Strength in numbers (open)

[Larien Gil'dae]

15th brightening of Cryxatum, Summer, Era II of the Celestine Mandate
Era XIV Post Fractum, the Second Era of the Regency of Milo L'Evienne.

Slowly, the young elven woman floated through the ruins of Paxia, her eerily light green eyes flashing beneath her dark eyelashes as they skimmed over what remained of the half-fallen buildings. The jingle of Fionn's bit chimed brightly in time to the she-elf's silent footfalls as the Sandbred mare followed behind her mistress, meek for once in all the long time she had been in Larien's possession. There was something about the crumbling skeleton of the city that invoked a sense of meekness... or perhaps it was helplessness? The shadows of so many memories - not Larien's of course, but memories nonetheless - lingered in the collapsed structures, the charred wood, the cracked stone. How many lives had been lost? How many more had been destroyed? How many, like Larien herself, had found their happiness drained from their bodies as steadily and painfully as though it had been their lifeblood as they had watched their home, their Paxia, destroyed before their very eyes? Then again, how many, like Larien, had found themselves drawn to the desolation of the current surroundings for the sheer and sad fact that it outwardly reflected what they inwardly felt?

Torn. Crushed. Destroyed... Determined, the maiden noted to herself as she watched refugees and hired workers alike milling about the streets, all striving towards a common goal - to rebuild. To breathe life back into the shuddering corpse of the city.

A warm summer breeze skipped down the street, teasing the auburn locks that had strayed from the pile pinned haphazardly on the back of the young woman's head. The soft tresses curled about her pale face, framing her angular cheekbones and full lips in shimmering wisps that reflected all the colors of an autumn forest in the light streaming down from the twin suns - red, gold, and brown. Wrapped about her lithe form was a simple riding dress, covered in a light coat of dust from the road: light blue with silver elvish embroidery across the snug bodice and down the divided skirts. At her side was a dagger, plain in every possible way... but it served its purpose. A pair of simple brown riding boots completed her ensemble. The supplies she had brought with her on the journey were either stuffed into her saddlebags or strapped to the back of her tired mount, fitted snugly right behind the saddle. She hadn't brought much - especially nothing of worth - though most prominent among her possessions was a simple longsword, the crest of House Gil'dae branded onto its sheath. She couldn't wield it of course, but it reassured her to have the wickedly sharp blade close at hand.

... Where now? Larien thought with a slight edge of worry, her teeth nipping lightly at her bottom lip. She hadn't thought much beyond the point of simply getting to Paxia. And now that she was there... she was completely lost as to what to do next.

[Stephan Woulofen]

More brightenings have come and gone and yet he had no seen the return of his guard nor anyone coming to take his life. Yet, why had nothing changed for him? He was still here, he had no life besides sleep, paranoia, and alcohol. Leaning against a collapsed stone building as he sat he watched people come and go doing their normal business in the chaotic environment the city remained. Who would think of looking for him here anyways? The place was more dead than he was. With a half empty bottle of wine at his side he drank this throughout the daylight hours, it kept him drunk, but it kept him at least alert enough to know what was going on. The hard stuff awaited him each night.

As he sat that he wore his normal gard of long black pants to accompany his black obsidianite breastplate and dark black hair, and of course his black boots. The dark attire matched his mood all too well. Still sporting his dark black full beard and his scruffy mess of hair, he hid all his recent scars and hide his identity and remaining handsome appearance quite well. It was impossible for him ever to appear ugly, but the crazy appearance was certainly doing its job of keeping unwanted attention away. His attention had been on everyone walking by, seemingly paying him no attention, and it wasn't like there were all that many moving about in the first place. However, his biggest attention had been giving to his bottle of wine from which he nurtured very well.

Looking up for a moment he saw an elven women leading her horse through the rubble and what remained of the street of the city. A striking woman from even a good distance, she would have caught anyone's attention, but as elf's went, she did not stand out. Most didn't for they all looked so very similar to one another. But, there was something different about her he noticed as she passed by closer. He knew this elf, from somewhere. Though his mind was weak and clouded by alcohol, his psyche always on the verge of slipping, he remember a face and name. Larien....Gil'dae, that was it. Natura horse race a few patterns ago, he had placed a drink on a bet that he had set himself up to lose, and now he could give her the prize he promised her.

