Entry #7179 - Räs Eav Quilëth

Trying this new type of prose. I hope it's good.

5th of Cylus 720

Once an isolated and dying township, an influx of academics, adventurers and thrill seekers have made Scalvoris Town their home. From scholars' tea shops to a new satellite campus for Viden Academy, this is an exciting place to visit or make your home!

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Zekuseeyros
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Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 8:58 pm
Race: Aukari
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Entry #7179 - Räs Eav Quilëth

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5th Cylus 720


Putting it off any longer would be suicide. Sure, it was dirty work. Family was always the filthiest business there was, and everyone had a family. That’s why most people were full of shit. Zekuseeyros began the day with some heavy exercise and bathed in his own sweat. He ate boiled eggs with unidentified dry meat until he was full. It was a good enough breakfast if you liked stomach cramps. He’d put on his armor, don his tattered cloak and brought his weapon along as well in case he still fit through doorways. It seemed mildy ridiculous to carry a seven foot sword on his back - until it was drawn. Nobody mocked it then. He’d get a nod from Whatshisname the Bartender and a wide smile from his daughter Zana, who was promiscuous with that smile but still found it in high demand. The aukari ignored her, even holding back the temptation of smiling underneath his helmet. Should he be inclined to pay her proper respect, he’d toss her on her father’s counter, rip her clothes off, and take her before every patron. She’d look good in his arms.

Scalvoris was dark and cold and windy like a mother-in-law’s heart. It’s cold, mean streets felt hostile to all lifeforms. He’d walk with a stiff, firm step, but soon felt his body arching forward to cover its torso. Everyone walked like so, their forms hunched over like old hags browsing the market stalls for the perfect tomato. The aukari fought this instinct, trying to remain stoic to a weather he was ill-fitted to conquer but brave enough to fight. Trampling his way through its districts, familiar landmarks were disemboweled from Cylus’ neverending stomach. The smell of piss, the name of a bar, or a quiet enough corner to enjoy the paid company of a woman - those landmarks he remembered. When his navigational skills began failing him, and he felt too cold to outwit his hazy memory, Zekuseeyros planted himself below a lantern and opened his grimoire. Reading that tiny script under lamplight was as futile as counting stars in sunlight. When the aukari got what he wanted, he felt ten bits older and ten times bitterer. Three people he asked for directions,, and all three made him warrant a whiskey.

The small house was once in the outskirts of town. It was rudimentary in its aesthetics and cheap in its pragmatism. It was rectangular, two-storied, and narrow. Like weeds, houses had grown all around it, all as grimy and run-down as the district they were in. Perhaps he needed a second zweihander to pace undisturbed and receive a wide berth around him - he reeked of sweat and booze and bad fortune enough by himself, thank you. Through barred storm windows he’d see faint flickering orange tint filtered through discolored linen curtains. Someone was home. With an armored first, three, four, five pounds on the reinforced wooden door were enough to express both the severity of his business and his displeasure at having to do so in this weather. Had he been more careful, he would’ve seen the flirty movement of the curtains.
“Who’s there?” asked a muffled male voice.
“Looking for Dïonetheey,” replied Zekuseeyros curtly.
Silence. A long, tense silence while the wind whistled a cold, sad tune.
“Who’s askin’?”
“The one who paid for this hovel.”
More silence. Zekuseeyros pounded the door once again.
“Don’t know who that is. Go away.”
“Open the door.” More silence. “... Or I’ll stop asking.”

Just about the time the aukari was ready to break the door open, one, two, three locks turned quickly and the door opened just an inch, held in place by three door chains barely thicker than lute strings. A careful eye emerged along with a long, blond strand of greasy hair. The same eye widened as it saw the armored aukari as if it was Famula herself coming for an unplanned visit.
“Don’t know who that is, I told ya. Sure you ain’t lost?” His voice was croaky like a toad’s, and a sicklish arid stink escaped from the cracked door.
“Step back.”

He abandoned the idea of slamming the door shut once he saw the kick coming.


