• Closed • Trust and Treats

[Nightshade Eld]

Cylus 1st, 717

Night's feet led her down the familiar path she'd walked enough times to remember well. A torch was clutched in one of her hands while the other was stowed behind her back. Her wings and cloak easily concealed whatever it was that she was trying to hide. Night was allowed to be nice, so she decided to extend her favor to a certain companion of hers in the terrible darkness of the Cylus. There wasn't necessarily a path that led her to the dwelling of the comrade she sought out, he would never allow a traditional path to be carved to his hide away. For the most part his dwelling was completely safe from prying eyes. However if you walked the same road enough times, you learned it well enough to follow it easier the next. Animal paths and clearings in the growth created something that was almost a path, it wished to be a path one might say but it wasn't wandered often enough for the grass and dirt to be beaten into a traditional road. Cylus of course made the task of hunting this "path" both easier and harder. The cold of course killed most of the plants that would wish to hold the midnight coated creature back. On the other hand the constant darkness made it impossible for anyone but the hardiest of people to get anywhere important.

Night was luckily enough under that category of extremely stubborn, and so she stumbled through the darkness as best she could. A bitter sigh left her body coming out as an icy puff of air. There was a light flutter of snow coming down from the skies that slowly painted the half breed an angelic white. Her eyes turned upwards and eventually caught what she assumed was the pitch black moon which blocked the sun from view. One could blame Tried for such a thing, but Night would personally rather blame the wretched and traitorous woman who stole the moon Immortal's heart before he could reverse the effects of the long 30 days of darkness. In the end it was 30 days, something that could be survived with enough bitter tenacity. It was the shortest season of all! Certainly Night and Noth of all people should be able to survive.

Speaking of her fellow bird the half breed finally picked her way to the location she so desire to find. Her torch illuminated her casting an almost halo like effect over her snow coated form as she peered into the darkness. Her package still stayed firmly behind her back as she took her first couple steps forward, testing her fellow half breed's reaction. "Noth," the woman called into the echoing darkness hoping and wishing that the twilight cloaked creature would appear to her summons and recognize her voice. The entrance of his home was far more daunting in the darkness of Cylus, what would be a normal mouth of stone quickly turned into the hungry mouth of a monster. The flicker of her torch and a mistake of her eyes quickly made the illusion of teeth, though her mind dismissed such a corny idea. The spikes which dotted the front of his cave were certainly enough to give the impression of a threatening bottom row of teeth. His "trophies" would give anyone else an impending sense that death was approaching. Night however couldn't find it in her to be fearful. Not of Noth. There was an unjustified and unquestioning trust that she held of her fellow half breed, something linked to the glorious golden pedestal she'd placed the blood soaked creature on in her mind.

There was no denying the fact that Night had allowed herself to become ignorant and delusional in her desperate search for a friend and a companion. Her mind had latched on to the idea of Noth the moment the pair met. However she still had yet to come to terms with the actual reality of her fellow half blood. She'd seen Noth kill before, many times, but most of those she could say were justified if not all. The times that she couldn't explain it she'd simply turned her back and blocked the memory out, hence why she couldn't bring any scenario to mind. She could do nothing more than pretend that Noth was a good guy, maybe even hope that one day he would become a good guy. There was no telling in a world such as this one what might happen to a person. There could always be something that would cause a person to change. For all Night knew she herself could finally have her spirit crushed. Noth could very will be the one crushing it. Noth could turn her into a monster just like him, she'd be completely crushed and she'd become little more than an ally and a pet for Noth. Though she wondered if her fellow half breed would ever want such a thing. Perhaps it would decrease her value to him, if her spirit was crushed she wouldn't be the same Nightshade who threw herself in the way of attacks twice to save him.

"Noth!" She called out once more this time listening a little more carefully for any kind of movements. Her ears strained to pick up the sound of Noth or Vern. If the goose had noticed her then surely it had gone to get Noth already. Hopefully. She didn't want to enter uninvited for multiple reasons, it was generally something that would end poorly. She took a couple more hesitant step towards the entrance of the cave. She knew it had to be obvious to the half breed by now who she was. Emboldened by the idea that he wouldn't mistake her for a foe she stood at the entrance of the cave with torch in hand, her item still behind her back. Surely Noth would notice that she was hiding something behind her back, but he would be uncertain as to what with how well she masked it.

The stance she took at the entrance of the cave was as nonthreatening as someone could get. Relaxed and at ease with the situation she was in, it spoke volumes of the blind and foolish trust she held in what could potentially become her murderer. Of course, why would Noth want to kill someone like her? There was still raw power in the way she moved, a confidence and easy strength that came with years of practicing ones weapon skill for the express purpose of using it for more than just survival. Funny enough instead of just her two blades the half breed had the bow she'd taken from the avriel hunter slung across her back, there was no quiver to accompany it. She'd been practicing more and more and hopefully she'd be able to build up a vague amount of skill before the season ended. Worst case senario her practice would leak into next season. She needed to keep her skills sharp if she wanted to survive in Etzos, the recent influx of crime activity had her greatly worried for her safety as well as that of the random people she saw walking the street. After enough time protecting them she felt them to be a responsibility of hers.

"Quite the brutal Cylus we're going to have this year. Hunting is undeniably going to be hard if not impossible for anyone besides master bow men and trappers. The forage isn't really that good either. The easiest way to get a meal is certainly going to be buying it," she said trying to make conversation. For a moment it seemed as though her words were random babble, yet there was a certain emotion behind them that gave them a deeper meaning. It was uncertain exactly what she was trying to say or imply, but there was more there than she was bluntly putting it. Cylus wasn't going to be too horrible on her. She had enough money to survive, plus she still intended to do her jobs for the season no matter how horrible the weather got. She might be able to get some forage or small animals, but if worse came to worse she could eat in the city every two or three days.

[Noth]

Physical examinations were difficult when one was completely covered in disheveled and messy feathers, though admittedly it wasn’t much easier when they were clean either. He had bathed only the last trial, and as per ritual had decided to inspect his flesh for any unforeseen occurrences or disturbing phenomenon in his skin. It was a slow process, involving the gradual peeling back of a section of feathers followed by bending into some manner of unnatural angle just for the purpose of being able to see the potentially afflicted area. He peeled away the feathers covering his thigh, noting the long stab scar that lay there, and immediately imagining that it was still bleeding its red blood upon the ground, coating it in a layer of grime and liquid. It had been a painful wound, perhaps one of the most painful that he had ever endured, though he considered whether it had been worthwhile. From a completely logical standpoint, it would have made far more sense to simply have left behind his friend, to abandon her to her fate in the hopes that he might completely preserve his health. That logical view was further supported by the fact that she had enabled herself to be rammed through the side with a blade, and that staying behind for a potentially mortally wounded companion was pathetically useless. He followed the thoughts further, admitting that he would likely have needed to fight with the final combatant nonetheless, that he would have suffered the wound no matter which deviant plan had been followed, but it did little to alleviate the stresses in his mind that erupted at the mere sight of the scar.

