Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

he'd gotten away.

She'd gotten away because of her.

Well, no.

But yes.

But no.

For Fate's sake!

Had Caius even known he'd run into the thief he'd so willingly fled his homeland to find under the guise of Order of the Mantis business in the Prime Atheneum of Viden just a day after his arrival, then surely he would have been more prepared. Surely? He would have acted more swiftly. Right? He would have done what was necessary. Honestly? Or at least he wouldn't have allowed himself to be ensnared so stupidly into such a sarding useless distraction.

But he didn't.

Not that that particular Eídisi woman should have even been a distraction at all, not after all that had happened on the last day of Zi'da in the Tundra, in Treid's Sanctum, in Ziell's own presence ... and certainly not after so much time had passed between them in different places and different lives. Not that Maebella should have even stirred a thought in his head, given all he'd left behind in Rynmere, given that he was all but married and so very much in love with a delicate pianist from the House of Venora. His Winter Rose.

He was, though.

He really was.

Even if he was helpless to protect Darcyanna. Even if there was nothing in his mortal power to defend her from the touch of the Immortal pair who'd claimed her as their own. Even if he wasn't strong enough to enjoy or even endure the insatiable hunger of her needful addictions for the mortal half of the Eternity he'd so willingly promised that day before he was supposed to die.

He wasn't.

He really wasn't.

The young Gawyne had not entirely expected the tumultuous tangle of emotions that being in Viden had dredged up from the charred darkness of his thoughts upon his arrival just a handful of trials ago, and he certainly hadn't entirely expected the unwelcome tide of more than just nostalgic feelings seeing a certain Eídisi in the Prime Atheneum had almost drowned him in. He'd had thirty seven trials at sea to prepare himself for such possibilities, fully aware that he would be more likely to run into Maebella and even some of his old friends during his indefinite stay in the frozen north than the supposedly random chance encounter they'd shared in the Tundra under Ziell's strange direction.

He'd told himself he'd put all of those feelings away. He'd made promises in front of the Empress herself that said so. And yet, it had been enough. It had been too much. What words of fidelity had sworn, new life had sealed with excitement and anticipation. When that life had slipped away, everything had fallen apart.

Worn thin already by death and decisions, addiction and loss, Caius had not realized just how broken of a creature he'd let himself become, no matter how strong his words of hopeful optimism had been, no matter how much he'd been sure of himself once, just a season or two ago, waking up to a new trial and a new future he wasn't supposed to even have.

He hadn't known how difficult it would all become, nor how it would become so difficult so quickly. He'd underestimated how weak he really was, how much he'd spent his life relying on his end to solve all of his problems.

Now he had to deal with them himself.

And he didn't even have any of his normal processing methods: No print shop to play in. No eager dog to walk. None of his Kasyni's vices.

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

Damn it.

lone in the frozen north, Caius found all of his expected outlets of processing so many feelings, of dealing with so much frustration, of exhausting his too-busy mind and tricking it to sleep were gone, thirty seven trials away by sea. Alone, the vices he'd come to know so intimately through the explorations of someone gifted to find them, to devour them, were loud in their confused dissatisfaction. Restless and angry, the more sensual needs that the northern noble had once been able to satisfy without question within the safety of his own household were noisy and uncomfortable in his isolation, gnawing away at his sense of duty and resolve, digging sharp talons into his doubts, clawing away at his already scabbed-over wounds of hopelessness and fear.

The monsters of Lust writhed within his haunted, sleepless mind as the young Gawyne attempted desperately to once more go over his mistakes for the trial, but Maebella's judgmental expression and her words rang in his thoughts far more hurtful than the sting of letting the girl with the traitor stone getting away. He'd find her, sure, but oh, how he'd been such a foolish creature—

Perhaps the Fates would forgive him, even if no one else would, even if he wasn't sure he could forgive himself.

He couldn't sleep.

Not like this.

He hadn't realized precisely how ensnared he'd been, how caught up in what felt so much like innocent love (and probably was, at the bright, hot core of things) buried under so much dark, destruction. He could see it, sharply in the ruddy glow of lantern light in his rented room at the White Fox Inn, the young Gawyne standing impatiently in front of his clouded, cheap mirror in order to look again at the subtle changes he'd willed Syroa's gifts to make of his appearance—longer hair; swarthier features ... some blend of structural references from his old friend Mateo and yet perhaps closer friend Humphrey Endor. It was strange, staring back at a face that wasn't his, though he noted the Transformer's gifts could not hide the bright, ice-like scar that marked him as Ziell's favored—

Fire and betrayal twisted his false features into a pained sneer as memories of Vhalar bubbled up into the charred cavity of his chest, words he still exchanged with that fucking mage of a Burnett twin causing him to exhale a string of expletives and curl his hands into fists so tight his palms stung with protest.

