Domhnall MacRaith
Somewhat surprisingly to him, he had returned to Iridiel recounting the tale of her exile - something that she, to his knowledge, had not told to anyone since she had revealed it to him, all those years ago, and to him she had not revealed it until they had already been traveling together for a while ... though the latter could have largely due to him not asking sooner. Something about finally getting to know whom he had associated himself with.
Nevertheless, it was a rare thing for Iridiel to engage in longer talks with someone in these foreign lands, let alone on matters quite as personal. It had always been he who did most of the talking ... as probably evidenced by his notably greater grasp of the language. Not that he had been decent at it from the get go ... at most, he simply cared less about messing up, especially in advance. Quite often, he had been the kind of person to speak first, and worry about dodging whatever was thrown back at him in response later...
He had been trying to get better at, well, not saying just about anything that came to mind when strangers were involved. As long as he remembered to. Between Iridiel and himself ... after all that time, was there still a reason to hide anything? They were who they were, and they long knew one another. No shame (not that Eireannach were always bound quite to the same understanding of it as Rodorians here), no secrets ... unsaid things which did not quite feel important enough to share, perhaps. Did not mean Iridiel was not going to throw things at him if she was in the mood for it, and then flee up the nearest tree before he could appropriately react (as if it was going to be of much help ... he would be an embarrassment for his blood if he could not get to the highlander in his own domain).
In the end ... he guessed it was quite the atypical day in multiple ways ... starting from the gray brute and Claw. Add in huge foreign beasts who evidently had decided to seek them out for aid and understood humans, black-eyes, one of whom spoke
all the languages, then Angora and what's-its... Quite unusual indeed.
Iridiel offered him a smile and a welcome back as she wrapped up her tale and he settled down next to her - something she took as a cue to lean against him. Domhnall peered at her face from the corner of his eye; the female éireannach had closed her eyes and appeared to relax. Now that the main conflict was over, she probably felt the need to resume her recuperation, rudely interrupted as it had been but half an hour ago. Falling from trees was hardly anyone's favorite pastime...
The forestfolk sighed and carefully set his closest arm around the woman's shoulders, once again raising his head to look at the other people gathered around the small fire - Angora, still chewing on the ham, the black-eyed boy, making an off-hand comment on adventurers' pasts, and the latter's elder, who seemed content to just observe them much as he himself was doing now.
“How did you end up possessed by the... thing? The one that controlled you?” the younger black-eyes suddenly asked. The fellow's superior had certainly seemed quite interested in the same matter - though mostly from the perspective of there being a whole nest of
"it"-s somewhere, and thus potentially a whole flock of unwitting, possessed people leaping shrieking out of bushes at unfortunate travelers. Perhaps a bit awkward question to ask (he was certainly an expert on these matters), but would there ever be a better occasion? There would probably be all too many ears around in the city (how many of his former little village-town could they fit in it, exactly?), and currently there was some time until their ... newest acquaintance's clothes dried and Iridiel had rested some.
And so he settled for listening to Angora's story, his face assuming a slightly at the loss expression as his free hand (the one that was not around Iridiel's shoulders) absentmindedly moved up to play with the hair of his beard. He was not even entirely sure what he had expected - from her limited leather armor, some kind of patrol, maybe? How much of her clothes were her original ones, how much she had scavenged from her victims while possessed (if the "it" even had a concept of clothes)? She also seemed to have acquired quite the collection of jewelry...
In any case, she had clearly been a criminal of several aspects even in her
former life - smuggler, robber, even an assassin and murderer.
She didn't try to kill anyone, it did, the foreign warrior had said (or something along those lines, anyway) when Iridiel guessed that Angora feared they would execute her for her perceived murder-attempt. That seemed like something that would complicate things, even though she had assured him she would have no one after her in the city, and seemed nice enough towards Iridiel, at least.
(Meanwhile, she had gone on to speculate over the duration of her possession, which she claimed had come about during spring, whereas now it looked to be autumn.
“Autumn, yes,” the younger black-eyes gruffed in response.
“Fourth month of autumn, so it must have been more than six months.”)
The forestfolk's eyes flicked to the sword and back to Angora's face as she elaborated over the last "end" leading to her possession, as it had been. Just another thieving job for her, just more prestigious and gone wrong. Or right, albeit with unforeseen consequences, depending on one's exact criteria for it, seeing that she still had the blade with her. Apparently the sword had had the "it" in it, and the "it" had been a source of discord even before it ended up in ... her.
