• Mature • Desperate Times [Westguard] (Graded)

[Llyr Llywelyn]

42 Ymiden 719

What time of the trial it was… Llyr didn’t know anymore. His mind absorbed his surroundings in a wash of blended sensation that made every detail trivial, yet ultimately significant: the storm journeying across the sky, the threat of rain that never seemed to come, and yet the air heavy with petrichor; the emptiness through the winding streets of Westguard; the silent witnesses in the windows who'd long since turned away from the scene below; the suffocating quiet of an abandoned city, left to be picked apart by stubborn fools, crazed fiends, and unfortunate travelers; the hundred little cuts that lightly bled from his totemic body, the obsidian glass shards lodged into the contours of his freckled, burnt sienna skin; the silver trickles of blood that shimmered in the dying haze of sunlight over his naked, female form…

…and the scarlet that coated his hands and wrists. The life force still warm. Llyr – in the totem of the biqaj woman known as Lucretia – had gotten covered with blood splatter from the man who now lay on the cobblestones, crumpled under layers of stained clothes. He might’ve seemed nothing more than a pile of clothes if it weren’t for the exposed visage presented up to the sky. Pierced eyes pooled with the fresh loss of sight, trailed tears of red that melded with the sliced-open throat.

And Llyr knew. He knew when he looked at the shattered body, the caved in head of his companion, that it didn’t matter if Mister Kiwi had been made of obsidian… a flash of white light and the disappearance of his own brand from where there should have been Kiwi's lips, but instead there was nothing but jagged shards of what had once been the abrogant’s face – he knew that his teacher within the realms of dream would never stir in Idalos again.

He knew when he looked over to the pile of wood and saw the slight figure of Hazel, slumped against the wall with her face against her knees – exactly as she’d been when he’d left her there before the skirmish. Exactly as she’d been when he’d last heard the child's phlegmatic cough. And he knew when he saw the same flash of light from the top of her head and then nothing. He knew that his adopted daughter who’d been his hope of a decent future would never move from that spot again.

Llyr trembled. His stomach churned. The biqaj’s crimson-iris eyes lined with tears. He gripped the simplistic knife tighter, hilt digging into his bruised and bleeding fingers. He hadn't ended the fight unscathed, exposed body littered with bruises and cuts, a nasty and open crack in the calf of his crystalline-mutated leg that revealed the quartz-like underlayer of skin. The young mage stared at the corpse. The first by his hand.

His sparks, stirred by the taste of life force before, urged him to truly flay before the man was fully gone from the body, to feed from the stranger's very soul so he might use ether again… his mind flipped and spun, identity lost again, and the Becomer found himself no longer Llyr but allowed an escape into the absolute perception of Lucretia herself.

She fell to her knees, so tired. Her short brunette hair hung around her delicate elfin features. Crawling closer, she climbed over the dead man, and thought that if she only drank a little from him… only a little…

A noise distracted her.

Lucretia swiftly looked up, in the direction of the sound, with a brilliant display of her bright green eyes. She stared at a man… another tall, dark, and imposing stranger... for a few trills before she scrambled to stand again. Still naked, still covered in both silver and crimson blood, the petite biqaj woman held up the knife. Her arm shook enough, however, that she grabbed onto the hilt with her other hand. It was a small and simple blade, not worth much, though stained with death.

Whether the man had come from one of the nearby alleys, or the adjacent street, or he’d been there for longer than she realized, Lucretia wasn’t certain. Had he seen the brawl? Had he watched as her obsidian companion was pounded into bits by the meaty fists of the stranger? Had he seen her struggle until she managed to stab through the stranger's eye? Had he watched as she didn't let it be and took the other eye, and then slit open the throat in desperate fury? Could he see the deathly stillness of the shattered body next to her or the silent child against the wall or was his attention only on the bled assailant who she'd been caught crawling on top of? Could he recognize the undeniable thirst she felt from her sparks to feed?

She opened her mouth, to warn the man to not come closer, but her voice proved hoarse and she couldn’t form actual words – only a pitiful sob that she hadn’t intended.

