Winter's End [Heretic King, Private]

[Whim]

It was a miserable ride from the foothills of Ahjfeld back toward Caelshire. The snows and feasting of midwinter were long over; the countryside was muddy, cold, and picked clean from the war. Wylie rode at the head of his entourage; two dozen or so.

It was a somber affair. They didn't take the White Lily Knight as alive as planned. Wylie gritted his teeth; still angry his highborn niece and nephew languished in the squalor of the mage camps. With proper soldiers he'd have the bitch caged. He'd use her as a standard the way pirates lashed captives to their rams. On the upside his retinue was intact by some divine mercy. Beneath the mail and boiled leather most were gawky and fresh-faced, or graying. The young lord couldn't help but feel pangs of guilt.

"Do you reckon-- should we make camp, m'Lord?" Osric murmured, trying to stifle a yawn. He was a malnourished farmhand tasked with carrying the Wyndhams' banner, twisted black tree on a green field. He pointed to a dilapidated shack on a hill. "Farmhouse up there."

"Defensible enough." Wylie replied softly, then turned to the gaggle of boys and old men. "We're camping for the night. Have trenches dug and spiked. Dangerous country." He supposed he should say something inspiring and aristocratic. The words didn't come.

The young Lord took Osric and ten others to scout the burned-out husk. Not even a rotted bale of straw remained.

[Medievarad]

War drove people to their worst. And it was no different for Halla. Name almost any crime possible, she was the victim of it, torture, rape, attempted murder, theft, kidnapping. The list went on and on. And on a young mind such as hers it had a large influence, a moral compass was so skewered, it could be considered non existant. Empathy was an emotion of the past. Much like joy, love and happiness.

As the doors of the burned out husk of a farmhouse were pushed open, the young lord and several of his soldiers would see a scene that seemed to be one of nightmares.

It was ill lit, only the light from several crack and the door present. White hair was ragged and stained with fresh blood. A face splattered, a young, living girl who staggered at the sudden influx of light, away from a corpse which seemed to be gored up around the stomach area, fingers and toes missing.

The girl's hands were covered in blood, as she looked up at the soldiers, so was her face and her mouth. She also seemed to be extremely skinny.

But the situation was clear, the teenage girl had been feeding herself with human flesh.

Halla stumbled back on her ass, looking up at the company in fear, blue eyes wide with anguish. She wasn't scared for the fact she was found out cannibalising, she was just petrified, mistaking the soldiers for mordecai who came to finish the job.

War drove people to their worst.

[Whim]

Osric was the one to find her. The boy dropped his spear and stumbled back when he did; skin pale and eyes wide as saucers. Wyelie tugged him back and stepped forward to inspect the girl. Even he, who forced the light from so many eyes for his sorcery, couldn't hide a grimace. For a moment he thought it was some child-ghoul brought to life by all the death and hateful magic, but she was definitely alive, eyes filled with terror. The ragged form harkened back to his sister's children.

Wylie kept his distance, and motioned the scouts back, but it took time to find the words. "Is this your home, girl?"

The young lord took a half-step forward, as though soothing some frightened animal. He wondered if her mind and spirit were even whole. "We look to camp here. We've proper food." Eyes flickered to the corpse. Wylie decided not to broach the subject.

[Medievarad]

Words. Words she understood in the past. Words she could not comprehend now. She ran her hands up to her hair to grip at her own ears, pinching her eyes shut. As if the sound of a human voice hurt. She crawled back whilst doing so, before her back thumped against the wall.

The men who hurt her used words. They took Adus' tongue. Adus never spoke, Adus was nice. Therefore, these men were out to kill her. And she couldn't do anything about it. Adus wasn't around to protect her anymore.

The carcass between herself and Wylie was a grim reminder that her best friend and gaurdian wasn't around anymore.

[Pinote]

 As night fell the air was still, except for movement in the shadows. It was an outlander from beyond these lands  who heard stories about the young lord and planned a murder. He found Wylie
and a teenage girl. The second Pisau took out a knife the young lord's men took him down and gave him a stab wound. Pisau ran out and set up camp for the night, but he couldn't get any sleep with a stab wound.

[Whim]

(Welcome to SotE Pinote! Typically its a good idea to PM the participants before joining a thread, just so you get a handle on what kind of story is planned. You're free to join any threads tagged as "Open" however. Also, you should give your character a profile using the joining form. You can look for threads and ideas in the plotting center. Feel free to PM me if you have questions or need help!)