It bothered him, because he was fairly certain that he had acted emotionally. That sort of behavior was common among the standard denizens of Etzos, and even the criminals that wandered around the lands typically did so for their families and friends. He was no standard criminal, however, and his actions certainly made it difficult to portray himself as a soulless monster. It was easier to lead when one didn’t need to feel the stinging rebuke of others, to notice their apathetic eyes or the way that they arrogantly held their heads. When he slipped into the normal personage, the one that dictated that his needs came first and foremost, it became far easier to deal with the variant psychopaths and sociopaths that he had chosen to gather around himself. He felt a certain assurance in the idea that if ever he displayed some pathetic weakness, his fellow predators would gnaw him to pieces, ripple the flesh from his bones, and even gnaw upon their calcium instruments. He could not allow himself to falter, could not allow emotion to stand between himself and ultimate victory.

He recalled the words that Nicholas had spoken many Arcs prior, the stories that he had spoken regarding the battle between superior logic and inferior feelings. He had made a notice that if something did not care for something, then there was no point in fighting for it, and yet did that not simply promote his self-serving behavior? His life had been brutal, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would be cut brutally short, severed from him with the passing of a nimble blade or a floating arrow. Whilst he possessed the life that had been granted him; even though it had been an ultimately inferior one, was it so terrible to wish to live? Was it so awful that he might pursue his own goals for the sake of surviving to see others implemented? Was it not the goal of the common man to set down roots somewhere so that he might pursue further projects, so that he might raise a family or build a home, construct a vineyard and reap its fruitage?

Confusion settled itself into his head as he allowed the feathers to fall back to their natural stance, watching as they rested eagerly against one another. Slowly, without grace he donned the clothes that he had stolen from a man that had wanted nothing more than to plant his vineyard, to raise a family, or build a home, and he felt no regret. The predator inside of him has asserted itself over the feeble prey, and though his eyes flicked with guilt when they rested upon the bloodstains flecked upon his garments, he knew that he had prevailed because he had been stronger, because he had been better than that ailing man. Necessity dictated that he take it so that his own plans should prevail, so that the scheming plots that bubbled from his mind like some witch’s cauldron would not be stoppered with the swift swing of a blade, cut short by the lash of a guillotine or a hangman’s necklace.

There was a voice, a calling noise that uttered his name in a way that he recognized, a pleasant sounding vocalization that brought his tormented thoughts to a grind. He saw her there, standing there with a torch that seemed to lap at her features, revealing and concealing them with every trill. They danced across her visage, highlighting the important piece of her face visible, but concealing much of her waist and below with the consuming maw of shadow. She stood at a strange angle, as if though something had been hidden behind her back, and he traced the outline of her hand until he had determined that it was indeed the case. Something had been carefully kept out of his sight, something that had the potential to be lethal, to be deadly, but would his only friend hurt him?

He hated her, because she had done this to him. She had ripped away the guise of predator and left him feeling like a whimpering sheep. She had made him feel friendship, something that had been stolen away from him on a fateful night several Arcs prior. She made him feel as though he belonged to something greater than only himself, as if though part of his very identity had been devoted to protecting the only person he knew could understand him.

Did he hate her?

No. He couldn’t bring himself to express such negative emotions towards her, and so he simply listened to her as she spoke of the effects that Cylus would have upon his ability to gather food. Could it be that she had brought him some manner of gift which she now hid behind her back? Curiosity crept into his mind, wiping away the previous feelings on the matter and presenting a fresh slate of emotion towards Nightshade. He spoke with a somewhat tired voice, as if though the mental battle had truly exhausted him.

“Nightshade. It is true that the hunting I rely upon shall be harder during the frost of Cylus, but I have survived in the past, and intend to survive this wintery cold as well. Please, why have you chosen to visit my home?”

[Nightshade Eld]

It was interesting, looking at the two creatures side by side. Perhaps interesting was too weak of a word to use. The true sentiment of the situation in and of itself was a marvel to behold. Two such creatures of similar breeding, similar appearance, and similar past were to be set before an audience. That audience would most certainly under most circumstance assume that such creatures would share a similar nature, but they would without question be utterly wrong. It could be argued that Night had as horrible a past as Noth, if not worse. She wouldn't be the one to admit that however since she wouldn't be the one to argue it. Pain was something highly relative. Something that one person could easily withstand would be excruciating to another person. That did not necessarily make that second person weaker. One might be able to survive a multitude of arrows before falling, while another would only survive one. On the other hand our first example would die if poison was set before them in a tempting dish, while the other person would finish it and ask for seconds. The same could be said of one's history and path. Certainly Noth would be even worse had he been presented with the dish of Night's upbringing, and perhaps Night wouldn't have been all too well off herself if she'd been in the position of Noth. Or perhaps she would have considering she survived her own ordeal with comparative ease. One thing however was certain, as things stood Night was the better and stronger person.

While Noth lived unquestionably by the laws of the wild Night lived by no laws to speak of. Instead she created her own, demanding that the world follow her jurisdiction. She commanded that she would be the scape goat, the injured one, at the end of the day she would by the martyr that would bring peace to the aching heart of the city that she'd claimed. Even when it cost her her life she would proudly pay the price if only people would look upon her with the dazzled and longing eyes that they might look upon a hero with. But the world was not so kind as to answer her pleas. She was repeatedly broken, battered, and sent back to the bottom of the ladder over and over again. People pushed her off each and every rung trying to bar the disgusting half breed from any semblance of glory or honor. Most people couldn't stand the fact that she was how she was, even though she proved herself true over and over again. Many would have her rather be like Noth.

Perhaps her life would be better if she lived under a similar set of rule to the malicious demon of a half bird. The monstrous beast of venomous vengeful lust certainly at times seemed to be in a happier state than she. He relied entirely upon his logic, throwing emotion to the wind. If Night completely and totally abandoned every shred of who she was, certainly she would become a killing machine. Perhaps it might even be fun. The thought gave her an internal shiver. Her dedication and internal laws were enough to make her sick for simply entertaining the thought. Night could never become such a creature. By being born she killed her mother, by existing she killed her father and her best friend, by not being a good enough fighter she had killed her teacher. No matter what she always blamed herself for what went wrong in her life. She took responsibility for her actions, as well as the actions that weren't hers. That was the strongest line driven between herself and Noth, not their morals but instead this. Even though they were both at two unhealthy extremes of who they blamed for their situations in life, surely the way that Night wielded her hate was a better weapon than Noth could dream of. While he garnered a hate for everyone else, choosing to blame everyone else except for himself, her grew horrible and honed his skills for the purpose of his own use. Night on the other hand used her self hated to become stronger, she pushed herself and pushed herself and nearly killed herself repeatedly all for the purpose of trying to be the best she could, all so that she could protect others. And honestly, it had served her well. Because in the end, her wound had not scarred.

It was such a funny thing, how two creatures could be so undeniably different for all that was similar between them. Two black birds stood together talking in the Cylus cold under the darkness of Tried's vengeful moon. Vengeance was a thing that destroyed, a thing that killed, a thing that eventually brought an end to yourself far sooner than would be pleasing to the average life span. One of the birds bore the distinct marks of malice and hatred, his feathers glossy and thick hid a multitude of scars. His appearance was all intimidation, he had yet to acquire much combat skill. He was smart, but eventually if he didn't change his ways it would all catch up with him. On the other hand there was the woman who stood before him, her feathers distinctly only covering her wings and legs. What scars could be seen past normal clothing stood proud, though she had little. It was not the sign of a good warrior to have many scars, but to instead have few. The less scars you had could mean cowardice, but with the gentle hardness of her features it was a testament to the battles she'd won. There was a higher elegance, something far more graceful to her that her companion lacked. Yet she was doomed to a similar fate of an early death, doomed to the fact she would anger someone powerful and wretched who would target her, one wrong step would leave her as a fallen hero. But of course the differences would be there. With wings one could easily soar far beyond the realms of angels and gods and reach true goodness, but for those with clipped wings all they could do was fall. That was, in either case, unless someone tried to grab them.