[Duncan Oisin]

Stupid prick. Duncan cursed himself, his long legs carrying him quickly through the quiet, abandoned streets, his gaze sweeping from one side to the other, taking in the signs of rushed departures, furniture knocked through open doorways, clothes and belongings dropped and left where they were, bearing foot prints of those that had hurried past after their owners. He had never been in a town such as this, abandoned but for looters and the hopeless, and it was eerie and unnerving to witness. Where once he may have lingered a day or two, picked up an odd job here and there, now he traveled quickly, eager to get through this nightmare town and on to Etzos.


A flash of movement from a side street caught his attention, and Duncan glanced over, assuming to witness yet another urchin bundling belongings out of an abandoned house. Instead he stopped short. He took in the scene before him in quick succession, the slim young woman splattered in blood and scrambling off the dead man, his face a mess of gore. The strange pile off to the side that seemed to be another body, deformed as it was, and a short distance away a small body was slumped against a wall, the settle of limbs and the angle of her little neck making it clear beyond words that she was dead.


The woman raised the knife in his direction, and Duncan shifted his weight ever so subtly, his hand falling to the gladius at his belt, the actions so familiar to him that they happened as natural as breathing, without conscious thought. He wasn't particularly concerned by any threat she may pose to him, she was clearly distraught and frightened, and when she opened her mouth, instead of creams or threats came a sob. Duncan sighed, his guard lowering.


"Enough of that." He grunted, striding forward and snatching the young woman's wrist in quick succession, more than willing to follow with a punch or a slap should she try to swing at him. He didn't intend to hurt her of course, and he wouldn't unless forced, but this was hardly the time or place to linger and attempt to calm a scared girl like she was a spooked horse. He squeezed her wrist, tighter and tighter until he could twist the knife out of her grip.


The immediate threat removed, Duncan dropped the knife by his boot and began shrugging out of his coat, his gaze flicking over her warily, taking in the strange look of her legs and the faint gleam of light that hovered about her mussed black hair, the two oddities far more concerning to the mercenary than the blood and bodies had been. Not normal. Probably not even human. He thought to himself, dismay growing. Give her the coat and leave, don't to deal need more magic, or whatever the shit this is.


"'M not gonna hurt you." Coat in hand he grabbed for the girl, his hands hard and impersonal as he manhandled her into his coat, tugging it closed at the front. Dincan retrieved the knife and held it out, hilt first, pinning the woman with a hard stare. "If you stab me I'll stab you back." He growled before letting her take it. Duncan paused, knowing well enough that he should leave her here and continue on his way to Etzos, there was no need to get involved with a stranger and a dead body.


"What happened?" He asked against all sense, shaking his head and holding up his hand almost immediately. "Wait, I dont care. Don't wanna know." He took in her slight form once more, sympathy prickling at him despite his attempts to push it down. "You're alive, that's all that matters right now, and if you wanna keep it that way you can't stay here." Another put upon sigh and Duncan was giving in, he never was quite able to turn his back on a pretty young thing in need. "You can come with me to Etzos if you like, it should be a little safer at least."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The knife did nothing to ward away the new stranger. Of course, he wasn’t intimidated by her. He had a true weapon at his belt. Her sob hadn’t helped matters. The Becomer took an exhausted step backward, but not fast enough to avoid his grab of her wrist. She winced, then went to shove with little thought other than she didn’t want to return to the grasp of another man so soon after the last. A simple block with his slap to her hand, more startling than injurious, and she weakened in response. Was this man a friend or colleague of the one she’d killed?

The knife clattered to the cobblestones between them. A whimper rose from the biqaj. She met his wary gaze with a look of apprehension. Her emerald green eyes darted away from him to glance at the nearby bodies. Another whimper and the tension in her body, the resistance she gave him, faded entirely when he claimed that he didn’t plan to hurt her.

Lucretia simply fell into the guidance of the man’s hands. Dazed, she didn’t have the wherewithal to do much else. He pulled the coat onto her petite form and then closed it around her. She felt a moment’s respite, her skin covered from sight, and tears broke from her eyes. The heavy droplets rolled down her freckled cheeks. She stared up at the man, as if confused by his presence and by the offer of the knife back. She didn’t accept the trusting offer, however.

