Arrogance

[Alistair]

32nd of Saun, Arc 717

"That bitch..." he cursed, visibly shaken, but not quite so traumatized as he was clearly enraged. His hands gripped the letter, his eyes stared into it. No matter how he tried to rationalize this, there was no easy way to escape the trap she'd laid. And for that, he was angry. So, so, so angry. This woman, who he didn't even know, had somehow learned all there was to know about him - and his husband. And she'd used that to create a situation that wrung equally his heart and mind.

Near the end of Ymiden, Alistair had made a contract with a surrogate, working for the Rigid Rooster - she would give birth to Fridgar's biological child, and in exchange, she would be paid handsomely throughout the affair. Everyone benefited - Alistair and Fridgar would have a son to call their own, she would be given wealth and assurance (enough to buy a small home) - all for nine months of inconvenience. This was what they had all agreed to, and the woman at the time appeared quite enthused.

But now, she was not. She had reneged on the contract, and decided the life of a Gauthrien whore was not one she favored. She had sent them a letter threatening a violent refusal of the child - she would force a miscarriage, if they did not pay her ten times the original promised funds of five hundred gold nels. Now, it was five thousand, enough to buy a home in an affluent neighborhood, with all the amenities one would desire. Of course, most would simply refuse and allow her the opportunity to risk her own death in taking out the child.

But Alistair... he wouldn't let that happen. This child, even unborn, was of infinite value to him. It meant more to him than anything that this child was born - it was Fridgar's, after all. It was his. He couldn't let her ransack Fridgar's legacy, his flesh and blood. This was to be their entry into a new and better life.

If the payment of five thousand gold nels is not made by mid-Vhalar, the child will be slain. This is my commitment to you, he read again. Vile. She was a beautiful woman - she looked almost as if she could've been his sister. Like a far more petite Andraska, with the same golden brown hair and noteworthy eyes. It was why he chose her. Now, however, he recalled something of import: the value that beautiful people placed on their bodies was nigh-infinite. There were few things so important to them as their forms, and she valued her physicality far more than five hundred gold nel. Of course. He was naive to not have expected this.

Etzos, was where she had gone to. She even gave him a specific address at which to contact her... 'provider', as she called him.

This was all... a lot to swallow. Sitting quietly, at his desk, he grit his teeth and pondered angrily. What to do? What could they do?

Fridgar needed to know. The question was - where was he?

[Varthakh]

Fridgar stood opposite the scarred tree, new gauntlets equipped. He'd been working on a new technique for unarmed combat; counterweight. It involved manipulation of momentum, dependant on the weight of his fists. This tree, the one he set his eyes on, Alistair had used for training purposes when he was a master of the spear. Now, it was Fridgar's turn to demonstrate the raw power of blood and bone... with some master worked Terrendyte to boot, of course.

Nodding to himself, Fridgar took a step back and raised his heavy fists. The weight was incredible, but it was no burden that he couldn’t bare. He slid one foot back, dragging through the dry earth of Saun and unsettling the dust. Then, shifting the position of back foot to throw more weight into his fist, he flung his right arm forward in a powerfully overwhelming right cross. The punch travelled far faster than Fridgar was prepared to cope with, though. His eyes widened after it was already too late. Travelling with the momentum of his fist, Fridgar was thrown to the floor at high speeds, flat on his face.

It felt as though a massive force had tackled him from behind and thrown him to the dirt, as though all his breath had been robbed from his lungs in a matter of trills, but no. Instead, the weight of his fists alone had pulled him all the way. The Lothar sputtered, coughing away some of the dust around his head as he pressed into his palms, rising to his knees. With his mismatched eyes, he looked to the scarred tree in a harsh scowl, as though the tree were laughing at him or had caused his fall. Once he'd gotten to his feet, he returned to the tree, this time within punching range of the wooden menace.

He raised his dusty gauntlets once more and stepped forward. Did he mind that he bare chest was covered in loose dirt? No, he did not. An enemy had presented itself and needed to be destroyed. Again, he threw his right fist forward with all his strength, the momentum of his gauntlet pulled his fist at incredible speeds once more, carrying a ludicrous amount of power. The sound of his impact boomed for a mile and even seemed to rattle his and Alistair's house of buggery behind him. The tree died, of course.