Last edited by Zekuseeyros on Sun Mar 29, 2020 3:34 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 726
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Zekuseeyros
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Posts: 29
Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 8:58 pm
Race: Aukari
Renown: 0
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5

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Re: Entry #7179 - Räs Eav Quilëth

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The house was claustrophobic but warm. The door lead directly into a living room. The ceiling was low, the walls were slanted, and the dark brown wooden floor seemed about to give in. A rudimentary table, four chairs, a couch-like creation and a filthy mirror made all of the furniture, and a small stove along with a cupboard full of cooking utensils made all the appliances. Garlics and onions hung from hooks near the dying stove, and the rancid smell of old onion soup perfumed the instance. The floors were packed with filthy rugs and kilims, and every step was surely a holocaustic event for its mite denizens. It’s was a hovel in every sense of the way.

Four eyes watched. First, there were the male’s. He was tall, slim, handsome and had a full mane of hair. He donned a filthy brown robe of sorts, and Zekuseeyros suspected he was naked underneath. His eyes were open wide along with his mouth as if trying to catch some fresh air coming from the open door. He had his hands up and had backed against the wall. Nearby, a woman covered her bare breasts with a thin arm, also against the wall. She donned only her panties and her womanly curves. Her skin was bronze, her hair was fiery red, and her eyes were a cool blue contrasting against the saturated brown ambient. A pointy face, a small chin, full lips and hollowed out cheeks made her features regal and noble, but her malnourished body proved she was barely a vagrant. Both had the same air of guilt, shame, and haze about them.
“Hello, where’s my son?” Zekuseeyros asked.
The biqaj looked over at the female. She just stared back at the warrior.
Willing to give them a moment of respite, Zekuseeyros turned around and closed the door. Then he’d take a look around him, find a wooden carving of what seemed to be a flame, and gave it a good look. It was very poorly carved and warranted no attention, but he faked interest. He heard whispering so he faced the couple again. They stopped.
“Where’s my son?” he insisted.
“I didn’t think you’d come back,” she replied. Her voice was croaky, much like the male’s.
“Think again.”
“What ‘ave you done?” asked the biqaj, looking at the woman.
“Nothing!” she exclaimed. “Just old business is all.”
Zekuseeyros tossed the small wooden carving towards the woman and hit her on the thigh.
“I have no son. You didn’t seed me well.”
The aukari stepped forward, raising a clenched fist. The woman retreated further into the wall, covering her face and exposing her breasts. She was already squirming in anticipation, as if used to being beaten.
“Woah, woah, calm down, ye?” The biqaj stood in front, raising his arms further still, implying surrender. “She ‘as no son, I swear.”
Zekuseeyros stopped a moment, and let a thick silence settle over the scene. With a deep, non-refreshing breath, he’d step aside and pace around the room. His Bane roared as lightning hinted a storm, although it didn’t rain yet. Near the stove, he found not only filthy pots and pans, but also burnt spoons and grimy pipes. Sticky juices covered most of the surrounding surface. He’d take the latter and show it to the couple. The guilt was obvious in them, as was the same, but nobody spoke a word.
“Berry smokers, are we?” asked the aukari.
The woman was still busy trying to ignore the situation. The biqaj looked between the two, his hands still raised but not at all high. “... just sometimes, y’know.”
The aukari scoffed. “Faldrun's finest, right here.”
Reaction. She bolted towards him, fury distorting her skeletal features into a ghoulish mien. “Who do you think you are? Get out of---”
Zekuseeyros grabbed her by the hairs when she got close. He tugged her back and down until she fell back on her knees, screaming too much for such little damage. The biqaj bolted, a surge of adrenaline only making him bounce in place as if his feet were tied to the rug.
“Stop,” Zekuseeyros ordered. Thunder above him. He’d give her mane a harsh tug as a warning. “Where’s my son?”
“You’re hurting me!”
“I’m just warning you.” He tugged again. “Where’s my son?”
“Please, let me--” Tug.
“We had a deal. Where’s my son?”
Silence.
He repeated his question, although now his voice was not calm and collected, but instead a sudden boom.
“I sold her!” With that, he began to sob. It wasn’t a woman’s sobbing. That sound Zekuseeyros knew too well, unfortunately. Instead, he knew, deep down, it was a mother’s sob. “I sold her, I sold her!”

word count: 809
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Zekuseeyros
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Posts: 29
Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 8:58 pm
Race: Aukari
Renown: 0
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5

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Re: Entry #7179 - Räs Eav Quilëth

