Esme & Thorn RP

Esme:
Esme stared at the dark clouds that loomed over-head. The clouds rumbled impatiently, anxious to release their icy tears into the already cold earth below. Esme sighed, scared of what may lie ahead. Fear flashed in the she-wolf's golden eyes as she looked back at the others. She had been leading them for awhile now, but she was beginning to question herself. She pushed a strand of black hair from her dark and dirty face. The others were staring back at her waiting for her orders. Their faces were covered in dirt. Their clothes had been ripped by the branches and thorns in the forest. She looked down at her own clothes. Her pants had been ripped asunder. Her shirt was stained with some of her own blood, as well as dirt. Mother Nature was trying to get them to turn back, but Esme wouldn't be having it. She had gotten them this far. She would find a way to get them to freedom.

Thorn:
Somewhere on the other side of the hill the last coals of a fire burned out, their scent mixing with the pungent smell of moss and rotting leaves. A sleeping form stirred and sat up suddenly, his heavy woolen cloak pulled around himself like a cocoon. Something was coming. A lot of something was coming. In a heartbeat, the stranger was on his feet, stamping out the last of the coals and kicking dirt over the remains of the campfire. Something was coming and he would be waiting for it, concealed in the shadows of the dense woods. Moments later a troop of rather bedraggled-looking people passed below his perch. Red eyes focused and narrowed on what appeared to be the leader of the party. Something was off about the lady… other than the fact that her clothes were torn and bloodied. He figured he’d wait for them to pass by as entertaining that many enemies at once was not something he wanted if he could help it… and something about that lady spelled trouble. So, he waited amongst the twisted limbs of the trees, sure that his vantage point was invisible… at least to the senses of humans.

Esme:
Esme stopped dead. The rest of the party stopped behind her. She signaled the rest to go on ahead. The party continued into the forest. Esme sniffed the air. A sweet scent rushed to her senses. Her eyes widened. Lightning flashed, lighting the forest. The source of the scent could clearly be seen. Esme's golden eyes narrowed. She stared back into the strangers red eyes. Something about him was off. For some reason, she wanted to jump him. Rip him apart. Her stomach felt like it was twisting in a sicking knot. She wasn't sure of what to do. Her people needed her, but she didn't feel safe leading them while he was around.

Thorn:
Fear. It was tangible. He felt it lodge in his throat and rush through his veins like strong tavern spirits making him tremble from the force of it… and yet it was not his fear that washed over him, but the woman’s. She had spotted him and thus confirmed his suspicions about something being off about her. When the others went ahead, he felt he ought to introduce himself so, he leapt down from his branch and landed in a flurry of dry leaves. Gloved hands pulled the hood of his cloak down shadowing his face as he stood gracefully.
“You are being pursued, m’lady.” His voice was velvety and his tone made it clear that it was not a question. “If you are caught, something horrible will happen to your party… hmm…” a smirk spread over his lips, “You want to rip me to shreds?” he clicked his tongue at her and wagged a finger in mock disapproval.

Esme:
"Who are you?" She sounded annoyed. She scanned him, looking him over. A low growl rumbles in her chest. "You will leave me and my party alone. All we want is to be free." In the distance the giggles of children could be heard, the smell of a camp fire drifted through the forest. Well, at least their getting comfortable. A gust of wind ripped through the forest, whipping Esme's hair behind her. She stared at him, intent on figuring him out. Who is he and what does he want with me?

Thorn:“Free? Ah… I see. Then you probably don’t want to set foot in the city of Avengard. I hear there’s going to be a slave market there within the week… or there was, until the slaves escaped. Fancy that.” As the wind picked up, he gripped the hem of his hood and tugged it down to prevent showing his face, “I mean you and your people no harm—well, no, can’t promise that… I can, however, promise you that there is a small town just past Avengard ripe for the pickings if your party requires provisions…” The hooded stranger paused as if weighing his options, “Allow me to join your party and I will also promise you my protection until we reach there.”

