Kassarock

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

"Ah yes, self preservation, of course." The King nodded slowly as he spoke, as if he were agreeing with her, but he did not return her gaze. Instead Ozragad looked at his hand, the one still spotted with blood. The flecks were smeared now, he had wiped some of it against his face when he had unbound his hair, leaving faint ruddy streaks against his ashen complexion. "You see things clearly, Princess, we are in the same boat now, for better or worse. I will uphold my end also. Your privileges are restored to you, you and your people are free to roam the palace as you wish."

Ozragad summoned the guards posted outside the doors and relayed his commands to them to remove the restrictions on the Princess's household. With a sidelong look at her, he added: "Please escort Her Highness back to her chambers. It is has been an eventful morning, she should rest." The words were not unkind, but there was a firmness to them. He wanted her gone. He wanted to be alone.

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After she had left he let himself feel like the fool he was. How had he let himself believe for a second there that there was some deeper reason as to why the Princess had saved his life? For a moment there he had almost though she cared for him for some unbelievable inexplicable reason. Gods no, of course not, you are a monster to her. Do not forget it. You are a fool to think otherwise.

What was stranger still is why he should even care why she saved him, surely it not matter to him what this Eorzian Princess felt? He was using her as means to an end, and she merely did the same thing. He wanted her lands, she wanted to stay alive. There need not be any deeper emotion behind their marriage and her saving him. And yet...

You wanted there to be. You fucking weakling.

With a roar Ozragad rose from his chair, knocking it over as he did so. With one fist he swept the debris from the table, sending it crashing to the floor. Loose papers went flying, an inkpot smashed against the stones, the circlet he had been wearing bounced away, until it rolled to a stop at the foot of a statue.

See, you are weak.

Yes he had wanted her to say something else. That she had come to care for him, despite how he had treated her. Was it so ridiculous? She was beautiful woman, even if she was an Eorzian, he was not blind to that. And she was to be his wife either way, he had only known one other before, and there... there had been such feelings there before. Why would he not want that again? When she had taken his hand before as he had looked into her eyes, he had felt something flutter, something stir in his chest, for the first time in a long, long while. Was it so unreasonable to think she might have felt the same, to want her to felt the same? Was that wrong?

You don't want the Princess. You just want someone to replace her, Liveuta.

"IS THAT SO FUCKING WRONG?!" Ozragad roared to himself in the empty hall. The words echoed back to him as they bounced up into the shadowy recesses amongst the many watching statues. There was no other reply.

Ozragad sighed to himself, the anger and tension deflating from him as he did so. He felt like a wreck. This whole thing, the entire plan of the marriage, and everything that had happened since just kept opening old wounds within him. Things he had tried to put away, forget about, repress, destroy. He disliked what it was doing to him, the way it continually threw him off balance, like the rolling deck of ship in a great and terrible storm. His life had been easier as a callous warlord, when all he had to think about was how to destroy his enemies. Back then all he had felt was rage.

Not that he did not feel rage now... but it was more complicated, he supposed.

He walked over to where the circlet had rolled to when he had knocked it from the table. It sat beneath the plinth of a statue. As Ozragad bent down to pick it up he caught sight of the name inscribed there - Queen Cyrridven of the House of Gwydion. Mother. He looked up at the marble face that gazed down at him. There was a surely a likeness between the woman he had known and loved and the cold stone figure that stood there still, the statue had been made not long after her death, but it had been so long Ozragad could not say for sure himself.

Queen Cyrridven had died unexpected, suddenly even, at time of turmoil within the Kingdom. In that time the lords of the western marches had been angry that Cirith Anyr had not been taking a more active role in the defence of their lands against border raids launched by Eorzian lords. After his mother had died, his father had assumed the regency, Ozragad had still been a child in the reckoning of the Formori when he first became King. One of the first things his father had done as regent was march off to put down the rebellion. He did not return from battle.

There had always been whispers about the unnatural nature of his mother's death. It had certainly suited those rebellious Lords. But there had been other rumours too, it was known the Queen and her consort, his parents, did not have a happy marriage. The speed with which his father had assumed power, his lack of grief, some had said his wife's death had suited him even more. Then there were faithless councillors who had tried to gain power after the death of his father, they had certainly benefitted too. Poison. A coward's weapon.

Ozragad studied the crown in his hand. He had accidently wiped some blood on it when he had removed it earlier. He frowned at that, it was an ill omen. He carried the circlet over the council table, there was still the pitcher of water upon it. Carefully he wet his fingers and wiped the bloody stain from the gold.

As he did so his eyes roved over the table. Eventually they came to settle on the glass that Manawyndan had been drinking out of, it was still full. Water. Not wine. But no... he trusted Manawyndan with his life did he not? He could not suspect his oldest, most faithful councillor, surely? And yet...

He glanced at where the Princess had been sitting and saw the overturned goblet. His eyes narrowed. She spilled her own cup... convenient. Perhaps Manawyndan's suspicions were not baseless. She had made it clear herself, she was doing whatever she needed to survive. Would that go as far as killing him? It was not in her interest now... but would that always be the case?