As she drew so close he could speak without raising his voice at all he looked up at her from where he sat. "Larien Gil'dae, welcome to Paxia, if I remember correctly I owe you a drink for a certain wager in a horse race." Honestly, he hoped she remember him, maybe his first name, but hoped she had forgotten exactly who he was. He wanted to remain dead to the public as he had so accomplished by faking his death. He did not want to ruin that. Raising the bottle of wine to his lips he took another long gulp of the nectar before lowering it.

[Larien Gil'dae]

Larien Gil'dae.

At the sound of her name being uttered by another, the elven maiden stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, her eyes sparking as they fell upon the form of the man who had spoken. He was a... scruffy individual, giving off a rather unsavory aura that caused the young woman's eyebrows to lift slightly upon her pale brow. How did such a person know her? Garbed entirely in black, with an unkept beard and scraggly hair to match, he seemed like a far cry from the sort of man she normally associated herself with. Where had they met? Surely not in the peace and grace of Syl'rosya? Never in the gentle beauty of Natura... but wait. The horse race? The Naturan Horse Race? The event seemed so long ago, and yet Larien remembered it well. She had placed second with her fiance... well, her... Venn coming in first on his Windstepper, Connard.

Frowning slightly, the she-elf attempted to view the man seated before her with new eyes, picturing him as he might have once been. Clean-shaven, well-kept, sleek, confident... yes, she remembered him then. He had come to town that spring full of his own importance, flaunting power, murmuring sweet nothings, distributing joviality. His name was just beyond her mental reach, dancing teasingly in the darkened shadows of her memory. S... Steph...

"Stephan?"

Despite her best attempts, Larien couldn't remember anything else about the man other than his name. And that he had once held some importance. Judging by his current appearance, the young woman could only come to the conclusion that he no longer held the status he once did. Her eyes trailed slowly across his body, finally coming to and lingering upon the wine bottle in his hand. At his mention of their wager - made so long ago and never fulfilled - the she-elf couldn't help but feel her heart thud nervously. Stephan had clearly already had quite enough to drink.

More than enough actually.

[Dimnersti]

Drunks had become a bit of a blight in paxia of late, people lost to the world around them cowering in the retreat of the bottle so the man hitting on the elven woman was barely worth notice, the breastplate was perhaps worth notice, but he'd likely just stolen it from one of the victims of the seige. The young elven woman on the other hand imediatly grabbed your attention, it was less because of the beauty, but in paxia as it was, it was more the cleansed skin the fairly the light scent of perfume that drifted over the stink that you just couldn't seem to get rid of in the city.

A smile at the diversion coming his way, the days were awfully repetitive when you had little to do but labor away at reconstruction or off gathering suplies for those survivors that still lingered in the city, dim straightened his hood, brushed the light platinum locks of hair out of his eyes. with a slight shrug to shake the dust from his clothes his hands smoothing out his fine tunic of light blue and comfortable breaches.

"Sorry I"m late larian dear" he said loudly as he aproached the young woman. Leaning in close pretending to offer a light kiss on her cheek he whispered lightly in her ear "Sorry for imposing, just figured you'd apreciate the help"

[Stephan Woulofen]

As her head turned to look at him he now was able to get a much better look into her beautiful elven face. She was the woman he remembered, everything was the same, benefits of elven blood. Never seemed to age and her elven beauty would be tempting men for so very long. Watching her as she looked back at him he had wanted to look away at times in fear she might know who he was, even though he had given her all the information she would need to do so. He wasn't thinking too straight, which wasn't all that much of a surprise as of late.

