RP:The Second Encounter

From HollowWiki

Abram stands by a small vanity in the corner of his room. Set before him on the tabletop, there is a bowl of water, which he regularly dips a sharp metal implement in, before bringing it to his face and cutting away the stubble left behind of his once scraggly beard. His cheeks and chin are now covered by a slight shadow, and now that his hair has been cut and he has been shaved, the face of Abram can certainly be referred to as handsome. To his right, there is an unmade bed, upon which a new leather duster rests, along with a belt of odd make – along the front, there are a number of small leather loops protruding from the straps, and on the sides of the belt, there are two scabbards, roughly the length of a dagger, but impossibly wide to hold such an object. The scabbards are empty. In the mirror of the vanity, Abram takes a final look at his work, and sets the razor on the tabletop, before splashing some of the water on his cheeks. It’s then that he sees he has a visitor, and he turns with what would pass for a smile – at least from him. “Alvina…” The name had been on his mind since the day before, and he is surprised at his own happiness to see her. “The barkeep from Kelay must’ve told you where I was staying. I wanted to thank you, once more, for the gold you passed on to me. It’s helped tremendously.”


Alvina wasn't sure what she would be walking in to. Logic would firmly insist it was reckless to go visit a man she'd just met, alone, by message of the Kelay innkeeper alone. But there she stood; palms joined at the full extent of her arms, resting tensely against the blue dress that draped her frame. It was clear, however, that she relaxed when he spoke her name and addressed her with thanks. Instead of meeting his eyes, she glanced over the accessories around the room. Patches of blush speckled her face when she walked in only because she'd caught sight of him...a clearly different sight than their previous meeting. "Good morrow, Abram." She smiled, bowing rather formally, "I'm glad to see it's done you a lot of good." Laughter bubbled into her speech. "You almost look like a completely different and normal person. I mean to say...you look as if you belong here." To tame the fear of offense, Alvina picked up the leather duster and dusted it off strictly as a nervous release of energy before setting it back on the unmade bed. "Are you feeling better?" Emerald optics blinked at him with happy but patient expectancy, mayhap even eagerness at his reply.


Abram grabs a small cloth that’s been hanging across the chair of the vanity and dabs it against his face to dry away the water. Now that the hair has been cleaned from his face, it’s clear that Abram is likely in his late thirties or very early forties. Jiya’s haircut has revealed small patches of gray along his temples; the look of a man whose worry has traveled along with him for too long a time. There is now a slight shadow of stubble left on his face, and the expressions made by his lips are far more readily seen. He nods, the smile not leaving the corners of his lips, “My strength returns to me, and after drinking hearty of the water here, I feel myself much more able-bodied. I took a walk, to explore this land some, and wandered through a shadowy place – I believe it’s called Vailkrin. You may find it odd, but the inhabitants of that city remind me of those in my where and when… I arrived from there not long ago.”


Alvina 's smile dwindled a bit at his explanation. Her nurturing instincts were beside themselves with worry, though she did her best to seem unphased. It was not as if this man was anything to her...regardless of how just watching him dab water from his face made her heart flutter. "I can't say I'm terribly familiar...I'm from the other end of the "woods" as it were. I'm more along the roads of Larket, Kelay, Cenril...and then occasionally a boat ride to Rynvale." The bard paused, realizing she was sputtering off locations like he knew what she was talking about and she worried about alienating him. "What was it like? Shadowy you say? Where you in danger...?" Concern unfurled the corners of her lips that had previously been cocked upright in a blossoming smile. Alvina was so expressive and easy to read, it could easily be used against her if she choose her company poorly.


