Continued from here on the first of Ymiden during the 718th arc...
There was a brief, confused pause as his aunt started near uncomprehendingly at him, but soon it seemed she was able to regain his composure. The dark haired man who sat with his back to Doran had yet to turn - if anything, it seemed as though he shifted his body to better hide his face if anything. Taking the man's odd manner into account but setting it aside for the time being, Doran smiled wide as his aunt waved a welcoming hand his direction, a mix of both some relief and apprehension. He was, after all, the man the stranger was looking for. Whatever the reasons, he assumed they couldn't have been all that bad, though by his aunt's expression, there was a growing doubt over whether or not such benign intentions were a certainty after all.
"Is it that time of the arc again? My goodness, time just seems to whirl by these trials." Lisette's voice had grown just a tad higher than before, and when she chuckled it sounded almost painfully forced. Clearly aware of her patchwork veneer, she cleared her throat, voice slipping back into a softer version of the bite of acridity she'd held in her tone earlier as she leveled her gaze to the man before her. "Not at all, Doran. It would seem you're the first, in fact. This young man was just leaving." There was a forcefulness in her voice, and though she had addressed Doran earlier by name, she kept her clear grey eyes trained on her unwanted guest. "I'm so sorry I can't help you. ...ser." The title was added, almost insultingly, as she rose from her chair.
The man did the same, his height at least a head taller than both Doran and Lisette; his shoulders, even under the expensive looking cut and fabric of his well-covering clothes, were wide and powerful. There was, to Doran's surprise, a peculiar, almost menacing aura about him. All this from just the back of the man's chestnut head of carefully maintained hair. His rich, rolling voice held no threat in it, though there was a restrained frustration. "I'll try again on the morrow. Maybe you'll have remembered something." Lisette's lips turned in a dismissive smile, her eyebrows rising and falling in a clear announcement that that would most certainly not be the case, though she held her tongue. It seemed she'd gotten what she'd wanted, for the time being.
Without turning, the man pulled his dark cloak from the back of his chair, donning it and drawing the hood up over his face. Once and only after it was secure, he moved to push past Doran, who gazed curiously up at the man as he passed. To his astonishment, the man stopped dead in his tracks, the sudden motion causing the thick fabric of his cloak to to wrap briefly around his large, muscular legs. Pale, muddy green eyes stared down to meet Doran's, and the man's voice was little more than a whisper. "You look just like him..."
Uncertain of how to respond to the man's almost ominous statement, Doran took a step back, retreating some into the hallway, his smile nervous. "Erm. I apologise... was I in-" He cleared his throat, suddenly quite uncomfortable with how intensely the man now stared at him, all semblance of brusque businesslike brevity cast aside in favor of a blatant piercing perusal as the man's gaze seemed to take in everything about Doran from the crest of his head down to slight shimmer of his new boots. When he continued, his voice was so airy and quiet, it was little more than a murmur as the man took another step forward. "In your way...?"
He was close enough that he could smell the man's scent: a mix of clean smelling soaps and some something clear and fresh... mint? "That woman in there, you called her aunt?" Doran's heart beat loud against his chest. The man was entirely too close, too intense, and as far as Doran could see, both his hands were concealed. It felt very like as though he were a small woodland creature cornered by a larger predator - a very, very hungry one, at that.
"Doran?" There was genuine concern in Lisette's voice as she called from the other room.
"Y-yes." He'd been afraid before, many times in many different situations, but he found there was a different quality to the overwhelming apprehension he felt as he stared into the oddly familiar eyes of the other man. It was more than just danger that frightened him; it was the fact that though there was intensity enough for the man's gaze alone to catch a forest ablaze, it was all second seat to what he could only, unmistakably recognize, as love. "She's my... my aunt. That's what I- that's why I call her. That, aunt." He couldn't look away, confused and timorous as he was.
To his absolute astonishment, the was a flash of what looked like pain in the man's eyes, and he took a step back, allowing Doran room to breathe once more - something he hadn't even realised he'd stopped doing. "Please," The man's voice was soft, though it still retained its rich baritone quality, "Don't lie to me." There was nothing but a gentle, genuine request in his voice oddly juxtaposed with his sharp, angular features and brooding, sculpted brow.
Hesitantly, Doran swallowed, the act helping him to find a little more center - a little less wavering indecision between fight or flight. "Who... are you?" His head tilted just slightly, eyes squinted some as he examined the other man, searching for anything that was familiar - anything but his eyes, which he still couldn't quite place.
Firstly, without needing to examine the other man at any point of great detail, the man was attractive. Not in the sexual, sensual sense, rather there was a power about him, his body and posture and voice and face, that was undeniably handsome. His lips - in fact, almost all his features - seemed sculpted, sharp and precise and of a quality like marble. Had Doran not just seen the man speak, he might even have believed the flesh was, in fact, stone. High cheekbones complimented the acute angle of his square jaw, and though his eyes were shadowed by his thick, jutting brow, they were by far the most notable of his features. There was an intensity of emotion that burned within them, even surrounded by so otherwise expressionless surroundings.
