Beware Birds Of A Feather [M] {Sanctified!}

[HeartOfFlame]

Kanimir nods, taking the tankard from her wordlessly and draining what little water is left. The cool helps clear his head a little, focusing him almost as much as her information. He feels a little more like himself, suddenly, now that he has a purpose, a goal, something to puzzle. He sets the empty tankard to the side and leans away from Keithia briefly to snag the dry looking bread roll from the tray, vaguely realising the hole in his gut is hunger. He hasn't been this starved since...He shakes that thought off like rain, feeling it leech into him despite his efforts but doing his best to move forwards despite it.

Fifteen armed men and women is hardly the worst odds he's faced over the course of his life; numbers don't mean much when he can turn them to ash with a snap of his fingers, less than, if the mood strikes him. No, it's not them he's worried about. Provided they are just men and women, they won't be the slightest problem. It's her that concerns him, a glaring, ugly hole in any plan he might try to conceive for their escape from this place. It irks him that 'escape' is the first thing that comes to his might, not to fight, not to slaughter them all, not to make them pay for what they have done to him, to Keithia. He's afraid, a feeling that hasn't haunted him since, well, since he found out what he could do with the proper motivation. He hasn't felt fear in decades, and somehow, that just makes the crushing, suffocating notion of it that much worse.

It all rolls back to her, the Blessed. She has control of him, an invisible leash he cannot seem to tear. He doesn't know what she is, how she can do what she does, but he cannot deny that the first emotion that hits him when he thinks of her, following nearly simultaneous with his frustrated anger, is that cold, chilling fear. Perhaps not strictly because of what she can do, what she is, but because of what she reminds him of. Who.

"I need to get rid of her." He mutters, only realising he's said it aloud after the fact. He glances up at Keithia, realising his gaze has fallen to his lap, a little scowl twisting the space between his brows. "This other one you've heard them talking about, do you know what for? Are they coming here?" He can't deny the way that thought makes his stomach flip, the thought of two of her kind throwing fire on any half-baked schemes he might think up. His magic won't work on her, that much he well and truly knows, but, perhaps...He licks his lips, absently realising how dry and cracked they are, and wonders what happened to his blades.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Keithia watches him as he murmurs under his breath. It hurts to see Kanimir in such a state, but she doesn't really know... what to do. How to help. Perhaps providing information is about the only way. After a moment of mulling over what she remembers, she responds with, "I think they are apart of this camp too. They talk about them returning. That they've been gone for a time. Not like they're visiting." Then she shrugged one of her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't get to spend much time around Bjarth..."

When Yukina returns, she doesn't do so silently. The tent flap is thrown open, casting bright, white afternoon light into the tent. "Nice to see you're up and well," she said, though her tone is flat. It's more a statement than anything else. She makes a shooing motion and Keithia obediently stands, with a parting look, before leaving the tent.

"Now that you're aware, follow me." Yukina doesn't wait for a response, she simply turns and makes her way out of the tent. Knowing that if he doesn't do as he's told, the pain will return. Just outside the tent is one of the attendants. A stout woman with calloused hands and layered furs. She's holding a pair of shears, with a couple bucks of water near her that haven't frozen yet.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

The light blinds him. Stabbing daggers pierce through his eyes and he ducks his head away with a sharp hiss. Her voice, flat and cold even as she uses words that should come from one who cares, makes his skin crawl, and he lifts his gaze to glare at her even as she shoos Keithia away. He barely stops himself reaching after her when she stands to leave. He refrains, just barely, and clenches his hands in his lap instead, teeth ground together.

He wants to fight her, here and now, go against what she says, ignore her, but he can feel the crawling sensation of pinpricks over his skin, and knows almost subconsciously that the pain will follow. Getting to his feet is harder than it should be, his legs shaking as he sways for a moment before extending a hand to balance himself. Formerly steady vision sways, and he growls somewhere low in his throat in frustration. Only once he's vaguely confident he won't fall on his face - and wouldn't that be the icing on this fucked up cake - does he move forwards, shuffling awkwardly as his aching limbs slowly come back to life.

