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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 2, 2008 2:23:56 GMT -5
Arriving at the familiar monument she calls home, for now, Wraith heaves a relieved sigh. All but ready to fall through the door in exhaustion, the weary Dustman carefully maneuvers into the common room, mindful of not bumping into the jamb. Her son was slumped in her arms, a heavier weight, snoring softly against her neck.
At once she was soothed by the soft lighting seeping through the fish tanks, and the tinkling of clean, pure water rushing from the fountain; a collection of shells that hang from a hole in the ceiling, and a sparkling pool beneath.
Ignoring the other patrons for now, Wraith staggers up to the bar. "Excuse me, cutter, I was wondering if I could possibly get a larger room for the night." She explains, gesturing at her two travelling companions; Ahinabura and Hilathic. "I'll need another two spare beds, if you have them available."
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Post by hilathic on Apr 2, 2008 13:42:52 GMT -5
Looking extremely uncomfortable in his new clothing, Hilathic attempts to hold the Tunic up off the floor so he doesn't trip over it constantly. Still having a little trouble with it he catches a foot and trips slightly. "Now this is a case to stay in! Much better then my little nest." Hilathic digs at his backside seeming to scratch or pull on something. Explaining to the human staring at him as he does this, "My tail is used to a bit more freedom." Hilathic pulls up the baggy clothing and attempts to straighten his tail, all the while exposing his ass to the room as he circles to see behind himself like some kind of cat. Finally giving up, Hilathic seems to talk to his tail, "Looks like your hipped in there fer now."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 2, 2008 23:28:18 GMT -5
Looking extremely uncomfortable in his new clothing, Hilathic attempts to hold the Tunic up off the floor so he doesn't trip over it constantly. Still having a little trouble with it he catches a foot and trips slightly. "Now this is a case to stay in! Much better then my little nest." Hilathic digs at his backside seeming to scratch or pull on something. Explaining to the human staring at him as he does this, "My tail is used to a bit more freedom." Hilathic pulls up the baggy clothing and attempts to straighten his tail, all the while exposing his ass to the room as he circles to see behind himself like some kind of cat. Finally giving up, Hilathic seems to talk to his tail, "Looks like your hipped in there fer now."Wraith covers her mouth with her hand; stifling a giggle at Hilathic's expense. "I do apologise if the garments are inappropriate, basher. But I didn't have anything tailored for... one of your stature." She laughs softly, and noisily clears her throat.
"Perhaps, if it would suit you better, we should find somewhere comfortable to sit." Scanning the room, her eyes fall upon a nice secluded corner near one of the fish tanks. She points to it. "Over there looks good. I need to... unburden herself." She groans wearily, carefully shifting Aerin's weight onto her other hip. |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 3, 2008 0:45:10 GMT -5
Hilathic takes a seat where indicated, "When I used to wear clothes I wore kids clothing. I guess at some point I lost my modesty."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 3, 2008 2:24:40 GMT -5
Hilathic takes a seat where indicated, "When I used to wear clothes I wore kids clothing. I guess at some point I lost my modesty." Wraith joins Hilathic at the table, sitting down beside him, and carefully sets Aerin down in another vacant seat. The child, a small half elven boy, sleeps peacefully enough; a blessing after whatever harrowing ordeal he experienced. "There's no need to worry about modesty around me, basher. It's nothing I haven't seen before." She shrugs, and takes her blanket out of her pack. Carefully she wraps it around her son, taking the time to tuck it in under his chin. There probably is no reason for it, the little boy seems content enough. If anything, the loving gesture is soothing for the mother. It had been so long since she last held Aerin. To say that she was gladdened to have found him at last was an understatement. Turning to Ahinabura, Wraith says quietly. "Now, what's this dark you need to lann me of? Or are you worried someone might be parking their ears as we speak?" |
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Post by Stix on Apr 3, 2008 7:35:00 GMT -5
Bertram, the broad-built forty-something human proprietor, spies the boy in Wraith's arms and gives her an assenting nod, but is too busy with after-dinner cleanup to accommodate her right away. "Just make yourselves comfortable," he suggests.
