RP:Something Is Wrong

Part of the Souls Out of Time Arc

Synopsis: Eirik finds himself constantly frustrated.. Artia finds this out as well.

Artias Ranch

Eirik is beyond this place -- eyes set on some grim vision of blackened hell -- nose sniffing at the forest he stands within. An angry hand, yet again, yanks free another root which has affixed itself so desperately to his steel guarded boot. Damn this foreign hell, he nearly yelled; entirely fraught with the exhausting emotion of this terrible place. A dissatisfied frown tugs at his lips while fighting nature. It seemed the smell of wood and the decidedly dead husk of a forest he believed this place to be, is not his only concern. Nay, for every plant, each pool of water and the entire lands themselves sought to pull the Northman under. Gods, he missed home. The once new armor, adorned by Eirik, is now marred by streaks of green and brown -- details of the struggle he now faced. In the breadth of an instant he now, in ceremonious fashion, draws Brann Forbruker free of its sheath. The sound of metal sliding on itself to reverberate off the trees in this hollow world. "Ignite," his tone of voice bereft of emotion and utterly void of any fondness for this endless forest. The aforementioned weapon, springs to life, fire hissing at the air. The blade itself spitting embers, like the gaping maw of a dragon drooling over the sight of an unsuspecting lamb. Branches, brush, and grass now finds themselves at the mercy of the warrior. If he could not walk through this green place of death, he would cut his path. Obviously, Eirik is beyond annoyed. Passed the point of no return and the lycan intended to carve out a souvenir. This forest would remember him well.

Artia was in her kitchen, Windows open and ava in her bassinet which Artia moved into the foyer so the sun light would bash upon Ava giving her the fresh douse of vitamins needed. Leaving her with just a diaper on, and her colorful ring to chew upon. Washing the morning dishes, until she heard the sound of a male scream in frustration. The birds outside taking off afraid, which usually meant Draiman was near. Luckily, she had changed the enchantments to keep him from entering when ever he wanted. Moving the bassinet and ava into the living room, quickly locking and closing the windows. Moving to the front door, she opened it up a crack looking out. In the distance she saw what looked to be a very angry Eirik, "Eirik!" She shouted, then saw his weapon ignite.."Ohh...yeah...not good."

Eirik spit at one tree in particular; the last victim of his remaining wrath. From here on out, every step would be easier. Nothing else is expected to rise in his path, no fleeing branch left to jump out and smack him in the face or so he hoped. With an exaggerated sigh, Brann Forbruker is sheathed, its fiery notes smolder and die in an instant. Steel guarded boots now belittle and berate the forest floor carrying the near six-foot Lycan further, forever onwards. It is here, a voice calling out to him is registered. Now what? Violent silver eyes flick in its' direction and suddenly he scoffed. Was he really that close to Artias? Had she heard his struggle with nature? Damn. Best to just move on. Annoyance and frustration melt away, even if only a farce, to reveal sickeningly white rows of ivory teeth; a smile. Hand waves in greeting, "I hope I didn't disturb you." He adds while the smoldering scene of a few scorched branches and brushes spill forth smoke. Nothing would catch fire of course, but Eirik had lost his cool.

Artia opened the door wide, standing in the door way wearing a black shirt with a white blouse on top. Hair up into a bun, with a single purple love mark on the left side of her neck. "You couldn't disturb me, but please come in for a drink or snack. Hang out for a bit, I'd love to talk to you about Rorin." When she said his name and goofy love struck smile appeared on her face with a blush, tucking a none strand of hair behind her ear. Which caused a giggle that her nervous twitch had no hair actually there. Looking down and then back up to him, and there was one more thing she wanted to talk to him about. She wanted a new questions, one for herself. Artia wanted to change, wanted to be better then what she was. Two people had stories of hateful wicked witches, and both wee freaked when they found her out to be a witch. Alan and her child hood best friend, if she and Eirik could find a way to turn a witch into a no longer witch...she would be ever in his debt.

Eirik would shift his gaze to the home. He didn't have the time for idle pleasantries but decided he would oblige Artia - at least briefly. The Northman had much work to do. In particular finding out whatever the hell that mark is on his arm. Those damn necromancers had left some purple-webbed scarring fanned out over his right appendage; it always stung and a constant reminder to his recent adventure. The previously mentioned marks are covered by his usual armaments but he would taste of magic. A seething thing which blackened his already brutish visage. Little did he know, but Eirik was slipping into anger without much effort. Thank goodness for his ability at controlling it for he would already have fallen to its all-consuming presence. The Lycan would step through the threshold of Artia's home and close the door behind him - if she had indeed allowed him too. "What would you like to talk about," concerned eyes move to Artia. All the while that same hatred called out to him, like a legion of shadows in his mind spilling forth foul words. Despite the conversation, Eirik is internally conflicted.

