Adalon Defense - Tower of Karma

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

He's in a rush run

He has to hurry dash

He's in a rat race

Never at a slow pace

 

 

Beast cleaved neatly through the Trolloc's soft neck as its head was permanently removed from its large torso, rolling to the ground around her feet without a singular look in its horrid face. A swiftly as it had been removed with the force of her sword she moved as easily to the next striking down the creature without thought, her eyes bleeding through the Spring in a cool calm. They were quick, heavy handed and hard blows that would stagger any ordinary man. But she was no Man and far from ordinary. Keeping tightly in her movements Cairma brought her sword around her against one that cam at her from behind. Threatening as it was she was still faster and with Thistledown Floats on the Whirlwind and off with his head, it rolled along the ground with the last.

 

It had been an unexpected hit as Cairma and Aran had arrived at the Adalon Tower only a few days prior. News was short and of little detail as the days passed on without any form of a significant event. Cairma took that time to get to know a few of the people in the Tower, sharing stories and ale on nights they were not on watch. Ale was in short supply but it always was good for the soul to relax a little and take the edge off the long days and even longer nights. In a way it reminded her of home and taking her turn on the Watch. And when a small squad of horseman arrived that chance to scout out the perimeters would have been a blessed detraction from the ever looming sense of missing home. But as swiftly as the weather changed in the Blight, so did the days plans as the first cry woke them far too early that morning.

 

Forever dangerous

And never serious

Swimming against the stream

And steal all of your dreams

 

"What the hell... " She scowled heavily as she woke as quickly as the others as the alarm sounded over the crushing shakes of the floor and walls alike. Arising from her bed she barely took enough time to dress in her armor and grab Beast, leaving the sheath behind as it lay beside her bedroll on the tower stone flooring. Gathering her feet under her she rushed out of the room and to the wall to discover a full Fist of Trollocs pounding against the main door that would not hold for long.

 

"Must have followed our scent.. Looking for easy picking.. but they found us here... "

 

Various questions of how they may have been there didn't change the fact that the main door was about to follow apart. Cairma looked over the wall and down as the creatures covered ever part of the earth that extended from the wall. Cold. Her eyes swept over the gleaming bloodied weapons below. It was not going to be a good day.

 

"Mistress Vishnu." She turned after the second call, never used to the title given her. She was then swept into quick debriefing and set into groups that only dissolved as quickly as the door below. Gripping her sword tightly, she showed only a single moment of fear as she glanced at Aran. It was one thing to battle man to man, but a mass? The Spring flowed into her eyes as the world became more calm around her. It wasn't the time to doubt her sword or her abilities. She was a Grand Master of the White Tower and she would not fall to any Trolloc blade.

 

 

He's in a rush

Fever round his eyes

I do not dare and cross him

He'll smooch you with his lies

 

(Shortest Day - The Gathering)

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

Grandmaster

[Wayfarer]

The attack had come with relatively little warning, in fact the first Aran had known of it had been the cries of a sentry followed by a low boom that made the ground shake slightly underfoot, and war cries. Aran recognised those from the months spent along the Blight border, Trollocs, a large number of them at that. Perhaps Dha’vol from the mixture of cries from the screams of beaked Trollocs to the howls of those with wolf nuzzles that came out, no other tribe was so diverse in species. Making their way down to the foot of the tower, there was little time before the fist broke through the main gate, but these weren’t the Trollocs that one faced in the blight that ran free. These moved with a purpose beyond the capacity of a Trolloc, it could only mean that they were linked. Despite the controlled fury of the Trollocs, those within the Tower made a good accounting of themselves. No hesitation as they moved in and tried to stem the tide, Cairma was off to one side using the extra bit of room she had to put her sword to use.

 

Aran on the other hand stayed behind the soldiers, his lance giving him reach that he could use from behind. As they fought, one Trolloc would die gurgling as his spear left a hole in its throat, another would die noiselessly as the spear was driven right through its eye to the brain. Aran didn’t waste his opportunities, and disdained careless stabs in favour of killing blows.