Exactly where Fridgar had punched, splinters of all shapes and sizes blew apart and flung all over, slashing and cutting at Fridgar's skin, painting him in pieces of wood that had now merged with his skin. He thankfully averted his eyes from the blast, but was otherwise coated in pointy pieces of wood. Writhing in the stinging pain of a thousand splinters, Fridgar stumbled back, coughing and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his Terrendyte fists. He then looked to his good work, only to see a cloud of unsettled dust, the tree also seemed to be growing... or getting closer. The tree was on a collision course for the house of buggery after being snapped from its stump.

Panic filled the pained Lothar, who acted on the first thing that came to mind; he ran closer to the tree and gripped hard at its bark above his head. To no one's surprise, the tree didn't stop its descent, bit did slow down a little. The weight of his gauntlets and the tree combined was simply too much for the Lothar, even if he were one of the strongest people on Idalos. the tree got closer and closer to their home, inch by inch, it closed in. The unrelenting gravity which collaborated with the tree began to infuriate the Lothar. He hated having things oppose him, nature liked to think it could push him around. Sadly, he was about to show Nature just who did the pushing in these parts.

Channelling his anger and adrenaline, Fridgar summoned a micro-blood rage and fed his musculature with an onslaught of adrenaline, granting him a temporary strength boost. Putting his back and core into the push, Fridgar growled, building into a bestial roar. The tree eventually slowed to a halt, then began to lift away from the house as the Lothar pushed back. Despite being covered in trickles of his own blood, dust, splinters, he fought on and pressed with all his might. He was stood diagonal to the bark as he pushed hard into its hard flesh, his back straight, supported by his powerful legs and muscle.

Step by step, the Lothar returned the tree to its original position, standing vertically. His skin had slicked with sweat and dirt, now turned mud and sawdust, his veins bulged as hot and vast amounts of blood were pumped around his whole being, his legs and arms shook with strain as he recovered from the stressful situation. His back and core were otherwise fine, more than capable of dealing with high intensity stress on an hourly basis. Fridgar stood there, recovering his breath as he looked the tree up and down. It looked stable to him, so he left it where it was. As for the chunks of wood and splinters that covered the garden floor, Fridgar would just have to pretend that he didn't know where they came from; Alistair would never know it was him!

Fridgar turned and headed back to the front entrance of the house of buggery, undoing the straps of his gauntlets as he walked. halfway through his return, a gust of wind blew at the top of the tree and successfully toppled it. The giant tower of wood, bark and leaves fell in the opposite direction of the house, thudding against a boulder with a frightening impact that stole a yelp from the musclebound giant. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see the carnage, cringing. Alistair was going to be furious if he found out that Fridgar had ruined their garden, so, he ran. If he wasn't there and acted surprised when he saw the happenings, Alistair might think a wild animal did it or something.

Fridgar walked through the front door of the house, unstrapping his perfectly intact gauntlets. Alistair would see him glazed in sweat, earth, splinters, dripping blood from various cuts all over his body with a look of terror and guilt in his eyes.

[Alistair]

Like always when questioning the location of his beloved, he was seemingly given a rather instantaneous response -- growling and roaring could be heard from the yard, and shortly after a massive thud resounded from outside. "Are you kidding me?" he questioned, partially rhetorically and partly as a beseeching of the Gods; please tame my husband. Of course, going towards the yard revealed the culprit red-handed, as the man entered the living room and unstrapped his Terrendyte gauntlets, splinters completely lining his form, as his eyes seemed imperiled by anxious anticipation. The mage grimaced -- he couldn't leave all of these splinters in Fridgar, they'd get infected. They'd have to pick them all out.

Then, he had a thought - what were the splinters derived from? And then he knew. His beloved tree, which he'd developed Duskfall from, and practiced Gravelmonger with. Alistair's fighting style, which had become the aspiration of the Shadowdancing art, had been developed at least in part by endlessly beating on that tree. So many hundreds of lunges, sweeps and swipes. All gone, all gone. He was broken -- almost as broken as the tree.

For a moment, before he remembered that he wasn't really that sentimental. And, he noted at least a few times that some sort of mutant raccoon seemed to dwell in their tree in the night, and it gave him an unprecedented level of anxiety. The tree's disposal was not the end, he could move on. Fridgar's treatment came before the grieving period.

"It's okay, Frid," he said, assuring his lover. "You're strong, I know you didn't intend to have that happen," he nodded. Alistair really didn't care that much. There were so many more important things right now. So many.

The mage came closer to his mate, and poured an antiseptic liquid onto a clean white rag, before beginning to very quickly and precisely pluck the shards from his skin and flesh, pulling them out one by one and following up with a wash down with the disinfecting rag. This would take a while, though, and he figured during that time they could talk... about something that could change their fate. Everything he'd learned in that letter.

