. The Inn was lively and welcoming, but still, he had reservations in actually walking through the door. What if he found that bloody, violent death had already come? 

Nayru had lived a long time and had lost many friends. Still, he refused to get accustomed to it. He grieved each death as if it were the first. When you made friends with mortals, they would inevitably die, change into that immortal soul that was never really the same. Even the ones that insisted they were immortal, they would die too. But, unlike many of his kin’s opinions, that did not make their friendship and lives meaningless. 

This was a slightly different situation, Nayru had to admit. Rowan’s life would be shorter than many others if his visions were to be believed, and so far they had never lied to him. He made a decision quickly. He would make sure the boy was okay, at least for now. Perhaps he could make his life a bit more fun in the meantime. Besides, the Goddesses had given him the vision for a reason, right? 

Words shared in the dark between two dear friends haunted him whenever his mind wandered. On his eighteenth name day this simple life he’d cultivated would drastically change. His mother’s gentle chastisements, his father’s unyielding smiles, they would all fade away when that day arrived. The quiet little village of Brightview Farm would be only a memory then. It would be Monir City that he called home after that.

He knew not why his mind had drifted to these thoughts during the daylight hours, though. Usually such fears only manifested when he was tucked beneath his sheets, his eyelids growing heavy as sleep began to overcome him. But before he could ponder this for too long, he felt a tap upon his shoulder. Turning from the table that he’d been cleaning, Rowan smiled automatically at their new customer.

“Yes, sir, of course. What would you like?”

It wasn’t until he looked at the man, really looked at him, that he recognized that familiar face. With azure eyes and pale hair, he bore a rather shocking appearance. But this appearance was nothing compared to the first encounter he’d had with this man.