His weary words rang in her ears giving the midnight mixed breed a moment of pause. Noth seemed like he needed rest, as if he had been worrying over something for far too long. Her eyes didn't show pity, nothing of the sort, instead she met his gaze steadily was something more warm. There was worry in her gaze, of course there would be with how much she valued her companion, but there was also a gentle warmth that came with the affections of closeness and friendship. There was an amiable almost familial vibe to her actions. What was it that made Noth so fearful of getting close to someone? Was it that he thought he would be ripped apart, or did he actually fear it happening to the object of his affections? Certainly no such fear on either end should exist with the current circumstance. Night continued to push herself past her limits for that purpose and that purpose alone.

"Don't over do it okay? Living on your own is tough, I know that. If you... if you ever need a hand I'm here for you," the woman said with a brilliant smile. With the radiance and warmth that came from the look on her face, who could possibly need a sun? Finally she pulled out what had been hiding from behind her back. Noth's second assumption of item had been the correct one. Of course the blissfully ignorant fool would never raise a hand against her beloved friend! Instead it was a basket full of dried meats. "I had some extra from my own hunting excursions so I figured I'd bring it to you. I certainly can't eat it all on my own," she said. That was a lie. An obvious, almost painfully so, lie. Some of the meats were things you couldn't even catch out in the wild like domesticated animals. Part of it on the other hand did seem truthful as there was also some carowa, deer, and various other small creature's meats mixed in. Either way no matter how much she'd caught herself part of it had been bought, that much was quite apparent. The sheepish smile of an obvious liar painting her features didn't seem to help the appearance of innocents either.

[Noth]

The twilight hybrid drew nearer to his companion, attempting to glance over her shoulder in a concealed manner, though the craning of his neck gave away his attempts without a second doubt. It was true that curiosity was one of the greatest motivators of any of the races, and had led many to choose the life of adventurers and explorers. There was simply something about knowing that there were undiscovered secrets only a journey away that made it appealing, especially since such gallivanting adventurers were often granted sizable rewards for their trips. They were given fantastic titles and gems and jewelries of the highest source. They were showered in gold and platinum and silver, and treated as if though they had become king, at least for a short while, until the majesty of their discoveries wore away and was replaced only with the memory of the event, and the writing of scribes in books of history.

In another life, Noth might have chosen to become some manner of archeologist, or at the very least some form of adventurer. He might have become more acquainted with the arrows upon a compass than those that hung within a quiver, and could well have wielded a map just as easily as he now wielded a mace. In another life, if he had chosen never to silence his father for what he had perceived to be sins. If he had never suffered the atrocious fate of having been born a lesser being, of being recognized as nothing more than a parasite upon society, a scourge and a curse that seemed to bring with it the reward only of inescapable damnation, then perhaps he might have grown to become some manner of heroic adventurer. He might have fought with dragons and other mythical beasts; the types that he often found in his book of legends, but instead he found himself dueling with mortal men, and spilling their pathetic blood upon the ground. Undeserving men were met by his arrows, pierced through their pulsing hearts and left broken and bloodied upon the ground. He hadn’t chosen the life of an adventurer, of an explorer. He hadn’t chosen the life of a hero who subscribed themselves to the practice of only committing good, and of avoiding the taint of evil. Instead, he had done the opposite. He had surrendered to the vile things, and allowed them to forge him into something to be detested, a monster to be hated, because he had recognized that it gave him far more power than it did to be a hero.

There was no question that he lived by savage laws. Laws that were enforced only be the gnashing of teeth, and the burrowing of claws. Laws enforced by the shatter of bones and skulls, and the rending of tender flesh from boney implements. He followed rules of strength, and those seemed to support some manner of chaos to the outside observer, some vilified manner of government that could never be understood, but in the end there was order. Certainly, it was violent order, it was detestable in its introduction and in its implementation, but mentally the Avriel supported order far more than he supported chaos.

Crimson eyes settled upon the fine and beautiful skin of Nightshade, examining it carefully for impurities and noticing the occasional one strewn across her here or there, and yet he still considered her to be a far more perfect entity than ever he could become. He noted that he did not know her story, that he did not know from what manner of background she had originated, but instead knew only that she had always lived around Etzos. Immediately, the crimson eyes burrowed into her own, gazing beyond them in an attempt at ascertaining what manner of history she held, to determine through the mirrors of her soul what sort of life she had lived. It was an impossible task, naturally, but it was one that distracted his mind for a long period of time as she began to reveal her gift, right under his nose.

The eyes traveled to her wings as she continued to bring the present forward, the fragrance of flesh gradually reaching his olfactory senses as he performed one final examination, this time of the girl’s wings. They were majestic in their own way, and he felt a sickening pang of envy flood into his stomach as he considered that she had gotten a better life than he, no matter what she may have suffered throughout her story. She had the opportunity to fly away from her struggles, to ascend towards the heavens and claim her own divinity among the blazing fires of the stars. She could soar amidst the roaring winds, and flutter gracefully as a butterfly upon the clouds, and all the while Noth could simply watch from below the earth, confined to a dreadful mortality as he observed angels scour the skies with their feathery gifts. He had wondered in the past whether he might somehow sew a wing to his own body, but it seemed that it was unlikely if not impossible. He likely lacked the insides for such an act, and knew instinctively that any attempts were likely to fail utterly and leave him simply looking like some manner of dilapidated abomination… admittedly he wasn’t far from it now.

She spoke, her sweet voice snapping him back into reality, away from his dreaded thoughts and the depressing instances that they created. She recognized that his survival was difficult, and he wondered whether or not she faced similar circumstances as he had, or whether she was simply speaking in a logical manner, as though she had inferred that antisocial survival had some negatives associated with it. She grinned at him with a radiant smile that seemed to glimmer just as brightly as the torch which revealed it as she displayed a collection of meaty treats to the Avriel.

Noth scented them, slowly and carefully taking the basket, beginning to methodically scent each meat in order to determine where it had come from. There was little doubt that she was lying as to where she had acquired some of the fleshy foods, especially since Nightshade was a law-keeper and was terribly unlikely to shoot someone’s domestic animal simply for a gift. It was a heartfelt gesture nonetheless, and he found himself focusing more upon the giver than upon the gift, feathered hands gradually returning the fleshes and placing the basket upon the stony ground. He hadn’t seen kindness like hers, selfless kindness towards himself anyways since his father had adopted him after having murdered the antagonists who had worked towards his demise.

He wanted to give her a hug.

The best he could manage was an appreciative hand upon the shoulder, and some vestige of a smile that crept underneath a feathery mask, concealed by the abundance of growth there. Instinctively, unconsciously, his wing spread itself outwards, curling towards her slightly in a manner reminiscent of an excited mongrel. Crimson eyes flicked towards it, and immediately the appendage snapped backwards, smacking against a wall slightly in its rush to return to its place upon his back.

