White Gambit (Open)

[Winter Mist]

~Darin~

 

High walls were a comfort; the last days of open country had made Darin wish for the stout walls of the Fortress of the Light.  It had not been a strenuous mission he had undertaken, but somehow vague agoraphobia always beset him when he was away from the protective embrace of what was, in his eyes, the last bastion of the Light.  The influence of the Dark had to be purged from their land.  He turned his face away from the scrutiny of those around him; any eye could be an unfriendly eye, and he swept his gaze around, giving everyone a stare of equal disdain.  Only if they wore the White could they be considered acceptable.

 

A white-gloved hand reached up to touch the side of his face.  It was almost a caress; almost, it would never feel a tender touch, but then the Light was not tender.  It cast shadows.  Again, he cursed the disfigured, dead skin that covered his left cheek, and again his mind wandered back to that day when he had taken his first life, albeit accidentally.

 

It had moulded him.  That event had changed his life, changing from being a misbegotten scion of an uncaring father to having a modicum of respect wearing the blazing sun of the Children of the Light.  Pride had not changed him; it was too fundamentally installed in his personality that justice was not always correct in the eyes of the laws of most lands, save Amadicia.  Amadicia was pure, and by his association with it, some of that purity transferred to him.  If others saw him as cold and aloof, Darin treated their reactions as automatic dislike to his physical appearance.  Most of the time, he was right.

 

He drew closer to the Fortress of the Light, the streets of Amador giving way to those comforting walls.  Some saw them as imposing; how anyone could misconstrue his home as a threat was beyond Darin’s understanding.  He did not acknowledge anyone on his way into the Fortress proper, and kept his eyes straight ahead.  The sword at his belt bore no markings of rank or status and his uniform was as pristine as the situation had allowed; it had a few stains from grass and gravel on the knees, and his cloak needed a careful pressing to get some of the creases out.  His room was not much further along the corridor; just a few more steps and then he would be away from prying eyes.

[CorenYi]

Word of the return reached Donovan’s desk within moments of his arrival in the city. A Child was returning alive and, more importantly, successful from a mission. His eyes passed over the note quickly and returned to the other papers on his desk. He had much to do and the affairs of a single Child couldn’t pull him from it.

 

Berghald

 

His eyes flitted back to the hastily scrawled note. He had almost missed it in his haste, but there it was plain as the cloak on his back: Child Berghald has returned. For this he could set aside his work.

 

Taking a few moments to sort his documents, he stowed the majority of them in a heavy steel lock-box which he had painted black when he procured it to cover the markings of it’s origin. Much as he loathed the One Power, he was not above making use of it’s products when they benefited him, and this box was impossible to open by any save the key-holder or a witch. With his work secure, he headed for the domestic quarters to wait for his old friend.

 

*****

 

Leaning against the cold stone of the fortress’ walls, his arms crossed patently over his chest, Donovan’s ears perked as he heard booted footsteps approaching. He waited until after the broad figure had rounded the corner before speaking.

 

“So old friend, is it true what they say? Can you come home again?”

 

 

 

~Donvan Rile

Captain of the Whisper

[Winter Mist]

~Darin~

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”  Darin remembered the man’s face.  Donovan.  Donovan Rile, that was his name.  It seemed like an age since he had last seen the man, a friend he supposed, even though it had been nothing more than a few months.  Time aged everything under the Light.  It was only when the Shadow was involved that things stayed unchanged.  It was good to see him again, Darin thought, as welcoming as the stony walls around him. 

 

A flicker.  Memories flashed into his mind of a rain lashed afternoon, the sky ponderous and leaden overhead, and the inability to move while it rolled over Darin and his brother.  A flicker again, and he dragged his battered and broken body to the lifeless corpse of his sibling; those eyes, now sightless, would look no more and call him “bastard” with every unfazed blink.  He would have kicked the body, where his leg not broken. 

 

Another flicker.  A heavy pair of hands settled on his shoulders, fastening the white cloak in place.  A golden sunburst on the floor matched the one at his breast, and his once straggly hair now formed neat lines.  One side of his face smiled with pride while the other was impassive, unable to curl thanks to the heavy scarring from the fall over the cliff with his half-brother.  Thick ridges of scar on the left side of his face meant he would never marry or find joy anywhere.  The Light burnt sometimes it was that cruel, but it was always fair. 

