RP:But Where Are The Bodies?

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Krice is found by Skylei at the scene of the recent elf-drow battle. Both lament the loss of life though there is a conspicuous absence of bodies, drow or elven, that one would expect following such violence. Krice lays the blame on a mysterious necromancer who was also present at the time of the violence. Both agree that life as a necromancer’s puppet is a fate worse than death.

Road to Milous

Krice was crouched to the earth, dressed in comfortably-fitted black clothing with his katana on his back and his arms resting over both thighs. Silver hair curtained his face as he looked down, perusing the earth beneath him. The grounds here, expanding outward to a large radius, were darker than the soil that surrounded it, and the thick aroma of blood-soaked dirt hung heavily in the air - almost acrid to those with sensitive noses. A frown marred the warrior's brow for he was such a being, his senses barely subduing the smells and sounds around him. A wild battle had taken place here, likely between the most common of foes around these parts; wood elves and drow spilled the blood of one another until none remained alive. Yet, no corpses were visible from any vantage point, and it was this memory that compelled Krice to look up - westward, into the woods.

The smell, that terrible smell of destruction and death, had already reached Skylei’s nose. It clung heavy to her throat, making the air hard to breathe as she rounded a small bend in the path and was greeted with the scene of a battle recently fought. She was also greeted with the sight of the silver haired man she knew somewhat well. And so, she makes a beeline for him, stepping over the marks of the terror that had marred this place; a shattered blade here, burnt ground there, drying pool of blood turned black in the sunlight to her left an abandoned sheath of arrows resting alongside. Like Krice she is palpably aware of the lack of bodies, though for this she is grateful. Lowering her hood, she would speak softly as her eyes continue to survey the destruction “I had not expected it to be so bad… At least,” Skylei would mutter, “The dead have been buried by the survivors, Sven rest their souls.” The natural assumption, of course. But there are no grave cairns, no traditional markings left by the elves to signify that one of their kin had been lain to rest. And no bodies had arrived up to Frostmaw that she was aware of. And what of the drow? Would they too be buried within the forest? Should she stop and think a minute she would realise there was something unusual in this picture.

Krice knew exactly why those bodies were missing, but his realization along that thought was intercepted by the presence of someone else. He knew this half-elf, and it was with his gaze fixed on her familiar face that he rose to his feet and answered her prayer. " No," he said quietly, trying to be both respectful and as brutally honest as was called for by the situation at hand. " Drow and wood elf... They may have fallen, but they didn't stay down." It was difficult, talking about the fate of so many elves to one of their kin, as evidenced by the tension in his jaw between words; he didn't want to say it, but it had to be said. " They're all the undead servants of a necromancer." He shook his head and spoke again, trying to anticipate the woman's curiosity and questions, if she had any. " I don't know who he was." A detailed description was given Skylei by the silver-haired warrior of the necromancer in question, though intermittently, Krice diverted his gaze from her face to scrutinize the battlefield. How many people had wandered through the debris since that night? " But I..." Krice brought himself back on track, staring at the serrated edge of a half-bladed sword partially submerged at its handle in dried mud. " I don't smell anything fresh."

It isn’t until Krice states the facts that Skylei truly understand what has occurred here. The fate of walking the earth forever in a partially-living partially-dead state is one that Skylei struggles to comprehend and her face shows it. Her eyes narrow, her jaw juts out and her arms fold defensively across her chest. Still, Skylei has learnt not to force her blunt rage out on the messenger. And so, her arms fall to her side, jaw retracts and eyes soften. “I wouldn’t wish that fate on my deadliest enemy, never mind my own kin. It shouldn’t be that way. Leave the dead to the dead, don’t drag them back into the world of the living.” Skylei pauses for a few second surveying all that is left of those that fought and died, “How do you know all this? Were you here?” Reports may have reached Frostmaw of more violence but day by day, each report grew less and less detailed. The violence was becoming increasingly commonplace, after all.

Krice turned from Skylei during her lament for the curse of the undead, a few gradual steps taken that distanced them from one another as he approached a dark patch of earth further north. Winds swept through from the west to east, bringing with them fresh air, and a much-welcome reprieve from the stagnant stench surrounding them. Though he realized that it might have seemed surprising, his knowledge of the events that took place during the battle, Krice had not expected Skylei to enquire after it; when she did, the warrior was initially silent. Before too long, and perhaps before she grew impatient, he broke that silence to usher over his left shoulder a simple, " Yes." The gilded depths of his eyes communicated further; he was here, and he fought against the odds, but he had been unable to save those who were now wandering the land as cadaverous slaves.

Skylei stays silent for the longest time after Krice finally responds. She may not have the best grip on human emotion but she understands loss. She understands regret. Whether she reads the look in Krice’s eyes rightly or wrongly she offers the only plausible response, “I’m sorry.” It’s an empathetic sorry; an ‘ I feel for you’ or ‘I know your pain’ or even ‘it wasn’t your fault’. It doesn’t feel to be enough and so she would cross the distance that Krice had made between them and simply stand at his side and look into the distance. What haunts her most isn’t the death or the destruction that lies before them in all its deadly splendour. That, she understands. Blood feuds run deep, after all. It’s this new and unknown entity taking the bodies of the dead. At least the air feels a little clearer now. Soon the land will heal and there will be no indication that a battle ever waged here. Scars on men last longer than scars on the earth.