“I appreciate the efforts that must have gone into this work, Night. If you don’t mind my asking, there is something I wonder. We are very similar physically, but there are great variations in our activities and even our perceptions of the world. According to some, these are determined by ones childhood and raising… and if it would not be much trouble, I would inquire as to your life?” He phrased the sentence as though it were a question, somewhat nervously watching for a reaction in his fellow hybrid's eyes.

[Nightshade Eld]

The woman's smile instantly faltered upon the question. Her expression almost became crushed, heart breaking to a degree as she pursed her lips. She seemed to flounder trying to come up with some kind of reasonable response, but the words failed her. She had to turn away from her friend for a moment, trying to catch a desperate breath or two. There was almost something panicky that fluttered in her chest as memories of certain events came back to her. "My past? Is that what you want to know?" She asked, her voice was unsteady and sounded just one wrong word or two away from cracking. She swallowed hard only to break into a violent coughing fit. "I'm sorry, I got caught out in the rain a couple days ago. I haven't quite been feeling myself. Is there anywhere that I can sit?" She asked trying to summon her smile back to her features. It didn't really work, the expression only seemed to make her look more miserable.

After finding a place to sit she took another deep breath and her eyes misted over. The blue gray optics seemed to stare backwards at time, she flinched slightly almost as if she was seeing something unpleasant. "Let's see, where to begin. My life..." She mused as her eyes darted around trying to summon up the memories of her youth. There wasn't much of a childhood to draw from, most of the innocents was gone from it by the time she was five and she tried to block out as much as she could. "I was born late Ashan as the season turned warm, the 120th to be exact. My mother was a human, a very beautiful woman who honestly could have had so much more in life. My father was an Avriel, but he wasn't the typical Avriel you might imagine. He was kind, to this day one of the kindest people I've ever met. He was brave, a warrior and a scholar at the same time. He even gave me my first sword," she pulled out Red Brand setting him against the stone with a kind of gentle reverence. "Red Brand is Red Brand because of the monsters and evil people that he killed. My papa was a hero and when I was little I always wanted to be like that. But I was born into the arms of death and hatred, I could never be anything but," she said bitterly as her voice wavered slightly. "How pathetic," she muttered as a small amount of water began to gather in her eyes. "I'm such a mess," she growled bitterly as she viciously ran a hand across her eyes.

"When I was born I was often told that I was born with a sword in my hand. People used to tell me that was how I killed my mother. Something went wrong when I was being born and she didn't survive, I almost didn't either. My father grieved and my mother's family blamed him. They wanted nothing to do with either of us, they said it would have been better if I died instead. Sometimes I still question if he thought the same. Either way the small town on the outskirts of Etzos we used to live in didn't last long. Like I said, death was something that tailed me like a plague. Bandits attacked and the entire town was completely wiped out before the guard could even get there. My dad had to protect me so he flew away," she took a moment to pause and recollect her thoughts. Her eyes had taken on a sort of glass like appearance as she shook her head bitterly. The words of self hate and loathing almost seemed to flow from her mouth like water, they came easier then the words of the past. She was certain she'd never talked about herself like this is the presence of Noth, she was now starting to regret the freedom of her words and her own stupidity. She wondered if she should have just delivered her gift and left.

She broke into another violent coughing fit, this time it was a lot more powerful than the last. Her entire body shook with the effort of trying to make it stop so she could keep going with her story, but it was almost like her body was trying to cut her off. Finally with a hard swallow and a little bit of effort she got herself under control and cleared her throat. It sounded a lot more scratchy then when she started her story. "My father didn't want me growing up uneducated in any subject. So he tried his best to find someone who would teach me, but he couldn't find a job or a teacher for me anywhere inside of Etzos. No one wanted an Avriel or his half bred daughter flitting about like a pair of dandies. Right when he was about to give up a powerful man approach him and made him a deal. He would hire me only the best teachers in all of the world, if only my father would become his personal servant. The wonders of having an Avriel as your completely loyal servant, subjugating the slaver race, it must have been something that called to the sick man's mind!" Her words were becoming far more vicious, more bitter, as she turned to the topic of that man.

"We called him The Master, I couldn't remember his real name if I tried but I wouldn't want to anymore. All I knew about him was that he was powerful and mean. The Master had completely left me be until I was about five, instead he focused on making my father suffer. But he decided when I was five he couldn't let me continue to run around like a wild thing. He took me outside and beat me. He told me to beg for him to stop and bark like a dog because I was his bitch. He told me that even though the deal didn't include my servitude he still owned me. My father had sold me when he sold himself! I didn't really understand it back then because I was too young, but the man wasn't right in the head. He seemed to get off beating up little kids. The pedophile sadist enjoyed many years of beating me senseless. And it wasn't like I could leave either! I was too weak and too young to fight or fly. It wasn't like I could fly away the same way I could now. When I was born I mentioned how something had gone wrong, I myself was born very weak and sick. My wings were undeveloped as well as developed wrong. I couldn't fly, as far as anyone could tell I would never be able to fly," she said with a bitter sigh. Just talking about the man seemed to upset her. She snatched Red Brand off the ground putting it back into its sheath. The sword itself had taken on the far more important job of being a safety blanket of sorts. Ironic that the blood red blade was her version of a teddy bear.

"I used to have a friend called Grace. She was beautiful, the only person I've ever acknowledged as being attractive. She moved with, well, grace. There was so much beauty and strength in every one of her movements and actions, I felt so much envy wishing I could be beautiful and grand. Grace eventually became a friend of mine and that friendship was further solidified when I saved her from getting... attacked by the young master Ivan. Grace decided that I needed to run away. We spent seasons planning the escape, only for Ivan to spring something new on on. He and The Master offered my father a deal. If I got married to Ivan then my father would be freed. He declined. Grace and I ran away that night, I have no clue what happened to my father but I could hear fighting when I left. As for Grace she got stabbed, immortals know if she's alive or not," she said with a sigh. She paused for a moment standing up. She seemed to grow restless at the simple thought. But there was more then she was letting on.

After a long pause of pure silence she finally had the strength to continue. "I was only 16 when I ran away, it was the late end of Vhalar when I found my freedom and I was doomed if I didn't find a place to stay before Zi'da. Then I came across the strangest man. Icarus was his name, he was completely obsessed with flight to a somewhat unhealthy degree. He taught me about immortals, math, science, medicine. What little knowledge I have of field craft and hunting came from him. Everything I knew about flight came from him. Icarus was too kind a soul for this world. He took me in without a second thought when he learned about my past, all he asked in return was that I let him study my wings. At the time I didn't think much of it since I couldn't fly. Eventually he started running tests on them, studying their shape and muscle mass. He would tie rocks to me and tell me to flap. The first time I refused and he pushed me down a cliff, a small cliff but I ended up breaking a wing bone. He gave me a season to rest after that, but the next time he told me to flap I flapped. I wasn't sure what to think of Icarus, he was always trying to create a flying machine. Wood and metal and too much effort, he spent arcs searching after Delroth to discover the secrets of birds and fight. He spent even longer trying to hunt down defiance magic so he could have control over air. He never got his wish before he died, but he did help me get my wings strong enough to carry myself. He was..." Night turned away unable to finish the rest. Finally she was too worn out by her memories to actually have the energy to be sad. Fatigue had her semi emotionless.