 

There were few people that would hold his gaze.  Darin became withdrawn, concentrating on his studies and his sword-forms, paying little heed to his associates or peers.  So few had taken the trouble to get to know the scarred one.  No one said anything to his face, but he could hear it, hear the condemning pity.  Until he had demonstrated his prowess a few times, earned their respect and, if he showed a little cruelty every now and again, he merely reminded them of how severe the Shadow could be.  The Light has to be strong to fight the Shadow, or what hope was there?

 

Another flicker; this time a longer one.  A few people that he had let close had seen past the grotesquery of his face and had stuck with him. Donovan was one of those. 

 

“I miss my room,” Darin began, waiting for Donovan to speak.  It was very open here.  Anyone could walk past them.  “I am home.  We should catch up.  Is there somewhere we could go?”

 

[CorenYi]

Donovan let a rare smile slip across his face at his friend's words. Ever the cautious one. It was a pity he had seen fit to chose the regular army over the subtlety of the Whisper. He would be well suited to it if he chose to be.

 

Donovan's eyes flicked for a moment to the scars covering the man's face. It had been a few months since he had seen them he had forgotten them as he always did. For whatever reason he did not see Darin Berghald the way most people did: a scarred, angry and pitiable man. Donovan saw the strength, courage and conviction that lay behind those stony eyes. Here was a man he could respect.

 

Remaining in his relaxed position, arms crossed and back slack against the wall, Donovan spoke softly. "You should take your time and enjoy the comfort of your room. I am sure that it has missed you as much as you it. When you're refreshed, meet me at the the The Decadent Decanter. We'll talk plenty there." Pushing himself away from the wall with a quick flex of muscle, he started off in the direction of his quarters.

 

"Oh," Stopping, he turned back to face Darin, a devilish grin on his face. "and don't wear any rank insignia. The new recruits seem to have made it their hang out, and I feel like having some fun. Besides, you look like you could stand a stress free night."

 

Donovan

[Winter Mist]

~Darin~

 

The Decadent Decanter; even the name sounded frivolous.  Still, it had been a long time since he was last in the Fortress and it was a good opportunity to meet the new recruits.  He’d have to meet them at some point.  Giving a nod of acquiescence to Child Rile, Darin turned and walked towards his room, his white cloak flaring out behind him.  He did not need refreshment of the body; the body was fuelled by his drive to rid the world of darkness and evil.  A plate of something hot and a glass of something cold would relieve the spirit nicely.  Hardships strengthened the soul, but a person could hardly function if they were almost horizontal with fatigue.

 

He pushed open the door to his room and looked inside, surveying the neat piles exactly as he had left them.  Spartan furnishings and pieces of furniture lined the walls and floor of his room, and the single chest lay open for all to see so that there were no secrets to be hidden or found while he was away.  He was a prudent man.  Checking the wardrobe, he removed a clean uniform and disrobed, peeling the smudged and torn one from his hard body, and folded that neatly by the door for the apprentices to mend.  Water splashed from the jar on the nightstand into the bowl, slightly warm, and with a piece of rough soap he began to clean the grime of the last few days from his body.

 

The thick scars on his face meant he did not need to shave on one side.  Dragging a razor across would have caught the tops of the thing; painful enough if it broke the surface, grim of appearance to anyone that saw him; a bleeding gargoyle, and no hair grew anyway.  If he let a beard grow it would have covered only half of his face.  Covering his face was the only way he could think of to disguise it, so the beard would not have worked.  He lathered the soap into foam and shaved the coarse stubble from the other side of his face and remarked that he would be handsome if people could see him from only one side.  The prominent nose and strong jaw reflecting character and reassuring those that walked in the light of his intentions, the other side of his face giving cause for more than one person to name him Darkfriend. 

 

They had not long survived making those comments.

 

At least the fresh fabric of his uniform felt clean, pristine, even if he did not feel it himself.  He smoothed the white of his uniform over his shoulders, spreading out the cloak behind him but leaving off the telltale insignia that marked his rank as his old friend had indicated.  Darin did not need the tacit appeal they held; do not lose control, do not cause undue pain unless under very special situations such as their being a friend of the Dark or worse, they start it.  He closed the door behind him and made his way out towards the entrance to the Fortress, wondering if he would find relaxation there.