Krice lowered his gaze in lieu of Skylei's apologetic reply, which caused in him a chain reaction of walls erecting to conceal whatever emotion had been triggered by her expressed empathy. He lifted his chin once reaching his full height and gazed into the northeastern thickets, holding his ground with the half-elf at his side. In what was likely an uncharacteristic move for the warrior, he spoke further with Skylei, his tone soft and his voice quiet. " I should probably be the one apologizing." A beat. " One elf managed to escape, but how else did my interference help? The others were doomed the moment they fell." Doomed to an undead existence; neither resting nor alive.

Skylei tries to empathise. Grief, guilt and what ifs weight heavy on her own mind too, “Krice, every person who stepped into the fray of this battle knew that the consequences could be unpleasant and yet they made that choice. Had you not been here, that one elf would probably be suffering the same fate as his comrades.” Skylei looks across the earth before picking up a single arrow that rests alongside her feet. Clearly of elven make she would ponder the fate of the owner. Dead? Fled? Or walking the earth as a puppet? It mattered little. There was naught either of them could do to change the consequences of the battle. “Do not apologise for the choices of those you had no control over. You did not start an attack, or enchant the dead. Those are not your burdens to bear, though I suspect you will wear them anyway.” Skylei would turn to face the opposite direction, treasuring the brief breeze that cools her face, “I cannot look on this any longer. And neither should you.”

Krice could leave this place with the knowledge that his part in the battle had at least saved -one- elf, but the weight of the resulting undead, whose lives he could -not-, was heavy to bear. As Skylei retrieved an arrow from the ground, he turned his head to look at it, watching her fingers move around the thin rigid wood. Whilst the half-elf's words inspired many thoughts from which he could have voiced his reply, the silver-haired man found any response muted by Skylei's concluding statement. This place was filled with the presence of death and undeath, and residual, evil -magic-; combined, those things were not good for anyone to endure. At length, he turned with an agreeing, " Right," and moved westward, departing the battle area in favour of the clearer air along Kelay.

Skylei doesn’t follow Krice. She stands amid the destruction for a moment longer and watches as the silver haired man makes his way back towards Kelay. Once she is convinced he is out of audible range, she bends and places a hand to the floor uttering a prayer for the (un)dead of the battle. Even the drow who met what should have been their end are not excluded from her requests to the gods to rest their souls and free them from the dark hold of this necromancer. That done, she would place the arrow back to the ground and leave in the opposite direction. Cenril and the sea air will do her good.

Krice continued walking - until Skylei began to pray. He slowed to a stop and turned to look at her along his right shoulder. Once realization hit him, and it hit him quickly, he completed the turn to face the woman - and the battlefield - entirely, to stand vigil through her prayer spoken for the undead victims of the recent battle. When she was done, the warrior found himself conflicted between grateful and angry, but the woman's departure snapped him out of it before either emotion could grip him. " Hey," he called, hoping to get her attention.

Skylei is pulling her cloak more tightly around her when Krice calls to her once more. She had assumed that he had left and would be none the wiser to her act of prayer but, it would seem, she had been wrong. Pausing in her step, she turns her body to face Krice’s without saying anything. She’s listening.

Krice pressed his lips together thoughtfully when Skylei halted and turned his way. After just a few seconds, he volleyed a question at her: " Where you headed?"

Skylei is loath to call Cenril ‘home’. Sage is home, Cenril is just a temporary residence whilst blood feuds are spated and debated and thus doesn’t get the honour of being named as her home inspite of the fact that she owns an apartment there. And so her judged response is, “The beach. Maybe the library. Maybe I’ll just roam the streets for a while. Just, somewhere well away from here.” Krice received Skylei's response and nodded pensively thereafter. Something in her words inspired a smirk to the line of his mouth but it was brief, and borne only of wry amusement - if amusement at all. " I was at the beach earlier," he said. " The water's nice." Perhaps he was suggesting that she choose the coastline as her destination; cool, salty air might help refresh her out of the darkness of this area.

Skylei doesn’t understand where this interaction is going. Does Krice want something from her or merely to talk a while longer? She can’t be sure. And so her response grows slightly less measured, “Great, thank you.” That might imply that Skylei intends to head to the coastline and enjoy the sunshine. In all likelihood she’ll instead coop herself up in a library and surround herself with books on necromancy; attempting to learn anything that might aid her in ensuring that no more of the elven kin meet the same fate as those who had already fallen prey to this mysterious necromancer. Of course, Skylei says none of this. She’s never been one for sharing her true intentions.

Krice 's true intentions were also obscured behind his personality, even as Skylei lingered in the wake of accepting his suggestion. Why he'd stopped her in the first place remained a mystery; perhaps to ensure that she was leaving the area as she said she would, perhaps out of some rebound concern for her, as an elf, on her way out of Sage, leftover worry from the battle in which he had failed to save many. Some kind of emotional dance turned its way across his face, micro-expressions shifting subtly through the depths of his eyes to specifically the left corner of his mouth. He looked down, about to turn, but hesitated to direct another glance the elf's way. Hesitation showed itself again, before the silver-haired man dipped his head in a nod, pressed his lips together in some sort of empathetic, almost-shy smile, and turned at last to continue westward. Perhaps all he had wanted was to know where Skylei was going, though if so, the reasons for such were his alone.

Skylei waits for all of three seconds after Krice had turned away before turning herself and heading in the opposite direction. Krice’s potential concern for her safety hadn’t even crossed her mind.