Esme:
"I can't trust someone who won't show me their face." She walked up to the stranger. Trying to see under his his hood proved futile. That's it. The hood's gotta go. "Take off your hood." That's strange. She's never felt the need to give someone and order before. Her command had no effect. She let out an annoyed sigh, Taking off his hood without his permission would be rude but curiosity got the best of her. She reaches for his hood and pulls it back.

Thorn:
As the golden-eyed lady approached him he stepped back, flinching, "Don't--" but the hood was already back, revealing a wild mop of snow-white hair and dark ebony skin. The shock disappeared from his wide crimson eyes and was instantly replaced with a flash of fury as he grabbed her wrist, staring her down, his usually saccharine voice now a murderous growl, "... I take orders from no one..." When he realized his grip was probably hurting her, he released her wrist and took a step back, trying to regain some composure, "...You see, I was once a slave too." He didn't speak for a long moment, eyes closed, brow furrowed. Finally he said, "My name is Thorn. May I sit by your fire?"

Esme:
Shock swept over Esme's face. Resisting the urge to touch his hair was proving difficult. His red eyes struck her with a mix of fear and warmth. She looked at her wrist noticing that a bruise had started to form already. Fear flashed in her eyes once again as she realized that she's usually more resilient. What WAS he? "Thorn...that's an unusual name. But fine. You're welcome to sit at our fire." She walked to where the rest of her party was relaxing. Children were playing with their make-shift dolls and giggling, unaware of what was truly going on. The were lucky they still had their innocence. The adults were sitting around the fire, discussing what they would do once they reached freedom. When Thorn followed Esme back to the group, it grew silent for a moment. The humans didn't know what to think, but they figured that if Esme trusted him, then he must be okay.

Thorn:
Thorn followed Esme to the fire, drinking in the merriment for the moment, is eyes falling on the children. Their joy both confused him and reminded him of his "childhood". Love and kindness were something to be looked down, punished... at least where he was from. Aboveground was different though brutality still reigned. When the humans fell silent he felt the weight of their eyes on him and it made him shift uncomfortably. Out of habit, he pulled his hood on, hiding his hair, dark skin, and long tapered ears. Truly, he stuck out like a sore thumb among humans, which was why he generally avoided towns when he could. He peered out at them and waited for Esme to either sit or speak to her comrades before he did anything. He glanced at her wrist and felt a pang of guilt. Surely she hadn't meant any harm but then no one had ever dared to get that close to him. Those golden eyes, how she spotted him... she even felt different. He tuned his senses and felt the loyalty and trust everyone around the fire felt for the woman before him. It made him respect her even more.


Esme:
Esme could sense Thorn's tension. His muscles were tightened and she could see his ruby eyes shimmering with uncertainty. "Relax, everyone. This is Thorn. He's offered to protect us as we make our way to freedom." A man stood up in the crowd. His green eyes glimmered in the light of the fire. Esme could see a glint of mistrust as well. He was clearly a man of the north. His pale skin was covered in freckles and he had hair that shined like the sun. His voice almost roared as the ocean does.

"We cannot trust a stranger. He could be working for our masters for all you know, Esme."

A wave of murmurers rushed through the group. Fear and a sort of sadness began a lump in Esme's throat. What if they were right? He could be lying to her. She looked up to Thorn, her golden eyes desperate for answers. Confusion racked her brain as she stared at him.

Thorn:
Sensing the crowd begin to turn against him at those words, Thorn shrugged off his fear, mentally chiding himself for being so weak and pulled on a thick veil of self-confidence as he took a few steps forward addressing all the eyes watching him. He gestured to everyone around the fire with a flourish and grinned, showing off his delicately pointed teeth in a grin.

“Your masters?” his voice was dark and sarcastic even as he offered them a smile, “I thought you were free men and women… and children…” his eyes fell first on the man from the north, the other men with their jaws set in agreement with the first, the women watching him curiously, and the children playing with dolls. He looked at each of them for a long moment with his shadowed crimson eyes. The sarcasm in his voice quickly turned into something like disgust, “I thought you were done being cattle. They are no longer your masters.”

