Ulric's private bathhouse looks more like a thermae than a personal bathroom. Or maybe it's because of the dozens, or maybe a bit above a hundred barbarians playing in the pool, adult and children alike. It is the only bathhouse in the castle that can contain the horde. Though it's old, it doesn't seem as old as the rest of the castle. Its luxuries can still be seen, even in the midst of heavy barbarian presence.
Mogens walked into the bathhouse. His eyes and that of Marit met and held for about a moment. There was a bit of hesitation on his part, but he walked on. Marit looked away with a sigh.
"He is still angry at you?" Vojnka asked.
"More like afraid of me" Marit corrected, tinge with sadness.
She kept her eyes on him even after he walked into the pool. His family was one of the few 'wallborn' people her grandfather accepted into the village after demons razed down theirs. It seems so long ago now. They were just kids, they grew up together, he became one of them.
Bhara's usual boisterous laugh distracted her as he ran by chasing his wife who ran out of the bath house.
He soon came back, empty handed, and walked towards them, still laughing, his cock swinging freely as he approached.
"How are you still here?" he asked, mainly to Vojnka. "Get in before these bastards ruin the waters"
He tried to carry her off, but she easily thwarted his efforts. He seems oblivious to the discomfort his nudity was causing her, especially the rub of his cock.
"I'm fine" she replied, standing back beside her sister again.
"What are you talking about?" the barbarian laughed, still trying to drag her. "If there's anybody that should be in the waters it's you. You played twice as much as any of us. And you are still in your clothes?"
Vojnka was still good-naturedly resisting the man's attempts, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease as Bhara's hands fumbled at her clothing.
"She said not yet, you idiot" Marit smacked him hard in the head.
The barbarian held his head where he was hit but laughed it off and ran into the crowded pool when he saw his wife run by.
Marit looked at her trembling sister, trying not to make her concerns too obvious. "Are you alright?" she asked.
Vojnka took a deep breath in. "Yes," she replied simply.
Her sister looked at her for a few moments, said nothing, then back at the noisy pool.
Before recent events Vojnka would be in the middle of the noisy pool, as they've always done in rivers, unconscious of herself as she played with mostly the children. Now she feels so much rage and shame. What he did to her took something from her that she never knew she even had.
Before a tear could fall, she turned and left the bathhouse. Her sister watched her, her concerns evident, but she can't afford to ask her where she was going. This was the most hurt she has ever seen her and she can't begin to predict what she would do, and that scares her.
┌─────── ♕ ───────┐
The halls loomed larger than Aleksander remembered. It was a general mana class and it was almost time so the amphitheater-style hall was almost filled up. He scanned the hall for familiar faces and the ones he saw looked past him or looked away. He cursed under his breath, squared his shoulders, lifting his chin, the proud tilt of his head a reflection honed by years of being at the top.
The air buzzed with the hum of students, their voices a sharp murmur that seemed to sharpened as he climbed the narrow staircase between rows of seats. There were snickers and muffled laughs as he passed but he ignored it and climbed up to the back of the hall where he always sat with his friends, but now none were there.
"You wouldn't dare" came a voice in a sing-song, mock-crying tone and the whole hall burst out laughing.
Aleksander shot to his feet and stormed toward the boy that said it, once his closest friend. They were still laughing when he came to them and the boy didn't bother to turn when Aleksander approached.
"Something funny?" he asked, looming over the boy.
The boy glanced up, still chuckling, arm draped casually over the top of the backrest of the continuous classroom bench. "Why? Did you laugh?"
That elicited a couple of laughs from the friends and the hall, and Aleksander snapped. He had the speed of a lightning mage so his friend couldn't react until the punch, that connected squarely on his face, snapped his head back and landed him on the desk, unconscious.
Then chaos broke. The first to hit him was a barrage of water on the face, no doubt from Nazar, and then the quick blade of Lyssa almost almost nicked his neck. If she intended for it to slit his throat or she just wanted to scare him he wasn't sure. Fights are prohibited in the halls and she would have been very well in her rights. Too many hands fell on him. He tried to fight back but it was too close for a mage. A blow to the cheek, snapping his face to the side, another drove into his gut, stealing his breath. He swayed, his mouth flying open, and a fist smashed into his sagging jaw. He crumpled to the ground and the stomping began. He tried to protect himself but it was too overwhelming, so he lost control.
A blinding flash erupted from his body, arcs of bluish-white snapping outward like a storm unleashed. Two attackers flew back—one crashing into a pillar, another skidding across the floor, limbs flailing.
Aleksander staggered upright, trembling. Lightning danced along his skin. His mouth hung open, panting. He was ready to fight back and his friends didn't seem satisfied, but before he could regain his footing a voice interrupted,
"Enough"
It was Owen Ravenscroft. Crown Prince of Estonia. He was a tall boy with a mane of black hair that fell in thick curls to his shoulders. His skin a light bronze like that of the Central plains. He carried himself with the practiced ease of someone long used to being obeyed, but that should be expected, not just because of the status of his kingdom, but for the fact that he was already a knight at such a young age and he can exert Presence--a skill only gotten with deaths.
