From the fire of the desert

[Desert fire]

((closed rp))

Far in the distance the walls of the town were to be seen. Like an eyesore in the plain countryside that was about to green again. It was still cold, but spring noticeably took over season and she, she of all people, noticed the change in scent.

The woman paused til she induldged to the urge and took her shoes off to feel the grass underneath her bare feet.
>Growing emotionally< she muttered with a slight distaste in her voice but kept on going. The town walls began to tower the closer she came and so did her memories. Blurred memories. Dark ones. She wasn't sure if all of them were actually real or just another nightmare of the many she have had. But the stone walls appeared like a cage to her. A cage of insanity, a rank acre sowed with seeds of madness. And inside she would find its crop, for sure.

[Desert fire]

The sun was going down in the west and crimsoned the landscape while the first brightest stars became visible at the sky. Warmed by the sun of the day, the ground beneath her grew quickly cold now by its fading which sent a shiver down her spine.
From the copper mountains she had a great view over the west of Gobaith and especially Trolls Bane below her.

Her emotionless eyes lingered upon the town as she reached for the cloak. With its ochre colour and the hood it reminded on the cowl of a monk, but it oddly suited her appearance. The woman broke her stare and sigh escaped her dry lips.
She felt tired. And weak. But not ready to enter these walls just yet.

[Desert fire]

>> It's not about the appearance. It's about wiping away the traces of the past<<

The ointment had an interesting scent to it. Maybe it was firnis or something else flourish. But how would she know. She never have had much interests in nature. Or her surroundings in general. The skin she rubbed the ointment into was slightly cauterised, not all over, but spotted. Not being sure if her skin would ever fully heal again, she yet knew that some of her scars would never. Like the ones around her wrists. Like pale witnesses they reminded her every morning what she had gone through. Reminded her on the metal chains that had cutted so deeply into her flesh that it bled. Not like she would be able to forget this anyway.

She was sitting again at the shadow-covered spot upon the copper mountains while her gaze traveled over her lower arms. Was she still the same woman she has been before? A desperate try to regain the life she once had lived...?

[Desert fire]

Change. With time comes change and the woman with the ochre cloak watched once more the countryside that was carrying the obvious signs of spring. Life was like this. She had gone through many different seasons of her life and it was hard to figure out which one would be next.

She had smiled yesterday. A strange feeling to smile again, somewhat relieving and somewhat burdening. And talking about the past tore at her even worse. There were so many unanswered question and about most of them she wasn't sure if she would like to know at all. Yet one thing wouldn't just want to live her mind... Why did she hide? The island didn't remember her name anymore. It was a name of the past. She had no enemies, nothing to worry about.
Maybe she was ashamed of herself.

[Desert fire]

The sun was dawning and the first sunbeams began to chase away the darkness on the plane as she was walking outside of the tower gate in the south east. Rather cold was the early morning wind or maybe it was the alcohol cooling down her body, yet only her cheeks felt hot. A new day.

She still couldn't understand it. Or accept it. Especially now where the beer was numbing her and fogging her mind. Her boy was gone. Of course she had lost many people dear to her over time; she was aware of death, after all she had killed several men on her own. But this was different. Being responsible for death of this child, she would never be able to cope with this knowledge. Yet the woman didn't show. No emotions broke through her controlled self, her features even grew harder. But deep inside it gnawed and tore at her.

This day proved her how alive she actually was. There were several confusing incidents today that let her wonder if she was really sane, or if she has simply grown weak on her 'not so old' days. She of all people falling so quickly for a man? When he got a hold of her hand, she had wondered if that wouldn't be the point where she at least had punched any other. It seemed he had walked past her defense without her even noticing.

[Dantagon Marescot]

He tipped his head back, the last of his beer flowed down his throat. When the mug was finally lowered she was gone. As soon as the night had come it left, taking her with it. Their minds were both fuzzy and it was taken advantage of. But as the morning rays reflected off of his glass, he was not sure who had fallen first. Who spoke things which would not be spoken without breath reaking of alcohol?

He had seen her scars, something that she had been trying to hide since they first met. Words of why they were there were left unsaid. If not for her sake, it was for his. It was hard to tell exactly how much was true. What was admited and what was omited? Regardless, he knew her past and he felt her suffering.

She was not what she claimed to be. Many noses had been broken in the past years from her, but so far, his was not to be added to the count. In no way did she come off as a rekloose woman with an iron fist. Instead there was something deep inside of her that she was hiding... With one last sigh, he steped sure footedly back onto the path. Theirs would cross again in the coming days, but now it was time for rest.