He turned and began to walk away but stopped without turning to face them and said matter-of-factly, “Of course you can’t trust me, you silly humans. I don’t trust you after all… and I don’t need to. I’m only interested in the mercenaries they will no doubt send after you… I’ve a score to settle with them.” As he walked away he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the trees keeping watch.” And with that he disappeared into the shadows beyond the light of the fire to take up his post in the shadowy branches of the woods. Though he would never admit it, he hated the thought of the people below being recaptured… even if he tried convincing himself that he was only protecting them in order get revenge on his former captors.

Esme:
A certain sadness swept over Esme as she watched Thorn disappear among the trees. Maybe it wasn't sadness she felt, but fear. She looked at her people, disappointed in the way they acted towards Thorn.

"Are you stupid? How dare you talk to him that way? He's here to help us and yet you assume that he'll betray us?"

The man of the north speaks again, "How do you know he won't betray us? I knew letting a woman lead was a bad idea. Their damn emotions always get in the way of everything!"

Esme glared at him, her golden eyes glinting with anger. She shakes it off and takes watch. Hours pass and the weight of sleep begins to weigh on her eyelids. Thunder roars from the highlands. The wind begins to pick up, whipping her hair in all directions. Rain begins to fall, slamming onto the ground, soaking Esme's clothes in a matter of minutes. Her dark hair was sticking to her face and neck. She shivers as the cold racks her bones.

Thorn:
He approached her post, quietly at first and then, judging by the way the storm was hitting the area fiercely with wind and sharp chilling needle rain he figured she either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t mind his approach. Hesitantly he draped a heavy wool cloak around her shoulders and sat inches away from her, chewing on some dried meat. He offered her some as he gazed out over the dying campfire smoke and the people huddling under the trees and within their makeshift tents for shelter.
His voice was low, just above a whisper as he looked out from her post, his eyes watching the rain roll down and blacken the bark of the trees,

“You defended me. That was stupid. Your people will doubt you now.”

It was a statement because he didn’t know how to say thanks, he just said it in a monotone. He hadn’t expected to feel so rejected by the humans but then he hadn’t expected to feel anything at all… especially for the woman beside him. Comrade, fellow soldier, ally… something to that effect. He trusted her more than the rest and that was saying something since he hadn’t trusted anyone in years.

“You know they’re coming for you, right?” He waited for her speak but lost his patience suddenly, “I lured them out one by one… I killed three…” there was a note of glee in his voice when he said that.
“They are highly trained … watching the chained and hopeless is hell for them… the chase is what they live for. They know the woods too, or some of them do anyhow, depends on where they’re from and how much they want the prize… sometimes they come alone, they come in twos, sometimes more…”

Thorn was silent for a few moments then he added,
“That man that spoke against you, if he had spoken that way to me… I would have ripped his heart out.”
Thorn smirked and looked into her eyes then with a bit of humor, perhaps a smile, “No one ‘lets’ you lead, you simply TAKE it because the others are too weak. You, you are strong...” he looked away then, unable to hold her gaze and suddenly uncomfortable at their proximity so he shifted away, his voice growing dark again, “I need you to be strong. Do not disappoint me, Esme.”

Thorn stiffened, remembering that she hadn’t actually told him her name and added awkwardly, “ I… overheard your people speaking your name.” It was a boldfaced lie he hoped she’d ignore but knew she’d likely poke at just as she had insisted he show his face.
“So, what are you? You’re obviously not human.” It was his way of trying to redirect the conversation.

Esme:
Esme was truly grateful for the cloak. It was beginning to get too cold for her liking. He was right in saying that her people would doubt her now. Whatever. Let them doubt. What are you? She knew the question would come up at some point. She never expected it from him, though. She thought he knew what she was.