But first, he supposed he could break the ice. He didn't want to jump straight into the unpleasant.

"How did you manage to break that tree? That's pretty amazing," he pointed out, as his eyes slid over each prickly, his dexterous fingers removing them bit-by-bit. For Alistair, mending his mate had become an instinct, and he'd come to accept it as a part of daily existence.

[Varthakh]

Alistair, his beloved, didn't seem to be that angry with him. Instead, he looked upset for a split trill, maybe he feared for Fridgar's wellbeing? Alistair was always so good to him. When Alistair said it was okay, a familiar warmth filled his chest. Alistair wasn't angry, that's all that mattered. Fridgar's whole body seemed to relax, slouching a little as the tension in his shoulders seeped from his body and out of mind.

despite having to patch Fridgar up all the time, Alistair never complained or grumbled, he always helped Fridgar with his injuries, even though Fridgar could heal all wounds with a single flick of his wrist. Maybe Alistair liked to care for his man? Who knew? So, when his husband approached with the antiseptic alcohol, Fridgar relaxed. Even if he knew how much this was going to hurt, he was happy to let Alistair treat him. The Giant took offered a seat at the living room table to his beloved before sitting opposite him in his full splintery splendour.

"It was an accident," he started. He had indeed not expected the tree to explode with his new technique. It was epic, however. His capstone ability in unarmed allowed him to strike with higher velocity dependant on how heavy his fists were. Terrendyte being the heaviest metal known to man and Lotharen alike, it was incredibly heavy and hard to break, it made for a dangerous weapon.

The Lothar jumped, whimpering a little as the first splinter was pulled from his skin. it stung, a pain he was quite familiar with. Bracing his mind and tapping into his endurance, Fridgar could hold through the rest of the process. Alistair talking to him helped distract him from what was being done to his body, so he smiled as he replied and only winced occasionally. "I was trying out something new," Fridgar explained, looking to his surprisingly clean hands.

"The gauntlets we bought yesterday, they have a nice weight to them, so i was trying out some punches and stuff," He nodded, clasping his palm into a fist. "I think I'm good enough at unarmed combat now to be able to manipulate the momentum of my fists, if that makes sense..." He explained, wincing as he tried to think of a better way to explain it. "I can throw punches faster depending on how heavy they are, but if I miss,
I can't stop myself in time and just fall over," the dopey giant explained.

It made sense in his head, his fists were travelling at ridiculous speeds. "I should- ah -show you some time," he offered through a particularly painful splinter removal. "Keanu is awesome, by the way. Those gauntlets don't even have a scratch after demolishing that tree," he complimented Alistair's friend, the blacksmith. As he looked to the table, he saw the opened letter. "Mail? Is there anything I need to be worried about?" The giant asked. Fridgar wasn't the best reader, especially not in common, he couldn’t make out the words from this angle.

Worried black and brown eyes settled onto Alistair's nebulous irises, they didn't get mail often. Was something wrong?

[Alistair]

Only Fridgar would accidentally break a tree while trying something new, he determined. Testing new gauntlets somehow led to the decimation of Alistair's precious Duskfall Tree, he'd called it - and this was far from abnormal in their daily lives. He just accepted it, listening to his mate as he explained his new 'ability', utilizing the control of his own momentum. Alistair had learned several abilities of his own of late, like striking nerves and muscles through the mantra of a shadow, and manipulating centrifigural force to an incredible degree. He'd become a truly lethal fighter, alongside Fridgar, the two of them untapped wells of monstrous force that had yet to be fully unleashed.

"That's awesome," the smaller male agreeably stated, nodding his head at the wounded male. Alistair noted that their spars would be a lot more deadly as time went on, if Fridgar was equipped with faster, higher-momentum punches, albeit with the caveat of falling if he missed - which was a likely outcome with his lover's flexibility, agility and reflexes. He would have to show Fridgar his new moves sometime, too.

"Keanu is awesome," the smaller male concurred. "He taught me shadowdancing, just last season. He made Shadowsong. I owe so much to him - a great fighter, trainer and blacksmith," he nodded. Keanu was surely among Alistair's greatest friends. Aside from Fridgar and Kaiserion, he didn't have many people he trusted or cared about, even remotely. His family, what remained of it, was a violent nightmare of emotions... and most of the people in the Coven were utter maniacs. Keanu provided him wisdom, and a place in this society.

He said this almost past tense - because somehow he worried that when they went to Etzos, and eventually elsewhere, it could be that they would not return to Gauthrel for some time.