 

But one for one, Trollocs were the superior fighters in close with their size and power, especially when directed by one of the eyeless. The fight continued for three levels, each time when the Trollocs began to gain a foothold, the soldiers would simply fall back to the next level. Yet the losses were terrible, and by the time the retreat came for the third level, there perhaps only five of them left. There was little breathing time given as well, enough to stack the stairs with as many things to impede the Trolloc’s progress as possible but that was it. There were only two levels above them, they would have to hold for as long as they could. The signal had been sent at the outset, but how long it would take help to come they could not know. All they could do was fight, and fight they did as the Trollocs stormed up to their level.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

Chaos reigned within the tower walls as the gate came crashing forward spilling forth creatures that howled of those with wolf nuzzles and the horns of the ram. Dha’vol. Core of them of wolf features but none of them simulated any other particular similarities that struck out at her. A mix of breeds, and skill. But Cairma struck them down all the same. She had stepped forward with Beast readily available at her side, both of her hands on the hilt. Others rushed past her to different area's of the courtyard but her bee line to the first challenger of her blade caused no need for the waste of strength. Her mind grew calm as she took one breath and the flow of the spring rushed behind her eyes in a torrent of clarity that allowed her to see more, hear more, feel more. But she feared no blade as she would be the blade that would not bend, chip of fall to the other. A true Ren'Shai. The last trained in the Yard. And she would make her mentor proud.

 

Forever dangerous

And never serious

Up on your energy

Expect no sympathy

 

The sword clicked in her hands as she brought it up on the first challenger, severing its hands from its weapon and only to bring the blade back down between its shoulder blade and helm. Without relieving it of it's head the Trolloc fell to the ground before it could utter its cry of disbelief. Taking a step over the body with steps light, her sword found its way into the gut of the one behind it, twisting she removed the blade, pivoted around and brought her blade down on the one beside it. Like a young dancer among thousands, a mere child who only wished to outweigh those around her, overcome, her dance became deadly as the limbs and heads rolled around her. In a Fist of so many, they were lazy, stupid, and found wanting.

 

The cries of those that fell to the sword as overwhelming, but they were poorly out numbered, and the Adalon's wall of defense crumbled against the multitude of Trollocs with their forsaken blades that were pushed forward by the Eyeless. Cairma had never encountered one before and had only heard the stories of such creatures. Children of Trollocs, soulless. And it gave her the chills.

 

The last of them fell to the Fist as her and Aran were left defending. Stepping back as the Fist threatened to overwhelm them with the sheer crush of their cries and blunt blades. The two of them retreated, but not without taking out a few more of the oppositions numbers.

 

?He lets his blood boil

Always in turmoil

Blasting his every way

Throughout the shortest day

 

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

Blademaster

[Wayfarer]

Following Cairma up the stairs, no Trolloc followed once they were clear of the room. They would take their time to mass up and prepare for the next assault. They’d wait until the fade was there and ready to drive them onward once more. Minutes, valuable time that could be used to do what was necessary. The floor they were on was the second last level, there was one more floor above and then it was the roof where the signal fire had been lit.

 

Looking about the rest of the room, Aran began to collect things to barricade the stairs leading down with even as he tossed his spear aside. Taking up a table, he looked at Cairma. “Go check that the signal was lit, if it wasn’t we’re lost. Grab anything we can use up there while you can. Go!”

 

Getting a nod for an answer, Aran frowned when she paused by the open gate that would normally bar the way to the next level. Still, she went up and that was the main thing. Dropping what he had, Aran made his way to the gate and swung it back into place. An armoire sat next to it but with a determination driven by a good measure of desperation he managed to topple it right before the gate. It wouldn’t be able to swing open now.

 

Grabbing chairs and whatever else he could, he proceeded to barricade the way up as best he could. The furniture was in a fair pile before the gate before the sound of footsteps from above came to him. Too late for her though, she wouldn’t be able to get through the barricade he’d erected now.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

The child -- woman inside of her wanted to cry as she surveyed the room of over turned tables and scattered the room of men that had left to fight their last battle. Without wasting time she followed Aran's lead as he started to make a barricade as a last form of defense. Without question, it was all a matter of time before they would break through and again they would have to battle their way through the horde for the very means necessary for survival. Cairma moved towards a far bookcase as then Aran looked at Cairma. “Go check that the signal was lit, if it wasn’t we’re lost. Grab anything we can use up there while you can. Go!”

 

Without wasting the moment, she nodded her head as she turned and ran to the steps, Beast already in its sheath - placed as if without thought. She reached the gate, but paused. In that momentary second she had that itch, that one thought that possibly it was of some significance, or perhaps not. Without looking to Aran, she forced herself up the stairs as if unknown feeling of dread was creeping against her skin. Bearing down on her, suffocating her. But she had not time and that moment was pushed away as she raced her way to the Top to find the fires lit. "Thank the Light.." She whispered. They were coming.