"I burned down the house that we'd shared and I never turned back. Found a cave out in the woods, got two jobs, and now I've been hiding outside of Etzos trying to get enough power and money to do something with myself since I was 18 or 19. Now at 23 I'm still useless and I get drunk enough to try and kill myself every time the 120th of Ashan rolls around. Immortals know I've had enough failed attempts. I can't even die in a useful way." She mumbled as quietly as she could while still feeling the rumble of the words in her throat.

"Anyway, that's my story. Not really that interesting. I've heard worse and I've heard better. It doesn't matter much though," she said dismissing whatever emotions Noth had gleamed over the course of the story, be they positive or negative about his companion. "Your turn. If you want. I wouldn't want to pry into anything painful," she said. Ironic how that was exactly what Noth did with a single sentence.

[Noth]

Noth felt an immediate regret at his decision as Nightshade’s smile fell away from her face. He knew enough about emotional reactions to understand that he had pried into a very personal part of his fellow hybrid’s life, and he wondered whether he might somehow redirect the conversation in a last ditch effort at saving her some pain in the retelling. Instead, he simply watched her as she gathered up her strength, preparing to tell her tale to him. He directed his hand towards a nearby stone that jutted somewhat out of the ground, one that he had often used as a chair whenever he had something that needed read or whenever he simply tired of curling up in a ball upon the floor, albeit technically it was still the floor. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the luxury of the cave obviously waned in comparison to a true house.

She began her story be regaling her immediate childhood, and the story of her parents. Her father seemed a pleasant fellow, and Noth instantaneously thought back to his own father, feeling a slight pang of pain at the occurrence. She stated that she had been born into arms of death and hatred, which was incredibly curious considering her current personality. She was easily the most altruistic person that he knew, and yet she consistently seemed to blame herself for the faults of others. In contrast to that, Noth rarely if ever blamed himself for the fault of his decisions, mostly because he had gotten good at recognizing the errors of others. He watched as tears welled around her eyes, and she quickly wiped away the sign of emotional strain with the flick of a hand. The twilight hybrid simply observed, petting upon Vern as she settled in his lap, apparently drawn by the storytelling.

There were several similarities between their life stories, and Noth wondered how Nightshade had turned out so terribly different from himself with such similar experiences. Admittedly, she had been abused as a child, and he had only really faced some rather mild bullying at the hands of neighbor children, and even that had somewhat tapered away as he had grown older. She had apparently been subjected to rather cruel treatment at the hands of a man named the Master, and Noth made a mental note to check whether such an individual was still alive. If he were alive, and could be found near Etzos, then he would be hunted down by the twilight hybrid and strung up as though he were some manner of prey. The corpses that littered the land near his home attested enough to his violent temper, and of the preferred actions taken towards those who hurt him or his compatriots.

It was incredibly curious to hear about a man obsessed with flight and the creation of a flying machine, and he made another mental note to try to look into the subject. He had never truly been one for the sciences, especially since they seemed incredibly overcomplicated and tended to extrapolate on things that most people would simply take for granted, but if he could find some way to forge a new wing for himself, to grant him the ability that had been stolen from him at conception, then perhaps he might dominate the skies just as easily as he had the land. If he could flap a pair of wings, and soar amidst the clouds of Idalos, then… maybe he would be whole. Maybe he would finally be free of the burdens that strapped themselves against his shoulders.

One thing that definitely bothered the twilight hybrid was the mention that Nightshade attempted to kill herself whenever her birthday came around. That was incredibly illogical behavior, especially since it was driven only by emotional attachment to actions that could not be the fault of an infant. He felt the sudden urge to reprimand the poor girl for playing around with the one gift she’d been given, the one opportunity to make the world a greater place, and yet he wondered if that would be hypocritical. He didn’t make the world a better place by being around, and yet he would far prefer life over death in every circumstance.

“It seems as though you have walked a long road, but you seem to have aged well, Nightshade, like a fine bottle of wine.” He spoke, smiling towards his companion. “As per your habits on Ashan 120th, if you ever require someone to speak to, I shall likely be present. You know how hard it is to find good bottles of wine, I’m sure, and I would absolutely detest to see you shatter.”

“Now then, I suppose it would only be prudent if I share… only fair.” He swallowed, his hand continuing to gently rake down the back of his pet goose, allowing her to tire and rest in comfort.

“I was born on the ninety-seventh of Ashan in the Arc six-ninety-five. I never knew my father, but I am under the impression that he was not a wealthy fellow, or else I might have been discovered. Of course, there’s also the option that he was incredibly wealthy and simply detested the abominable thing I represented.” He grinned, taking some pleasure in the thought that he was the anathema of the Avriel.

“My mother was an Avriel, a very young girl, apparently, but I never met her either. What I do know is that she attempted to flee Athart, but was intercepted by some of the black-winged guards that patrol that dreadful place. They accused her of the crime of harboring me, of birthing forth a hybrid, and exacted terrible punishment with the slash of a blade. They were planning on killing me as well, but then… Nicholas showed up.” It was painful to even utter the name, a name that had played itself on the tip of his tongue for Arcs, and yet had never been spoken, a name that he adored and reviled, because it made him remember all that he had become.

“He shot them, and rescued me, taking me to his home here in Etzos. I was only a newborn, and Nicholas decided to raise me as his own. You see, he had fostered several children, but they had all already set out to pursue their own lives, and he was aging in years and desired some company whilst he went.”

“Without a doubt, he was the most compassionate person I’ve ever known. He was a farmer by trade, and especially enjoyed dealing with sheep, of which he had a fairly sized herd. He had grown somewhat wealthy for a farmer due to the long life he had lived, and he would tell me valiant stories about his youth, when he had fought in various conflicts, and traded with thieving merchants, and confronted monstrous men. He was a good man, the type that you call to your home to sit by the fire, and to regale tales to your children. I loved him for it, and he loved me.”

“I’m not sure what type of blood flows through your veins, whether or not it is similar to mine. You see, the purebloods suffer through a stage at adolescence wherein they become absolutely savage, and wander the world. My father knew enough about the Avriel to know that it was coming, and so he prepared a second room at the top of his home for me to stay.”

“I was chained in that room, kept there for Arcs whilst I underwent my savage process, the natural trimming of my mind that would supposedly prepare me for life. He did not abandon me there, however, but instead he came every trial to read to me, and to feed me the best of his livestock, and to tell his stories even though all I did was shriek and cry and groan.”

He paused, looking downwards at the sleeping Vern, and staring intensely at Nightshade with something almost reminiscent of anger.

“What I say, never leaves this cave. Understand?”

“Eventually, I felt myself calm, and Nicholas noticed it as well. He released me, happy, grateful to release his son from imprisonment. I imagine he had planned out events for us, that he had taken the brief respite to plan our future…” Noth felt his voice hitch in his throat, but he pressed onwards.

“I took one look at him once the chains were off, and the savagery was back. The anger was uncontrollable, it was too much, and I could do nothing. It took one push to send an elderly and compassionate man down a set of stairs. It took one little push to send my life into this awful abysmal place that it’s become.”

“It took one push to kill my father.”

“I left, and ferried my things from there to here, where I have stayed since. I spoke to a wandering guardswoman, and convinced her that Nicholas had gone on vacation, but he still lay inside, tucked into a bed where he could rot for eternity, at least until he was discovered a few Trials later. I thought maybe I could achieve retribution if I helped watch for robbers, but even after keeping an eye on the village for a short while, I never felt as though I had achieved anything.”