Instead, she held up her hands with palms facing him in a gesture of surrender. She shook her head. She didn’t want the knife back. Though her body was now decently covered, her hands visibly quivered from the shock of the murder and deaths. She opened her mouth, when asked what happened, but before she could find her voice to attempt an answer, he interrupted with a change of heart. He didn’t want to know. So, he hadn’t seen…

The Becomer took hold of the coat sleeves and pulled at them to cover her blood-stained hands from view. She wrapped her arms around her chest and hugged herself tight. Lucretia’s mind flipped once or twice, then she nodded slowly in agreement to what the man said. Mister Kiwi was dead. Hazel was dead. The unknown assailant was dead. But she was alive. She wanted to stay alive, too.

“Etzos?” she repeated with a raspy voice caught in her throat. She scoffed to clear it, then said in the cadence of Llyr’s southern dialect, the blended accent from the continent below rather than the one they were on. “You believe it would be safer there?”

A faint laugh escaped her, though not of humor but a morbid amusement of delayed realization. She had thought that Westguard would be a safe place to hunker down and hear what news would come from Etzos while Lisirra marched towards the main city. It seemed that the patience had been for naught. She looked over at the shattered male form, broken into obsidian bits rather than the gore of flesh. A gentle cry of anguish escaped her, and she said to the man who no longer could hear her, “Oh… I should have let you go. I’m so stupid- so…”

She paused as she seemed to remember that the newcomer was there - the newcomer who’d given her the coat that she still held tight to. She fidgeted with the hem of the sleeves, gnawed on her lower lip, and rubbed away her tears. Lucretia sharply inhaled and said, “I’m sorry. Th-thank you, mister. I- My…”

“I have a place,” she said in offer. “Not far from here. If it hasn’t been… There are clothes and supplies and- my- my daughter.” The biqaj woman took a few steps toward the little figure against the wall, then paused. Would it be any use? Already gone, riddled with plague, part of her realized that any lingering contact with Hazel’s body would be a risk… and perhaps she should try to not be so reckless. It was the least she could do, in memory of Kiwi and in service of her persistence to live on.

Her vision swam around the peripherals. She turned away and looked at the tall man again. Another apology slipped past her lips without thought. “I’m sorry. I’m not… I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Off the street, yes?” The Becomer glanced about, then pointed in a direction. She tried to ignore how weak her battered body felt as adrenaline rushed out of her system.

“That way. The house is that way. Please, I’ll… I can… I was going to make tea.” Lucretia nodded and walked to the alley with a limp to her step. The leg that had the crack along the calf was slower and difficult to lift with ease. She picked up a basket from the ground, then took out a bundle of green herbs from it. A slight sorrow-laced smile showed on her lips. Starting to walk in the direction, to return to the estate, she paused and looked at the man in obvious wait for him to follow. She didn't want to go alone, and though the man was an unknown, he'd given her the coat she wore now. The young mage said, "I am Llyr."

[Duncan Oisin]

"Sheep are always safer in a flock." Duncan grunted in reply, and even believing it for the most part. "Etzos has walls and an army, better than nothing." He trailed off, it was clear that the woman wasn't paying particular attention to him, and Duncan glanced away uncomfortably as she cried out for the other malformed body. Determination hardened in him as he looked back over the woman, watched her gather herself some and thank him. Immortals take me, why am I so easily won. He sighed, shaking his head minutely. "Don't apologize." He grunted, clumsy and slow with comfort and condolences. He'd lost plenty of loves in his time, one way or another, but even he knew that none of those could compare with losing a child. The woman was likely in shock, and Duncan was hesitant to leave her on her own in such a state, after whatever it was that had happened.


However he held back as the woman picked up the basket and made to lead him off the main road. He'd intended to travel as close to Etzos as he could, perhaps stop somewhere quiet for a few hours rest at most. The whispers and rumours he'd heard hadn't dissuaded his determination to make it to Etzos; even if they were true, further travel could always be arranged in such a big city, and if all else failed, Duncan was sure he could replace his horse and buy enough supplies to make it out on his own. These perimeter towns offered nothing. But this woman, Llyr, gave him the perfect opportunity to gain some much needed insight, to perhaps even learn what was really happening in Etzos. Not to mention that he'd much rather rest in a house with a locking door than in some pushes off a road. A break or two, really just a detour, that's all He finally decided.