 

She felt no need to hope against the need of not surviving. It had never occurred to her, this of what one had called Death. It never had. Not for her. But she promised to whisper the prayers for those that had fallen, and she would willingly bare the names deep in her mind. Only 5 days she knew of their existence and they were gone. It did not bother her, just saddened her.

 

Seeing the flames that rose higher Cairma turned and ran her way down the stairs, past the room that was only above Aran and below the fires, and down another set as she came crashing - literally- into the gate that her and Aran had retreated to.

 

No.... "No.." She whispered as the realization hit her. Aran tricked her. Of course the Fire would be lit, it would have been foolish to think that it had not been so. Her fist took one pound on the door that heavily echoed through the stairway and possibly through the other room. "LET ME OUT! A-R-A-A-A-N!!"

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

Grandmaster

[Wayfarer]

Well, she’d returned and discovered what he’d done, that much was apparent. Hefting a chair, he brought over to the sizeable pile and dumped it there by the rest of the barricade even as she pounded away and yelled. Retrieving his spear, he climbed over the top of his barricade and towards the small window so that he could talk to her. It was a fairly precarious thing to make his way across everything he had piled up and to keep his balance but he did it.

 

He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Cairma so furious, her face was suffused with blood just barely beneath the surface. She was still yelling at him, demanding what he was doing and to open up. That wasn’t going to happen, something that didn’t seem to have dawned on Cairma yet. In fact, Aran was pretty sure that Cairma was so angry right now that she wasn’t thinking at all. If it were any other time he would have been glad of that barrier he had erected. As it was… Well, he was still glad.

 

Smacking the gate with the butt of his spear, that seemed to get her attention long enough for him to talk. Not that she would give him long but then, they didn’t have much time so maybe that was a good thing. “No, I am not opening this up. Get upstairs and start blocking the stairwell, buy yourself as much time as you can. Well? What are you waiting for? Move your arse Cairma, you won’t have much time.”

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

The knock on the door stopped her in mid-sentence as her angry bordered near hysterics. Looking up at the small window in the door at the smile on Aran's face she furrowed her brows as she angrily glared at him. The look he gave her and the gall to tell her what to do, locking her away from the battle that would consume the room in front of them, Cairma was very far from pleased at this idea. "Burn you, Aran. Your not going to be fighting this alone. Let me out of here."

 

“Not even going to say please?” That was rewarded with another angry glare and a pound on the door but Aran wasn’t going to let her out now. He’d made his decision and it had, well, been surprisingly easy all things considered. There were few people who could have made it so for him, but then Cairma wasn’t everyone. “One of us has to survive this and better you than me. I’ll buy you as much time as I can, now get to work blocking the staircase up.” At that, Aran turned away and began to pick his way across the furniture.

 

She scold angrily with her hands on her hips. "That is just stupid. Two swords are better than one and you can't hold off everything that will come up here. That's suicide!" She made a small shove at the door. She knew he wouldn't let her out, it was simply useless. Once Aran made up his mind, Aran kept it. "Why do this, Aran? You know that we can both walk away from this if we both fight!"

 

Hearing Cairma as he picked his way over, he stopped on a chair as she asked why he did as he did. His smile a sad now, he shrugged as he spoke. “We won’t both walk out of here, there are too many of them. Besides…” A short bark of a laugh coming from him, he sighed as he caught her eye. “We do crazy things for the people we love. I’m sorry. Creator protect you, or I’ll stab the rotten bastard myself.” Jumping off the chair, Aran disappeared from sight.

 

..we do... for the people we love... Her eyes wide as he disappeared from view. Did he just... Cairma stood in that empty hallway, blocked out of a battle that could easily overwhelm them, the numbers against them. Her anger melted away as sheer panic settled in as she started to claw with a madness that rode over her every sense at the door that separated her from him. her nails broke after the second scratch as she grew hysterical with the need to be free from that prison he had made for her to keep her safe. How DARE he! She needed out NOW and she couldn't get out. Burn him..

 

"A..R....A.........N!!" She cried at the merciless door that gave her no answer.

 

 

 

 

Cairma & Aran

[Wayfarer]

Inching his way down the stairwell, Aran ignored the screams and sounds that were coming from behind him. He knew he’d made the right decision, he’d made her safe and that freed him to do what needed to be done. They had been defending the entire time, the Trollocs wearing away at them with their numbers and strength. They would have eventually been driven into a corner and overwhelmed, they could not win if they fought to live.