What the fuck was he doing?

Had he become such a slave to the basest of needs? Had he lost all of his intellect somewhere in the pyre?

No. But yes. Apparently, yes. Immortals, the kinds of wants that clawed at his insides left him sure he felt physical pain in their wake, both spurned and hurt by Maebella in all the ways he deserved as well as resentful and repentant for even agreeing to leave Rynmere on this mission when any number of willing volunteers had raised their voices. It had only been forty trials—he'd only been away from home for forty fucking trials!—and he knew exactly the decision he was making. Tonight. The sting of the Library still fresh under the icy cracked mark above his heart. His mind writhed between his ears and his body longed to feel everything and nothing all at once.

By the Seven, he couldn't stand to be alone. Not here. Not anywhere. Not now.

Caius had been a student in Viden once, and in his curiosities during his first life in the city, had learned of Sweet Luxuries through conversations with fellow students, moments of giddy insobriety too often frowned upon by the strict intellectual authority under Yvithia's watchful gaze. While he'd found other distractions and allowed himself the self-forbidden enjoyment of a relationship he knew would only end poorly —even then, he knew!—he'd heard enough about the brothel from friends that it wasn't so hard to find over an arc later, the northern noble hardly dressed for the weather and totally not appearing as the Lord Arbiter he'd been by day in the expansive library of the Viden Academy.

Greeted by smiles and touches, the young Gawyne greedily consumed the attention almost before he could get a hold of himself, smiling with his false face and allowing himself to take in the far finer interior of Sweet Luxuries in comparison to Lowtown's House of Roses. Viden was a strange place full of dualities, and yet he felt these dualities strongly.

Fates, could he truly be so addicted to pleasures of the flesh to have no qualms about spending coin on infidelity simply to quiet the Lustful whispers that had followed him across the sea?

Yes.

Yes, please.

The promise of escape was a familiar one, and the frustrations of the trial were quickly washed away by the promises of a few breaks of forgetfulness, of a few breaks of being someone else entirely.

Led by the hand away from the foyer, the brothel was thick with fuel for his inescapable desires, and the lustful environment was almost comforting, vices of all kinds on display and longing to be his for just the right amount of coin.

But, again, it was Viden—a place where even prostitution had an intellectual appeal. Conversation? Debate? Musical entertainment? Caius wanted to be drunk and naked, not discuss the finer details of Videnese architecture or debate the genealogical record of the most prestigious Videnese family lines. For fuck's sake, what a strange place!

"And who are you looking for this evening, sir—"

Someone was asking him a question, and finally Caius crawled his way from his distracted thoughts, leaning into the lips that brushed his ear and the fingers that traced over his shoulder, the warmth of the place almost overwhelming,

"Niall." The northern noble pulled a name from the recesses of his mind, the long list of names of the twisted bodies he'd been forced to identify haunting his almost perfect memory. The human woman's touch was enticing already, but not what he wanted, "Eídisi, please."

"As you wish." The woman giggled, her breath warming the already too-warm skin of his neck, leaning away from him with a languid wave of her free hand that wasn't still trailing lightly over his person, "Are you here for conversation? Music? Relaxation—"

"No—Not really." He interrupted again, stumbling over his own words as his heart burned like a fresh, hot ember against the back of his throat, the human woman entwining their fingers and leading him through the main room, passing men and women engaged in actual discussion or laughing together though perhaps more casually, more physically, than one would normally see in public in Viden. It seemed to the northern noble that there was more of a desire to let go of social convention in whatever aspect possible than there was to simply have sex here in a brothel of the frozen north.

Well.

For most Videnese, anyway.

His memories were admittedly biased, perhaps, but hopefully not entirely so warped by time that he was remembering wrong.

"That's certainly not a problem here," The young woman purred assuringly, her free hand traveling over his person still, perhaps a little lower than he expected as she nodded toward what could only be called a selection of bodies put on lovely display, the room she led him to still full of conversation, music, drinking, and laughter, but apparently no one engaged in such things claimed for their time, "Though now it depends on how deep your pockets are, Niall."

She emphasized her words with the direction of her hands and giggled again, stepping away from him as if ready to fetch his choice.

Exhaling slowly as his amber gaze explored Eídisi faces, lingering over curious shades of blue skin, jaw clenching for a moment as he waved a mental torch at the voices of objection that crawled from the aroused darkness of his mind, whispers of judgement, pleas to walk away, promises of fidelity and heartfelt notions drown by the crackling of flame and the rush of his pulse in his ears, the thrill of knowing what kind of lines he was crossing and the dull ache of ignoring the consequences.