"Off the street." He agreed finally, turning away from the bloody scene behind them. The last thing they needed was to be found lingering around so much death, especially with Llyr as she was, so clearly a part of the brutal fight that had occurred. "I'm sorry to meet you in this way." Duncan grunted, falling into step beside the smaller woman and shoving her knife into a small pocket in the front of his bag. For a long moment he was quiet, his face pulling into a frown as they walked. He wanted to give some sort of comfort, some reassurance perhaps, but despite his best efforts he came up short. "I'm Duncan." He finally murmured, eyes steady on the road in front of them. "Why… Why did you stay behind?" He asked after a few stretching moments, unable to help his want of information.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

They walked together. Lucretia could only keep a moderate pace, hindered by the limp in her leg, but the human remained at her side regardless. Distant, yet there, he apologized for the circumstances as they were. Llyr looked at him with an expression that hinted that she might start to cry again. Instead, she took a swift inhale of air, nodded, and moved her gaze forward. If only the man had arrived a few bits sooner… then… No. She shook her head. She couldn’t think that way, not anymore. She couldn’t hope for others to interrupt the worst of things, couldn’t expect fates to intervene when she prayed for them to. The fates were as reliable as the Immortals, which meant shit-all good-for-nothing apparently. She muttered in an embittered tone of voice, “Fates… stupid, innit? Believing in fate when all this death is happening?”

Whether she expected an answer or not, it wasn’t clear. She certainly couldn’t look at the man. The walk turned silent for a while more. The Becomer held tight to the herbs, gaze alternating between them and the surrounding streets to gather her bearings and correct their path to the estate house.

She paused at an intersection. The brunette glanced around, confused as to which way to go, then the tears finally returned. She started to cry again. Silent except for gasping hiccups between attempts to compose herself, it only lasted for barely a bit. She lightly slapped her own face a few times, then nodded and continued along the northern-facing street. Lucretia glanced behind them, however, in consideration to sprint back to the corpses left there. She wanted to hug Hazel close and breathe life back into her. She wanted to gather up all the obsidian and put Mister Kiwi back together. Maybe she could. Maybe she could transmute him back to life?

“I’m Duncan.” His introduction cut through her shocked grief. She craned her neck to see his face from her shorter height. He looked forward though, instead of at her. When he asked why she stayed behind, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I… it’s… I don’t know anymore,” she admitted and moved her gaze forward as well. “I thought it’d be dangerous to go elsewhere. We’d only… a few trials more, that was all, then we’d head back east. Not until news reached until the fields were clear so- so,”- her voice cracked –“He wanted to go to Foster’s Landing. I should have let him. It’s my fault. I convinced him to stay. It’s my fault. I told him it’d be safer this way. It’s my fault. Why did I do that? I don’t know anything. He would have been fine on his own. Why did I say it? Because I didn’t want to be alone. No. I didn’t want to be lonely. I don’t want to be lonely. I am so lonely. It’s why I took her also. And now I’ve lost them both, and it’s my fault.”

She shook her head, then sighed and added in a quiet voice as she gathered awareness despite her burst of rambling, “I’m sor-… I… Duncan, I didn’t want to be naked. Th-tha-this coat.”

The biqaj didn’t finish the thought aloud. She gestured toward a house at the end of the street they’d turned on. It was two stories tall with a row of six windows on either side of the front door. She led around the alley, rather than entering from the front, and she unlocked the door with a jimmy of a mechanism rather than a key.

Lucretia checked the door frame before she entered, however, as if to check for traps. She held it open for Duncan and once he was inside, she quickly shut it behind him and locked it tight. The woman’s freckled cheeks blushed a ruddy violet color. She said, “I-if you’ll sit, there’s… chairs and… I’m certain you can…” Her voice trailed off as she walked away.

Absently, she set the basket and herbs on a counter surface next to an adjacent kitchen. The cupboards had all been opened, and everything was bare. There was no food in this house. At the landing of a stairwell, she turned and said, “Please wait down here.”