Everyone is seated at a table in the curve of the room, overlooked by a lantern shedding light from inside a bubble-shaped fish bowl. A small Krigalan brown flatfish swims on its side, buoyant in place as it stares lazily out of the tank. A school of brightly-colored Ossan minnows dart around the larger fish, over and beneath, casting flitting shadows on the collecting pool in the center of the room.
When Wraith requests the truth about her son, Ahinabura shifts uncomfortably, wearing a forced, awkward smile. "It ain't a pleasant dark, but y' need ta know... yer boy showed up at the Gatehouse almost a fortnight past. He barely ate, hardly had any strength in him, and so far as I was told, he hasn't said a word since."
Her expression returns to a more common, involuntary smirk and squint. "We didn't know who he was or where he came from, so after a few days, I volunteered to read his thoughts. I tried to talk some answers out of him, and the things I saw were... top-shelf horrors. An' I was born on Gehenna, so don't go thinkin' I don't know somethin' bad when I see it."
She swallows hard, trying to overcome the powerful urge not to continue with the subject. The Bleaker looks to Wraith, as if searching her face for vain hope of changing the subject.
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Post by hilathic on Apr 3, 2008 10:20:21 GMT -5
Hilathic sits in his chair smiling broadly from ear to ear like some kind of child who has been left in a candy store. Looking around the room he seems to be paying no attention to the conversation going on near him. Right now his tail seems to be his main source of attention as he pulls and prods at it under the tunic some more. Standing precariously on his chair as he adjusts himself several times it seems as if the chair will fall over before he rights himself. With a slight sigh Hilathic and seems to give up when he notices the boys eyes had open and he was watching his antics.
Smiling to Aerin as the boy quickly closes his eyes upon noticing he had been caught watching the little mans struggle, Hilathic pulls out his harmonica from one of the pockets her had found in his makeshift clothing. Putting on his fools act Hilathic acts as though the Harmonica is a slippery piece of soap and pops the harmonica up in the air, through the sleeves the ungulfed his hands, server times sliding through his grasp, and only catching it when it seemed all hope had been lost for him on getting his hands unstuck.
Putting the harmonica to his lips he plays the boy a song something you would here at an amusement park, yet uplifting, and inspiring to all those who take the time to listen to the softly played tune. Glancing to Ahinabura as his song continues show that maybe the daft seeming fiendling was paying attention to the conversation.
[Bardic Song: Inspire Courage]
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Post by Stix on Apr 3, 2008 19:22:26 GMT -5
Taking heart in Hilathic's song -- even though it shows as a wince on the Bleaker's face -- Ahinabura decides to carry on with the story, once Aerin has fallen back asleep.
"He told us 'bout masked men with knives. They cut sods open and pulled things out, then stuffed 'em and sat 'em up at the dinner table while they ate the deaders' insides." Ahinabura pales visibly at the thought. "They kept him in a cage, and they only spoke a language he couldn't understand.