Immediately as his name escaped her lips he winced, as if he had been stung by a bee. Though he had given her all that information to identify him, her doing so to him was a very great offense. Rising to his feet he tossed the bottle of wine among the other rubble and looked directly at her. Oddly he raised his finger to his lips and made a shushing noise, wanting her to know that she should not say such things. To say this was likely incredibly odd, awkward, and confusing to her was a understatement, thing was, Stephan in this mental condition had no idea he gave off such vibes. Just as he was about to say something to her, to tell her why she should not say such things, Stephan noticed someone approaching, heading right for her. Had he been the one the person was targetting he would have never got so close.

Hidden behind a hood Stephan could not tell who the person was as he came upon Larien, calling her by name, and getting incredibly close. If the person thought that the fake kiss would trick Stephan though he was mistaken. He may be slightly tipsy and lacking all his sanity, but he was not a fool, his heightened senses were rarely affected. Looking at them both it was now he saw the skin of the Vyssie behind the hood that was hiding his face. That was the last thing any of them needed. The last Vyssie he had come in contact with at one moment wanted him and then wanted to kill him the next, a worshipper of Jorel. He did not have a good experience with them at all, and his lack of knowing more than one well did not fare good to not think of stereotypes. He was not sure Larien, as an elf of her kind, would take all to warmly to a Vyssie.

Standing there a good enough distance to not come off as a threat he looked back and forth between the two, really wanted to tell her to not call him by that name, but if he would say such the Vyssie might wonder. So, instead he stood there, hands folded in front of him, waiting to see what she would do when in this situation.

[Larien Gil'dae]

Larien watched, her strange eyes widening slightly as Stephan lurched to his feet, tossing his wine bottle in the surrounding rubble before shushing her - a finger pressed to his lips. Was there something wrong with saying his name aloud? Or was this just a rather silly effect of the wine? The young woman was about to ask him as much - the former question at least - when the sound of another's voice broke into their conversation. Sorry I'm late Larien dear. From the corner of her eye, she saw the hooded man approach, his features currently hidden from her... though there was nothing about him that struck her as familiar. A stranger referring to her in such an intimate fashion? As he drew close into her - close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin - the maiden couldn't help but flinch involuntarily, her pale hand tightening on the reins of her mount. But his softly spoken words into her ear soon made his intentions known. It was a noble act, and one that she wouldn't have expected to see in such surroundings, though the she-elf couldn't help but be slightly put out that she hadn't had time to question Stephan properly about his behavior before the stranger interceded himself.

"Oh, you are not late," Larien responded quickly, only slightly stumbling as she tried to catch up with what was happening. She had never before participated in such a ruse - indeed she wasn't sure if she was willing to do so even then - so she was probably less than convincing. But it was the best she could do... especially considering her little problem: she couldn't tell a lie. "I was just catching up with an old acquaintance of mine..." She continued, gesturing to Stephan with one of her pale hands, though she did not utter his name again. Despite herself, Larien couldn't help but feel slightly more comfortable with the current situation now that the other man was present. That was until she turned her head completely to look her savior full in the face, her eerily light green gaze penetrating the shadows of his hood.

Black skin, violet eyes, silver hair - a Vyssie. A mixture of fear and disgust bubbled within her throat, adrenaline burning through her veins as she thought of just how close he had been to her moments before. Close enough to kiss her had he so wished. Different options flashed through her mind as she stood there, teetering on the edge between fight and flight - her dagger, her tired yet still speedy mount Fionn, Stephan... her heart fluttered frantically in her throat as she took a step away from the dark-elf, sending the other man a quick glance out of the corner of her eye. Now came the real question: which was more dangerous in this situation? Stephan in his current state? ... or a Vyssie?

Carmelya watch over me.

[Stephan Woulofen]

Stephan could not really understand what was going on as he had noticed the Vyssie far before it seemed even Larien had. Yet, she spoke as if they were close, very close, which all seemed so wrong to Stephan, not right at all. She did not seem like one to ruin her own sect of elves by engaging in acts with a Vyssie. Her blood appeared to pure as well, not showing any exchange in her bloodlines past with a vile sect of elves like this. Even before Larien could sense something wrong as she spoke, best she could, and seemed to be going along with an act, Stephan had noticed something very odd.