Then she headed up the stairs, wooden steps creaking under her limping gait. She held onto the railing to help herself along. The pain in her leg was bearable. Whether the human listened or not, she felt her heartbeat quicken with slight fear… what if he’d wanted the house? What if he wanted… if he knew… she hoped he would listen to her and stay downstairs. She trusted him to.

In the following few bits, she went to the barricaded room where the other children were. She spoke to Oceta in low whispers and informed the slave girl what had become of Hazel. The two boys seemed antsy, and Oceta mentioned to her that they’d been talking about taking off. They were getting impatient, sitting around in the house, when both urchins had been so used to traveling on their lonesome despite their young teen ages. She couldn’t blame them. They were hungry and their rations were on the last bits of salted jerky and remnants of vegetables. Lucretia dug around in a drawer, then gave them each a hard, tough biscuit. It wasn’t much but it would provide them with nourishment for at least a couple trials more without concern.

After Lucretia assured the children that they weren’t going to remain in Westguard much longer, and that they should prepare for the travel ahead, she told them to stay in the room and keep quiet. She mentioned she had someone visiting that she didn’t want them to meet yet.

She quietly left the room and hurried to the suite across the corridor. Lucretia left the suite's door ajar, open enough that if the human had started to wonder what was taking her so long… he would look there first rather than trying the firmly locked and barricaded room where the children hid.

Lucretia took off the coat. She laid it over the neatly made bed. The biqaj walked to a mirror set beside a wash basin and looked at herself. It was startling to see her own reflection – the abused totemic body of another individual and yet Llyr could see through her eyes and feel through each part. The skin was his own. He picked up a rag, though it was dry, and rubbed at the specks of dried blood along his scraped and dirty jaw.

A crack of lightning brightened the natural dimness room. Between the span of the flash, and then the corresponding rumble of thunder, tears broke from Llyr’s eyes again. He went to his knees, unable to find the will to stand anymore. He started to pluck the obsidian shards out of his skin, fully aware that in doing so, he was removing Mister Kiwi himself. Llyr gathered the rag and held it to hide his face from sight. He sobbed into the fabric.

And then he heard the creak of a floorboard.

Llyr dropped the rag, stood so swiftly that a pain jolted through his injured leg, and he turned to look at Duncan. He hesitated, then said in a clear and almost disturbingly steady voice, “I’ll need to draw a bath. Would you care for one? Or… I’m sorry I'm so daft. I said I’d make you tea, didn’t I? Let me…”

His mind flipped again, then, and Lucretia was allowed the forefront once more. She stepped over to the wardrobe and retrieved a long, navy blue dress. She stepped into it, then lifted the tight sleeves over her tender shoulders. One shoulder had already mottled with the deep bruise where the assailant had slammed his fist into the bony curve. At least the impact hadn’t broken her collarbone and for that, she allowed herself a momentary sense of mild gratitude. The dress’ low collar curved just above her heavy bosom and she adjusted it so that the curves settled comfortably within the cotton and satin fabrics. It wasn’t a peasant’s dress, but it wasn’t nobility either. It was the fashion of a working wife for an estate and it looked a bit larger than if it’d been tailored to Lucretia’s own slender body. The ruffled hem of the skirt dragged along the floor.

Dressed, properly enough, she exhaled and said, “There.”

She ran her fingers through her dark hair, as if to pridefully comb it despite how awful she still appeared without an actual wash of her battered and besmirched skin. “Now, did you say you wanted a bath? I have to collect the water from the well out back, would you…” she heard the rush of torrential rain as it finally fell over the city.

“Or that. That will likely be easier. I’ll set pails out, then make tea while they fill.” The biqaj woman said as if she were merely thinking aloud. She nodded toward the corridor, picked up a wash bucket from beside the mirror, and headed to start the chore of providing for Duncan, who she now considered her guest.

[Duncan Oisin]

The young woman was hardly rational at the moment, the words that she could manage to get out only made sense half the time, and that was assuming she was able to finish her sentence without trailing off looking lost. Even when he'd asked her about staying in Westguard, Duncan had only been able to get half of the picture, the rest muddled as though she were lost in thought and self blame rather than having a conversation. And then the house; entering through the back, the strange lock and the caution she’d used upon entering all caused Duncan to prickle with suspicion and unease. He was beginning to second guess his decision not to find out exactly what was going on with Llyr, and as he watched the young woman make her way up the steps to the second floor landing he resolved to find out as soon as she was able to form coherent sentences.