Aleksander looked at him. Until the events of the party, Ravenscroft had ignored him in what Aleksander had mistaken for mutual respect. He let out a breath, defiance leaving him. He just stood there and watch them take their unconscious friend out of the hall. In the background a girl was telling her friends that lessons were canceled. Some overheard and were rejoicing, but a friend asked, "what? But why?"
"I'm not sure," the first friend answered. "They said Lady Gatlin got killed."
There was a wide spread shock in the hall but none of it got to Aleksander. The shadows were with him, but not even a single one of them tried to help.
┌─────── ♕ ───────┐
We wandered for the better part of the day, moving through the forest, keeping the road in sight but staying well away from it. Though the trees were bare, their branches wove a canopy that blocked much of the sunlight. After what seemed like eternity, we saw smoke, and soon stumbled on a small cluster of houses nestled in a clearing. It wasn't a proper village, just a handful of homes huddled together in a fading light. I hesitated at the edge of the trees, watching. People moved about, their voices carrying faintly.
While wrestling on how to approach this, we heard the approaching squeaking wheels of a wagon. I went down to wait for it.
"Oh, lost travelers!" he called, more declaration than question, his voice warm as he shifted sacks of grain to make space. "Hop on. I'll take you to the village to rest your legs."
He was an aged man with a tangled white beard. His eyes crinkled with a kindness that seemed to have not seen much of the dangers of the world.
I considered him for a moment more, even more suspicious. Our faces were well covered, and we waited by the road. Any reasonable man, no matter how kind, would at least be cautious, but he seem to have no flicker of doubt that the world could harbor ill. Though [Appraisal] says he was unawakened I couldn't shake off the discomfort.
"What is the nearest capital city?" I asked.
"Not a place you can go without resting" he said, patting the wagon's bench. "Come on now"
I conceded. We could use the rest, the cold was creeping into my bones.
He laughed when I was the one climbing on. Whether he recognized Ophelia as a female, in her emaciated and well cloaked form, or he thought her the weaker one I wasn't sure yet.
"I guess you she can always sit on your laps" he said, good naturedly.
I didn't have to look beyond Ophelia's masks to know the look she gave him. Even the man had to laugh out loud at that, but he obliged her and made the horse walk the rest of the way.
He talked cheerfully as we rode through the narrow path into the village, but I barely paid attention.
A little girl herded chickens into a coop, their squawks piercing the air; an old woman hung damp linens on a sagging line, her hands gnarled but quick. I noticed a red patch on her arm but I didn't pay special mind to it. It only got my attention because I thought I saw something similar on the little girl.
He stopped before a thatch-roofed house with smoke curling from the chimney and vines creeping the stone walls.
"We're here," he announced, swinging down to unhitch the horse, his hands deft as he loosened the harness.
I got down.
"No inn in a place this small," he said, leading the horse to a lean-to beside the house. "You can stay with us."
Us implies a family. He is comfortable bringing in two masked strangers into his home? It is getting even weirder but I simply said thank you, and he waved it aside and said they get lost travelers every now and then.
We walked into the house and it was as peasant looking as I would expect—clean but spare, with rough-hewn beams and a packed-dirt floor softened by woven rush mats. A strong looking table dominated the room, flanked by mismatched stools, and a hearth crackled faintly, its warmth very much welcomed. He dropped his sack on the table and called out a woman's name that I missed on the first call.
A middle aged woman rushed in from the door that leads to the back. She was rather above middle height, well proportioned, with a languid pensive hazel eyes.
"You did not hear me come in?" he asked, taking off his coat.
"Had to finish off what I had in hand" she said, smiling in casual warmness. She wiped her hands on her gown, collected the man's coat, and looked at us. "I see you brought home guests?" she said. She was considering us more than her husband did.
"They seem lost, and I offered to house them for the night." he replied. "Would you mind preparing the guest room?"
"Sure, " she smiled, and crossed over to open the door on the left. As she crossed over, I watched the sway of her hips. Her peasant gown clung just enough to show she was indeed well proportioned, especially her rump.
"Also I'm sure they will like a bath." he said as we were entering the room. "Will the meals for tonight be enough for two more mouths?"
"I will take care of it" she replied, smiling at him again.
She lit a lamp and placed it on a narrow shelf by the wall. Then she dusted the straw mattresses on the two low cots. From a basket with a lid, she took out some rough but clean sheets and shook them out with quick, practiced motions.
Ophelia left the door open but the old man didn't care. He was already halfway into the other room. Even though I had my eyes on the woman's ass the whole time, especially when she bends over; I knew something was not right.
"You are rather beautiful" I said to the woman and she glanced back, a folded sheet in hand, and gave me a tight smile before returning to her task, spreading the sheet across the mattress.
While crossing the room to retrieve a pillow from the basket, she spoke, "Don't you think it's rude to have your face covered in another person's home?"
"Keith has a good heart," she added "He has utmost trust for his gods and humanity, he expect goodness from everybody"
"But you don't?" I quipped.
She smiled again. "I wasn't born here"
As she was passing me I took off my face coverings. Her eyes lingered a second more, then she smiled—genuine this time. She moved past, set the pillow down by the headboard, and headed for the door.
"I'll set up a bath," she said, pausing briefly in the doorway.
I nodded. She left.
In retrospect, the end would have been different if I were a different man, a better man, but I guess sometimes fate would insist on his design.