 

Aran was fairly certain he was dead, the moment it had come down to Cairma and himself he had known that. But both of them wouldn’t have to die. The Myrddraal was below, he had to ascend each level of the Tower before directing the Trollocs to move up the next as he used the gaze as much as the link to direct them forward. At least Aran was quite certain of it. Likewise the Myrddraal would be keen to get his hands on Cairma, stories of what the Myrddraal did to women were rife through the Borderlands.

 

If his life would protect her from that, keep her safe, then so be it.

 

Not exactly a thought that befitted a thief turned assassin, but then he had become a Tower Guard he supposed. Not the sort that had stories sung about them, had Towers on the wall named after them or were known in some other way. But then, he never did become a Tower Guard for glory. On the other hand, it was ironic that he had become a Tower Guard to keep himself safe only for him to spend his life like this. So much so it made Aran smile.

 

Would his brother know that he fell? Aran hoped so, he would not wish his brother to be unknowing of his fate. Cairma would get back and tell the others and word would get to him. The legacy would be his brother’s alone, but then he deserved it. He had been their father’s true son, even if Aran was the one that might have the blood in his veins.

 

He wasn’t sure how the others would handle it. Rosheen was like the sister he never had, and Lyv had been close as well. Daemon, despite being almost as gruff as Vasya at times, he had gotten along with. Lyssa he had been fond of from the moment they had met, even after she’d spewed down his throat. Aramina he likewise held close in mind, regardless of her doubts. Marie, Jaz, all the others, they would b- No, he had to keep his mind focused on the now.

 

All he needed to do was break through the Trollocs and get to the Myrddraal, easy enough. That almost made him giggle, but there was no backing out now. Nearing the end of the stairwell, the stench of the Trollocs filled his nostrils as their guttural tongue filled his ears, easily drowning out Cairma who he had left above. Clenching his spear tightly, he offered up a prayer that this worked. If not for him then for her.

 

Diving down the last few steps to a room of Trollocs and a Myrddraal whose eyeless gaze found him, Aran didn’t hesitate as he charged.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

It happened in moments. Seconds. But it was something that would scar her for a lifetime. Her panic screamed through her as she knew that if she did not gather herself she would never see him again. She would never see home again. She could never go back if he wasn't there. There was no Yards to her without Aran. Let me free.. The coldness of the spring delved deeper than it ever did before as it followed her into the Void. -One could almost say she became true Ren'Shai- Her calm was to simply exist with a purpose to break free and help. She would not be useless. She was never very good at playing the weak maiden. Cairma simply wouldn't allow it.

 

Stepping back from the door Cairma unsheathed Beast and took her time and aim very carefully. There was limited room and she needed out fast. The first swing had her sword lodged deeply into the wood of the door and it gave. but not enough. The second swing weakened it enough on the hinges that allowed her enough to kick the door. But with everything that Aran had piled on the outside of the door weighted heavily and made it nearly impossible to push past. But in a final swing, Beast shattered with the door as sparks of her so-called precious sword fell with the pieces of the door. Not waste the moment Cairma dropped the hilt of the broken blade and scrambled easily over the tabled, chairs, bookcase and unsheathing the two smaller blades that were always on her waist. Please don't let me be too late...

 

There were a few Trollocs that had gotten past Aran - or so she assumed - and found their way into the room. Not wasting her time in anything fancy, her swords sliced heavy wounds into each of them as she ran past them without giving them another thought. There was only one that she could suspect Aran going after, and although she hated it, if he failed than it would leave it all up to her to finish the battle. The Myrddraal. Racing her way down to the lower level she could hear the sharp cries of those that fell to the blades below. Screams of agony and the fumes of urine and blood that floated up with the dust and air of sweat and battle. And then all.. Silence.

 

Silence.

 

The final scream.

 

The Gate was long broken and no longer of value, but Cairma ran past it, entering the room that swarmed with littered bodies of Trollocs. The Myrddraal dying, as it's mental links snapped with all that was under it. And Aran...

 

Her eyes scanned as the panic threatened to pull her out of the calm. Taking a deep breath as she moved easily around the bodies, searching. Seeing him barely out of the corner of her eye. Energetic and full of life, she lay there with death only a whisper away. In the movement it took her to cross to him her swords were sheathed at her side and her small pouch of herbs were in her hands.

 

"Burn you, Aran..." She muttered as she looked over him, squelching the panic within her. This was not the time or the place to fall apart. She quickly checked him over to assist his wounds. A deep left thigh gash, left arm suffering from a stab wound. Right side of his temple has a gash. Placing her hand on his forehead the fever was already taking over him as his breath was already weak. Pulling out a poultice she did what she could for each wound but he still lay there. The fever unmoving. Useless.