He wasn't a man made for stealth, and so he didn't bother to follow Llyr, instead swinging his pack off of his shoulder and leaving it in one of the chairs at the table. First Duncan made his way to the door she'd brought them through and promptly locked again, bending to peer at the mechanism that Llyr had fiddled with. It was unfamiliar to Duncan, and his lips pursed into a thin line, realising that he’d be unable to open it himself should he need to. He moved back around the table, to where Llyr had left the basket, peering inside and taking a curious sniff of the herbs. The kitchen was bare, and for all intents and purposes it appeared totally unlived in, far from what it should have looked like considering Llyr, her daughter, and whatever their other companion had been had supposedly lived here.

Thunder boomed outside, pulling Duncan from his thoughts, and after another long moment without any sign of Llyr returning he made his way up the stairs in search of the young woman. He followed the faint movement and noise from the door to the right, left open a crack to show just a glimpse of Llyr’s bare shoulders and back, hunched over as she sat on the floor. Duncan knocked lightly before he entered, making a conscious effort to smooth and soften his stern expression as he moved slowly towards the crying woman. His approach must have startled her, as she bounced up with such speed that Duncan started back a step, tensing automatically in anticipation should she lash out. His response instead startled Duncan even further, and he furrowed a brow in curious confusion, watching as the woman turned abruptly and dressed, once more seeming to abandon her trail of thought.

Once dressed she seemed clearer, though she now seemed set on the idea of drawing a bath. Duncan shook his head, watching as she made her way from the room, bucket in hand. ”Thanks for the offer, but I’ll do without the bath.” He replied, following after her. ”Llyr, I’ll stay for tea, but other than that.” He followed the young woman down the steps and back to the kitchen, reaching out to catch her arm once they were on even floor, pulling her around to face him. ”Really, an abandoned town is not a safe place to be, no matter what it is that’s happening in Etzos.” Duncan settled his hand on her shoulder, his voice gentling a touch as continued. ”I know you’re likely frightened, and what happened tonight will be difficult for you to deal with, but you have to push that aside until you can deal with it somewhere safe.”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Focus. Calm. Breathe in, breathe out. Llyr led through the corridor and refused to glance toward the door where she knew the other children were. It’d be better if she kept them hidden and secret until she was certain about who Duncan was and what he actually wanted. Under no illusion as to the various possibilities, she would treat him respectably but not with the trust of the other children… not yet anyhow. She led down the stairs, her grip tight on the pail, and repeated to herself: Focus. Calm.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She’d barely gotten a step away from the stairs, however, when she felt his hand on her arm. As if sent in a twirl on a dance floor, the biqaj’s feet delicately compensated with his pull. The skirt of her dress flared out from the motion. Her eyes brightened, blue and gold before settling into the vivid green once more. She stared up at him, though her gaze flicked to the hand on her shoulder. It was difficult to listen to his words. His touch distracted her.

Still, she could understand the sentiment from the gentle tone of voice and the hints of expression on his features. The Becomer smiled slightly, in a forced manner without a show of teeth. “Oh, I… yes.” She nodded, unwilling to argue the point. Instead, she said, “Thank you, Mister Duncan.”

She slid out from under his touch, then. Her footwork went just as quick, and she made her way into the kitchen. Past the back door that she unhinged from another device, she set the pail out to gather the rainwater. She gathered a few more pails and did the same with them. It was pouring hard enough that the first pail had gotten filled by the time she’d finished setting them outside. Only slightly wet from the back-and-forth, and having washed her hands in the fresh water, she then took to stoking a fire and settling a cauldron of water to heat up. Each portion of the chore appeared nothing more than second nature to her, barely even requiring thought.

With a stone bowl to collect the leaves, she tore up the herbs and the sweet smell of mint filled the kitchen. Llyr glanced a few times toward the human, then spoke up in a clear voice that was slightly loud even if Duncan had remained in proximity of the hearth. “So… you were headed to Etzos then? Do you have family there?”