Abram felt his own smile begin to fade as the memories of Vailkrin floated to the top of his thoughts. He could see her concern growing; the man was very good at reading people, and Alvina’s expressions were easy enough to decipher. He was quiet a moment, deciding if he should tell her about the vampires in the streets, whose hunger betrayed them and he had to lay to rest, but in the end, he shook his head, “No, there was never any real danger. I could see the gray ones sneaking about in the shadows like the afflicted ones in my where, but they’d posed no threat to me and mine. There was an interesting woman in the tavern there, and she used some kind of sorcery to move things about – is this common here? I’ve little practice in the way of magicks, but wherever they were present in my where, they were oft seen as bad omens…”


Alvina watched him carefully as he spoke. It was dangerous, she guessed, but she put the idea away as he reassured her it was not and that he'd been just fine. "I would still advise against anywhere too..." she searched for the right word, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, "inhospitable." All together her attitude perked at the mention of magic. "Of course not! Not a bad omen in the least! A lot of beings 'round about have that ability in one way or another. For example, I am a seasoned healer with bardic magics and simple ointments." She smiled at him, handing him a wrapped parcel as his question reminded her of something. "These are just a few healing balms for your sun-bleached skin and liquids for internal injuries!" In her excitement, Alvina stumbled a bit reaching towards him.


Abram reached forth and held Alvina so her stumble wouldn’t turn to a fall, and he held her there for perhaps a second too long. When he caught himself smiling down at her (he is a man of just over six feet), he took a step back of his own and graciously accepted the parcel. “Thank you. I knew of healers that drew upon the mysteries of nature to undo wounds and to remove sicknesses, but the only magicks I ever witnessed were from several magicians, in dark robes. I had chased one far across the desert once, but to no avail; my horse was no match for the speed with which the wind seemed to carry him…” He trailed off thoughtfully, and placed the wrapped objects onto the vanity table. Suddenly, his eyes darted about the room, searching for something, and he walked over to a small desk where he had stowed away a jug of milk and some biscuits, “I don’t have much to offer, but in my where, it was ill-mannered to not offer food and drink when holding palaver with company. Would you like some?” He held out the jug and a biscuit to his new found friend, his expression holding just the faintest hint of apology.


Alvina looked up at him as he caught her, doing her best to keep her face from flushing. "I'm so sorry." She said, as he pulled away politely. "I'm a bit clumsy, but those should do you some good." The bard nodded; an exclamation point to her statement. "Oh no, really. I'm quite all right." Her smile returned with bright shades of pink in tow, and she did her best to move out of his way as he gestured around the small room. "I...I suppose there is another reason I have for coming to Cenril but I feel a bit queer asking you for a favor when we have just recently been acquainted. You see..." she sighed...Though she appeared to be the physical peak of her twenties, her optics held deep expression and observation that one might expect to find in the eyes of an elder. The bard was aged beyond her appearance, even if it was not an illusion or mirror she casted upon herself. Her mannerisms were too proper and equally adolescent to be the mixing of anything but her body not agreeing with her mind's perception of how it should react. " I'm heading towards the bath houses, I know how that must sound but..." Crimson speckled her already fair skin in a furious wave, blending with already present freckles and minor defects on her cheeks. Clearing her throat brought her a new wave of courage, at least enough to continue. "But as Jiya said before...the land is not all together safe these days and I thought...perhaps...it might do you some good to bath and...get out in a safer company than Vailkrin offers...even though I didn't know about the trip before I came here.." Her words faded down into a mess of embarrassed mumbles, inaudible but still visible as her lips twitched in silent speech.


Abram watched Alvina talk with such a fluster, and he felt himself drawn in by the nervousness and the adorable mannerism she’s portrayed. She was endearing. He was endeared. “I will walk with you, then.” He paused, thinking over a curious incident earlier in the day, “I saw something that lent merit to what… Jiya, had said about the violence between the breeds of Elves. A pack of Dark Elves were roaming the road during the day, questioning the locals about Wood Elves, or some such. I didn’t heed their call, and continued on my way. But I could see they meant trouble, if someone gave them an unfavorable answer…” He walked over to the bed, and grabbed his duster and the belt with the odd scabbards on them. He put it all on, along with the long-brimmed leather had that was hanging off of a chair in the corner. “A bath seems a good idea, I reckon… A day more, and the mangy curs in the alley nearby would think me their kin.” He chuckled softly to himself, and waited courteously by the door for Alvina to take the lead.


