Something Rotten in the State of Melrath II. (Graded)

[Praetorum]

Date: 52nd of Vhalar, Arc 719

Status: Thinking

Weapons: None

Armor: None

No Current Magical Effects

First

It took around two breaks, a hot fire and a warm meal before the boy was finally comfortable enough to tell them his name. 


"Kierwyl..." The kid flinched a little as Prae spoke, but looked up at him in question. "Can you tell us a little bit about what happened?" The boy stilled, and Ricky gently stroked one blue wing, a little less dingy now than it had been. "If it's too upsetting, you don't have to." Prae assured him. "But that... didn't seem like a normal bandit attack, and we'd like to know more, to keep you and ourselves safe." The presentation, the mutilations... no, this was far from normal. It was strange, very very strange indeed. Something to be wary of for sure.



Kierwyl was silent for a few moments, staring down at the skewer of meat in his hand. "Father called them.... Myrkvior's Kin. I wasn't supposed to hear, but I was pretending to sleep so they wouldn't worry. Father said we had to travel because he was afraid they would try and... and...." He started to sniffle again, but quickly wiped away his tears. "Vani said it was her fault, that they were looking for her, even though that's not fair! She was the nicest person ever, and she just wanted to help people, and she wasn't doing anything bad! But when they found us and they saw that she—" The little avriel swallowed heavily, and dropped his voice into a whisper—"she had magic, they became really mean. And then they hurt her! They cut— they...." 



The boy's breathing grew ragged and frantic at whatever memory was playing out behind his eyes, so Prae reached over and gently shushed him, trying to pat him comfortingly on the back. "You don't have to describe it in detail if you don't want to." Even though more details would give them more information, make them safer.



Kierwyl hugged his knees to his chest, and wrapped his wings around himself, cocooning himself in blue feathers with just his head sticking out the top. "Mother and father tried to help her, but they also got hurt. I tried to fly away, but they grabbed me, and pulled me back down. And then they brought us to that spot and tied their necks with rope and then just dropped them. And then one of them, wearing a scary white mask and a hood and everything picked me up and brought me to them. And I thought they were going to tie me up too but he just said something to me. I didn't— I didn't really hear it because I was so scared, but it was something about cleaning Melrath and making things right for the spirits, but that's not... "


The boy was weeping openly now, tiny shoulders shuddering with every breath as he tried to get the words out through raw, choking sobs. Genuine fear, or performing for an audience?



"Okay, it's okay." Prae murmured, unsure how to deal with the situation. "That's enough, you don't need to say anything else. Just focus on breathing properly."


"It's getting late, he should sleep." Ricky said. At Prae's nod, he led the boy away to his tent, leaving Prae and Clarissa alone. 



"Cleaning Melrath for the spirits." Prae said slowly, frowning into the dying flames. 



"Last I'd heard, Melrath was open to mages. But a kid that young might not be trusted to keep secrets, and the effects of an immortal mark might be explained to him as magic." Clarissa suggested. "Although I hadn't thought they were quite so hostile to immortal worship that they would butcher villagers over it. I'd been told this place had a similar attitude to Etzos, although..." She frowned, tapping the sword at her hip. "I don't know. And the boy has a Melrathi accent; would his family really have lived here all these years if they had always been at risk? And there were a lot more than just that family hung up there."


Prae grimaced, and shook his head. "No use speculating. We'll try and ask about this... Myrkvior's Kin when we reach a village. Get some rest; I'll take first watch."

[Praetorum]

Date: 52nd of Vhalar, Arc 719

Status: Planning

Weapons: None

Armor: None

No Current Magical Effects

The fire died, and Praetorum was left alone. Just him.


And his sparks. 



All butchered but one. The perfect trap for someone like us. Suspicion's words had rung clear in his mind since he'd left Yaralon, and it spoke now to him, as it always did, in his own voice, distorted by fear and paranoia. Who would kill every member of a family except one?


Someone who didn't want to kill kids. Someone who wanted to make an example. Someone who wanted to send a message. Someone who wanted to leave bait out for a would be hero.



Even if he was a trap, it didn't matter. Prae couldn't just abandon a boy, orphaned and lost. If he is a boy at all. And not a becomer.


Prae had no response to that. He had seen that exact scenario play out, and it was only through skill and his opponent's foolishness that he had not lost that duel in Yaralon. A becomer in the shape of a child could kill Ricky and Clarissa in their sleep, take Prae by surprise, string them up— 



Prae scowled, and cut the thought off there. Fine, he thought sharply. Fine. We'll make sure. 



Rising to his feet, Praetorum padded over to where Ricky's tent had been erected, and breathed in deep. Suspicion leaped eagerly to the surface of his soul, and reached out, drawing into Prae's mind a clearer awareness of the space around him. This... knowledge, which Marken had called omnivision to him, had been a constant pulse of awareness this last season, but he still had to focus to reach any true clarity. Otherwise it was like looking through a sheet of water, granting him only vague impressions of the world around him. 



Now, though, with his mind dedicated to the task, this vision cleared, allowing him to 'see' into the tent that Ricky and Kierwyl now slept in. Ricky had given the lad his blanket, and the boy had wrapped himself so tightly in it he wondered if the avriel could even breath. 



Already, he could hear the shape of the the boy; a clear song, less complex than some he'd heard, but with just as much depth to it. But it was still blurry, so Prae simply stood guard there over the camp, listening to Kierwyl's frequency as he started to pick out more notes, more details. 



If Prae's song was that of a soldier's encampment, this boy's song was of a town, the likes of which could be found anywhere on every continent. Bird calls and indistinct chatter and footsteps on tightly packed dirt; doors that didn't quite fit in their frames but were so worn with use they didn't creak; children chasing one another between buildings and getting underfoot. 



And under that, a current of blood, a long discordant note that warbled of the terror of blood and the fear of pain and the misery of loss. Tears streaked through his frequency, his song cut through with the raw, gaping wound of grief. Now that was a note Prae knew all too well. 



He scrutinized the boy's frequency for any signs of deception, magic, guilt, anything that might suggest the little avriel was more than he seemed. But all Prae found in him were misery and fear and dreams of a life he would never get back. 



Finally, Praetorum stepped away, letting Kierwyl's song fade to the back of his mind. Enough. There was nothing more to find, no secret blade of betraying waiting to fall. He was just a boy who had survived something awful, and who had been picked up by a trio of strangers. 



It could be— Praetorum closed his eyes, relaxing the tension in his throat and shoulders. And as he slipped into a meditative calm, the voice of his spark slipped away, all the paranoia and fear and second guessing fading from his mind as if a dream. 



In the morning, Prae decided, they would try to coax a little more out of him. See if he had relatives or friends who could keep him safe. And if these not-bandits turned out to be a recurring problem for the people of Melrath.... Ricky was always saying that Prae was a born meddler.

[Doran]

Praetorum:

Knowledge:
Meditation x1
Interrogation x2
Attunement x3, including:
Frequency: Kierwyl
Note: Grief

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10

- - -

Comments: This was an interesting thread! I learned a little more about an aspect of Melrath that I wasn’t familiar with yet. I thought that the conversation between Prae and Kierwyl was really well-written. The poor boy! I wonder why Myrkvior’s Kin dislike immortal worship so much!

Great job, and enjoy your rewards!