 

"Aran... why did you have to do that. It should not have been you." we do crazy things... She dared not hope that even in that moment that he locked her away out of love. That one thing she grasped so very close to herself. She denied, but it was her guilty secret. Looking down at him, she leaned over and kissed his other unharmed temple, and sighed with her head against his. "Come back to us Aran. Please... come back to me. I need you."

 

 

Right or wrong.

Can't hold onto the fear that I'm lost without you.

If I can't feel, I'm not mine,

I'm not real.

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

[Wayfarer]

Frowning as he dismounted, Bannerman Sorev viewed the destruction with distaste. The wall around Adalon Tower had been breached and there were a number of Trollocs marked by quarrels on the ground. While it was quiet, he nevertheless signaled for his men to dismount and follow, if there were any Trollocs they were inside the Tower proper. Hence with his blade in hand he led the way inside.

 

Butchery was the only way to describe what they found. While Trollocs preferred to cook their food, some breeds were known to eat men raw. Averting his eyes from such terrible sights, some of his men fanned out to check against all hope for survivours as he made his way to the next floor only for the same scene to be found. But there were more bodies massed by the stairwell so he made his way toward it.

 

It was a difficult climb, the stairs were especially thick with Trolloc corpses, but these ones had no apparent wounds upon them. By the time they got to the top, a Myrddraal was still weakly thrashing about but the approach of the dawn meant the end of it. But there was a survivour, a woman with the hilt of her swords poking over either hip as she cradled a man in her lap. Walking over to her as the others fanned out, Sorev squatted down next to her as he looked at the man. Breathing faintly, at least Sorev thought so.

 

“He is still alive?” Getting a nod from the woman, he was surprised by the calm she exuded with all the chaos and destruction around her. Looking over to a couple of his men, he ordered them to get to work on a stretcher, anything they could use to get him down the stairs. A wagon would arrive later for the dead and the wounded, they would take the man with them for help or to bury him, whichever fate the Wheel weaved for the man.

 

In the meantime, they had a lot of Trolloc corpses to carry out and fire, and a Tower to restore.

 

 

Captain Sorev

Arafel

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

 

Commander Brand Ryota

Warders Yard

Tar Valon

 

 

It has been nearly a turn of 7 days since I last wrote our progress and set of events within the Blight. We had only just arrived at Adalon Tower the last I wrote. I will be blunt, Light shield us as it may be only I that return with breath. 5 days of peace, and of little to tell. A Squad came by to spend the night that was followed by a Fist of Trollocs, Dha’vol. 30 men dead, One fatally wounded, and one survivor. It felt like a death march as we left the Adalon Tower. The burning of the dead that integrated with the air of Twilight. Riding like the Dark One at our Tails, Aran completely out cold beside me. It was a watch that hovered on the brink of death.

 

(If you had not figured by now, this is written also for my own benefit/mentality)

 

Currently Aran is being attended to by two wisdoms (one new and the other old), but I hold slim hope as his wounds are beyond but a Yellows perfected touch. I pray you not to announce this or to tell any of this occurrence until, light, our return. The chance is slim and even though I hope, I have no delusions of his death may be inevitable. I will send word later with a full head-count and updates as soon as I am able.

 

In Service of the Light,

Cairma Vishnu

 

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

"Mistress Cairma?"

 

She had fallen asleep in the small chair just outside of the hut. Refusing rest -be it tea induced or self induced- until they reached the wisdom, Cairma was completely exhausted. Foolishly knowing she was making herself sick be refusing what her body needed, she waited, refusing aid until Aran was seen to, using her own poultice on her wounds and waited for the time. "Wisdom." She said, standing. Those around the small village called her Nerin, or simply Wisdom. She never gave her name, nor did Cairma feel the need to ask. All she knew was that she traveled around smaller villages establishing newer and younger wisdoms. The woman handed Cairma a small pouch.

 

"I bound up his wounds and gave him something for him to sleep that will also battle the poisons of the blight blades. The fever nearly took him, but that is probably the worst of it. Your poultice probably saved him."

 

Cairma's brow furrowed. "But, His fever never changed. My herbs are minor.."

 

The woman held up her hand with a small smile. "Ever little bit helps. Like a biteme that carries a poison, it may be small but it can bring down a man in a single bite, many if it bites more than once. Your quick administration kept him from deaths touch." The wisdom lightly touched Cairma's arms in a sympathetic look. "You love him." She stated. "He must be thankful to have you."