Once the door closed, she went let headed that followed pale in her face. Placing a hand to her forehead, "Oh..I...I feel..faint..anger.." She looked back towards him, he was the source she felt magic rippling off of him. Dark magic, something that wasn't thee before. "Are you cured? Get into a fight with any dark magic users, Eirik?" Falling back into the door frame to the entry of her living room, "I wanted to talk to you about two things, now three things since there is magic on you that shouldn't be there. First, thank you about Rorin and making sure he is safe for me. Second thing, we might need to sit on the couch in my living room..please Eirik. It could benefit you with this second thing.." Light headed, with a few stumble she made it to the couch. Looking to him she waited til he was near or sitting. "I...I don't want to be a witch anymore. I want help in erasing that part of me, I want it completely gone. No magic no more witchy-ness, gone. Never able to be that way again, being a witch doesn't always promise good. I just want to be an Apothecary, not a witch Apothecary I don't want this...this curse anymore." She held her hands nervously, "If agree, I don't want this to go anywhere but between us." Then she added, "Rorin said he loves me.." She sighs, "And...I didn't say it back...I just not there yet. What the hell do I do?"

It would happen in an instant - she couldn't fathom the line she had crossed - couldn't truly understand the well of hatred Eirik would suddenly belch out into the realm. With such a toxic emotion filling his veins, Artia might visually see a glow, and shift of a new mark spreading up his neck. Silver eyes shift to a deep hue of purple, albeit for only a moment. The mention of witches spurring this sudden onslaught of violence. "Artia," her name came out venomous, treacherous. Normally Eirik would be in control, but something was definitely different. "Even if I could strip your magic, the curse as you call it, would already have made its' mark." Those voices practically speaking through him. The Northman is eerily hollow-toned; unusual sounding to say the least. "You would still be one in thought." Old habits die hard. Suddenly he realized that left hand is in a white knuckle grip around the hilt of his sword, jaw clenches and he visibly shakes his head. Obviously he is in a dangerous position. "Forgive me," his voice returning to its normal form. "I," gaze moves from Artia. He wouldn't answer her question about dark magic. "I am happy for you and Rorin, but I don't have an answer.." Though he spoke the words, he did not feel that way. All the inner workings of such things died in light of the fire within. "I'll head to the mages tower and see what I can find on this particular subject." A hand pulls free the set of keys she had given him before placing it on a table nearby. Eirik refused to sit, now realizing that his presence here a dangerous thing. "I'll be back in a few days time. If I can find anything I will let you know." Eiriks actions spoke more than words, he was leaving the house.

Artia watched the mark go up his neck, and the way he sound, his tone, the way he stood. He was holding his sword, "Then, I guess death and placed in a different body...I don't want to be tainted anymore...and you really need to get that dark magic on you checked out." She stood up, following at his heels. Placing a hand on his shoulder, "I know you can't ever feel how we felt again when we were kids, but if in few days you can just write me. I know you hate being here, being near me. And possibly hate me..I am sorry for what I am. What I can do...I didn't ask to be born this way. Have a good day, Eirik."

Eiriks gaze would shift then; within his violent silver eyes, something sinister lurked. Hate? Oh, something as simple as a childs explanation for dislike in an attempt to describe the inner workings of the dark magic fed Lycan could not even begin to encroach upon what is inside. A plethora of complicated things seethed within him. An entire world of rage and anger bourne and burn into his minds eye. The Northmans brow furrows and a long clench of his jaw visible. If he squeezed any harder, his own teeth might buckle and shatter beneath the pressure. Eirik was beyond fuming. Passed the word of hate. Did he ask to be stripped of his own magic as a child? Did he ask to be forced into the world of Lycanthropy? Did he ask to watch the people he loved suffer and die under Illisarias rule? Did he ask to be cast into a new world? No. Yes, the mark had made its' presence known, but just how deeply it took his mind is still unknown to Artia. "Don't touch me." Despite his tone, Artia might understand that Eirik is not himself. He was something altogether different. That voice fades again, under the weight of a heavy sigh. "Artia.. I have to go. This isn't safe..." Eirik would move again, opening the door and stepping out into the world. The wooden thing would find itself slammed shut behind him blocking her view of her dear old friend.

Artia frowned, she wanted to help him. "I understand, be safe.." She hoped he could get the removed darkness messing with him, he was far from his self minus witch hatred. Locking the door behind him, the light headed feeling gone.