The light outside is just as blinding as when the Blessed opened the tent, and he squints into it dazedly as his boots sink into snow with a crunch. One hand lifted to try and block a little of the glaring rays, he doesn't notice the new woman immediately, only once his vision has cleared enough to make out her outline. He feels a fool, squinting in the bright - what he guesses to be mid morning - sun, but he's been in the dark for gods know how long and his head is pounding again, throbbing in time with the elevated beat of his heart.

After a moment of glaring at her mutedly, his eyes catch the shears in her large hands and he visibly balks. The step back is unconscious, the hands lifting before him defensively less so, and he only refrains from summing sparks between his fingertips because of the knowledge of how much it will hurt.

"Fuck, no." He spits, teeth set in a feral snarl, "Get those things away from me."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

The attendant doesn't seem concerned about his reaction. Her weathered and wrinkled face is set, much like Yukina's, in one of patient annoyance. When he balks and snarls, she doesn't move.

Yukina does. Her boot connects with his face, dropping him down, and the order comes quick. "Sit, pet, and be still while she sheers you."

The rest of the camp continues on as though the small scene isn't happening. There's a roaring fire some fifteen feet away, with a cook and a couple Sentinels around it. Two in armor. They don't even glance their way. Other tents are spaced around the small clearing shadowed with branches, but there's still trampled snow in paths.

The only one who does respond to the scene is Bjarth, though it's more to greet Yukina then it is out of concern for what's going on. He stands just off to the side and behind her, waiting patiently while she deals with the disobedient mage.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He doesn't see the blow coming. Stars explode behind his eyes as his jaw cracks to the side, and he crumples like a leaf in the breeze. The snow is cold enough to be painful under his thin shirt, and he shivers in the same breath as he feels blood welling in his mouth. That warning tingle races across his skin and he groans softly, unable to contain it, as he lifts himself half upright and spits into the snow, staining it crimson. He lifts his head to glare at her, pulling himself back towards his feet in some form of defiance, before his nerves flare with pain and he buckles. His breath leaves him in a sharp gasp and before he can really think about it he's sunk back to his knees and settled over his calves. A cool wind whips over his frame, cold and wet from his brief meeting with the snow and he shudders, chilled and hurting.

His gaze flicks towards the newcomer as way of distraction, sizing up the hefty man with a considering eye. He looks tough, but not so much that Kanimir couldn't take him. Once he's rid of this damn leash, these fuckers will rue the day they thought they could take him.

He swallows, nearly chokes on the blood still coating his tongue from the split in his cheek and the growing ache in his jaw, and turns towards the attendant. Anger is curling in his gut, cold and hot and burning all at once, but the fear is more powerful, more crushing, and he faces her squarely with his teeth set as firmly as his jaw will allow.

"Fine." He growls, eyeing the shears like one might a particularly venomous beast. It's, well, it's petty, he knows, but his hair is...he's attached to it, in more than just the obvious physical sense. His choices with it were some of the first he was given, his first methods of rebellion against an iron thumb he couldn't escape, and this, this threat grinds against him in so many ways it almost physically hurts.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

The attendant waits a moment, watching Yukina, before the Blessed nods once. Then she turns to address the man who was waiting for her. As she does so, the attendant steps forward with the sheers and goes to work. She tends to him like one would a sheep, tugging at his hair and clipping it close to his scalp. Once a chuck is loose, she tosses it to the snow around him. It doesn't take long, in reality, but his head likely stings all over from her pulling.

Then, when she's done, she douses him with one of the buckets.

It's the splashing of the cold water over him that draws Yukina's attention back to him. She nods to Bjarth, dismisses him with a wave, then addresses him. "Undress. The faster you do this, the less likely you are to freeze." Another might've found cruel humor in his situation, but Yukina did not. She just wanted him rinse off and out of his bloody and sweaty clothes.