***


Wylie watched her scuttle backwards, a cringe of pity and frustration crossed the lordling's face. His father told him peasants, conscripts, and the like turned feral in times of desperation. It was simply a consequence of weak blood. If simple, was she better off as tribute? It was never a pleasant thought; though the daemons of root and earth did not protect his men (boys moreso than men) out of kindness.

"We don't mean you harm," he forced a weak smile and stepped forward, stooping down for a better. "Do you speak? Write?"

[Medievarad]

[Hello and welcome to SoTE, I don't have much to say beyond that since Whim already said everything you need to know. Have fun here ^^]

She wasn't dead yet. And the man was only speaking more. So the only logical conclusion was tht they wanted something from her. And in these times, a mind as shattered as hers, she could only think of one thing a male could want from her. She let out a soft, defeated sob and pushed herself up. Halla turned around, pressing herself against the wall, eyes closed and ready to face the inevitable. As long as she was of some worth to them, she wouldn't die.

Sure it would hurt like the past two times someone else had forced them on her. It would be pure agony once again, but it was a chance at survival. And there was one thing she was determined to do.

And that was to survive.

[Whim]

Wylie gritted his teeth in frustration at the sob. He had his own smallfolk and family to worry about. Kindness by damned, there was no time to coddle this broken creature. The lord looked to his men, "We're camping here tonight." A train of mules carrying supplies mosied up the hill and soldiers began pitching tents and digging a fire pit.

"You mean to execute her proper- properly, my Lord?" Osric said quietly, glancing toward Halla.

Wylie gave her a hard look as she stood there whimpering... in anticipation. "Don't you want her story first?"

"But she- she's a ghoul!"

"If she is mad or simple we'll end her misery. Could be she simply won't die. We've cousins in Hyoite who drink blood for youth and magic you know. This is... not so different in its way," he wasn't too sure of that. The Lord peered over at Halla, not so keen to let her from his sight. "Was this your work? Who was he?"

He knelt over the corpse with a frown, motioning Osric closer. Fingers probed his clothes and scalp in search of wounds.... other than human bite-marks. The squire turned green.

[Medievarad]

She felt nothing. No presence at her back. She only heard more words, glancing over her shoulder. She turned around again and leaned against the wall, sliding down. The fear dissipated slightly and she now looked up at the men, with curiousity, rather than fear. Yet she was obviously still cautious.

The bitemarks and shredded flesh were centered around the stomach area, but the corpse didn't seem to possess any wounds other than those, there were also no signs of struggle or anything. It was obvious this man had died, then became Halla's meal.

Yet, as the young ice mage saw how the men touched the corpse, her eyes widened again, she felt something she hadn't felt a long time ago, the sense to protect someone. She shot up and rushed towards the corpse, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him away. If she wasn't stopped, she'd hug the corpse closer to herself, regarding the man with narrowed eyes. Yet it didn't seem like a predator trying to protect it's meal, it seemed more like a young cub trying to protect it's caretaker, albeit desperately, yet determined. She combed her hand through his hair to put it back in place, before looking back at Wylie and Osric, curling over the corpse protectively.

[Whim]

"Oy!" Osric yelled as Halla crept toward the corpse, unsheathing a dirk. The way the squire danced back it was hard to tell if it was out of fear or to warn the girl off.

"He might have appreciated it more some hours ago," Wylie said in in a placid voice. It was in poor taste but he needed some amusement for the day; no one ever laughed at his jokes anyway. And she didn't seem to understand. Bodies were strange things; at what point did they cease to be a men and become objects?

"Your father? A friend?" Wylie crouched beside her as she hugged the remains. It didn't seem she murdered and ate some poor farmer. "I suppose I told you to do this when he passed. What was he called?"

[Medievarad]

She pulled the remains closer as Wylie crouched towards her. She shuffled away slightly from him, still holding the corpse like a deceased friend. More words. A question? These words.. They sounded familiar. She thought them over, the sounds, tone and rhythm. Slowly, memories came back and she managed to understand, to a degree, what he was saying.

"V-ven..Vendrick," she stammered.

[Whim]

Wylie cocked his head in surprise as she spoke. Perhaps the girl wasn't simple? "Vendrick..." he mused softly. The lord attempted to brush the girl's hands from the corpse. "You'll need to let go of him. Don't want to catch rotting sickness. You're too young to be made toothless and pox-ridden."