You had killed before - voluntarily agreed to specifically kill people, and killed people who had agreed to other services -, had you not said so yourself but moments ago? Why was killing this one convoy different? You didn't say anything about those other people trying to kill you, or being murderers themselves or something... Monster? What made a person "monster"? Killing when it was not necessary? Taking more than one needed out of greed? Acting on violent impulses and not thinking? Domhnall had never killed anyone - not a humanoid person, anyway. He - or rather one of his traps - had gotten somewhat close one time, but that was neither intentional nor really predictable, as much as it had been out of way of anywhere he could reasonably expect non-hunter people to be. (And other hunters knew which signs to look for in order to not step into traps.) The gray brute was perhaps the most humanoid being the killing of whom he had initiated - and even that one had been in the middle of trying to eat someone and was ultimately finished off by Iridiel. Gotten into a couple of fights back in the day ... yes, but he was not trying to kill anyone then.
He was no soldier, he was a hunter. He took what was needed to live a sustainable life or to protect other animals and crops, and tried to use everything he took. In turn, every year a few hunters fell to animals in turn (as could have very easily happened to him, thanks to that one blasted boar). There was a sense of fairness in that, he supposed. And yet on another turn, he had - back when he lived in one location - been just as much a caretaker as he had been a harbinger of death. How many young inexperienced stags would have been gored if he had not taken care of an old wily lancer here and there? And with large predators, there was a pact of sorts - they did not touch the herd and kept other predators off their territory, and he and other hunters did not touch them in turn. Similarly to how someone who owns chicken might opt to leave the resident crow couple alone for their tendency to give any hawk that shows up on their turf a good row of insults and a diving whack over the head, and thus protect the chickens, too. Domhnall had had names for the large predators on his grounds, mostly after some distinct characteristic of theirs... Good old Three-paws (this one lacked two toes on his right back foot) and the lot.
Did he regret leaving his old home? Sometimes... But then again, he had gotten himself into a bit of a mess back then, and had been rather disgruntled by his recent experiences, too. He
had had an use for a longer break and a change of air, though it had ultimately turned up being a bit longer and more far-reaching than he had initially expected.
Could he kill a person? Maybe. Probably. If they threatened his or someone else's life and there was no easy way out. Especially if there was no time to think things through and consider other possibilities. You know, situations where thinking meant very quickly becoming dead; the ones where you just had to act and hope for the best.
Iridiel
had killed, one time, that he had known for a long time. It had felt not right, but at least
understandable. In a way, it, too, had been self-defense, protection of if not her literal life, then at least her life as it had been. Her old life had been to be lost that day, whether to nigh slavery or the consequences of her retaliation. Faced with what was essentially her capture, she had went for retaliation, and as a result killed two people... No time to think when being forced, only to fight, yes? Reflex over analysis. Fight or flight, and if flight was not an option?
Give an animal a lot of space, and it flees. Drive an animal into a corner with no way out, and it will do its best to bite your face off. Domhnall doubted that if Iridiel had known two days in advance that she would be come for, she would have killed anyone. Had she had time to think and prepare, what would she have done? Left? Resigned? Spoken to her goddess and accepted whatever path Sulis, rather than her people, wanted her to have? Surely, she would not have set up an ambush and waited the two days to commit pre-planned murder... No. She was not like that. Not the woman he knew. She fought if she felt she had to, and she could kill, but she was no
murderer. Even with Angora, she had immediately switched to the role of a healer as soon as she had been pacified...
Furthermore, Iridiel had
already received the verdict of her own people, and was carrying out her punishment even now. In the face of the crime that had been her immediate reaction, she had been sentenced to exile, and not death.
What would have been the sentence for a serial burglar, smuggler, and a murderer-of-greed, had she been judged as Iridiel had been? By his and Iridiel peoples, or Angora's own fellow Zerulics? No one had trialed Angora, no punishment had befallen her but the eventual possession from yet another of her jobs. Were she and the world even now, or were widowed women and fatherless children still crying themselves to sleep cursing a nameless killer?
He had been mostly just staring at Angora, still quite clueless, for a while now. Indeed, was this a monster, this barely-woman before him? Not some big and dangerous and fanged predator (though she still had her talons), but quite innocent-looking like some colorful poisonous fish were? Conniving people were perhaps more dangerous, they said - better an open foe than a false friend. The same one who had seemingly displayed compassion towards his companion, and informed them she was indebted to them, with her life, no less? In the end... He ... did not know. He just did not know what to think of it all, now that Angora had evidently decided to unload everything on them. It did not seem like the kind of store one might tell to evoke people's trust, so chances were she was honestly coming clean to them, were they not?