He loved her.

He did. He'd meant every word and longed to keep every promise. But if he couldn't keep one, how could he truly keep any of them?

He'd even loved her, too. Had he not?

But was it real? Was it true? Or was it the illusion of need hidden under the disguise of lust just as his true features were hidden by Syroa's gift of disguise?

"My pockets are deep enough." The young Gawyne muttered breathlessly, gaze returning to one or two of the Eídisi women in particular, noting the way their features stirred him and feeling the familiarity burning through the dry kindling of his lustful starvation for anything but being left alone with this memories, with his thoughts, with his Syroa-kindled and Kasyni-fed addictions, "Conversation is an acceptable part of the purchase, though I'd prefer someone who can keep up. I've come from Scalvoris for a few trials of important research in this supposed bastion of intellect buried in the frozen north. Make this distraction worth my while and I'll gladly pay the price."

"Ah, I see." Laughed the woman boldly, taunting him with her grin, "Then I can make this choice easy for you. Let me introduce you to Muriel and see if she doesn't suit your fancy."

At the mention of her name, the Eídisi in question unfolded her delicate self from the seat she had been sharing with another blue-skinned woman and offered a well-practiced smile, perfectly enticing but so obviously shallow in a place like this. She was pretty enough, but almost handsome in her own way. Taller than himself, but not by much, Muriel was exactly what he wanted. Led by the hand to meet in the middle of the space between them, the young human woman was grinning mischievously,

"This is Niall. He's looking for someone who can keep up with him, Muriel."

There was a joke exchanged there without shame, and it was just enough to reach through Caius' racing thoughts, grasping his real self that was buried beneath a false face and so much baggage. He grinned then, suddenly blushing at his own stupidity, banishing the guilt and shame that had begun to claw uninvited in the shadows of his too-busy mind. He carefully hid away all of the responsible emotions he should be wrestling with, the feelings that should have turned him around and sent him back to his small room in the White Fox Inn, eyes fluttering heavily for a moment once all that remained was a handsome mask made of the lust and the hunger, the need and the longing.

He simply wanted someone to forget with, someone to feed the insatiable hunger he'd become dependent on satiating through the Immortal-made needs of his delicate pianist. Someone who didn't need to hear his voice in comfort, someone who didn't need his desperate protection, someone who didn't want an apology for all his failures. He simply wanted warm flesh without judgement, without consequence, without commitment.

Just once.

Maybe his smile was genuine.

"Keep up, is it?" Muriel's returned expression was amused, just distant enough with those blue-skinned features that the northern noble couldn't help but feel his decision made, familiarity and failure tickling up his spine with the heated stirrings of desire. Memories weren't unwelcome in his thoughts and he chuckled at her next words, "By the looks of you, I don't think it will be my problem so much as yours."

Yes, insult him under the guise of teasing. That was the Eídisi way and Muriel's words were close enough to the memories that haunted him in this moment to entice him. Caius was nothing if not a glutton for punishment, and the woman's taunting words made his pulse pick up in his ears and his heart race against the charred cavity of his chest.

He laughed, far too sober for the smile that warmed his face.

By all the Seven—what he wouldn't do to be so drunk that he remembered none of what he was about to do!

Instead, he knew—he fucking knew—he would remember all of it. Every touch and every soft sound. Every needful thing about this evening would be etched into his near-perfect memory. And he wasn't sure he even sarding cared, despite who he knew he was hurting, despite what promises he knew he was breaking. He couldn't keep any of them anyway, not really, so why not break the rest?

"You think so? I suppose you'll just have to find out, then." Caius was grinning, giddy, aroused by the risks he was taking while aware of his disguise.

It was a game and he'd already lost.

But even if he had won—would there have been a prize?

The Eídisi laughed back at him, quieter, bemused but in a practiced, sultry way, nodding coyly at the other woman who'd played hostess for the young Gawyne before reaching for him, wrapping herself comfortably around one of his arms in a manner that was otherwise a mockery of politeness and etiquette.

Leading him away from the common room toward an elaborate staircase and the kind of privacy that didn't need to be stated as his intentions were made obvious by his words. If he leaned a little into the blue-skinned prostitute's touch more than she expected, his smile faltering just perceptibly enough as they took to the stairs, Muriel thought little of it. Nervousness for first time visitors was normal, and while Niall seemed comfortable enough in the brothel and with his tone of voice, she wasn't one to pry and she'd never seen his face before.

She had pleased enough strangers to know to not say anything unnecessary, after all.