Fridgar mentioned the letter, glancing at it, trying to make out the words from the distorted angle he was in. Alistair bit his lower lip and exhaled shortly afterwards. "You know how I uh... used your... essence previously, so that we could have children?" he said, somewhat awkwardly. "The woman who was going to carry the child to term has decided to hold the unborn baby, our child, ransom to a fee of five thousand gold nels, in Etzos. The letter was a taunt, a warning, and a request for the nels. She wishes us to go to Etzos, find her and pay her," he stated, frowning. Obviously, this wasn't a glorious prospect. It was terrifying.

"She claims that she will kill the child on the day of its conception, if not force a miscarriage, if we do not arrive - soon. I think she's discovered my identity as a nobleman from a wealthy family, too, and is trying to use that as leverage to demand her ridiculous request for payment. But I don't want our child to be carried by such a loose element," Alistair frowned. "I don't know what to do. This is our family, our legacy. We can't let her kill the baby, Fridgar," the noble stated as his emotions picked up, his breathing increasing and eyes watering. This was... incredibly distorted. It was difficult for him to conceive of.

[Varthakh]

Awesome? Alistair thought his trick was awesome? The Lothar smiled, very proud of himself. If he'd impressed Alistair, then it was cause for pride. His Kindal was capable of just about anything; from destroying towns to conquering the most epic beasts. Joy lighting his black and brown eyes, the Lothar leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on the human's forehead. He'd have tried to aim for the lips, but the height difference between the two made the attempt uncomfortable.

"It sounds as though you really look up to him," Fridgar thought out loud, casting his eyes to the left briefly in passive thought. "He gave me a good deal on Halden's axe; I think he's alright." In truth, he was glad to be rid of the foul weapon. It was heavy, clunky, and dull, didn't make for a good axe. Thanks to the Biqaj, he could reforge the metal and even earn a discount on the price of the new broad axe.

The next topic of conversation made him visibly uncomfortable. His essence? Of course, how could he forget? Suddenly quiet, the Lothar closed his legs in a subconscious effort to preserve the rest of it. Alistair seemed just as uncomfortable with the topic, though he didn't know why. It wasn't as though Fridgar had taken some of Alistair and put it in a stranger. How could he feel anywhere near as defiled as Fridgar did? He couldn't! Even so, despite the discomfort of the ordeal, Fridgar was quite happy to receive a son.

That was until the bad news met his ears. The surrogate, she'd...?

...

Slowly, Fridgar withdrew and began to curl up, bringing his legs to his chest while sat in the living room and wrapping his arms around his shins. This woman that he'd never met had taken a private part of himself and ran to a foreign nation with it. Sat there in the foetal position, he couldn't help but feel... violated? That feeling soon passed, however. After the cold insecurity left his body, a burning formed in the back of his throat. For a moment or two, he couldn't tell if he was going to cry or explode.

Through his haze of emotions, he soon came to a destination, as did the table. In a wild fit of anger, Fridgar burst into a ball of rage, gripped the table from the rim and threw upward with all his strength, flipping the furniture with surprising finesse. The table tumbled a few spins before crashing against the stone wall of the fireplace, snapping a couple of legs. "THAT WHORE! I'LL FUCKING KILL HER!!!!" Fridgar roared, shaking the windows with his bellowing voice.

After realising that doing so would also end his and Alistair's unborn son, he paused, breathing heavily from his flared nostrils as his face reddened. "Scratch that," he spoke with barely contained rage, baring his fangs. "I'll cut her arms and legs off, burn out her eyes and force feed her until our son is born, then I'LL TAKE HER OUT TO THE FUCKING WOODS AND THROW THE REST OF HER TO THE WOLVES!!!" Maybe he was being overzealous, maybe not.

She'd stolen from him, violated him in a way he didn't even think was possible. Their unborn son was at stake, he was devastated beneath his rage. Still, letting his anger loose took his mind off the hurt and the insecurity, this was a coping method. Breathing heavy through bared fangs, he looked to Alistair, boiling with rage. "Let's go get our baby back, Honey," Fridgar growled, offering his hand to Alistair in a matter of apparent urgency.

[Alistair]

Anything about Keanu was overshadowed by what came after - Fridgar was apparently even angrier than Alistair was, as had been clearly represented by his expression, his voice, the surge of tension in his body. The giant roared in a visceral rage, and unleashed a torrent of violence and vulgarity outward through his words. The thing was... Alistair wasn't going to chastise him for that anger - unlike normal, where he perpetually found himself locked in the status of the wiser, the calmer and clearer, he had no intention of holding Fridgar back. Within the mage's mind, these gruesome punishments seemed so appealing - mutilating her, defacing her, in the literal sense.