The tale was finished, and the forestfolk's eyes were once again moving from one person to another - from Olan (was it), who appeared to be curiously watching the younger black-eyes, who in turn was looking quite grim (evidently disturbed by the tale he had just heard), to Angora poking at her still-wet clothes.
“I’m sorry, I only just realized that we haven’t really been officially introduced yet," the younger black-eyes suddenly spoke up - surprisingly diplomatically, considering what lines his mien had assumed.
"I am Jaelnec, squire of the Knighthood of the Will. Our leader, Aemoten, calls himself a warrior, but if I’ve understood what he’s told me about his culture right then he’s pretty much what we’d call a knight. The daywalker with us is an apprentice to my order, too.” Who were they more precisely, what were their and the other half of their little party's pasts? Had the older black-eyes ever raised a weapon against someone, or had he always been as seemingly harmless as he had been now (though appearances could be deceiving)? For all he knew, he was merely there as the younger black-eyes' uncle and had just come along to keep an eye on his nephew. Had the "nephew" of his killed anyone? Maybe not. Maybe yes. He was young, but he had picked or been made to choose a path that prepared him to become a killer of whoever his order was opposed to, and his words earlier had revealed that they had had quite a few run-ins recently.
The white-eyes ... the daywalker, Thala or what was her name, she had been injured even before her spar with Angora, much as the warrior and the great beast. Jaelnec - the younger black-eyes - had said she was an apprentice of his order, too? Did apprentices not become before squires ... or were those pages? Or perhaps it was just males who could be pages, squires and knights in their order, and females could only be apprentices... It seemed a bit more common to not treat women equally as warriors over here. It seemed odd that the white-eyes would have a lower rank than the young black-eyes otherwise - she was more than old enough to be his mother, at least. The white-eyes was maybe Domhnall's own age, he suspected.
The warrior and the beast, he did not doubt had killed before. In fact, he had a quite vivid image of some headless corpse of ... beast? man? lying somewhere behind the group on the road. Possibly half-eaten, too. Y'know, whatever a beast like the one Iridiel had healed would consider an appropriate treatment for someone who had managed to wound his forelimb. Was he not part of whatever order the young black-eyes belonged, though? If so, he probably was not his master, though he was still the evident leader of his bunch. Possibly, the master had assigned the two of them onto this quest, then... Or maybe not. On top of everything, it appeared that the white-eyes and the warrior made a couple - from the white-eyes sitting by his side and stroking his hair when he was out, and him and only him speaking to her after the fight with Angora, and eventually going after her. (Though he and Iridiel probably looked like a couple to these more frigid easterners, too.
Yep, skipped the fun parts and went straight to being an old bickering couple...) All in all, a rather complicated picture.
“If you’re going to be traveling with us, you’re going to have to leave your life of crime behind," the younger black-eyes asserted, then, probably remembering his temporary role.
"We don’t do stuff like that.” Which he most likely had not had too much experience with. (
We don’t do stuff like that? Not that you would not have been able to run me through with ease if we ever decided to engage in a sword-fight, but you almost sound like a defiant child, pal.) He uncharacteristically wisely refrained from commenting on it.
“That sword is obsidite, which means that it was almost certainly made by Klorr... which means it is beyond a masterpiece and must be very valuable. Even ignoring that whoever sent you for the sword could send more, there must be others looking for it. It might be worth considering whether the sword is worth the danger it puts you in – us in – or whether it would be better to get rid of it.” Yeah. The sword (who was Klorr? a renowned local swordsmith?), and Angora's past. That. That was still a problem.
"Are 'ere any more of 'em things? Withou' the thing, tha' there is jus' me'al, nay? Ne'er reveel it tae the folks in the ci'y an' ye're fine as long as the buyer's not af'er ye, no? If ye say 'ey won't jus' go af'er yer pretty face by i'self..." Domhnall offered. The sword-part seemed simple enough. The other parts ... not so much.
He hesitated for a bit.
"Tell ye... Ye say ye robbed an' murder'd before the thing an' convoy, nay? Wha' kind of lot were 'ey folks?"
If they were all bastards and corrupt assholes to begin with, it would make things simpler again. Probably. Otherwise it did not look too good no matter how he looked at it.
Noctis
Izurich
sandstorm
Alfhedil
Tuujaimaa