The King placed the circlet back on his head. Rebel lords, faithless councillors, and murderous spouses. It had to be one of them.

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Yeah go for it, unless there's anything you want Elise to reflect on beforehand obviously.

Ah cool, what book series?

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Right, working on something now, should have it up later tonight. It'll be an ending post of this scene and a little bit of in between stuff, I think I'll save the opening of the hunt for the next one.

I like your new Avatar btw.

RPGWC Monthly Short Story Contest

My vote for the first prompt would be for Bango's suggestion Loss in a Fantasy Setting, I have an idea already.

What year is it

Welcome back to the Guild, Time Traveller.

What Are You Listening To?

Gif the User

Of Blood and Burden

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Karlus Marsh

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It was the sound of a commotion breaking out in the infirmary that drew Karlus from the quiet privacy of his own room. After the examination he had not had the stomach to face anyone else. Opening up to Aemma, exposing himself like that, it had taken more out of him than he had expected. He still didn't fully believe it, that there was no further punishment for him, no further recriminations. Despite her assurances to the contrary. Every time he heard a set of footsteps in the cloister, he half expected them to march to his door, and then they would knock it down and drag Karlus out to the gallows - or worse.

But it never came. Somehow he was still safe.

Still, his heart had leapt in his chest when Karlus heard the sounds of raised voices and quickened steps making their way through the courtyard. This time, he thought, this time they will surely come for me. But no, they marched right past his small dark cell, and faded way, disappearing off in the direction of the hospital. What exactly was going on? It piqued his curiosity despite his fear, and he supposed if they did come for him, the flimsy door of his cell would not stop them for long.

He crept out into the cloister. The night air was crisp, even if it still smelled of sulphur. He could hear the patter of the rain, but it was dry beneath the covering. Orange torchlight spilled from the open doors of the infirmary. Karlus could faintly discern voices from within, so he crept closer still. When he was pressed to one side of the the double doors he could make them out clearly.

"-you were to wise to bring him when you did. Much more and he might have been beyond our arts." The rasping tones and strange accent of the old dark elf Aemma were unmistakable to him already. But the other speaker he did not recognise. It was a man's voice. Not particularly loud but there was some gravity to it, as well as an aristocratic roll of the tongue. It belong to noble, that much, Karlus could tell.

"You should thank young Sacha then, it was he who ended it, not I."

"Hmph, perhaps I will. You know my thoughts on this. I won't repeat them here, save that I think its cruel and unnecessary." What were they speaking about? Karlus cast his mind back, Aemma had mentioned some kind of initiation ritual before, during the examination, but he been more preoccupied with his own situation then. The male speaker sighed before he continued.

"And you know I once shared them. But I see now it is necessary. We are one Order, with one aim, united in purpose. If we are divided against each other we fail. The initiation is part of what makes us equal, whether commoner, criminal, noble, mage. We all must work as one in the order. It makes us stronger, like hammering steel to drive out the impurities."

"Here lies your steel, Knight Captain. Does he look pure yet?" The words were spoken with something akin to a snort of derision. And to the Knight Captain? The leader of the Order at Fort Stag? Somehow the healer Aemma dared speak to him in that way. The corners of Karlus's mouth curled up slightly as he listened silently.

"In time. I leave him in your care for now, goodnight, Doctor."

A set of heavy footsteps began to approach the door that Karlus crouched beside. He slid back away from the entrance to the hospital and into the dark of the cloister, pressing himself flat against the cool stone of the outer wall. The silhouette of a large, armoured figure appeared in the doorway, illuminated by flickering light of the torches beyond it. The Knight Captain stepped out into the darkness and walked towards the edge of covered walkway. Karlus make out his features in the dark, but it seemed to him as if he was just gazing out into it, staring at something. But there was nothing there, nothing that Karlus could see at least. The Captain held his hands out into the rain, letting it wash over them, before wiping them against each other. He was cleaning something off of them. Mud? ...Blood? After a minute or two, with another sigh, the Captain turned and walked away from where Karlus hid, out of the courtyard and into the night.

When he was gone, Karlus emerged from his hiding place. He didn't know what to think of what he had just heard. He supposed he could go back to his room if he wanted, but he was curious still, and he could hear the sounds of Aemma working away in the infirmary beyond. He decided to stay, to try and catch a glimpse at least of whoever was brought in and what this 'ritual' they had discussed had entailed. He crept in through the open door.

The main ward of the hospital was largely empty, there was no sign of Aemma or any of the others who worked there. Karlus could see a figure lying on one of the wooden tables that were used for the more seriously injured, those who would ruin any linens or bedding left under them. His eyes darted around the room before he approached any closer. Just one quick look, he thought, then I'll go back to my room.