"An' after he told 'is story, he hain't said a word since."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 3, 2008 21:55:24 GMT -5
Taking heart in Hilathic's song -- even though it shows as a wince on the Bleaker's face -- Ahinabura decides to carry on with the story, once Aerin has fallen back asleep. " He told us 'bout masked men with knives. They cut sods open and pulled things out, then stuffed 'em and sat 'em up at the dinner table while they ate the deaders' insides." Ahinabura pales visibly at the thought. " They kept him in a cage, and they only spoke a language he couldn't understand." An' after he told 'is story, he hain't said a word since." Wraith sits patiently, listening intently, and gently motions for Ahinabura to continue as she falters in her speach. This had been a dark she'd longed to hear for so many days and nights now, she could no longer count them. Taking note of Aerin stirring from his slumber, she draws the child close, and softly strokes his matted hair. As Hilathic's uplifting song soothes the child back to sleep, she offers him a tired, appreciative smile. Here he was, a complete stranger, yet unlike so many who didn't care for their fellow Cagers, he offered to help, and asked for nothing in return. Her smile soon fades when the weight of Ahinabura's next words sinks in. Her face pales, suddenly bleached of all life and color. She stares at the Bleaker woman, aghast and dismayed, as again the grisly fate of Aerin's nursemaid flashes before her eyes. For a moment, she can't speak. The words just stick to the roof of her mouth, and tightness squeezes her chest. Issuing a shaky breath that comes out more like a horrified sob, she gasps;
"Apollo have mercy on me, he was taken by the cult of Graz'zt." She drops her head into her hands, and sobs. "It is as I feared. But why, Powers above preserve me, target me and take my son? I am but a poor embalmer with nothing of any real value to offer." She laments pitifully. "I'd suspect the tongue they spoke was Tanar'raic... a language I am all too familiar with." She whispers at length, and sobs again. |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 3, 2008 22:29:46 GMT -5
"If anyone had done this to my child, I would want to find out who they where and hunt them all down one by one. No one should ever harm a child for any reason. I am no warrior, but if you wish my assistance, I do know someone in the Cult of Graz'zt that may give us leads." Hilathic's eyes flash with his demon heritage, as a rage seems to build inside him as he speaks even though his voice stays calm and controlled. When he finishes speaking he sets his harmonica on the table in front of him and entwines his fingers as he stretches out his arms to crack his knuckles.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 4, 2008 5:36:28 GMT -5
"If anyone had done this to my child, I would want to find out who they where and hunt them all down one by one. No one should ever harm a child for any reason. I am no warrior, but if you wish my assistance, I do know someone in the Cult of Graz'zt that may give us leads." Hilathic's eyes flash with his demon heritage, as a rage seems to build inside him as he speaks even though his voice stays calm and controlled. When he finishes speaking he sets his harmonica on the table in front of him and entwines his fingers as he stretches out his arms to crack his knuckles. Wraith stops crying. Drying her eyes with shaking fingers, she mutters bitterly; "Be sure of this, basher, if I ever find these sods, they'll wish they'd been penned into the dead-book by natural means. Because by the time I'm done with them..." She lets the thought hang in the air, too afraid to speak of what she was truly thinking. But when Hilathic speaks of knowing someone amongst that dreadful group, she spins around and stares at him in alarm. "You-You know someone amongst them?" She stammers. "Of course, I'd be more than grateful for your assistance, basher; anything to find the sods who tormented my son." She wets her lips with a nervous flick of her tongue, and rubs her arms through the thin sleaves of her black robe. "I was once told by a strange soothsayer a few weeks ago, that it wasn't necessarily my boy they were after. They took him to lure me into a trap. He said something like I must look into the dark of my heritage to find my answers." She stares at the far wall, as though trying to pluck some vague memory from the deeper recesses of her mind. "I-I do anything to find out why they'd target me." She whispers in a faint, shaky voice, and turns to meet Hilathic's eyes once more. |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 4, 2008 12:05:03 GMT -5
"Then tomorrow I go see what I can find out for you. Know this though, the Cult of Graz'zt is not forgiving of those looking into their business, so I may not return. But that is what it is, and my life is worth very little. Hlathic once again starts to pull at his hind section. Finally tiring of it he flips the tunic up on the back of the seat and lets his tail free. Flicking back and forth his tail seems happy to be free.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 4, 2008 18:55:17 GMT -5