Alvina outright frowned. "Drow." She correctly simply, "They appear like elves but they are another thing entirely...and it would be best to avoid their quarrel. We don't have a place in their war." Her tone was crisp, procise, and in no way like what came before or after. A small silence settled between them before she spoke again. "Your way of talking is delightful." Alvina noted, her lips curled back into a comfortable smile, like her inner flame had rekindled itself and sparked the bard's good mood and normal sunny disposition back to life. "The bath house isn't far so we shouldn't run into much trouble...but please, let's just keep our eyes to the ground and ours bodies in motion. It's the best way to avoid trouble." It was clear it pained her to say those words a loud but what else could she do? She was obviously not a fighter, and obviously prone to avoid conflict.


Abram let Alvina pass through the door before he followed, and soon they were out in the waning sunlight. The bustle of the busy mercantile streets of Cenril had dimmed somewhat, and the curs had found their way out of the alleys, rummaging through the left about trash and sniffing about the drunkards that laid outside the tavern. With the city having succumbed to the darkness of the passing hour and the streets slowly having filled with an unseemly crowd, Abram drew close to the bard, his arm gently brushing hers as they walked down Beloy street toward the bath houses. Contrary to Alvina’s request, Abram couldn’t help but have his eyes wander up ahead, scanning the purplish darkness of the dusk, looking for trouble before they got to it. That’s how he spotted the small patrol of Drow, walking onto Beloy street from another. There were three of them; two holding crossbows, the third armed with a thin Elven blade at his hip. Reflexively, Abram felt his hand go to the scabbards at his own hips, but he cursed himself silently for still not having his weapons. He relaxed a bit, forcing himself to appear calm as they continued toward the Drow patrol. He tilted his head down so that his face would be hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, and that’s when one of the Dark Elves quite rudely crashed into him, catching him by surprise, and stirring the flames of the battle-fire within. “Keep on your way, we don’t wish to have conflict this eve.” The Drow prattled amongst themselves in their own language, before the one with the sword – apparently the one in charge – spoke in common, “You’re the one we saw this afternoon in Kelay. You thought it would be proper to ignore us when we questioned you. Your face is not recognized by us, stranger. Speak your name.” Abram was silent for a moment, measuring each of the Drow with his eyes, and slowly reaching behind his back for the newly purchased daggers tucked in the back of his belt. “I’m Abram, of Gathol. Son of Martine. I don’t want to be involved in your war, nor do I have any information that’d be helpful to you. Please, keep on your way.” At their proximity, Alvina may’ve felt him reaching behind himself, but the movement was hidden from the Drow’s eyes by the large duster.


Alvina immediately tried to step between the Drow and Abram. "Please, please." She spoke quickly, "He is new, and does not know anything about anything. We were just making our way out of town so as to not be any trouble." Her hands wave freely in front of her; metallic and flesh melting in a blur of anxious activity. It was meant to show the Drow she had no weapons and wished no trouble to come between them. "Please let us pass, we mean no harm and do no wish to cause trouble..." Her voice repeated, in a bitter sweet voice that spoke volumes beyond her simple words. She was no fighter, she could hold her own but for a moment, or spell bound them with her bardic tactics but the entire situation pricked all of her hairs on end. No good will come from this, she thought to herself, in a depressed but resolved entirely inward demeanor. "Please, please..." one of the drow mimicked, causing the bard to downcast her glare in embarrassment. "Lady, we asked your friend a question." The drow snarled as he stepped closer to Alvina. "Does this stranger need a fragile little weed to protect him? Is he not man enough to speak for himself? Hmm? Please?" The last please was spat towards the bard, saliva falling in droplets on her cheek and still she did not rise against them. "It is of great importance to me that we do not engage in any sort of violence..." Alvina whispered in a cool and collected tone, her optics flicked upwards to meet Abram's as if to show she was not helpless but did not wish to push them outside of their 'forgiving limits'.