[Desert fire]

With a metallic clank the blade hitted the ground. A few minutes long it lay there, before the owner decided to pick it up again. It was an old sword, even rusty at some parts, but good enough for training. A training that seemed hopeless to her.

Her body would not bend to her mind, not achieving the stamina and strength she wanted it to achieve. 3 Years have passed by without her even holding a blade and now she stood there like she did when she was young and her father showed her how to handle a weapon. She strapped off her metal armour that felt heavy on her and carelessly threw it as well at the ground. The woman definately felt desperated. Her whole appearance wasn't anymore what it used to be. She felt scrawny, frail, weak. And she hated it.

She unconsciously rubbed over the wrist of the hand that was holding the sword, staring down at her feet. It was hard to tell what would happen in future. The election today would decide many things, as well as her own fate. Her thoughts travelled immediately back to Dantagon. How they did so often. The boyish woman was suprised that he coped with her so easily, but yet he hasn't seen her full in scene.

The blade was stuck into the ground and she sat next to it into the grass, granting her body the rest that it needed.

Of course she enjoyed the playful behavior between them. His warm smile and his bright eyes. If she was the desert, then he was the sea. Full of life, clear and deep. While she always thought she resembled to a sandy, mercyless hot plane, killing every life that wasn't made for living there, for in her desert there was cleary no oasis given.
He was so different to her and maybe that made it so easy to simply reach behind her walls and touch her deserted, martyred heart in a way she felt uncomfortable with. Yet would not want it different.

[Dantagon Marescot]

The feather on his quil waved back and forth over a piece of parchment. Dan's light blue eyes followed the others in the tavern. The couple at the fire, the warriors sitting around a table drinking beer and sharing stories, and then just the few silent people sitting at the bar. After a moment he set his quil back in his ink, leaning back in his chair and taking a nice long sip of his water.

His eyes droped to the parchment, a letter home. Recently he had recived letters from home, yet he had not sent a single letter back since he had recived the knighthood. It had been a good few months since his last letter and they were growing worried.

Dan smiled, reading over the words in his letter. The order seemed to be at least better liked than Kallahorn. He made sure to exclude the problem with Lennier and the death of Dren. Both were his fault, not showing how different the order was to Kallahorn, and not saving Dren from his fate. Neither of which he was proud of. Regardless, he left his parchment filled with a few small stories, something which kept the children on the farm entertained.

Thoughts drifted back to the day before. Sitting with Bailey around the fire, chatting quietly. He started to grin, setting all four feet of the chair back on the ground and putting his water off to the side. His hand reached for his quil, the grin growing as he brought the quil down under the signing of his name.

P.S. I have met a girl. She is very nice and is a ex-guard. She can be rather manic at times.

His quil and his mind trailed off for a moment, the ink making a black long on his paper. Carefully he lifted his quil up and wrote the last words.

I think Grandpa would have liked her.

[Desert fire]

*- A new dawn -*


Bailey has been up early and went along with her son in her arms outside of Trolls Bane to watch the sun setting in the east over the copper mountains. She had to admit that Gobaith had it's own, wild and sometimes unnatural beauty. It was a place of magic, of miracles, of divine events. Just as it was a place of agony, despair and darkness. Like a two-sided sword. And Gobaith has always drawn the most strangest, most obscure and diverse people onto it's land. Like her.
And here she was again. Although just months ago she had sworn not to put a foot on this island again. Out of reasons that now, where she contemplated them, did not make any sense to her anymore. Bailey had made a lot of mistakes in her life. But this one, she would thought, was the biggest. Leaving Dantagon.

Although she always knew it somehow, she only got truly aware of it when she saw Dantagon on the street. Infront of her. Looking at her. Unable to read his face she asked him if he would talk to her. And he did.
How strange it was to sit next beside him again, Bailey thought now, only hours later. The sensation she felt every time he had looked at her. And the immense pain after he told her of his new love.

She said, she was here because of Dwyn. And that is what she liked to believe too. Sorius had shown her that it would be the most honest and fair thing to do. Even if the confrontation would hurt. Both of them. But it would only be fair towards their son, who both of them were responsible for.
But as Bailey was now stood here, outside of Trolls Bane, watching a new dawn - she knew that Dwyn wasn't the sole reason she decided to come here for.

But because she still loved Dantagon.