 

"I highly doubt that." Cairma muttered as she momentarily thought to the times that she chased him around with..... BEAST! "Light my.. " She growled a little. The wisdom giggled -yes giggled- as she grew serious in front of Cairma.

 

"In that pouch is the same set of herbs from my own cabinet that is laced with a bit of Marisin with the Healall and Belladonna. Because of the mix he will be drowsy and a little lucid in his speech while he sleeps. I recommend keeping him in his sleep for a few more days even when the fever breaks. It will allow better healing, and I suspect the man does not like to be laid up for too long. After the fever you could probably just give him a light broth with the Marisin." The wisdoms instructions just got nods from Cairma as she listened carefully. It made sense and was easily to follow.

 

Arriving only that morning, Cairma allowed the Wisdom to talk to her in to staying one night. Captain Sorev and his men had already found rest and agreed with the wisdoms suggestion. Tomorrow they would return back to Shol Arbela and then light only knew after that. After the instructions were given, Cairma laid her head down on the cot in the same room as Aran. Looking to him with worry, she refused to give in to the torrent of emotions that still threatened her thread-bare control. But she couldn't give into them. Not yet. Not until she knew he would live.

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

Grandmaster

[Wayfarer]

Consciousness. Aran wasn’t really sure if he wanted it as he became aware of a number of dull aches and pains that informed him that against all odds, he was still alive. If his memory served him correctly, he should have been very dead. Charging into a room full of Trollocs with a Myrddraal linked to them, he was struck down as he ran the eyeless one through.

 

His life for hers.

 

Shielding his eyes as he opened them, the sparse details he absorbed ranging from the stonework to the basic furniture were irrelevant. There was one thing that mattered and she was currently curled up on a chair next to the bed. He could barely see her face behind her knees and the few stray locks of blond hair that obscured it, but he knew it well enough. Eyes with shades of blue and green, eyes that made him smile or hurt depending on what was behind them.

 

Aran remembered everything that had been said in the Tower, and it was for this that he cursed himself inwardly. It had been a perfectly good idea to open up to her when he was walking into certain death, in those last moments there was no more time to wait and hope she came around, no time for trying to wait for the perfect moment to present itself to fix things. He’d just thrown it all out there because it was the last chance he was going to have.

 

Except he had survived, and now he had no idea where he stood with the woman he’d willingly spent his life for. She had been so angry with him when she had learned of who he was and what he had done, so angry to let things slip that she otherwise wouldn’t have. But then she had refused to speak with him, except for necessary words there was no talk between them. There was the all too real chance that he had killed what was between them, in which case… Did his admission give him a chance? Or did it just hammer the last nail in his own coffin.

 

Watching her as she slept, Aran was torn between the two possibilities. There was a way to find out the truth, but even contemplating that thought made him… It was like a great weight upon his chest, threatening to crush him. Fear. Regardless of whether she forgave him or she did not. If she didn’t forgive him, that meant being apart from her. Once she decided that, Aran was fairly certain there would be no way to win her back.

 

But if she did not, then what had he become? Aran knew himself, he was not a person who settled with one person. The reasons for the why of it were ones he did not like to contemplate often, but in the end it came down to a single thing, dependence. During his entire life, while there were a good many people that were close to him, he knew that if it came down to it, he could walk away from them. Or just about, there were a few he would never care to test that theory with.

 

He’d thrown himself into harm’s way with no intention of surviving. He knew why he had done it as well, because he couldn’t walk away. If he couldn’t walk away, then he wasn’t the same person he was. No certainty. That in some ways scared him more than rejection, because then he would at least know where he stood.

 

The thing that forced his hand in the end was that not knowing was a quiet madness that he couldn’t suffer. Taking the pillow from behind his head even as he wore a weak grin, he lobbed the lobbed the pillow at Cairma’s head. Her eyes opening as the pillow fell to the ground, Aran hid behind his usual charm as he spoke. “I’m starving.”

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

It's a fragile small box

 

I feel like life its catching up

And the law of self preservation

Is being broken

In the end we will give back.

 

Contrary to belief, Cairma did not spend the whole time by Aran's bed side. Trained with constant activity her body refused to allow her to stay in one place too long nor allowed her the rest as her worry and thoughts ran too deeply for her to simply ignore. Cairma couldn't lie to herself and just dismiss one of the keys that had kept her so far away from all of this. As she walked the streets of Shol Arbela with a soulless aim she searched harder for the answers than she ever had before. What now..?