Abram felt himself heating up with the flames of the battle-fire. The Drow’s intense disregard for manners or kindness drove the man further, and as the drool slowly rolled down Alvina’s cheek, there was a clatter of something wooden to the ground, and suddenly, there was no motion. In the stillness, the offending Drow’s eyes stared wide and horrified at the bard, and slowly, Abram withdrew his dagger from the underside of the Dark Elf’s throat. His mouth had been pinned closed by the maneuver, but as the weapon was withdrawn, a cascade of blood poured fourth, painting the front of his dark tunic a color that shimmered in what remained of the sun’s light. The other two Drow took a step back, having not even seen the motion Abram took to fell their foe. Truth is, not even Abram was entirely aware of it. People of his ilk do not aim with their hands, but with their mind… He saw what he wanted to accomplish, and it was so. The speed and fluidity with which he moved was awe-inspiring. He moved more like a dancer, or a fey, than he did some brute or simple horseman. The Drow he had stabbed crumpled to he ground beside his crossbow, and the one who wielded the sword drew his weapon and engaged Abram head-on. A flurry of motions was seen, as graceful and serene as an opera score, and the man in the duster was able to disable the Drow’s sword arm with one dagger, while the second found its home in the swordsman’s side, piercing through the weak padding of his leather armor. The second Drow fell to the ground, grasping his side and wheezing and gargling for breath. The last of their patrol raised his crossbow in a panic and aimed it right for the man in the duster.


Over and over again the word "no" repeatedly echoed in the bard's head as she moved to catch the slumping body in front of her to no avail. Instead, she drenched her arms in rich blood, crying out as the second member of the watch was felled by the man she'd accompanied into the streets...and now..there was a crossbow aimed at him. Finally the conflict inside her bubbled over and she spoke the last "No" aloud as it thudded against her heart. Her motions were not fluid or subtle, they were fast and brash but landing exactly as she planned them. The crossbow the drow had held found itself on the ground, nearly across the alleyway from it's master as the cowering creature stumbled for further weaponry. Her cloak drew back with the haste of her motion, and she found herself atop the Drow, straddling his arms and whispering a soft soothing tune into his perked ears. His eyes flashed with a sudden disillusioned presence that stilled his quiver and his quivering. The bard's own eyes glazed over a thick sheen of fog before drawing away from what looked to be a sleeping man, surrounded by two kin bodies in a struggle. "We should go." Her voice cleared broke the stillness like a crashing wave against the shore. "He will not remember." She clarified, gesturing towards the still living motionless Drow asleep on the cobblestone floor of the city.


Abram stood over the commanding Drow, who took a moment to reach the end of his road, gargling on his own blood as it filled his lungs. The man in the duster breathed heavily, his eyes focused on Alvina now; they bore the same appearance as those of a deer caught in the beam of someone’s lantern – wild and utterly alert. The battle-fire drew back, and his breathing slowed to a normal cadence, and when he was in control of his faculties once more, Abram stepped away from the corpse at his feet, and nodded in response to her words. “There will be more; the sound carries off of the buildings here. Keep to my side, I’ll walk with you to the edge of town. The road to Kelay should be safe, there’ve been guards patrolling for such conflict, so far’s I can tell.” He reached out a hand for her to take – and this is the moment when he would learn if he had just made a terrible mistake in revealing his nature.


Alvina took his hand seemingly without a second thought, all the while her mind was flailing around with thoughts too impossible to control or direct into actual words. "And the bath houses are mostly abandoned..." She remembered, wishing quietly that they had just made their way safely and enjoyed coy conversation over the dividing wall of the gender baths. Imagining the warm water on her skin raised goosebumps where she touched him; his skin seems as warm as bath water but not in the clammy way people tend to warm after fighting. The words 'What are you really' where on the tip of her tongue before she thought better and nodded in agreement with his suggestion. "Come with me, stay in the dorms tonight. Stay anywhere else." She pleaded, tugging his arm towards her to reinforce her urgency on the matter. "It will do no good to fight this uprising. You are but one man."


Abram thought on her words for a moment, but his mind was focused on the touch of her hand, the sensation of skin against his own stirred up memories in the cobwebs of his mind that hadn’t been stirred in a very long while. His musings ended abruptly with her tug, and he nodded. “Alright, I’ll follow you, then.” And so he did, his boots jingling with the spurs he’d bought them with, and absently he reminded himself to actually find a horse to ride. “A single man can burn down a city…” His words were distant, and likely not meant for the bard, herself.


Alvina heard him but continued to pull him forward; towards Kelay and towards safety. "No single man should be tasked to do so." She replied, absentmindedly, pulling him along behind her until they could afford their pace to slow to a more comfortable walk. Eventually they met guards on the road and Alvina smiled and waved as they passed.