"I'm a Lycan. Werewolf. She-wolf. Whichever you prefer. Monster is a term that's commonly used to define my kind." She sighs, her breath almost crackles in the cold air. The storm was beginning to slow down. She sits next to him on the wet and frosty ground. Winter was coming and it was coming quickly. She places her hand on the hilt of her claymore. The cold iron sends shivers through her. Wind tears through the forest once again. She looks at Thorn, staring at his silver hair, watching it glint in the moonlight.

A howl could be heard in the distance. It was a haunting and sad noise. Wolves had just taken down an elk. A bull elk. She could smell it. Hunting sounded nice, but not while she was on watch. She could hear the squirrels running through the trees, chattering. Mother Nature was preparing her children for winter.

Thorn's long tapered ears twitched under the hood of his cloak as he heard the long mournful howls and shuddered. Whether it was from the cold of the rain or the memories the sounds dug up within him he was unsure. She sat beside him and yet he had trouble accepting that she was really there, that he could reach out and touch her, that she was like him in some fashion or another... she was different from the humans, she had faced hardships based on her unchangeable looks, her gifts... she was beautiful to him in that instant just as the gnome boy had been when he offered him his body for the night not five days ago, and the half-orc that aspired to be a cleric because she couldn't stand the sight of blood or pain.

He smiled as he looked out at the dying smoke of the campfires, "A Lycan? My, how rare, how precious, how lovely you are." It was hard to tell whether it was sincerity or sarcasm in his voice. Thorn's voice changed then from singsong to dead-serious in an instant, "I am drow. A dark elf. Darkie. Black-skin. Whichever you prefer. I come from a den of monsters and am one by nature though I care not... I rather like being a monster." It was chilling, his voice in that moment as he recounted every murder he had committed. It was the way his sanity worked, suddenly his voice was sweet and kind,

"Are you hungry? I can keep watch while you hunt or I could bring you something if you aren't partial to dried meat. I have plenty of that. Took down a deer a few days ago and dried out the meat. I was lucky to have salt, it made it so much better." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and even his voice grew softer and lighter as if someone else was speaking through him, someone much younger and much purer than his normally dark broody self.

((May I join?))

((I believe it's working up to a point in which all of us are involved. You could do a side story that fits in the main line somewhere in a separate thread, like i'm doing. I find it helps as kind of a "prequel" to your entrance into the main story.))

(( You're welcome to join us or at least it's fine by me. Since your character is wandering around in the woods lost it could easily fit in here. If Sammy is okay with it then you're welcome to join us.))

(( YOU CALLED ME SAMMY! Heehee. Yeah, it's fine with me.))

(is it okay if I plan coming in a bit after you all form your party? it would fit my character more.)

Plip. Plop. Plip.

The pattering of rain drowned out all other sound as it dripped steadily from the thick rustling foliage. A few drops rolled lazily over the edge of a leaf and slipped down to splash on a pale green hand wrapped around a smooth driftwood staff. The water trickled over the long fingers, streaking the translucent webbing between them before falling to the deep loam of the forest floor. Nanine paused to lower the hood of her green fishskin coat. She tilted her head back and a brief smile flitted across her lips as the rain poured over her shaved head and down her face; as an amphibian she was incredibly grateful for any water in this strange land.

The priestess had not thought it possible to detest something more than the human-infested hilly lowland she had traveled a few weeks prior—on first sight those accursed apes had run her out of every village as though she were permanently drunk and intending to eat their children. Really, if she were to go to all that trouble her target would be the larger, well-muscled adults… That was before she had chosen the forest, initially favoring the cover it offered over the barren hills. But it was too close here, too sealed off and stifling with its frustrating infinity of trunks and stinging vegetation and ensnaring vines. She had not seen clear sky in days, she had even less of an idea where she was than when she had entered, and the woods abounded with a host of bizarre animals and unrecognizable sounds that constantly set her on edge, unsure whether a particular snuffling was merely rodents rooting through papery leaves or the heavy breathing of a predator.