It did not take very long, but finally she looked at the Vyssie as well and stopped dead in her tracks, seemingly uncomfortable, and not as warm or accepting as one would be with a lover. She did not come close to him and froze as if one had cast a spell on her. What continued next was even more odd as there was a pause of silence, Larien's eyes looking back and forth between the two males and then she gave him the sign he had been waiting for. She took a step back away from the Vyssie, very telling, especially as he saw her look at him out of the corner of his eyes. Stephan had been wanting to tell this Vyssie off for awhile, mostly due to his racism, clouded all by stories and one woman.

Throwing the Vyssie a very rude gesture with his hands, he cursed the vile being as well. "Feth you beast, get your cursed skin away from her." Truly, Stephan had no idea if the Vyssie knew Larien, but it wasn't as if really cared either. Be it most fortunate that he was not drunk for had he been, instead of simply placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, he might have actually attacked immediately. But, there was something much more to that as well. As he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, a sword that was his only by fate, Stephan felt a surge of discomfort fall over him. The blade he touched was the same that had killed his wife, a blade Stephan had taken to remind him always of the curse he was upon his Tenance and others.

Rage of extreme sadness and hate rising Stephan looked at the Vyssie, making all indications that he was going to approach very soon if he did not back off.

[Dimnersti]

Stephans anger wasn't entirely to be unexpected, dimnersti had just blocked his 'play' for no reason beyond his own amusment, but being the sort he was, it also greatly enhanced the entertainment value. When it came to self preservation vs amusement, amusment won every time, it had resulted in a fair few minor injuries but all had been entirely worth it.


A practiced smile coming smoothly to his lips dim took a step back from the two "My apologies larry dear, I'd forgotten you were so uncomfortable with public displays." he said apolegeticly. Her discomfort at his race while expected would make the game somewhat more dificult, offering a quick cover for why she seemed so discomfortable was a priority if he was going to continue the amusement.

"While I can understand your response sir, I'd ask that you not insult larry so. Its true the pairing is an unusual one, and we often face odd stares, but I would hope that an aquantance of hers would at least concern himself with how his words made her feal." he said with a hint of disapointment aimed at the tipsy gentleman.

"Oh and forgive my own rude behaviour, I know your name from overhearing, but you'v no clue of my own. Dimnersti D'rinishad, always pleased to make the aquantance of a freind of my darling larries" he added as an afterthought, it was a tad out of place, but if he'd not offered his name, he risked stephan asking the young elven woman, wich could have unraveled his entire game and ruined his fun.

[Larien Gil'dae]

Despite herself... Larien couldn't help but be rather offended at Stephan's display in front of her. Not only rude hand gestures, but cursing as well? Of course, she didn't miss the rather unsubtle movement he made towards his sword, his fingers closing in on the hilt. Pure and bitter hatred rolled from the man in thick waves - so palpable that the young woman could almost taste it. Surely this reaction wasn't born merely from a desire to protect her? No, that would be silly. What man would jump to her rescue after only spending a few candlemarks in her company many eras previous? Perhaps the racist feelings that thrummed through her own veins were shared by the human man, inspiring him to such passionate hostility? It would hardly be surprising. The Vyssie were not a loved race by any stretch of the imagination. But as the maiden took in Stephan's threatening stance, she felt a blanket of uneasiness settle across her shoulders, causing her to shift lightly from foot to foot - torn as to what to do. If it came to violence... by the sea and stars, not even a candlemark in the city and already she had managed to worm her way into some type of trouble!

Perhaps she was more accursed than she had originally been led to believe.

Of course, nothing, nothing, could have prepared Larien for the Vyssie's response to the shaky turn of events. My apologies Larry dear, I'd forgotten you were so uncomfortable with public displays. ... What?! It took every ounce of the she-elf's will power to keep from swiveling about on her heel towards him and staring at him in utter disbelief before letting him know just how she felt about his impudence. Larry dear indeed. Unfortunately, there was a small part of her that couldn't help but admire his quick thinking... but that small part she squashed rather quickly. While I can understand your response sir, I'd ask that you not insult Larry so. It's true the pairing is an unusual one, and we often face odd stares, but I would hope that an acquaintance of hers would at least concern himself with how his words made her feel. Ha. Oh, she'd show him how she felt. How dare he even pretend to be on such intimate terms with her! He... one of the dark race! As if she would ever even associate herself with one of them.