The attendant stands off to the side, another bucket ready for when he has his clothes off.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He knows what's coming, what the woman is going to take from him, but he's still not ready for it. A sharp hiss leaves his lips as she pulls at his hair, long, tangled strands tugging between her fingers and stinging at his scalp. Hot, burning tears threaten behind his eyes and he grits his teeth together in defiance of them. It feels like an eternity before she's finished, his gaze fixed resolutely ahead, into the blinding snow, as his treasured locks fall to the snow around him, dull and bland against the bright, sun-lit powder. He's not sure when he lost his battle, but there is warm wetness on his cheeks, and he feels them burn as he refuses to shift his gaze, to look anywhere but the horizon.

That, as it turns out, is a mistake, for he sees the water coming about as well as he'd noticed the Blessed's boot. He gasps involuntarily, inhaling some of the freezing liquid and spluttering as the shock of it burns over his skin and he clutches his arms to his chest. He's shaking again now, his jaw trembling as the wind cuts through him as surely as a blade. The Blessed comes back into his line of vision and he glares at her as best he can while shaking with barely enough strength to hold himself up on his knees. She orders him to undress, and he hesitates for all of the time it takes him to notice the creeping burn along his nerves.

His body is barely cooperating, bones aching and burning with every slightest movement, but he manages to slide his drenched tunic over his head and deposit it amidst the discarded remains of his hair. Seeing it makes his eyes burn anew, a choked sound breaking from him, and he barely remembers the rest of the whole, torturous process but for the fact he has to bite his lip to keep himself contained. He can barely breath around the knot in his throat, gasping in almost whimpers by the time he's finished, bare feet freezing in snow so cold it burns, arms trembling where they're wrapped around his naked torso. Every scar and blemish is laid bare to the world, and where normally he wouldn't care, has no shame, his eyes are persistently burning and he cannot quite console himself with thoughts of how, exactly, he will rip them apart.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

The attendant wastes no time in using the two remaining buckets of water on him, dousing him like they might an animal. The water is cold, and hits him like needles. Once done, she gathers up his dirty clothes and simply walks to the  fire, tossing them into it. Some of the Sentinels around complain, almost playfully, about the smell to her but it's good natured ribbing in her direction. She shushes them like a mother would children and wanders off to her work.

Yukina walks past him and toward her tent, with a simple "Come." command. Like he's a dog. A pet. As she keeps referring to him as. The interior of the tent is warm, at least, with the wood burning stove keeping it so. She gestures to 'his rug'. "Kneel."

Only once he has complied does she toss him a fur to wrap around himself.

Yukina draws her chair closer and turns it to face him, so she can sit. Relaxing while he most certainly is not. She's still dressed in her clean, padded furs and leather. Comfortable. Her pristine white wings flare out behind her. "We're going to start your training now. That show of defiance in you? That hesitation to do what I say? We're going to break that of you. Only then are you going to be able to leave this camp. Do you understand?" She's speaking matter-of-factly, like one might when reciting from a book. Not with enthusiasm or even anger, and perhaps it is the lack of emotion that makes the words seem colder.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He's numb by the time the water stops, his whole body shaking and legs trembling so badly he feels as though they might buckle underneath him at any moment. His teeth clatter despite how he has clenched them together, even the base of his horns ache from the incomparable, unending cold. He doesn't really register the attendant taking his clothes and burning them, too concerned with trying to stay upright as his vision swims in dizzyingly bright circles. The Blessed moves past him, easily within stabbing range, were he not bare as a lamb and about as strong as one.

He turns without even really registering her command, dragging his frozen body back into the tent with a gasping sigh of relief. The warmth is minimal, really, but it might as well be a roaring fire compared to the ice sliding through his veins. He manages to throw her a weak glare before all but falling onto the rug, swaying as he struggles to keep himself upright, his arms barely holding enough strength to remain wrapped around his torso, for all the good that's doing him. If he scrambles desperately when she tosses a fur towards him, he ignores it, mind too numb to really register the weakness in the act as he grasps it with shaking fingers and wraps it around his frozen frame as best he can, melting into the almost instant warmth.