Again, Lisette called out, this time her footsteps sounded clear as she approached. "Ser, I really think it best-"
The man held up a hand, silencing her with a glance that, though Doran couldn't see the exact expression, by his aunt's alone, he was glad to have missed it. When he turned his face back, gaze settling upon the smaller man, the was little else but a gentle ember in his eyes, soft and tender, though it only slightly extended to his rolling voice. "My name is Ziemowit Wrona, and I have been searching for you."
Wrona? The name was familiar, one he'd seen attached to all manner of goods in the open air markets. Though not one of the true Merchant Families, the Wronas were known well enough as a line of successful businessmen and women, skilled traders. He'd never heard of one Ziemowit Wrona, however, and though he was given a name for the face, it didn't help him place much more than that. "How did you-"
Though cowed so easily before, Lisette seemed to regain herself. Her voice was sharp, commanding. "Get out." There was a sparkling crackle of electricity in her eyes that met Ziemowit's cold fire head on. The two stared at one another for a short while before Lisette repeated herself, her tone low and threatening - though by what authority Doran couldn't tell. "Out. Of. My. House." The shorter woman poked a finger into the larger man's shoulder with each word as it left her lips, pushing him backward down the hall, one step at a time.
Four was all he allowed her. "Does he even know?" There was a cold, condescending chill in his words, as if he were an exceptionally self-indulgent noble speaking at a gutter rat. "Or did you lie to him too?" Doran, clearly a third party to the two's rising heat of a discussion, stared with an inquisitive mix of interest and confusion.
Lisette glared up at the man, her height seeming to have no effect on the confidence of her stance as she let out a huff of a laugh, the sound more of a sneer than anything else. "Why are you even here, Ziemowit? Shouldn't you be lapping at the fingers of your master?"
There was a brief moment, like the silence after lighting flashed through a darkened sky, wherein the thunder swelled, yet unreleased. It seemed Lisette had realised her mistake, as she took a step back almost immediately after the jeer had left her lips, hands beginning to raise in a display of surrender, but within the next trill, Ziemowit had pinned her to the wall, his forearm pressed forcefully across her collarbones as his other hand gripped the handle of a dagger, its dull shine glinting in the soft, muddied light that filtered through the front door's little window as the blade set just barely against the smooth sunskissed skin of Lisette's neck. Her eyes bulged which with shocked fear, and though her painted lips were just slightly open, her chest hardly rose and fell with any breath at all.
Ice. Searing and cold, drifted from Ziemowit's perfect lips in a low, almost unfeeling growl, though his eyes blazed with a terrifying rage. "It's by his grace alone that I don't slit your throat right now, bitch."
There was a brief, confused pause as his aunt started near uncomprehendingly at him, but soon it seemed she was able to regain his composure. The dark haired man who sat with his back to Doran had yet to turn - if anything, it seemed as though he shifted his body to better hide his face if anything. Taking the man's odd manner into account but setting it aside for the time being, Doran smiled wide as his aunt waved a welcoming hand his direction, a mix of both some relief and apprehension. He was, after all, the man the stranger was looking for. Whatever the reasons, he assumed they couldn't have been all that bad, though by his aunt's expression, there was a growing doubt over whether or not such benign intentions were a certainty after all.
"Is it that time of the arc again? My goodness, time just seems to whirl by these trials." Lisette's voice had grown just a tad higher than before, and when she chuckled it sounded almost painfully forced. Clearly aware of her patchwork veneer, she cleared her throat, voice slipping back into a softer version of the bite of acridity she'd held in her tone earlier as she leveled her gaze to the man before her. "Not at all, Doran. It would seem you're the first, in fact. This young man was just leaving." There was a forcefulness in her voice, and though she had addressed Doran earlier by name, she kept her clear grey eyes trained on her unwanted guest. "I'm so sorry I can't help you. ...ser." The title was added, almost insultingly, as she rose from her chair.
The man did the same, his height at least a head taller than both Doran and Lisette; his shoulders, even under the expensive looking cut and fabric of his well-covering clothes, were wide and powerful. There was, to Doran's surprise, a peculiar, almost menacing aura about him. All this from just the back of the man's chestnut head of carefully maintained hair. His rich, rolling voice held no threat in it, though there was a restrained frustration. "I'll try again on the morrow. Maybe you'll have remembered something." Lisette's lips turned in a dismissive smile, her eyebrows rising and falling in a clear announcement that that would most certainly not be the case, though she held her tongue. It seemed she'd gotten what she'd wanted, for the time being.
Without turning, the man pulled his dark cloak from the back of his chair, donning it and drawing the hood up over his face. Once and only after it was secure, he moved to push past Doran, who gazed curiously up at the man as he passed. To his astonishment, the man stopped dead in his tracks, the sudden motion causing the thick fabric of his cloak to to wrap briefly around his large, muscular legs. Pale, muddy green eyes stared down to meet Doran's, and the man's voice was little more than a whisper. "You look just like him..."