Well, actually, she had associated herself with one of them before. But that small fact was forgotten for the moment. That was, until the Vyssie finally introduced himself. Dimnersti D'Rinishad. While his first name did little to interest her - beyond the fact that she now knew who it was she was currently loathing - his family name did spark something within the recesses of her mind. It had been long ago, before she had known of her Gil'dae blood... back when she had been known as Larien Calafalas. Riparia. The tavern. A Vyssie named Faust. Faust D'Rinishad. She had been terrified and thrilled at the same time when the black-skinned young man had approached her. Larien had always been quite curious by nature, and so she had endured his company... and found it to not be so unpleasing as she had first thought it would be. In fact, should she even dare to think it, it had been quite enjoyable. But she had been younger then. Naive. Never would she be so rash now. Especially since she was now a Gil'dae and no longer merely a simple country girl from Natura. She had at least some pride.

And yet, despite everything - the snappy retorts dancing just on the tip of her tongue, the flame of anger sparking along her skin... Larien found herself rendered quite speechless. Helpless, she glanced first to the Vyssie, her eerily light green eyes sparking with a strange mixture of emotions as her gaze skipped across his slender form, before looking to Stephan once more and nipping her bottom lip lightly.

[Stephan Woulofen]

There was a great strain of danger and nervousness in this close vicinity, and Stephan wasn't going to back down. He had been fearless before, but not caring about his own life anymore and not thinking all to straight made him rash and very dangerous. All he sensed from this dark skin was a mocking tone as he continued with his foolish game of acting like he really knew her and she knew him. It was all a lie. But, not just that, the Vyssie was purposely trying to anger him, as if everything was a game. He was not smiling and he was not enjoying this one bit. His hand, stayed by the hilt and now slid over it, like her was nurturing it for what was to come.

All the while Larien was seemingly lost, confused, unable to do or say anything. It was all a ridiculous situation, how could she be so weak. A fine elven blood so weak in front of a Vyssie and a dangerous situation. It was true the elves lost ground while humans rose above them. Stephan saw this all the more clearly now. All thoughts and all unease at this situation went immediately out the window as the Vyssie introduced himself to both of them. D'rinishad? He knew that name, all too well. It was because of a D'rinishad that his attempted murderer, a Vyssie scum, had nearly killed him and another Vyssie scum, who was suppose to be the law in that city, allowed her to go free. Not only that, but he also tried to bring her to testify against him in trial through lies that he was the one who had done her wrong.

Serion, that was his name.

"D'rinishad.....," he began, cursing the name under his breath. His hand on the hilt of his blade grabbed it and slightly withdrew it, showing the shimmering metal in the sunlight. "It was because of a fething Vyssie, who nearly killed me and then played innocent, I was kept in jail for so long, and it was Serion D'rinishad who let her free and protected that Jorelite!" Taking another step closer to the Vyssie he did not even look at Larien anymore, all his attention directed at this Vyssie. "I suggest you leave right now, and tell Serion, or better, Rilith, who has likely become his whore, that should I ever see them again I will kill them. Same goes for you, fething demon."

"Now get lost, or do you want to test me by saying a single thing more?" He was not messing around, and he would see it through to whatever end.

[Dimnersti]

Dimnersti wasn't exactly the combative sort, though given his suroundings he wouldn't necisarly have to be, the man was clearly a tad unhinged by drink, and the suroundings were far from stable footing. Was any sort of violence to erupt it wouldn't take much for him to stay well without of the mans reach, or simply flee if it were to come to that. then again all it took was a touch, humans wern't the most agile of creatures to begin with, and this one was at least slightly addled from drink.