“Nothing was the same, and it burned. That’s how I became the way I am. I had my wing stolen by the Immortals, and then I was formed in such a way that I killed my father by their same hand. I hate them more than I hate anything else in the world.”

“They made me into a murderer, and I chose along the way to become a monster. I chose to exploit, and to punish, and to hurt. I chose this course of mine where the only people I ever talk to are sociopaths and killers.”

He glared at her, a questioning despicable look that seemed to look beyond her flesh, and into her soul.

“Why do you even put up with me? You’re the hero in the story, and I’m clearly the antagonist. Yet, here you are bringing me treats. Do you reward the wolf when it devours the lamb? Do you congratulate the falcon when it strangles the hare? Yet, here you are, giving thanks to the predator, and all the while you ignore all the prey I’ve tasted.”

[Nightshade Eld]

Night went silent when Noth began his own story, she hung on to every detail that she could. A dark sensation slowly started to crawl into her heart. She had to fight off the frown that wanted to claim her entire face, instead trying to focus all her attention on the words themselves. She listened trying to turn every detail into perfect memory. Listening to the man who had taken Noth in gave the woman a strong sensation of grief and loss even before she knew how the story would go. She already knew this story was about to take a sharp and depressing turn for the worst. There was no way around such a story when the words flow the way that Noth's were. The ebbing current of his vocalization though calm in tone was sad in nature. Not really something noticeable in the voice as much as in the words themselves and the emotions the speaker seemed to give off. When she was young her father had told her many stories of his youth, she could see the direction this one was about to go. There was a strong part of her nature that had been tuned to the emotions of others when she was younger, she could almost feel the emotions starting to churn inside Noth before he actually blatantly expressed them. A subtle mix of expressions that gave her a subconscious feeling of worry and depression that rolled in her stomach in an almost anxious way. So she braced herself for the worse.

The thought about avriel going feral gave her a slight moment of pause taking her mind off of Noth's words and giving herself an emotional break. She didn't have any span in time when it actually happened to her, for the most part she'd been freed of the same savagery most avriel had to undergo. Or at least she thought so. Her pause however allowed unsettling thoughts to seep into her from the back of her mind. If she didn't think about them they were quiet, but thinking about them and anything related to them made them loud. Which often made them hard to block out since it's hard to not think about something screaming at you. Those thoughts that sometimes she questioned if they were actually her own, the linger sensations of violence that sometimes came over her and bid her to take a more negative approach to the world around her. The instinctual, emotional, basic part of her mind that was able to pick up on when things in the world around her were off or other people's emotions. The savage part. Perhaps her feral half had never come for her because it had never left her subconscious in the first place. She dug a claw into her thigh discreetly, using pain to banish the ideas swirling in her mind and bringing her full attention back to Noth.

"Never a word," she replied in a hushed tone. There were some secrets she'd take to her grave. What was one more to the list? Silence once again took her as she thought about what had brought Noth to where he was now in life. He could have been so different if only a small detail here or there was changed. Just one or two things different, little things, and he would have been a different man. He would have been a man, not this. She wondered if they would have ever met. How would it be different if they did? Would Noth be in some other city? Perhaps doing some other kind of job? Perhaps Night herself would have been changed by the lack of the encounter. Maybe she would be more hopefully, maybe she would be less so. Immortals knew it was taxing to constantly try to pretend Noth was good, even more so to try and convince herself that she wasn't equivalent to the bird before her. One thing was certain, they would be in very different places in that moment.

Her worst nightmares quickly came to a realization. He almost seemed to turn on her. His words in her ears almost sounded like an accusation and she felt something crumble, something crack and break on the inside. Her already weakened state attacked in a way she couldn't defend against. Her throat closed up and she couldn't find the strength to immediately reply. With such a small amount of words she could already feel herself breaking down. Though that wasn't a shock. He hit all the right points, maybe without even meaning to. Though his words were not harsh, the way they hit slammed right into each and every insecurity she felt about their relationship, tearing apart her peace of mind. Why? Why was she still around Noth?

She wasn't completely sure herself why she stayed with such a creature. True her own confidence was shockingly low, but that didn't change the fact she was still a follower of the most honorable immortal in Idalos. That was her very domain for Pete's sake! Surely even Night knew even she was better than this. She could always lie to herself that Noth did no wrong, but the truth would one day come. Her mind blanked on the question and she didn't know how to answer. Yet part of her mind seemed to already know how to answer for her. It was a different kind of truth that tumbled from her lips without her consent, "because I still believe in you."

The words took her a bit off guard as she thought about them. Never before had the thoughts actually come to her consciously, somewhere deep down though she knew them to be real. Words that were not carefully thought up, words that weren't crafted to tip toe around the reality of their relationship, words that weren't used to make herself feel both better and worse about herself. After some careful consideration she realized that might be the truest thing she'd thought or said in regards to Noth. She moved in one fluid motion, wrapping her wings around her fellow half breed. As her arms twined around his body she leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against his forehead. With the strength of the embrace she tried to force as many positive emotions of trust, adoration, and hope as she could into her companion before taking a step back and untangling herself from Noth. With all the strength in her body she allowed herself for the first time in a long time to hope.

"But I suppose you don't really want that kind of answer do you? It's fine, I understand. I can see it in your eyes, I could the moment I came here. You don't want me around anymore. Or at least part of you doesn't," she said. Her eyes were gentle and warm but there was a deep and resounding hurt that clouded the two beautiful orbs. There wasn't quite tears but there was a dampness to the skin under her eyes already. "I'm nothing more than trouble for you. I'm an obstacle in your path. Everyone has their own way in life. You've chosen yours, you obviously don't want to share mine. But that's okay. Because no matter what I'll be here. If you change your mind I'll be here, and if you try to force me away then I'll still be here. No matter what I still believe in you. Even if you can see nothing but that bad, even through clouded eyes I've seen the good that still lives in your heart. Even if it's only compassion for someone who might be similar, who might understand. Even if it's only a "lie" to try and gain something from me. There is genuine goodness there deep down. I trust and adore you with all my heart because I've seen and felt it in a way that only someone who's walked a similar road could. So no matter what you decide to do no matter how hard and fast and far you fall, just look up. You don't have to fall alone, not when someone is willing to catch you," she said blinking fiercely to try and banish the stinging pain from her optics. Her voice wavered and threatened to crack, but it stayed true and strong through all of her speech.

"Ah, but I must sound like a foolish idiot to your ears. I'm a problem, and you don't want me anymore. Just know if you need me, I'm here," she said with a look of complete and total blind trust and compassion. That trust didn't seem so blind anymore. The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a subtle smile even though her eyes were dancing with a deep and internal misery. She had been abandoned again. No one wanted her, not even the monsters. Despite that she would still be there. The only time she was ever noticed or wanted was when she was needed. But that was okay, at least it was something. At least for a moment she could bask in the fake love and glory of doing something that earned adoration and kindness. "I should... I should go home and get out of your feathers," she said. Her cheeks turned a shade of rosy and she rubbed at her eyes a couple times. They were already turning red. Perhaps they had already been red and it was just something hard to detect in the dimly lit word of Cylus. Perhaps the redness of her cheeks wasn't just embarrassment and grief either. As she moved there was a slight stumble to her gait that implied she wasn't completely well.