"Then tomorrow I go see what I can find out for you. Know this though, the Cult of Graz'zt is not forgiving of those looking into their business, so I may not return. But that is what it is, and my life is worth very little. Hlathic once again starts to pull at his hind section. Finally tiring of it he flips the tunic up on the back of the seat and lets his tail free. Flicking back and forth his tail seems happy to be free. Wraith studies Hilathic's gaunt face in the subtle lighting; scrutinizing the face that may soon be penned into the dead-book. Though most likely it's to burn into her mind, an image of the basher who offered her help, and asked for little in return. "Don't say that." She whispers softly. It seemed ironic to say what she wanted to say now, because not so long ago, when the Apathy had dug it's black claws into her, it seemed that she was lamenting such things... and Hadrian was the one trying to comfort her. Hadrian. There was a basher she hadn't seen for some time. Thoughts of him hadn't even crossed her mind until now. How did he fare these days? Maybe I should enquire about his health... tell him the good news...? She wondered... until the the cold, xdroning words of Xanathis set in. She retracted the thought, and shrank visibly in her seat. "Every basher's existence amounts to something, basher." She whispers at length, and casts a nervous over her shoulder; just to be sure no one was watching her. No one was. "Even if it is to realise that they are, after all, dead." The words are awkward, as though she herself has questioned her own beliefs and the meaning of her life more than once. She offers a wan smile that fails to light up her tired eyes. "My beliefs set aside, I can't ask you to lay down your life for me." She could sit here and spout how no truth could be found in entering the next stage of Death prematurely, but faction philosophies had no place here; not when her own faith still faltered. "For that reason, I'll accompany you. If you'll allow it." She heaves a deep sigh, measuring the wisdom of her decision. There was none, of course. It was barmy. She'd just gotten Aerin back, though his mind was shatteredn and he may never be the same again. He needed her. But, if the soothsayer was correct, she was the one they were after. The boy was merely part of the trap set for her. Maybe there was a way she could use this to her advantage. "It's me they want. Maybe I could... use myself as bait, to lure them out of hiding." |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 4, 2008 21:14:41 GMT -5
"The boy needs you now. I will call on you when I have found something out. It is nothing against you... It's just... I have always done things on my own, a cause is slightly new to me. If you can understand what I am saying." Pausing a moment to find the right words, Hilathic continues. "I will not throw my life away needlessly, I just want you to realize that if you never again hear from me it is not because I abandoned you. I would never abandon my..." Stopping himself before he says to much he looks to the boy. "I think a little bit of color is coming back into his checks?"
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 4, 2008 21:37:09 GMT -5
"The boy needs you now. I will call on you when I have found something out. It is nothing against you... It's just... I have always done things on my own, a cause is slightly new to me. If you can understand what I am saying." Pausing a moment to find the right words, Hilathic continues. "I will not throw my life away needlessly, I just want you to realize that if you never again hear from me it is not because I abandoned you. I would never abandon my..." Stopping himself before he says to much he looks to the boy. "I think a little bit of color is coming back into his checks?" Wraith sighs and nods. Who was she to interfere with another man's will? All she could do was advise, and express her concerns where needed, but in the end, only the individual could make the important decisions for themselves. Reaching across the table, she pats Hilathic's hand gently - her fingers are alarmingly cold beneath the antique leather - and retracts her fingers again quickly. She didn't quite know why she did that, but it seemed to come naturally, perhaps because of the dying sods she'd sat beside throughout her tenure at the Weary Spirit. "I am... eternally grateful to you. I have very little to offer to you, except jink for your trouble, and my thanks, basher." She pauses to draw a deep breath, and chews on her bottom lip; drawing a tiny spot of blood. "At least remain here for the night, as a token of my gratitude. It's the least I can do, after what you've done for me. It wouldn't seem right if I sent you on your way again."Hesitating, she reaches across the table, and pats his hand again. This time, an almost feverish light creeps into the dustman's eyes. "Just promise me this; that you will do all in your power to return with answers. I'll not have any basher dying at my expense... and I'll not be the one to inter your remains." Her voice is strained; that of a woman who has seen too much, and cares not to relive those experiences. She follows his gaze back to her child, and smiles wistfully as she strokes the boy's face. "Aye, I think so, too, basher." She murmurs, and glances at Ahinabura. She'd almost forgotten that the Bleaker woman was there, but she was glad she chose to remain. "Do you think Aerin will ever recover? Or is he doomed too..." She falters as the tightness in her chest returns. She couldn't bring herself to voice her fears - that her boy would be shattered beyond repair, and so doomed to a bleak and pitiful existence - and let the thought hang in the air. |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 5, 2008 0:01:28 GMT -5