The ache that follows, as his limbs begin to thaw, is almost worse than the biting cold, his breathing still coming in short, choked gasps as he sinks into the fur and closes his eyes for a fleeting moment, a singular moment of nothing in the hell he's fallen into. Her voice snaps him out of it, his spine straightening with an almost audible crack. His eyes track her, almost wildly, but in such a way that is less feral ferocity and more desperate anguish. She speaks of breaking him as simply as one might discuss the weather, her voice flat, emotionless. Even he had held more inflection when intimidating his 'clients', a self-confidence for the work, smug satisfaction in his knowledge that they would never out him because to do so would out themselves, surety in his own abilities, something.

He swallows again, muffling a cough as the water he had inhaled continues to disagree with him. He wants to fight her, continue to defy her, make her wait for his compliance, as she has just so clearly outlined. She hadn't said it with annoyance, but she had admitted it was a problem, and if that's as close as he can get, he'll take it. So he does, he waits a beat, then another, feels his heart thrumming laboriously in his chest, and before he can really think about it enough to realise how much this is going to hurt, he swills the blood and saliva still coating his mouth and spits on the earth at her feet.

"Go fuck yourself."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Yukina sighs, and again it is with the same annoyance one might have with a child. "You'll learn," is all she offers before the pain crawls up his back and wraps around him like a long lost lover.

She decides to leave him in that anguished hell for another day. A restless night of mind numbing pain that doesn't allow him to pass out, that he can't escape into unconsciousness.

It isn't until the afternoon of the following day does she crouch in front of him and lift the magical pain off of him. There's a bowl of hot porridge near her, just off of his rug, with a tankard of water. Her words are as patience and cold as ever. "Do you understand?"

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

The backlash is instant, as he knew it would be, and he's aware of crying out before his body sways to the side and he becomes closely reacquainted with the ground. It's the same pain as before, only stronger - be it because he is weaker, or because the pain is actually more intense - and he doesn't even have the energy to fight it. His hands curl into fists by his side, hidden beneath the thick fur that is, at the very least, warding off the chill. Fire flickers through his veins, wrapping around his spine and slowly, agonisingly crushing his lungs. He can barely breath for the pain, short, laboured gasps his only reprieve, and for a time that becomes all he is - desperate agony, and the shackled need to breathe.

He has no concept of time, has no idea how long he lays there, curled into himself underneath the inadequate fur pelt, and gasps for every tortured inhale. He loses himself to it, a castaway drowning in a sea of fire and molten metal. He's breaking and broken and the only thing he wants is for the pain to end. Where oblivion evades him, memories torment, dancing just beyond his reach and replaying themselves in his head like some garish stage play. He isn't sure when he cracks, only that the next time he becomes vaguely aware of himself there are tear tracks drying on his face once more and a hard lump in his chest that has nothing to do with the Blessed's cruelty.

When the pain stops finally, it feels like it has been an eternity. He blinks his eyes open blearily, lifting his head and catching the faintest scent of something he should recognise but can't through the fog of exhaustion and lingering phantoms of agony. The Blessed is crouching before him, her lips moving out of sync with the words that slowly trickle into his brain. He feels numb, hollow, the thought of defying her, aggravating her, not even a concept in his brain.

"I-I unders-stand, Blessed." He croaks, voice thick and rasping all at once. The effort of holding himself up is too much, and his temples rest against the rough rug underneath him once again, body aching in the aftermath of the tension and strain of laying in the same position, stiff as a board, for gods know how long. "I'm...sorry."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Yukina watches him a moment but stands when he offers the apology at the end. Pleased, she gestures to the food and water on the tray. "Help yourself. You might wither away otherwise." It might've sounded like concern coming from another, but it's just a statement from the Blessed. She feels no way about whether or not he lives or dies, so long as he lives by her rules.

Content that he does, indeed, understand she moves her chair back to the place she'd had it before and sits to wait, and watch. Intending to remain there while he eats and regains a bit of himself.

It's after some time of cool silence in the tent that she asks, "Where were you headed, when we caught you?"

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He blinks at the tray for a moment, the few feet seeming suddenly like miles. His arms quiver as he levers himself upright, angry and weak from the abuse at the same time. Cool air rushes over him when the fur falls aside, and he clutches at it pathetically, holding it close around chest with one hand while reaching for the tankard with the other. He nearly drops it, fingers spasming as he extends his wrist, and a soft sound of frustration rolls off his tongue before he can stop it. He pauses for a moment, tormenting his bottom lip between his teeth, before trying again, this time managing to bring the tankard to his lips and drink greedily from the ice-cold water.