Finally she got to the entrance of Noth's cave. Her wings hesitantly spread, weak and uncertain of themselves. There was a defeated appearance to her body language and movements that even when she'd been bleeding out with a dagger in her side in Noth arms she did not posses. There was a certain degree of her spirit that had seemed to flee her since the last time they'd met. A dangerous uncertainty and broken nature, it was a wonder how she had hid it. She looked broken and damaged. There was always the question of if it had always been there or not. The story of her childhood and listening to Noth's own story seemed to break her in a way or at least show off what was already broken.

Funny isn't it? Despite everything, standing in each other's companionship, the pair had looked like a murder of crows.

[Noth]

Stories could be such strange things. When one thought upon them with reason, they were simply a recollection of events, or perhaps even the creation of falsified events for the purpose of teaching a lesson or dispersing information about something. They were nothing more than the dissemination of knowledge when one thought of them as such, and in actuality that logic wasn’t completely wasted upon determining that a story was nothing greater. Indeed, when one only skimmed the surface of the ancient art of oral tradition, they might only see that it held the ability to pass on knowledge from one person to another, from one generation to the next, from one people to other peoples.

Yet, there was something about stories that made them far more dangerous than simple information. When people read about accursed information in the news, or when they settled themselves down to glare at a piece of nonfiction, they didn’t often become nearly so emotional. Surely, there were those who uttered complaints about the pricing of commodities, or who uttered epithets at the foolish actions of those chosen to lead, but all in all, people were fairly apathetic to information that they gathered through such means.

But, when people settled down for a story, there was something that changed. When people heard the words of giants and dragons and monsters, when they felt the grating accusations, when they saw the grimaces and the glowers, and the wicked snarling scowls, everything became far more emotional. It was if though that combination of activity and information dissemination allowed for a listener to be drawn into the tale, to find themselves a participant instead of a casual observer. In some circumstances, this could be a good thing, because it would finally motivate some individuals to cast aside the doubts and reservations they may have felt about pursuing a fairly beneficial course, but in other cases, there was nothing but negatives.

The twilight bird saw it immediately, saw the way that she began to break down, like a wall crumbling under the forces of erosion which had finally suffered one too many tidal waves crashing against its stony mass. She became that wall, her reservations, her reasons for staying near the murderous bird suddenly slipping away until they seemed nothing more than the jutting fists of fallen statues which lurched upon the ocean floor, grasping for some manner of rescue; a rescue that would never arrive.

He watched her break.

But then, she did something that he hadn’t expected. She answered his questions, his accusations. She said that she still believed in him, believed that the monstrous Avriel was not truly a monster at all, but rather that he had the capacity to be something far greater. Was it true? He couldn’t tell, because he had never known a life different than his own, and could never know one. He had walked upon a path of bloodshed and terror, inciting fear into the hearts and souls of others, and stealing their lives when they dared to stand against him, dared not to capitulate to his whims and desires. Yet, here was this dove, this girl with black feathers the shade of his own, and she had faced adversity and trials not so different from his, and she believed that he could change.

Was she the wall, or was he? Whose words were waves that battered and cracked, and whose were simply the last vestiges of cement and clay, grasping desperately for one another’s embrace so that nothing might ever change, so that no hint of personality might ever decay.

So that no bout of suffering would ever again be endured.

His mind became a whirlwind, stirring over thoughts with violent force as they attempted to come to some manner of concession as to the position of both birds. She stopped that force as well though, with another item of curiosity that could never have been expected, not by him, not in the span of millennia would he have expected it. She planted her lips upon his forehead, grasped him closely, and held him there for a moment with such force that he wondered whether she might somehow dent his bones. He was reminded vaguely of vines that wrap around the stump of a tree, and then proceed to cuddle it so tightly that it dies, unable to procure nutrients from the soil. He wanted this, more than he could ever have known, and he wondered whether the trees themselves did not interfere with the vines for they were lonely and lacked good company, even if that very company was tearing them asunder.

Was this what it was like to long for destruction? To want to be torn from what one was, to be split in twain so that one half of the mind argues with the other over which direction the body ought to take?

He realized that she was talking, but he only heard half of her argumentative pleas, and yet despite that, he could not help but feel as though a dozen times the arguments had been supplanted into his very body by her actions alone. She pulled away from him, and the longing intensified, the desire and the agony that he had felt for so long intensified, the loneliness encompassed him like a fog which swallows ships. She apologized, and began to leave, began to leave him there feeling so terribly unsure of himself, unsure of whatever he had been or would ever be or could even become.

The hawk and the hare argued in his mind with one another, the two pieces of his personality, the one dominant and the other subservient, and yet here they bickered.
The predator cawed, “Let her go, she’s only making us weaker. She’s making you emotional and petty. The others will skin you alive if they learn that you’ve gone weak. Think, what pity will Mammon has when he kills you?” It’s monstrous and haunting eyes seemed to challenge the smaller hare, seemed to challenge that it had anything of use to speak.

The subservient Hare arose from its place of sitting, and spoke, “You dreadful hunter, I shall indulge your blood filled mind. Think and consider, Mammon and the others are far weaker than the lady Night, and with her at our side, perhaps our other dreams and visions may become more readily available… or perhaps they may even change.”

The Hawk surged forth, gripping onto the Hare and holding it against the mental ground of consciousness, it chuckled, “You are revealed. You seek only to change our desires. I feel them even now, they desire for something… close. You will remain my slave for far longer, prey, but we shall compromise here.”

The manifestations of the Hawk and the Hare made it far easier for the twilight hybrid to come to his decision, and he rushed forth from his dark cavern, nearly stepping upon the wandering Vern in his rush. He saw her, her eyes puffy and red from what he could only assume was sorrow, and he knew that he needed to banish such things in an instant, a surgical strike unlike any other.

His wing swept ahead of her, blocking her view of the sky as he aimed to twirl her around, and to plant a single kiss upon her lips. It was a quick movement, as if though the hybrid himself was unfamiliar with the concept, and indeed it was true that he had never attempted such a maneuver in all of his Arcs. Why had it become easier to bludgeon a man to death than it was to kiss a beautiful woman? He felt it in his heart nonetheless, the thudding pulsing muscle that sent blood pumping through his veins with a thud that he knew must certainly be audible.

The Hawk grinned in his mind as the words left the Avriel’s mouth, “Nightshade. I care for you more than anyone in this world, but you can never return here. Ever again. It is my choice to plunge into the abyss… let me.” The words seemed strained, painful, and he felt the audible thud of his heart intensify as he finished his simple statement.

“Go away.” He physically shuddered as he finished his final words.

All the while, the Hawk giggled happily to itself, for it had attempted to inflict the worst wound it possibly could.

It tried to rip out her heart.

[Nightshade Eld]

There were three things that Night felt, three things that changed everything she thought she knew. The first thing Nightshade felt was her entire world changing around her, it went wonky and distorted and she could see the cracks. With a simple action the way she saw it and with the strength she saw it changed. The second thing she felt was the sensation of Noth's lips pressed against her own. It was only for a moment but it was a sensation of fire and it burned her, it burned her with all the pent up emotion and pain that had accumulated through her "friendship" with Noth. Even with the intensity of the action there was something more, something deeper and far more powerful in the action. The final thing she felt was best described as getting punched in the face by Syora, even though the only thing hitting her were a couple of ugly words tumbling from Noth's stupid mouth. Chaotic, something that can easily bring anger and something you know is wrong because what you believe in and what you follow. His words cut into her with more power and strength than any immortal could ever hit her with, and of course she spoke with the experience of actually attacking an immortal once. The event had been so distinctly burned into her mind, this situation was easily comparable with the way it rocked her world and changed it for both better and worse.