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It was a brief moment, faster than the blink of an eye. It came suddenly and without warning. Zekuseeyros’ chest lit up, a fiery, violent flame emerging from beneath his breastplate. Just as sudden, the cloud released a heavy downpour upon him without so much as a warning drop. It fell right on him, and thus a thick mist began forming from the clash of hot and wet. It must’ve been scary to witness for both the female and the biqaj began screaming.
Zekuseeyros tugged her mane and seized her neck with his free hand. He’d squeeze.
“You sold her?” he yelled. “You sold her?”
Her deep blue eyes opened wide, and between the tears and the falling indoor rain, those blues would beg a the scowling mask.
The fire and the rain combined hurt him deeply. It was pure torture, for the fire wanted out like a heart beating its way out of a ribcage, and yet water made that heart ache as if an infection was trying to kill it. It hurt so much Zekuseeyros felt his strength leaving him, his balance failing, his vision blurring. He collapsed on one knee, finding breathing a painful and futile exercise, as if his lungs were frozen shut. He’d choke. Trying to force some air in him, a short spray of vomit left him and struck the inside of his mask. Soon enough, he was forced to let the female go, fighting an invisible battle with his own passion, trying to subdue his feelings lest they swallowed him and turned him, prematurely, into ash.

The chance was good, and they took it. Dïonetheey freed her mane and stood up, pushing Zekuseeyros down. Yelling and chaotic movement followed, albeit the aukari couldn’t make it out. Instead, worrying a knife could join the party, or any of the two witnesses leaving, he’d stand up. Choking as he was, he somehow managed to reach for the zweihander on his back. Oiled cloth wrapped around the blade served as its scabbard, but much like a club, no edge was needed to break as skull. On his feet but still crooked forth, choking and hurting in vomit, fire and rain, Zekuseeyros brandished the sword and spun it around as best he could. He hit something, then something else, then something else. Whatever decency the stoner’s house had was lost. Things were breaking and there was yelling and screming and coughing and it all happened at once.

Chaos was a good tranquilizer. Problems became insignificant when your house was burning or a mother died. This chaos was good enough for Zekuseeyros, who soon enough found his flame to receed, his breathing to return, and the rain to lightly calm down. When he was strong enough to look, he’d find pots and pants everywhere, a broken window, a flipped table and a chair that had been trampled into pieces. The biqaj held a bloody hand with the other, and hid himself atop some firewood in a corner. Dïonetheey was trying to crawl her way up the stairs, her breasts dangling and its nipples combing cheap, dusty kilims. At last, the aukari moved. He dropped the sword and with a few strides, he’d grab hold of the female’s ankle. A good tug drug her down, although her screams became so panicked the knight regreted leaving the sword. A good flip around and a proper slap were enough to quiet her down.
“Please--- Please, no more, no more!”
Once again she was manhandled by her mane, dragged back down into the chaotic scene. The biqaj seemed content with just hiding in its spot. Why get hurt when you could be safe? Once she was where Zekuseeyros wanted her, he’d let her go and shush her loudly and impatiently.
“Who’s got her?” he asked. The rain above them was slowly calming down, which meant the vomit inside his helmet wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.
“I don’t kn---” She hadn’t even finished before another slap, harder still than the previous, shook her storytelling into confession. “--- A merchant in Almund -- he sells drugs and poisons and slaves - don’t know his name - don’t remember his face - please no more I’m sorry I’m sorry --”
“Are you lying to me?”
“ --- No I promise I swear I’m sorry I’m sorry don’t hurt me I beg you please ---” She spoke between sobs and her breathing was as clumsy as an old woman’s.
“Stupid junkie whore,” he’d reply after a pause, feeling that rise in his chest once again. The rain gained intensity but remained rain instead of storm. “How dare you sell what isn’t yours?”
She just sobbed. Not much left of her but her own shame.

Zekuseeyros let her go, and with great haste, he moved and retrieved his gigantic sword. He looked back for just one second. “If you’ve lied I’ll gouge out your fucking eyes. Don’t leave town.”

And so he left with great haste, chased only by the cold wind and a rain he wouldn’t outrun.


word count: 863
Note:

Zekuseeyros is followed by a small cloud whenever he goes. It hovers two feet over him and gives him personalized weather. This means it could rain in a clear day, be sunny in a rainy day, or even show the stars in broad daylight. Part magic and part illusion, he has no control over it as it reacts in opposition to his emotions.

In thread it will often be called 'curse', 'scourge', 'bane' or something of that nature.
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