It reminds him of the day before - or days, he doesn't know anymore - and he shivers involuntarily, adjusting his grip on the thick fur as if it can offer some added protection against the torment in his own mind. His head feels cold, light, and he can't tell if it's from the loss of his thick mane of hair, or the after-effect of the pain. Eating is awkward with one hand, but he refuses to give up the warmth provided by the fur pelt, and despite his shaking hand and uncooperative fingers, he manages. He almost manages to pretend she's not there, too. At least, until she speaks.

He glances up briefly, half-way to meeting her gaze before he falters and glares into the dirt instead. He swallows, trying to recover some of the strength to his voice, if only for his own sake.

"Adela," He murmurs, rasp gone but tone still impossibly small. He closes his eyes, frustrated but too spent, laid too bare to react to it. Belatedly, he realises his mistake, and hurries to correct it before the pain returns. "Blessed."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Yukina continues to watch him, pleased with the lack of hesitation and defiance regarding his response. She does note the glare, but that'll go with time too. For now, she's content to let him regain some strength. There's no point in him dying if he's behaving. If he's to lose his life, it'll be his own fault. Not from lack of care.

"What is in Adela?" Sometimes mages had plans, other times they just cut paths of death and destruction in their wake. She knew he had a home, though not where. His home didn't particularly concern her either. He had been the target. Though he might've associated with others, like the odd antlered girl, that didn't make them guilty of his murders. Not unless they'd helped, of course.  Given the nature of how he killed, though, it wasn't necessary to have anyone else.

The more she learned, though, the better.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kanimir shrugs lopsidedly, pausing to smother a grimace as the porridge settles heavy in his stomach. "Nothing in particular, Blessed." The title is rolling off his tongue easier now, and he isn't sure if that is a relief or a point of frustration, anger at himself. He tells himself it's self preservation, a means to gather his strength back, a way to stop the suffering enough to come up with a way to free himself, and Keithia. That same little voice that tells him he's weak for cowing to her tells him he's a liar.

He shakes it off, placing the half-eaten bowl back on the tray and tucking his hand back beneath the fur wrapped around his shoulders. He probably looks a fool, but he doesn't care; he's warm - and also decidedly naked - and the chilled skin of his arm against his chest is enough to make him shiver, let alone the full extent of the cold air he can feel kissing his cheeks. Absently, he thinks of why he did want to go to Adela, what had drawn him there. He wanted to show Keithia the world beyond Connloath, it's true, but there was also an opportunity for work, both in the Dragon Kingdom, and along the road. A soft, bitterly self inflicted huff of amusement breaks from him unbidden, and a slow smile, toothy but faded, pulls his lips.

"There's chaos there." He murmurs, to no one in particular. He's rocking slightly from side to side, an unconscious motion that both comforts him - a notion he denies, even now - and quells a little of the sickened feeling in his gut. He feels tired, a bone deep, jagged exhaustion that leaves him hollow and cold, deep in his core. The near constant thrum and vibration of power in his veins is gone, replaced only by a cold, sluggish feeling that keeps his heart working harder than it ever has before. It's both strangely freeing, and terrifying in an incredibly lonely way to be stripped of that power, the magic like a constant voice and companion in the back of his head simply...gone.

It's been with him since the time he was a child, a curse he resented with a passion at first, but eventually learned to embrace and wield as his own, and he misses it almost as fiercely as his freedom.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

It shouldn't come as a surprise to Yukina that he doesn't exactly have a plan, and that the people he'd killed along his travels just happened to be a victim of circumstance. Many of the mages she'd caught and trained in her time were of the same sort. Random killings along their path.

While there is distaste and disappointment, it doesn't show. Instead, she nods a little. Accepting his answers as the truth. The odds he'd lie knowing the punishment for it is... Well. Slim, now. Yukina isn't under the impression he's entirely broken, but there's little hesitation and even less defiance now.