Regardless of the answer, she gazed at the bowl of herbs. She had started to crush the leaves between her fingertips, accidentally. The young mage set the wilted greenery down, then rifled through the pantry drawers. She retrieved a small metal tin and popped it open. From inside, a few rolls of dried leaves in thin paper showed alongside a coiled wick. Llyr took one out, tapped it to pack the leaves, then lit the wick with a flame from the hearth. She settled the cigarette between her lips, then inhaled deeply to bring the heat within. Though she put out the wick, she offered, “Would you care for a smoke?”

[Duncan Oisin]

Though it felt somewhat odd and rude to do so, Duncan moved his bag aside and sat as Llyr moved around the kitchen, clearly entierly capable of doing it all herself. He watched her openly now that she was clothed, thinking over what he had witnessed and what he had learnt so far. He knew nothing about Llyr other than her name and that her daughter had died in the street, and if he was being truly unbiased, he knew nothing about hwat had happened back in that street. It was easy to assume that it was a young woman attempting to defend herself and her child, espcially when the woman in question was so slight and emotionally raw, but once he began to factor in other things he'd noticed, the less likely everything became. He'd caught her climbing onto the body after all, naked, with no signs of a womans clothes or shoes around her, yet her daughter had been clothed and, from what he could tell at a distance, without visible injury. And then of course there was the other strange body, Llyr's legs and the glow around her head... Lost in though Duncan almost jumped when Llyr next spoke, voice steadier and louder than it'd been before.

He stiffened as she questioned after his family, and for a long moment Duncan found himself at a loss for words. He’d left Etzos over a decade and a half ago, at the age of 16, and at the time he’d been completely unaware if his mother had still been amongst the living, or if she’d finally met her end in one of the cold dark alleys that she so frequently sought her drugs in. It wasn't until a full arc later in Rynmere that he’d received the letter from their old landlady, stating that yes, she had in fact been alive when he’d left, but that she’d been found in the bath a season later. The landlady surmised that she’d overdosed and drowned, though she had written that she couldn’t be certain, nor could she be sure how long his mother had been in the water. The thought of his mother's once skinny body swollen and waterlogged no longer made him sick, and Duncan was unsure whether it was due to all the death he’d seen since, or merely from coming to terms with the fact that she’d never been much of a mother anyway.

”No.” He said finally, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and casting his gaze around the room. ”I lived there many years ago, when I was still a child.” He shook his head as she offered him one of her rolled cigarettes. That in turn reminded him of Rory, always with a bag of hand rolled Euphoria, and always happy to share. Duncan hadn’t touched a single drug since he’d left Rory in Ne’haer, and though he’d missed the carefree whores company, he couldn’t deny that he’d been the cause and the source of a steadily growing addiction. Though Llyr’s didn’t smell like anything untoward, the mere thought of holding the rolled leaves between his fingers summoned a needy itch for the soft, floaty haze that Euphoria brought with it. "I'm going to Etzos for the work." He sighed, shifting in his chair to fiddle with his weapons belt, undoing it and pulling it free after a moment. "I hear there quite a lot of bounties and contracts around these parts." He set Duncan looked away again. ”Who’s house is this?” He asked bluntly, gaze moving pointedly from the open cupboards, the back door, and back to Llyr.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The crushed herbs, the heated water, the smoking cigarette, the vaguely curious questions; Llyr busied herself to avoid other thoughts. She listened to the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder, to the crackle of the hearth fire, and the faint sounds of the man who was mostly a stranger with a name. A kindly stranger who’d offered his coat when she’d been in need, but a stranger all the same. As such, she sought to remove some of that sensation of wariness. To get to know him, perhaps, and distract herself from the idea that Hazel and Kiwi were out there, abandoned bodies getting soaked in the rain. So, Duncan was an Etzori – or once one. His denial of the offered smoke brought a hint of a smile to the corner of Llyr’s lips, as she hadn’t necessarily wanted to share but it would have been rude not to offer anyway. She only had so much of the tobacco left, the bulk of the rolls having gotten lost during her transformation along with her clothing and dagger.