The Lord murmured something to his squire about a pyre. The boy left. Wylie's gaze settled on the gore-streaked girl, and he produced a handkerchief from his overcoat. It was hardly much but she'd look less a monster, "How did Vendrick pass? The cold?"

[Medievarad]

"B-burn him," she whispered, putting his corpse to the ground, leaning over it to slide his eyes closed, before sitting back, glancing back up at Wyilie.

"Hunger," she answered with weak voice, yet it seemed to lack emotion. "He.. H-he instructed me to.. Do this if I would starve."

[Whim]

(So sorry for the posting delay. Had some real life stuff to take care of. Should be able to reply with more frequency now.)

"We'll have to," his voice softened. "Earth's too hard. We don't want some other spirit leaping into him."

"And who was Vendrick? Your father? This is your home?" Wylie peered out of the ruined farmstead. Feeble campfires cast an orange glow over frigid earth, not unlike the setting sun struggling to pierce the cloud-streak sky. It was going to be a cold night. The young lord pressed the handkerchief into her hands. "Clean yourself and we'll find you a place a the fire. Proper food. Osric doesn't gossip, much, but you'll frighten the men as you are."

[Medievarad]

((That's alright ^^))

Halla nodded softly.

"Friend," she stammered, coughing softly, rubbing her throat. "N-No, it.. Isn't." She answered, shaking her head, before glancing at Wylie. "How.. With what?" She asked, sitting back and hugging her knees, frowning. "Your men.. H-haven't they seen.. The horrors of war?"

[Whim]

Wylie answered her question by unslinging his water-skin and passing it to Halla, along with a handkerchief.

"Horrors of war..." he sounded out the words. Eating your friend and freezing was horrible. Though men barely out of childhood sawing bits off eachother in the mud was, too. Was there way to quantify such things? He was lost in thought. "No, they've not. These are are conscripts and I've kept my smallfolk from it... other than the Adhara we we've been stalking," he said with a twinge of pride. "We need to move swiftly now that Buttswick is ruined. Take what we can."

Wylie motioned her toward the camp. "Your land, this?" the question of her parents and family hung silently in the air.

[Medievarad]

She glanced at the handkerchief in her hand, the waterskin passed to her along with it. She bundled up the cloth and took the waterskin, almost emptying it in one go, before pouring the remaining water onof the cloth, starting to rub her face clean, followed by her hands. But she didn't get far with the latter.

Soon she was just pulling streaks of blood over her arms. The young mage decided this was the best she could do, holding out the bloody scrap to him now.

"Not mine.. Vendrick.. I.. We escaped.."

[Whim]

"We'll have your friend seen to." the lord motioned Halla toward the camp. A collection of tiny campfires and threadbare tents had sprung up. At the center of it all in a place of prominence was Wylie's tent: a thing of faded canvas colored green and gold. Several squires, eyes wide as saucers, eyed the pair in the door frame. Word traveled fast.

Wylie exhaled sharply and looked her up and down. She looked a mess but the grizzly truth behind it was less apparent. The lord arched a brow at what she said next. This bit of charity had just been a little diversion from the monotony of travel, but now...

"Escaped?" his eyes flickered with interest, "From where, girl?"

[Medievarad]

"The mage camps," she answered. Now she was walking up straight, it was more than apparent. Her body, mostly her back, was littered with scars from what seemed a very violent flocking. Her left shoulder also was slightly slumped due to her restraints forcing all the pressure on one spot, making her shoulder constantly pulled from its socket.

And those were just the most mentionable things that happened to her. What may've been the worst was her flat and monotone way of speaking. She clearly lacked any kind of emotion in her voice. Nor did she didn't seem to care in the slightest about the wary or downright appalled glances her bloody and skin over bones frame recieved.

[Whim]

Wylie clucked his tongue as he surveyed her wounds. He sneered in disgust, though supressed himself for the sake of proper compsure. A more comforting reaction hadn't occurred to him. It was what happened when you let pig farmers and degenerate priests think they were more than they were. Jealousy festered. "My nephews were so gifted. Runs in the blood." They were quiet and sullen when he had them sent to Caelshire. Morbid curiosity gnawed at him. What did go on there?

"You may dine in my tent this evening." On proper food. He turned to face her, "Though we've not been introduced. I am Wylye Wyndham, Lord of Caelshire."