He knew how to inflict suffering. That was one thing she didn't find on him, in her surely limited research. Few knew of his experiments, of El'ganneth Rhovanion, and the cruel and vicious mark he'd left on the experimental medical community. He agreed with Fridgar - she would pay, but first, they needed that child.

The mage nodded quietly as his husband yelled, staring glumly into what appeared to be nothing, trapped in thought. Finally, Fridgar's mind calmed - at least outwardly - and he made his decision. Let's go get our baby back, he said. The smaller male nodded, agreeing immediately. That was what he wanted. For their legacy, he would sacrifice anything. Kael could go out of business for a few seasons, or be upheld by Kaiserion and Covah. It would all be fine - life would continue on, they'd recover. This was something that transcended all that - this was their family.

In going to Etzos to recover that child, a great deal would transpire, and things would change. But it was necessary. The noble was done choosing his own prosperity over the things that really mattered, and made him fulfilled.

He took Fridgar's hand, and nodded. "Yeah, let's go," he whispered. He had a Sundial, had an address. Once he found her, which wouldn't take long, she'd be given the attention she so clearly desired.

"My sundial's upstairs. When do you want to go?" he asked. "And - what's our plan for the child? How are we going to make sure she doesn't do this again? It's only been... maybe sixty trials, since the deal was struck. There are some seasons to come before the baby could arrive. Are we going to detain her all the way until -" he grimaced, and proceeded to exhale.

"I want revenge, but we can't even get it. If we torture and abuse her during the pregnancy, it could affect the child. I've seen the effects of stress and illness on child rearing. I've done the practice of midwifery before, in fact. The women in poor health, and in poor states of mind, die far more often... and their children come out frail, dull in the head. We..." he paused, "we might have to treat her well. Until she gives birth. We might have to lie for all that time. But, I don't know, Fridgar. It doesn't seem right," Alistair said, defeated, a frown consuming his expression.

[Varthakh]

Alistair was quiet throughout Fridgar's outburst, appearing deep in thought. Somehow, he hadn't chastised him for letting his anger loose, as he often did. Even when he'd destroyed their furniture and messed up the inside of their house as well as the outside. So be it, he'd rather feel angry than upset regardless.

When Fridgar offered his hand, Alistair spoke at last. He agreed, they would go to her and retrieve their unborn child, only, there was a complication. What if she did this again? His beloved went on to explain the effects of stress on pregnancy, saying that it could stunt their growth, make them dull. Fridgar sighed, his shoulders lowering from where he stood as he began to think. "Maybe Lotharro are a bit more versatile than that? Hell, I don't know if she could force a miscarriage by regular means, not without killing herself anyway," Fridgar went on to think out loud.

"Besides, I have a plan. After the pregnancy, I'm going to hurt her. In the meantime, I'd like to do the talking when we find her, if you don't mind, my rose." A certain sadistic grin crossed the giant's lips. He didn't have a plan yet, but he was plenty good at improvising. "Just trust me on this, okay?" As for when they would leave... Seeing as they were arriving via rupturing, they had a bit of time before they had to leave. "We'll go on the first day of sna-I mean Vhalar, there's a few things I need to take care of before we go, like informing the Jeger of our departure, they're going to miss us."

This was true, Fridgar and Alistair had become almost like a crutch to them in their trying times. They'd taken on numerous dangerous beasts and missions that some other Jeger wouldn't attempt even with a team behind them. They would have to try and cope somehow while the pair were away, even with their dwindling numbers. "I'm sure that Klein can manage the house and stuff while we're gone, then when our baby is born, we can come back. I just hope that the Jeger aren't extinct by then..." The Lothar's paws unfurled, releasing the last of his false rage. "I'll clean up here, my rose. If you'd like, you can tell the Jeger in my stead."

A clawed paw reached around the back of his head, rubbing into the thick mane of brown that was his hair. He then placed another kiss on his Beloved's forehead before sighing and walking to the mess he'd created.

[Pegasus]

Alistair

Overview

Nasty surrogate! Poor tree! Good thread - lots of emotion in there. I look forward to seeing what happens next. I particularly enjoyed the image of Alistair beseeching the Immortals.

Points

XP: 15 (may not be used for Domain Magic)

Fame: NA

Loot

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Knowledge

None requested

!	Message from: Peg
	+15 XP for Fridgar! I hope he tidied up that mess!!!