 

Finding her way back to the place where her and Aran stayed, her feet brought her back to his room. They had arrived in Shol Arbela 3 days ago, and Aran's fever had broken only yesterday, leaving Cairma on a lighter watch and Aran on just the sleeping draught. He would wake up eventually, but she wasn't sure what would happen then. Technically they could continue their watch in the blight but after sending word back to Brand about Aran's progress, the underlining note of concern had open a welcome to return to the Yard. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to go back now. She had grown fond of those that she taught under, but..

 

She took a seat on the bench by the bed in Aran's room as she watched him with impassive eyes. He had locked her away, protected her and in essence possibly saved her from something that she was not even taught to fear. Was it possible that the physical pain that she had so easily dismiss was what she should take more into consideration than the pain of everything that she had hid within her? It was gone, completely. She didn't need to hide from herself as it no longer seemed of value or of importance in the scheme of things, and yet she was still conflicted with what was. Leaning her head on her knees she sighed heavily at fatigue wore on her like a warm blanket or a safe place. Closing her eyes, sleep took her away from her mortal self as she still drifted.

 

Cairma was unsure of what had exactly woke her, but looking up she saw Aran looking back at her, unreadable. I'm starving. Blinking away her fatigue, she frowned.

 

"Of course you’re hungry, you insufferable whelp. You locked me away and nearly got yourself killed. You were right dead if I didn't know my herbs! Why, I would smack you weren't laid up in bed and barely at deaths door." The anger was automatic this time, but it lacked the usual something that always batted at the surface, that lingered and pushed her forward in her arguments. Instead she paused at him with an expression that was unreadable. What next.. what next....

 

And then she kissed him.

 

 

 

Falling down

Start again

Life can bring you down

The monumental truth

Of elegance in you

Falling for

A part of who you are

And makes you shine inside

"Box" & "Waking Hour" - The Gathering

 

 

Cairma

[Wayfarer]

Anger.

 

Aran’s grin faltered as his heart felt like it was constricting on itself as if it were shrinking away from Cairma’s rage. Rejection was rarely if ever something that occurred to him, and never from someone he had cared about so much that he couldn’t walk away. Taking each breath was more difficult, trying to think of something to say beyond him as everything felt numb, except for the inner pain. His eyes held by the impenetrable gaze leveled at him, it was one of the few times he had no idea of what to do.

 

But she did.

 

Unable to move as she got to her feet and leaned over him, all he could do was respond as she brought her lips to his. Her tongue teasing his, the despair that had fallen over him lifted, making the kiss all the more potent. Reaching up with his right hand to cup her face, the other ran its way through her shoulder length hair and down to one shoulder before they broke away.

 

Staring into her eyes, Aran who had often been known to be silver tongued disdained words altogether as he pulled her down to him again not only for a kiss but into his embrace as his arms wound their way around her, pulling her close. The taste of her tantalised his tongue, the intimacy of the embrace gave him newfound strength and her scent threatened to overwhelm him after her having kept her distance and avoiding him for so long. She was there, she was in his arms and she didn’t push him away, didn’t shun him. She was what mattered.

 

She was.

 

His right arm still snaked around her as their lips parted, Aran’s vision blurred as his eyes glistened. He didn’t care though, he didn’t need to hide that from her and in this moment everything that was important was laid bare for her. Him, all of it, not every single piece of his sordid history or the terrible things he’d done, not even the good things he’d tried to do. Simply him.

 

The only thing he could say he could barely whisper, yet it was no less heartfelt for that. “I love you.”

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

When her lips brushed against his she wasn't entirely sure what the response would be, she didn't know if she was too forward or if it was because she had been so worried.. or something more than that. But when he kissed back, all she could feel was light. And then his tongue, oh light his tongue.. and with the brush of his hand on her face it touched a far more deeper intimacy that she could have anticipated. Inhibited and raw, she fell deeper than anywhere she had ever been before, and she lost that inner battle that was raging. Dismissed by his touch along her skin as her own fear was swept away with the shivers replaced the coldness and heat than stemmed within her.

 

But his kiss was nothing, all it was merely a taste of something she had wanted, something that had been so deep and forgotten. No, She never understood it's existence, and denied it's very truth, but as Aran's arms pulled her closer her core remaining disbelief of the possibility.. She needed him. Without any shadow of a doubt, everything she wanted, anything she had ever found worth in, she found through him.

 

Was him.

 

Parting, Cairma knew there was a tear running down her cheek. Always so quick to emotions, always so quick to defend herself, hide ever show of weakness, anything that could see her dead. And Light guard her but she had fallen too far and knew that she would fight death for this man. He accepted her, scars, anger and all. He never gave up he..