"A bed for the night and thanks would be splendid. Much better then my pile of rags I sleep on." Hilathic leans back in his chair and places one hand behind his head and leaves one hand on the table holding on to his harmonica. "I have faith in you. The boy will be all right."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 5, 2008 4:51:34 GMT -5
"A bed for the night and thanks would be splendid. Much better then my pile of rags I sleep on." Hilathic leans back in his chair and places one hand behind his head and leaves one hand on the table holding on to his harmonica. "I have faith in you. The boy will be all right." Wraith offers a wan smile of gratitude. "I know he will be." She glances at her child, where he sags in the chair sleeping, and again runs her fingertips across his cheek. She leans over, and kisses Aerin's forehead. "Somehow we will get through this ordeal." She murmurs, leaning back in her chair, and clasps her hands demurely in her lap. "Bertram can't assist us at the moment." She cocks her head in the proprieter's direction. "But I'm sure there'll be a larger room available with spare beds. If not, you can take my chair by the hearth, and I'll sleep on the floor, because my son will need my bed." She shrugs, and laughs softly at her expense. Glancing down at Hilathic's harmonica then, she asks at length. "So... What is it you do exactly, basher? Obviously you play that, but..." She frowns pensively, unsure of what to ask and how he might respond, then decides on another approach. "You mentioned banging around the Weary Head and seeing me there. I take it you know some of what I do, then?" |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 5, 2008 21:30:12 GMT -5
"Mostly... I guess you would call me a street Musician. I find a spot that looks comfortable and I call it kip for a few days. I play and keep my ears parked to the chant on the street. The Weary Head is one of my normal haunts, the bleakers are lose with there jink around my kind of melodramatic music.
I assume you work with the dead in some way?" Hilathic twirls his harmonica nervously, he should have never told her he had seen her before, he was a fool from not being around people enough. His social skills where deteriorating.
A loud gurgling noise from the pit of his stomach seemed to shatter the tension in the air and none to soon. Hilathic's skin tone was again beginning to take on a dark shade of brown. "I forget to eat some times," Hilathic says with a shrug.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 6, 2008 21:06:13 GMT -5
"You're not the only one." Wraith mutters. Any discomfort on his part is lost on her, however, and perhaps that is for the best. She drums her pointy nails restlessly on the table, and stares off into the mid-distance again. Her eyes glaze over slightly. She stifles a yawn behind a closed fist.
"I do more than work with the Dead, basher. I'm one of them." She mumbles, scratching idly at a fleck of grease that has been ingrained into the polished wood. "I'm a threnodist, embalmer, mortician, physician... and again I've been called on to assist at the Weary Spirit. In light of the recent plague and strange deaths - all similar to what my son has witnessed - he's been understaffed, and required my assistance." She shudders involuntarily, and swallows back the bile that suddenly rises to her throat.
Raising a shaky hand to brush back the hair from her face, she decides that now would be a good time to change the subject. "So, you're one of those Bleakniks then?" She asks at length, turning to study Hilathic's face again.
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Post by hilathic on Apr 6, 2008 21:44:39 GMT -5
"I think the Bleak Generation that is now popping up in these troubled times is a representation of the narrow viewed writings of bleakers like Rack Keronuac's and Allen Hivesberg. Who try to portray all Madmen, as overly melodramatic sods, who snap their fingers to bad peotry, and worse songs. Lost in their own sorrows these reaches look for acceptance in a community of people who need to comfort in the chaos. These bleakniks or so they call themselves are not true Bleakers, for they have not fully embrassed that there are no laws in the megaverse only theories.
Books like In the Maze and Naked Lunch showed a small percent of our world and what it's about. You will not find me associating inside those establishments playing my music for praise or raise of some kind of social standing. I play my music for those who feel as I do. That the world has no meaning for me, I am just bidding my time until the blackness takes me."
Hilathic twirls his harmonica through his fingers one last time before seating it on the table. "Music is my extension of myself good or bad. It's the way I feel. And feelings seem to be the only thing that drive me."
(Sorry I have really bad dyslexia and I don't catch some of my fragmented thoughts on my first proof readings.)
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