She could almost hear the words of the hawk herself as it lunged for the center of her emotion and all of her being. The laughter was haunting and powerful and self confident, even though it was wrong. It had made a mistake. Claws gripped at the horrible blood pumping organ in her chest that people often associated with their emotions. It had made a mistake. Noth had betrayed her, finally he'd done it, the only person left in the word who hadn't betrayed her yet. It had made a mistake.

The little pathetic raven shook under the gaze of the hawk as it gazed down upon her. The action itself was almost petulant on the part of Noth and the hawk, such a childish way to try and banish your problems. The raven was already wounded, battered, it's small and pathetic little heart scarred over and over and over again by the past. It would be an easy kill one might believe. It would simply be done and over with. After all there was no prior indication that the half breed would survive such a hit. Bleeding hearts only ever attract wolves, and Noth was a wolf of the highest degree. It would be simple, easy, Night would break and she would be done and gone with. Out of Noth's life forever. Perhaps she would actually live her own happily, perhaps she would become someone grand and loved and it would be her knocking on the door when Noth's empire of despair finally came crashing around his feet. Perhaps she would be holding the torch when the city came to put him on a cross. Or perhaps more likely yet she would disappear into her name sake, be gone forever with the endless Cylus night. No more, no problem.

The hawk had made a mistake. A terrible, horrible, irreversible mistake. With claws out stretched it had reached for the heart of a tiny and pathetic raven, a creature that couldn't defend itself against such a being as the hawk. A little bird that had no chance of defending itself, even if it was part hawk in its own degree. It would be over with. But the hawk had made a mistake. Claws harmlessly clicked against the steeled and smoldering heart of a different beast entirely. It was something that it hadn't realized, no, that no one had realized was there the entire time. Lost in what was an endless nightmare the creature slept under the guise of a wounded raven-hawk, shuddering away from every touch violent or gentle. The creature had been asleep so long, it was confused by its new and sudden existence. But none the less it was a powerful one. Dancing with embers and brilliant light, by mistake the hawk had grabbed hold of the heart of a sleeping dragon. Two brilliant blue eyes like the hottest of flames burned deeply into the reds of a hawk who could barely summon up enough of a blaze to singe the beast in turn.

Still fatigued and lethargic the dragon was slow to rise. It had no care for its heart because dragons had unhurt-able hearts. Hearts born only from the suffering of whatever creature the dragon did hatch from. Though only awake for a short time the brave beast was indeed awake now. Two brilliant eyes hotter than the sun and deeper than the sea met two red gum balls which in comparison were little more than two puddles of blood, a good analogy for the life of the hawk. The hawk had made a mistake. A horrible, terrible, irreversible mistake that was certain to hunt and haunt the hawk for all of its days. The hare had been right. After all, dragons are told to be legendary, powerful and ageless beasts. Some whispered that the most powerful could grant wishes or kill even the gods.

Yes, the dragon looming before the hawk would not be seen often. It needed time to fully come in to its new existence, it still needed time to wake up. But it was there, it was awake and real and alive. And it was unrelenting in the force of its actions and desires.

Funny, had it not been Noth who deemed emotions worthless or at least troublesome? Ironically had it not been for the spike of emotion caused by Noth, such a beast would have never been one to wake. Look at what emotion could inspire!

Contrary to what her fellow half breed had hoped, the attack had not demolished her determination. If anything it had done the exact opposite. "Noth, my dear and beloved fool. You know when you say things like that, do things like that, I can't do that. Right?" Her smile was intense, unable to tell the full story of her emotions. While the dragon had been oscitant at best, there was something direct and powerful in the nature it allowed her to display. What had once been a small and pathetic raven easily took on the demeanor of a marvelous beast or a guardian creature.

A smirk came across her features. It was something stubborn and confident that the half breed had never dared to display. A part of her nature she had been born with, but a part of her nature that had been so stifled and hidden it had never been given a chance to play. It was the part of her nature that made it doubtless what kind of creature she was meant to be, what kind of part in this world that she was meant to play.

[Noth]

Things didn’t quite go according to the plans of the Hawk. It had envisioned that Noth would profess some manner of feeling to the girl, and then break her dreams by utterly denying her. Hopefully, that storm of emotions would drive her away from them, and allow for the twilight hybrid to continue with his plans unhindered. Instead, it seemed that it had only emboldened her to continue whatever strange relationship the two shared, and to promote the continued cooperation of the pair. That wasn’t truly a good thing, because Noth needed to be able to shudder his emotions and values so that he might accomplish his tasks, and if someone was constantly at his shoulder, judging his activities, and trying to force emotional responses from him, then he would be hindered a great deal.

The Hare, on the other hand, was giddy. It had known the plans of the Hawk, and had hoped that something similar to this outcome would occur. It would finally be able to bring emotions out from the darkness, and perhaps use those so that their goals could be accomplished, or maybe even shifted so that they better aligned with those of society. Imagine, Noth could once more become a functional member of society, could be loved and adored by others, and could finally not be the dreaded monster who hid out in the shadowy caves outside of Etzos.

The two imaginary creatures were dispelled from thought as Noth struggled to regain control of himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do from this point onwards. He genuinely did care for Nightshade in a manner that surprised even him, though perhaps it wasn’t so terribly surprising. When they had encountered poachers, he had carried her limp form for quite some ways until they had arrived at a doctor’s establishment, and had then required the medical professional to deal with her wound before they even ventured a glance at his own. Mind you, that had been fairly pragmatic given that his wound wasn’t bleeding nearly as atrociously as Nightshade’s, and her life had been at far more risk than his own. Nonetheless, walking with a sword wound through one’s thigh hadn’t been an easy task. He still remembered the occurrence quite vividly, and simultaneously remembered freeing the several poachers’ animals upon a return visit. The poor and decrepit things were pitiful in their hunger, and a few of the more predatory sorts had immediately fallen upon the nearby corpses, tearing them to shreds in order to renew their strength. He remembered finding a dead beast inside of one of the cages, and cutting away at its hide and body so that they might be used at a further date. He still wasn’t entirely sure what manner of animal it was, but its skin and flesh still lay within the cavern, ready to be put towards some task.

Her smile was far too bright, too happy, and he knew instinctively that he wouldn’t be able to remove her by force or through persuasion. Still, her visit had almost definitely concluded as her gift had been delivered, and his proclamation had been stated. He was confused and bewildered as to how he would deal with her in the future, but he knew that his priorities needed to be set into place. Perhaps a long bout of introspection would allow him to circumvent the emotions that roiled about his soul.

“I understand, but I don’t think you do.” He spoke, uttering the sentence with some sorrowful menace, as if though he knew what it would lead to in their future. Having stated his final word on the matter, the twilight hybrid retreated into his home where he could continue examining the gift that had been given him. All the while, the accusatory glances of Vern seemed to question what he had been doing, where he had been, and who he had been hanging out with as of late. Vern was like an overtly suspicious mother to the hybrid, and yet he couldn’t help but to snicker at the thought of his goose actually communicating to him.

At the very least, it distracted him from the distractions that were keeping him from his schemes.