Winter's End [Heretic King, Private]

[Medievarad]

"Halla," she answered. "That's.. How Vendrick.. How my friends called me," as far as friends go. All ended up dead. And most had backstabbed her for their own sake. Not that she blamed them, she did after all, do the same. She even went as far as defiling and cannibalising her only friend's corpse for her own survival.

"What will you do to me?" She inquired, pale blue eyes glancing up at him. "I can't fight. And the only reason I was sent to the mage camps was a rich sack of shit that spread rumours when my parents refused to sell me," she chuckled myrthlessly. "Turns out I was a mage after all."

[Whim]

Wylie cracked a bemused smile. None of it was particularly funny, but He was pleased to see she had some fire after all at least. "They've been retaken. Most of those in Ahjfeld, at least. But that's not to say things would have turned out better had you not escaped."

"I rode from Caelshire to retrieve my nephews, Liam and Llewyn, placed there by their father. Piety is a strange thing. Could you imagine ending your entire line... even if you thought it was for god and country? I swear Connlaoth seems to cheer against its own survival." the lord exhaled with sharp derision then fell silent. Surely she had no care for politics or bloodlines.

He arched a brow at her question. Was she his prisoner? He supposed so, in a sense. "Suppose I gave you some of our meager rations and a wineskin. Where would you go?"

[Medievarad]

"I.. Don't know about my line or legacy," she snorted softly. "And if there's a god, I hate Him from the bottom of my heart," she sneered. "The camps were repobrate. No god watched over us." She took a deep breath and glanced up at him.

"I'd wander more, last on the rations you gave me before turning to killing," she sighed softly. "And have similair situations to Vendrick."

[Whim]

Wylie opened his mouth. Other questions burned on the tip of his tongue. He chose not to ask them.

"If you've talent you've a bloodline dating, no doubt, to patricians of the old empire, ours and Serendipity's forefathers. Were you aware?" he lectured dryly, mind wandering to the fate of his future children should the war be lost, nearly forgetting the ragged girl was there. He tried to force a reassuring smile after a long pause, the girl had no family or ties anymore. "I am sorry.

"We'll be nearing Tottingham Deep in some days. My brother-in-law's castle. A suitable position will be found if you wish. I've no trust of his former servants. Would that suit you?"

A tent flap opened and Osric crept in, holding a pewter tray. Wedges of cheese and cold ham. Bland and salty fare though no doubt utterly scrumptious to the tent's other occupant.  The boy struggled not to stare at the girl's scars and set the plate down a mumble.

[Medievarad]

She shrugged slowly. "I didn't know. Nor do I care," she answered with a soft sigh, before glancing up at Wylie. "No need to apologize," she answered with a deep breath. "I'm not sure what you're apologizing for either way."

And then he went over naming a place she didn't know, a brother-in-law she also didn't know. And a choice presented to her. Yet, was it really a choice? What if she said no? She arched an eyebrow. "And what makes you trust me?" She inquired, sounding cold and harsh. While she didn't want to be rude, she most certainly was.

And her rather rude demeanor was only confirmed once more when Osric delivered their food. As soon as he set it down, she was on top of the food, ravaging it like a rabid, starving hound. Occasionally choking, yet she didn't even stop eating to catch her breath.

[Whim]

Her eating was a messy affair. Wylie supposed he didn't blame her, though deep down he believed maintaining hygeine, discipline, and vanity at your worst was the true measure of a man. He carefully sliced off a bit of ham to chew on.

"I've known the word to mean sympathy as much as submission. I should hate to think my stolen family and vassals would come to bare you scars."

"And I'd not allow a strange girl to be a handmaiden or a governess. Your hands are idle and there is a war. I would suppose you'd have an opinion on such a thing now," a curious half-smile crossed his face. Wylie preferred mystery to condolence, and preferred to think of the broken girl as the former. "But on the topic of trust I notice you do not call me 'my Lord'. Who were you, before?"

[Medievarad]

Luckily that she wasn't even a man. Nor did she care for manners, hygiene and discipline. She had come from eating one of her friends. Manners were the least of her concerns. Nor was his first remark.

She took a brief pause, glancing up at Wylie as he spoke again. Listening in before she sat back to answer his question with a deep breath. "So called lords have personally flocked and used me," she snorted softly. "I was no one. I still am no one. I hold no respect for lords or nobility."

[Whim]

Fire in her still. A good sign all things considered. "Your leige was unfit, I suppose, if you are where you are. It is our guidance and protection your labor pays for. Or so says the social contract." Not that a peasant girl would know such things, or would she?

"I doubt you are no one. You were taken because you were special. Your history, whatever scars you wear, afford you the right to be someone."

[Medievarad]

This man was odd. He assumed the feudal system was something she was ever a part off. Partly, she was. Her parents were travelers, wanderers and outcasts in these lands. Being mages and all that.

Perhaps it was her lack of social interaction that made her think that ways. But regardlessI, Halla shook her head. "The feudal system failed when I was convicted. And I don't want to be anyone. All I want now is survival," she hissed.

[Whim]

"If we were all allowed to go about our business, and simply live, I would be by the fire in my library. And likely already have a son," Wylie sawed through a hunk of meat with a bitter smile. "But I've learned from this war you can't really expect to live and let live. Best way to avoid the Mordecai is with spears -- not hiding or groveling.

"So you're a mage. When we're finished why don't you show me what you can do?"


(OOC: I think I've... gotten my passion for this character back. I'm sorry its took so long or the whole thing came off stilted! I've also gotten into the horrible habit of trying to make each post like a 500 word story. Sometimes all you need's a paragraph.)