Shifting his footing just enough that he'd be prepared to move out of the way were the human to lunge forward, such primitive creatures sometimes, one would think the lylles would have seen the wisdom in banning their kind from the drink wich only served to lower them even further. "Serion you may not relize sir, is quite dead. Jalat has caried his soul to its proper judgment." he stated in a fairly flat tone. "And troubled as you may be, we'r all children born of carmelya's love, hatred and revenge is of jorels ilk and I'll have no part in it.". Only a slighty mistruth, as dimnersti was of carmelya's children, but hatred and discord were as much a part of life as anything else, but these were things best left hidden in the shadows.

His head turning slightly towards the young elven woman, though not far enough that the unstable human was never out of his sight he offered a small apologetic smile "Hmm, it seems I'v braught you nothing but trouble again lovey" He did feal a lil guilt that his fun had created such a situation for the young elven woman, though at the same time he couldn't help but enjoy himself further by offering his apology while remaining in character.

[Larien Gil'dae]

And that was when everything finally crumbled. Startled, Larien found herself taking an involuntary step backwards at Stephan's display, cringing away from his harsh language and boiling hatred. How so like a human... always so quick to respond, to jump to action. Always so eager to flaunt their hotheadedness. Eyes narrowing, the young woman assessed her current situation with a rather cynical air. Here she was, armed and yet still quite helpless, faced with a seemingly crazed man infused with anger and slowly unsheathing his sword on one hand and on the other, a Vyssie that seemed to be getting more amusement out of their current circumstances than was necessary... or even possible. Two opposite ends of the spectrum... and yet both maddening in their own right. It was enough to drive even the calmest of personages to anger. And Larien had never been the calmest of personages in any sense.

"Enough!" Her melodious voice cracked sharply, exploding from her lips as she took a step forward, positioning herself in between the two men. All traces of fear and uneasiness washed away in the heat of the moment, the young elven woman stood before Stephan with her chin tilted and her eyes flashing like liquid emeralds. Not even for a moment did it occur to Larien that the man might be so beyond normal thought that he would be quite unperturbed with the idea of drawing his blade upon her, defenseless as she was. In fact, she wasn't worried about her well-being in the slightest. Oddly enough, the only thing on the she-elf's mind at that moment was concern for the well-being of the two men she stood between... yes, even the Vyssie. Not from compassion, no, but just for the sheer fact that there was enough killing and death happening every brightening without another number being added to the toll for such a silly encounter as this one.

Unruffled, Larien took a gliding step towards Stephan, drawing close and laying a pale hand gently upon his arm. "Stephan," she murmured softly for his ears alone, though her lilting voice still remained firm. "Stop this now." Her hand still on his arm, she pulled a little away from him, giving the man some distance though she was far from backing down just yet. Even if Stephan insisted... persisted... no blood would be shed in her presence on this brightening. Of that she was determined. As the Vyssie spoke, Larien felt her body freeze slightly. Turned away from him as she was, for a moment the young woman could forget it was a foul dark elf that spoke and could listen to his words alone. We're all children born of Carmelya's love, hatred and revenge is of Jorel's ilk and I'll have no part in it. He spoke true, that much she would give him (if only begrudgingly). However, any good feelings she might have felt for the other - good being categorized as a step above her current loathing - were immediately squashed as he opened his mouth again. And said just the wrong thing.

Whipping about, eyes flashing dangerously, Larien closed the distance between them in only a few gliding steps, drawing inappropriately close to his person. "And you," she snarled, glaring into his odd violet eyes, having to tilt her chin slightly to do so seeing as the man was slightly taller than she. "I am not your Larry dear, nor your... lovey. I am Arwen Larien Gil'dae, not some... tavern wench that you can use for your own amusement." With each word, the young woman's melodious voice grew louder and louder until she was all but shouting in the face of the Vyssie, a flush painting itself across her angular cheeks. Trembling slightly, Larien clenched her hand into a fist at her side, taking a few shuddering breaths to calm herself. After some moments, she finally was able to speak once more, this time her voice quite soft - though still laced with a taste of anger - and speaking in the elvish tongue. Hopefully he was knowledgeable in the language.

"I will speak to you more later."