The figure on the table was still and unmoving. He was covered head to toe in mud still, blood seeped out of several of wounds and cuts. He had been beaten badly, especially so in the face, his eyes were swollen shut with bruising. But the worse of it was around his mouth, the jaw was broken and it looked like someone had taken a knife to his cheek which hung away in ragged red flap. Such brutality...

His curiosity satisfied, Karlus went to turn away from the body, but something caught his eye that made him stay. The man's hair he noticed was blonde under the crusting of filth and blood. It made him take a second look at him, and then with a sudden shock he realised he knew who this man was. Karlus hadn't recognised him at first because of how badly he had been beaten, but now he could see it. It was Arlo, one of the men he had spent the last few days with in the back of the Warden's cart.

"Ah there you are." Karlus nearly jumped out of his skin. From a side room, Aemma had emerged carrying a bucket of steaming water and a stack of clean linens. She had taken him by surprise. "I wasn't going to get you, but since you are here, you can make yourself useful. I've already stopped the worst of it, so he's stable and beyond pain, but he still needs cleaning and patching together. Let's see what you can do, Karlus."

She approached him surprisingly quickly for an old woman and thrust the clothes and water upon him, before disappearing off into another room, muttering what sounded like a list of ingredients under her breath. Karlus watched her go. Should he tell her he had overheard her conversation with the Knight Captain? He wanted to ask her questions about it... but still, she was still a stranger to him. She was still a danger. But he could hardly scurry away now, so Karlus resigned himself to unfastening his cloak, and began to get to work.

The cleaning was the slow part, there was no spell for that. It needed to be done too. Magic could easily close a wound or seal a cut, but what if there was still filth or dirt in that wound? Then you sealed it inside of the body, whereit might fester, and cause worse injury than had it not been healed. So you always tried to clean them first, if you had the time, like they did now.

After they were clean you looked deepest first, there was no point in closing a surface wound if the organs beneath were damaged, it would only make your work harder when you came to heal those. After the organs, then there came the muscles and the bones. Only then, last, did you heal the the skin. Anyone who had any small skill in the constitutional arts could close a cut, the real mastery came in healing the wounds most people could not even see.

Aemma had stopped the bleeding in Arlo's guts, though no doubt he would still be in great pain when he awoke, so Karlus turned his attention to the face instead when he finished washing him and removing his soiled clothes. Under his light touch he reset the jaw with a few words, before he began to try and rebuild the cheek. It was difficult enough work, whatever had cut him there had been wickedly sharp and had tore through in several places. It took him a while, but as Karlus muttered the closing words of the charm, he was pleased with the final result. Aemma was leaning over his shoulder, he hadn't noticed her approach, he had been so consumed by the work.

"A good job. Try not to be too neat though, they will want him to have a scar, to show he suffered."

"Why?" He found himself asking softly. "What did he do to deserve this?" The old healer shrugged in response, a universal gesture, despite her far flung origins.

"I do not know if he deserved it. But it is the way of this Order, barbaric as it might seem. This is their justice."

Karlus felt drained from the effort of healing Arlo. Aemma took over with her assortment of salves, tinctures and concoctions. She smeared them over the freshly closed wounds and bound them with bandages. Meanwhile Karlus thought about the Order, and what kind of justice it had. He had thought he might have left that kind of 'justice' at the colleges. But somehow, it seemed to have followed him.

How RPG (and roleplaying) has influenced my life (so far)

Another thing I've realized about myself from my experiences here is my issues with alcohol, which is a weird tangent for sure. While I am not at a point where I would be considered an alcoholic just yet, I do realize I've grown more dependent on it to feel more comfortable with my writing. I'm sure those who communicate with me regularly can easily tell when I'm drinking or not. I know for sure I do have a problem with drinking, as while it has helped me write much more often than I normally do, it has also caused me to act more impulsively with others, saying and doing things I would not do with a clear mind. It's because of this revelation that I've more or less resigned to stop drinking regularly, especially when I feel like I need it to write better.

@Cu Chulainn

Hey Cu Chulainn,

I don't know you personally and I don't think I've ever really roleplayed with you before, but I'd like to thank you for making this post. I'd especially like to thank you for talking about your issues with alcohol and writing, because I suspect its a something more common on this site than some might believe.

I've had a similar issue at one point when I was really struggling with writers block both in my personal life when writing for fun, and in my professional life when I was trying to write for academic journals. When you're sat there trying to get blood from a stone on a piece of work you know you need to finish and it just won't come, there's a terrible temptation to try and 'loosen up' just to get something to flow. To get something, anything, you can work with.

This might not seem like a problem when its a beer or two, or a glass of wine. But when you realise you're working on probably the most important piece of your career so far, something that is going to be peer reviewed and published, and you are flat out drunk - then you might have a problem. I think I certainly did a few years ago.

Thankfully, I don't do that anymore. I still drink, but only socially. Never by myself, and never when I'm working.

Anyway, thank you for opening up and sharing. I'm glad that this site has been able to help you, and teach you some things about yourself.

Game: Gnome Town

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