She then gestures to the food. "You may want to eat. After you rest some, I'll be putting you to work in camp." He was weak. That much, she could see. He'd only done it to himself, mind, so she didn't feel any sort of pity. Neither was she going to afford him any real amount of rest. Just the afternoon. Enough for him to orientate himself in the world.

At that, she stood and returned her chair to her desk. "Stay put." After that, she left him alone in the tent for a small stint of time. It was hard to say exactly how long, but the light outside didn't change much. She returned shortly with a simple leather shirt, pants, and boots. Yukina tossed them at the edge of his rug, just beyond his reach, before she said, "Now, ask for the clothes."

[HeartOfFlame]

He knows he should eat, but the fact that she is right is vile enough that any hunger he might of had fades away in the space of a moment. He watches her stand through half lidded eyes, snorting softly at her order to stay put. Where, exactly, does she think he's going to go? She leaves, then, and it's all he can do to stop himself falling face down on the spot. Instead, he slumps down over his knees, a shuddering exhale leaving his lips as heavy lids fall closed over aching eyes and his head lolls against his shoulder. He's so tired.

He drifts off, for how long he doesn't know, and the feeling of actual sleep is a wondrous thing, rest provided, not by retreating from pain or succumbing to it, by just by the need for sleep. He's bleary eyed and momentarily confused when he's snapped from it, straightening his spine with a low groan and blinking at the clothes thrown towards him shallowly. He raises his gaze to the Blessed after a moment, swallowing around the dry feeling in his mouth and, while he can't quite muster a glare, the anger in his eyes is still present, if dulled.

He knows exactly what she's doing, now, what she's trying to degrade him too, and the most terrifying part is that he knows she's already won half the battle. His first instinct is to do what she orders, ask for something so simple as clothing to wear, and the urge to resist it is a rushed afterthought. He grits his teeth, turning his glare on the items just beyond his reach and vaguely considering just reaching for them anyway. He flinches a moment later, shrinking back into himself as his skin tingles, sparks of embers racing through his veins. He can't tell if it's actual punishment or just a phantom pain, but it's enough to break him and he hates himself for it.

"Can...can I have them, Blessed." It's more of a statement then a question, his face turned towards his knees and eyes almost clenched shut as he tries to breath around the suffocating weight of 'weak weak weak' in his chest.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

The Blessed watches him as he struggles with the order. Not quick enough, not demure enough. Her wings flare a little and she crosses her arms, looking down at him like one might a dog that has misbehaved. "Forehead to the ground. Ask properly." Pushing him, just to see how obedient he'll be for something as simple as clothing. Just because it's warmer in the tent doesn't mean it's warm.

But she doesn't like the pauses and she doesn't like the cowering. She wants quick, unflinching obedience. It's just a matter of training him to that point. Of getting him to understand that, from here on out, anything he wants or needs is because she grants it.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He chokes on a breath, the hand to clinging to his fur clenching into a fist. His fingers are still raw and scratched, splinters of pain knifing through them, but it's physical, it has a cause and effect that he can identify beyond 'I did something wrong'. It's not a thought process he's used to, a way of life, and the sick feeling in his gut has nothing to do with his physical state of being.

He blows a shaking breath through his cheeks, feels his eyes burn and his throat constrict as he rocks forwards on aching knees and drops his temples to the dirt. A breath to steady himself, another as he tries to stomach how low he has fallen. The tips of his raggedly shorn hair tickle his ears, another reminder of the degradation, the sense of self they're trying to rob him off.

"Can I h-have the clothes, p-please, Blessed."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Yukina watches him critically. Not as one watches another person, but like a butcher would an animal they might slaughter. Checking to see if its ready. After a moment, her wings flare a little more and she says, "You may dress yourself."

She doesn't move away after the permission is granted, but rather, continues to look down on him while he does so. Noting his movements and expression. Gauging his progression. Then, when he's done, she gestures a little, a hand wave he isn't likely to see, and issues her new order, "Ask for rest." Driving it into him that he will need to ask her for just about anything.

@HeartOfFlame