A spine-tingling howl went up in the distance, swelling in volume and then mournfully dying away. Nanine stopped and stood very still, clutching her staff tightly while her heart thundered in her ears. What did the land dwellers call those animals? Some sort of large cat, perhaps? No, that was not right somehow…but she was willing to bet all the fish in the Great Waters that whatever it was had really big teeth. Nanine shuddered. It really was too dark to continue on safely; she was not used to how quickly night fell here, and she feared stumbling over something vicious and unnamable in this jungle.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere nearby that seemed even remotely suitable as a camp. Continuing to pick her way through the dense scrub and thorns, Nanine sniffed about in the undergrowth and listened carefully but detected not a single sign of running water. She stood for a moment, considering her options. She had been submerging herself in streams and ponds to sleep, but as her wanderings took her what she assumed to be further inland, bodies of water were becoming fewer and farther between. Another eerie howl rent the air, and though sound was deceptive in the forest Nanine was almost certain the cry was closer. Very well, no sleeping on the ground. And that left…she gazed up at the swaying treetops, her heart sinking. A fish in a tree. In the name of Setkareh, the gods must be laughing at her. She sighed resignedly, “Faith manages.”

Awkwardly she began the ascent. Her body was ill-adapted for climbing, but after many splinters and a few heart-stopping moments when she was certain she would plunge back to the earth, she was settled quite comfortably on a wide sturdy limb. Taking a glowing fist-sized sphere from the small pack she carried, she tied it to her staff and then leaned back against the tree trunk and nibbled away at some dried seaweed in the dim green light of phosphorescence. The sighing of the branches as the tree rocked in the rainstorm was oddly soothing, reminding her of the sea she missed so much. And she was so very tired…

Esme smiled at Thorn. It was a sincere smile. A smile that no one had seen dance across the she-wolf's face. She felt closeness to him that she had never felt before with a human. She pulled the cloak closer to herself, as if she was trying to keep her skin from freezing to her bones.

She leans against Thorn, trying to keep herself warm. She shivers as the rain began to seep into her pants. Another howl echoes through the forest. Esme perks up, listening to the wolf pack. The pack followed their Alpha, howling in the night. Hunting sounds so nice. Maybe I could leave, but just for a moment.

She looks at Thorn and smiles again. "Are you sure you'll be alright while I hunt?"

"If you'll trust the word of a drow, then I swear. I'll be here and they will be safe." Thorn gestured to the ragged tents and dying campfires of Esme's people. He dropped his eyes away, her proximity beginning to make him uncomfortable even if he enjoyed her warmth,
"Go. A run will warm you up."

He reached after her although she was out of reach, "Esme, " he hesitated, unsure if it was his place to ask but then he had to know if he was going to be guarding her party lest she be discovered because of him, "Do they know about you?"

Nanine paused to gaze out at the city as she slipped into her silvery ceremonial robes. The white spires and cheerfully bustling marketplace were bathed in golden summer sunlight, and far below on the shore the salt flats, the wealth and blessing of her people, were a hive of activity; members of the worker caste raked salt crystals into massive reed baskets to be traded inland for their weight in gold. The lightest breath of a cool sea breeze tumbled playfully in over the windowsill of her chambers and Nanine breathed deep before sweeping through the cool whitewashed corridors and into the Temple of Setkareh. Today, the Summer Solstice, would be marked by feasting and much celebration, and—

She stepped out from the airy colonnade and halted abruptly at the sight of a strange procession.

Wearing the leather armor and livery of warriors, two large Pyscenean men were menacing an old sea-woman with their spears, prodding her roughly towards the temple balcony and stairs. They were followed by two grim-faced acolytes carrying caldrons; they paused intermittently to splash the contents of the pots across the marble floor. The sea-woman, hunched nearly double and completely swathed in ragged garments, moaned and protested incoherently as one of the guards jabbed his spear at her again.

Anger and indignation welling up inside her, Nanine strode purposefully from the shadow of the columns. “Stop this at once!” she commanded. “The warrior caste has no authority here! How dare you treat a worshiper of Setkareh in such—!”

A young temple attendant grabbed Nanine tightly. “Stay back, priestess!” he frantically implored, his eyes wide with fear. “She is unclean!”