Uncertain of how to respond to the man's almost ominous statement, Doran took a step back, retreating some into the hallway, his smile nervous. "Erm. I apologise... was I in-" He cleared his throat, suddenly quite uncomfortable with how intensely the man now stared at him, all semblance of brusque businesslike brevity cast aside in favor of a blatant piercing perusal as the man's gaze seemed to take in everything about Doran from the crest of his head down to slight shimmer of his new boots. When he continued, his voice was so airy and quiet, it was little more than a murmur as the man took another step forward. "In your way...?"
He was close enough that he could smell the man's scent: a mix of clean smelling soaps and some something clear and fresh... mint? "That woman in there, you called her aunt?" Doran's heart beat loud against his chest. The man was entirely too close, too intense, and as far as Doran could see, both his hands were concealed. It felt very like as though he were a small woodland creature cornered by a larger predator - a very, very hungry one, at that.
"Doran?" There was genuine concern in Lisette's voice as she called from the other room.
"Y-yes." He'd been afraid before, many times in many different situations, but he found there was a different quality to the overwhelming apprehension he felt as he stared into the oddly familiar eyes of the other man. It was more than just danger that frightened him; it was the fact that though there was intensity enough for the man's gaze alone to catch a forest ablaze, it was all second seat to what he could only, unmistakably recognize, as love. "She's my... my aunt. That's what I- that's why I call her. That, aunt." He couldn't look away, confused and timorous as he was.
To his absolute astonishment, the was a flash of what looked like pain in the man's eyes, and he took a step back, allowing Doran room to breathe once more - something he hadn't even realised he'd stopped doing. "Please," The man's voice was soft, though it still retained its rich baritone quality, "Don't lie to me." There was nothing but a gentle, genuine request in his voice oddly juxtaposed with his sharp, angular features and brooding, sculpted brow.
Hesitantly, Doran swallowed, the act helping him to find a little more center - a little less wavering indecision between fight or flight. "Who... are you?" His head tilted just slightly, eyes squinted some as he examined the other man, searching for anything that was familiar - anything but his eyes, which he still couldn't quite place.
Firstly, without needing to examine the other man at any point of great detail, the man was attractive. Not in the sexual, sensual sense, rather there was a power about him, his body and posture and voice and face, that was undeniably handsome. His lips - in fact, almost all his features - seemed sculpted, sharp and precise and of a quality like marble. Had Doran not just seen the man speak, he might even have believed the flesh was, in fact, stone. High cheekbones complimented the acute angle of his square jaw, and though his eyes were shadowed by his thick, jutting brow, they were by far the most notable of his features. There was an intensity of emotion that burned within them, even surrounded by so otherwise expressionless surroundings.
Again, Lisette called out, this time her footsteps sounded clear as she approached. "Ser, I really think it best-"
The man held up a hand, silencing her with a glance that, though Doran couldn't see the exact expression, by his aunt's alone, he was glad to have missed it. When he turned his face back, gaze settling upon the smaller man, the was little else but a gentle ember in his eyes, soft and tender, though it only slightly extended to his rolling voice. "My name is Ziemowit Wrona, and I have been searching for you."
Wrona? The name was familiar, one he'd seen attached to all manner of goods in the open air markets. Though not one of the true Merchant Families, the Wronas were known well enough as a line of successful businessmen and women, skilled traders. He'd never heard of one Ziemowit Wrona, however, and though he was given a name for the face, it didn't help him place much more than that. "How did you-"
Though cowed so easily before, Lisette seemed to regain herself. Her voice was sharp, commanding. "Get out." There was a sparkling crackle of electricity in her eyes that met Ziemowit's cold fire head on. The two stared at one another for a short while before Lisette repeated herself, her tone low and threatening - though by what authority Doran couldn't tell. "Out. Of. My. House." The shorter woman poked a finger into the larger man's shoulder with each word as it left her lips, pushing him backward down the hall, one step at a time.
Four was all he allowed her. "Does he even know?" There was a cold, condescending chill in his words, as if he were an exceptionally self-indulgent noble speaking at a gutter rat. "Or did you lie to him too?" Doran, clearly a third party to the two's rising heat of a discussion, stared with an inquisitive mix of interest and confusion.
Lisette glared up at the man, her height seeming to have no effect on the confidence of her stance as she let out a huff of a laugh, the sound more of a sneer than anything else. "Why are you even here, Ziemowit? Shouldn't you be lapping at the fingers of your master?"
There was a brief moment, like the silence after lighting flashed through a darkened sky, wherein the thunder swelled, yet unreleased. It seemed Lisette had realised her mistake, as she took a step back almost immediately after the jeer had left her lips, hands beginning to raise in a display of surrender, but within the next trill, Ziemowit had pinned her to the wall, his forearm pressed forcefully across her collarbones as his other hand gripped the handle of a dagger, its dull shine glinting in the soft, muddied light that filtered through the front door's little window as the blade set just barely against the smooth sunskissed skin of Lisette's neck. Her eyes bulged which with shocked fear, and though her painted lips were just slightly open, her chest hardly rose and fell with any breath at all.
Ice. Searing and cold, drifted from Ziemowit's perfect lips in a low, almost unfeeling growl, though his eyes blazed with a terrifying rage. "It's by his grace alone that I don't slit your throat right now, bitch."