 

I love you..

 

She froze. Her eyes as wide as ever she looked to him, searching for something, anything that would contradict what he said. Anything that would have been there. But nothing. Her eyes brimmed with tears as her fingers slowly trying to reach his face, to touch him, and know, but her fingers felt clumsy as she tried to register those so very simple words. Words she would have sworn on her life that she would never hear. But he did.

 

"I." She nearly choked, "I Love you too." She closed her eyes for a moment as her heart felt ready to burst. "I Love you Aran."

 

 

Cairma

[Wayfarer]

To hear his words echoed by her with such raw emotion was enough to drive his doubts away, there was only enough room for her within his heart and mind. Lifting himself up slightly so their foreheads and noses touched, he waited until she opened her eyes before seeking her lips once again. Only now it wasn’t a search for acceptance, it was more intimate still as his hands wandered over her, exploring her as if truly discovering her for the first time. And he did, for now there were no barriers nor walls, only openness and trust with a deep and abiding love that now sought to be realised as his hands began to work on the buttons of her blouse with a gentleness that belied the urgency behind them.

 

There was nothing holding her back as he leaned up and claimed her completely with his kiss, touch. Her fingers found their way to his face, caressing his skin, feeling the warmth beneath her finger tips as every memory of his face became ingrained with all that she could touch, bristles and scars, all burned into her memory as it pulled her into the captivating realm of existence as she lost sight of anything but him. A smoldering passion that now set loose in a flame as she found herself completely on the bed and his fingers along her skin.

 

Barely registering how little concern she had put to her own attire nor to the fact that Aran she had kept him without a shirt to allow wounds air to breath, dismissed by the pure craving of a lovers touch that was untainted by doubt or fear, but simply was. She trusted him, will all her heart, and her burning need to know how to feel and that he was there with her, working clumsily around him to move away the blankets that seemed more of a wall that kept her from him. Barely breaking the kiss as she shifted her weight on the bed as her lips sought out his again with a deeper kiss, drawn by the magnitude of all that had built up between them as it came crashing around them.

 

Freeing her blouse from her, he tossed the sheets off him so he could get closer to her, allowing their skin to touch as he settled over her, then under her then over her again as they rolled in the tenderness of a lover’s embrace. His lips tracing their way down her neck, his hands were further down still as they began to unlace her breeches, her own hands helping him shed what little garment he had. Her breeches loose, he bega-

 

Grrrrr

 

No, that didn’t just happen. The sound had been so audible that it had caused Cairma’s eyes to widen in shock even as Aran felt as much as heard is stomach protest at the lack of food it had had. It felt like it was roiling even now, contracting on itself as it desperately tried to extract some form of nutrient out of something. This is not happening! Hunger was the last thing on his mind as he leaned low to find her lips again, his hands taking up where they had left off. The moment was not ruined, there was no wa-

 

Grrrrr

 

No, there was no chance now, any hope of intimacy was being effectively destroyed by his traitorous stomach even as Cairma’s responses to him slowed. It was hard to be romantic when your stomach was not only reminding you but the one you loved that you hadn’t eaten solid food for several days and were starving. Groaning from his throat rather than his belly, Aran didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as his thoughts escaped his lips. “This can’t be happening.”

 

She looked back and forth from his stomach and his face and sighed heavily as she hung her head, lifting herself up easily with her arms. She wasn't really sure how or why, but the moment had passed, and although she could feel the roaring ache within her it subsided swiftly as a tickle insider of her bubbled on the brim. She giggled. There they were, everything bared and open, and then this... She couldn't stop as she took the last effort in her to roll to the side and not on him as her giggles gave way to laughter. And it truth, with their luck. It only figured.

 

It was Cairma’s giggle that called Aran’s attention away from his stomach. A small one that escaped her at first, and though she tried to keep a straight face a second one ruined it, then a third, and then she was laughing as she rolled onto her side. It was ridiculous, everytime something seemed to conspire to steal the moment away from them, and in the face of the Wheel’s cruel sense of humour, all Aran could do was laugh at the joke as his stomach growled again and a new burst of merriment came from Cairma.

 

Wrapping his arms around her as she turned to face him, they almost calmed down when yet another growl spawned a fit of giggles. Clinging to each other, Aran realised in that moment somewhere between the laughter and the growls that despite the misfortune that the Wheel had just decided to deal them, with Cairma in his arms it didn’t matter.

 

 

Aran & Cairma