There was a moment of confusion followed by the disturbing realization that emanating from the acolytes’ twin caldrons was the steam of boiling water and the sharp burning tang of lye. Nanine’s gaze darted towards the old sea-woman, who having heard the priestess’s shout, was slowly, painfully slowly, turning around.

Struck speechless, Nanine stared in horror at the scabbed, peeling face and milky oozing eyes. Cinders Plague! Then the warriors forced the old woman out onto the balcony and down the stairs. In a daze, the priestess trailed them. As she approached the balcony the sky darkened ominously. A line of soldiers blockaded the stairs, and below—below—

The Sea-People were dying.

Not one, not ten, not a hundred, but by the thousands they choked the streets in their panic and suffering. They writhed in the gutters, clawed their way along the cobblestones, flooded the plaza around the council, and lapped at the stairs to the temples of the gods only to be turned away, the prayers they uttered through cracked lips unheard.

The beach was black. Strewn amongst the shells and bladderwrack the Sea-People were piled thick above the tide line like so many dead fish washed up after a storm, their innumerable bodies blanketing the sand. The thickest incense could not mask the stench of the dead. Crematory bonfires belched heavy roiling smoke into a leaden sky where scavenging gulls wheeled crazily, shrieking harshly but still not loud enough to drown out the agonized cries of the dying and the keening of the bereaved.

Nanine awoke with a blood curdling wail of grief. Sobbing uncontrollably, she mumbled disjointed prayers as she clutched at the tree limb on which she was perched, all alone in a foreign land with nothing but her memories.

The wagon wheels trundled over the hard dirt trail kicking up clods of newly grown grass that had sprung up on the less traveled path. Marked by a single lantern and one strong horse, the deacon's transport headed west, out of the heavily forested land of Barovia, bedecked in a simple black cloth with the standard of The Long Night Vigil, which was a wrist holding a candle in a dish. Orde sat back on the hard wooden seat that served as the driver's platform, mentally running over the stores he had brought, hoping it was enough for an extended journey around the lands. He figured he could stop over at the tavern before the night grew too dark, before heading towards the city in the morning to begin his investigation in the slave market. He urged the horse onward at a steady pace. Although the Order's horses were bred strong and swift, Orde had perhaps packed a bit too much, limiting the wagon's top speed to about a fast trot. The howling from deep inside Pitchwood made his scarred skin tingle. Although he would gladly camp on the side of the road and go wolf hunting tonight, something about the drow he had met the other night made him press onward towards the tavern instead. The deacon gripped his prayer beads as he thought about his encounters with the Wytchfolk, which is what The Vigil called elves. At least, his Order had "discovered" that the Dark Wytchfolk were known to cavort with evil beasts that roamed the woods, and Orde though that angering the elf of many blades by possibly killing one of his pets was perhaps not the most pragmatic of actions to undertake on his first night returning.

The wagon continued onwards through the dark night, the black horse paying no heed to the continued howls that seemed closer with each round of noise. Finally, Orde saw the dim lamp-post of the Cracked Cauldron Inn, and pulled over to the side of the building, securing his loaded wagon and bringing the steadfast horse to the stable to be taken care of. After paying the stable boy, Orde made his way to the heavy oaken door and pushed it inwards, taking care to close it tightly behind him as he made his way inside...

"No. They have no idea what I am." Esme sighed, suddenly not so hungry. She looked up at the half-moon and groaned. The howling of the wolves echoed through the forest once again.

"I'm not hungry." She plopped onto the ground and sighed. Esme pulled the wool cloak over shoulders again. She looked over to Thorn and smiled slightly.

"If they ever found out about me they would hang me. Burn me. Maybe they would even take me onto holy ground and have me die slowly." The she-wolf laughed a sad laugh. "These humans don't understand my species. One werewolf kills a human and all of a sudden all of us are bad. Do you have that problem? I mean, maybe the humans think you have a deformity or something, but do they know what you are?"