Smoking with familiar ease, though she’d started the habit in late of Ashan, she gathered water from the cauldron, into a kettle, by use of a ladle. Llyr glanced at the weapons belt when she heard it jostle as Duncan pulled it free. She didn’t say anything for fear of the cigarette falling or accidentally sloshing the hot water, but she nodded in response to his simple answer of looking for work. The biqaj lifted the kettle to the counter and then settled the herbs inside the steaming water. Her eyes flashed blue when he asked a blunt question of her, she looked over. For a fleeting moment, they made direct eye contact and her irises returned to the green hue.

“I don’t know who’s it is,” she answered honestly. She broke the eye contact, returned her gaze to preparing tea, and retrieved a couple ceramic mugs. The petite woman shrugged. “Whoever it was, they left trials ago. At least the bulk of the family did. I would have chosen a smaller place, but I required the…” she trailed off. She returned to the smoke, inhaled sharply, then turned around. The tea would need to steep for a few bits.

She leaned against the counter, focused on her surroundings and the cigarette, and her gaze returned to the man. He was the most distracting of all and so, she fixated on him now. “There’s likely to be lots of bounties, I would assume, with the war. If you’re not concerned with the illnesses and armies. Are you a... swordsman?”

“Many of the houses are available in this town,” she added, in return to the previous topic. “Left behind in the evacuation or closed off due to plague. Most got cleared out by the bonfires a couple trials ago. It isn’t the safest here, yes, I... but I heard Etzos isn’t in the best shape either… there’s more illness there. So many people are dying. Westguard has gotten the least of it from what I understand. And this house is warm and used to have some things left behind, though it went quickly.”

Llyr shook her head, black hair flipping from the motion. She turned away again, poured the tea through a thin mesh fabric, and filled the mugs. Twist of the cigarette, she put the dying embers out on the countertop and then picked up the mugs. She walked over to the man and held out a mug for him to take. “It’s mint and hot, be careful. I’d offer… food, but there isn’t any more. It's part of why we'd gone out... Duncan, are you traveling alone?”

[Duncan Oisin]

Duncan hummed in approval as Llyr explained about the house, the simple honesty in the face of his question going quite the way to calm his suspicious mind. "The bulk of the family? Not all?" He questioned in response, raising a brow curiously. Duncan eyed her carefully as she drew on the cigarette, the end flaring bright for a moment before dulling as she pulled it away from her lips. "I'm a mercenary." He grunted, leaning back in his chair comfortably. "Suppose by default that makes me a swordsman, though I'd hardly limit myself to just my Gladius." He hooked his thumb in the direction of his belt, the mastercrafted weapon propped against his pack.

"The illness is that bad then? I'd heard a bit about it on my travels, but I assumed it was an exaggeration." He shrugged, though his brow creased in slight concern. He'd heard of bodies being piled in the streets, families boarded up in their homes in an effort to prevent them from spreading their sickness, and a range of other horrible tales and rumours. He'd assumed that's all they were.

"What was the reason for evacuating this town?" He asked, scratching at his jaw thoughtfully. If he had to guess, he'd assume it was a precaution, get as many civilians inside the defences of Etzos City as possible and protect them from any conflict outside. Westguard hadn't appeared to have been touched by any conflict yet however, and if people here had been healthier than most it seemed counter productive to move them into more heavily infected areas.

For a split second Duncan had almost disagreed about travelling alone, years of habit conjuring the words 'Just me and my horse.', biting them back before they slipped out. There was only so much a horse could take, especially one already long in the tooth as Tac had been, and once again dragging the poor animal from one side of the world to the other had proved too much. It had been surprisingly painful for Duncan, unable to tempt the mare into standing one early morning, and then waiting with her as she slowly passed. Above all others she'd been his only constant companion for over a decade, and leaving her on foot, with all of his worldly belongings over his shoulder had felt like the close of a chapter.

Duncan merely nodded, picking his mug up and giving it a cursory sniff, a soft smile curling his lips as the fresh, aromatic scent wafted over his face. It was still a touch too hot to drink, but holding it gave him something much needed to do with his hands. "Suppose were both on our own now."