Questions, Answers and Revelations in the folder "Old Villain, New Start" and after the events in There But For the Grace of God in that same folder.]
Playing with fire . . .
Things she gets herself into. She has got to remember that restraint can sometimes be a good thing. Ah, but that thought soon leaves, supplanted by another. Jodiah is upstairs asleep. A glance out the front window tells her false dawn is on the horizon, and in that instant she makes up her mind. Impulsive nature taking the lead, she climbs the steps to the second floor. Soft booted footfalls make their way to the door of room three and she presses her head to it to listen.
It is silent, of course. The small hours of the morning are reserved for sleeping, under most circumstances. All sensitive ears pick up is the slow, rhythmic rush of air, in and out from a slumbering body. She knew before she tried it the door would be locked, and using magical means wouldn't work on guest quarters' locks. So, bending to one knee, she slips her hand to a front pocket, drawing forth tools she's used now and again throughout her existence.
If she'd paused to think, which she didn't, too wound up from the night's previous fiasco with Chris, Lucky, and that raving female, Stacey, claiming to be having Chris' children, she might have stopped herself. But, she didn't. Silently she worked the tumblers until she heard the telltale click. Why didn't she just knock" We mentioned she wasn't really thinking, yes" Rising, the knob was turned and she opened the door a crack to peer inside.
The door parted, and the interior was black, save the ever-open window. What light filtered in from the early morning cast blue-gray highlights down onto the body of Jodiah Ayreg, scarred as he was, and resting comfortably. Three-quarters of a bottle of Midnight Tears and her eyes fairly glowed in the ghostly light. She watched him from the door, watched his measured breathing.
The Ancient could have simply walked through without bothering with the lock picking, but Sid had this thing about the overuse of magic. She wasn't content, however, to just spy on him from the hallway. Plus, someone might come along and speak to her and that wouldn't bode well. So, stepping inside, the door was closed behind her; keeping the knob turned and easing off it before it had a chance to sound its soft alarm of clicking.
She stood against the wall, then, not really knowing why she was here and what she wanted. Actually, she was still trying to figure out why she'd spewed her entire existence's history to him the other day. Still hadn't sussed that one out yet. There was just something about him. Was she attracted to him' Well . . . yeah. Sid found attraction in many things and many beings. That wasn't the issue, really. The issue was, what had compelled her to do the telling" For, truly, it was a compulsion.
Jodiah, it could be said, was not that attractive insomuch as the beings of Rhy'Din go. Old, human, small, and short - all by Rhy'Din standards, of course - the aging knight simply had to make his way through life with what he was born with. If there was a reason Sid found herself attracted to him, then it once again simply went to prove that the ways of the supernatural are subtle, and mysterious, and unknown to the human mind. It could be seen that Ayreg had been a restless sleeper this past night. He was prone to nightmares, though. A kind of loose-fitting black pair of linen pants were worn, and nothing else. The blanket he so cherished wrapping himself up in was in two separate heaps - one to his flank, and the other on the floor beneath that one, connected by a length of that blanket.
It would be so easy to slip inside his thoughts right now. And, for a moment she contemplated it. Yet, the Ancient was a respectful being and she didn't root about unwanted in the minds of those she . . . felt something for. What she felt for Jodiah Ayreg, she hadn't defined fully, but she respected him enough to let his secrets remain his own until such time as he felt the need to speak them. There was a darkness within him, she knew this, she sensed it. She knew Belial was wary of this male, too. Curiosity was often quite the strong pull on the Trueblood, but she resisted the urge to meddle about. Standing there, back to the wall and watching him breathe, she dropped the glamour. Bare feet silently moved to the tossed off blanket. Gingerly she picked it up and slid it over him, a breath of fabric settled across his sleeping form.
He stirred. Soldiers sleep lightly, it is said, and the death knight had been a soldier all of his life. A turn of his head, and a faint, inaudible mumbled series of words rolled out of him, but he was not wakened. Not fully. That motion of his head, a few muttered words, and a shift of his arm beneath the now-draped over blanket was the only reaction he had to the feather-light touch of her covering his shattered and broken body.
Standing over him, high on the essence of Midnight Tears, more than once she stopped herself as a hand raised to hover above the slumbering knight. She knew, without having to be told in so many words, that Jodiah was uncomfortable in his aging body. It would be a fairly easy thing for one such as her to trifle and gift him with a surprise upon his waking. Three times that hand went up, and three times she brought it back down. What was wrong with her!" Why were these thoughts even being raised within her mind"
The filmy hem of the white shift breezed upwards slightly as she crouched beside the bed, eye level with the sleeping man. Rocked back to her haunches, arms lying atop her thighs, eyes aglow in the dark, she knew she was playing with dangerous fire, in two ways. The immediate being, he could awake and strike out at what he would take as an unknown intruder. She would continue on, true, but this would probably anger him. Again, she would deal. She was sure. The second, though, she couldn't see the whole of it. But, she knew that danger had far deeper reaching consequences.
Looking upon Jodiah's true face it is not the steel and frowning angles it normally is while awake. Lips turned simply into a neutral gesture, muscles relaxed, he could have been anybody's father. Maybe grandfather, if they were young enough, but Jodiah Ayreg was not so old and decrepit yet as to not have the fire and zeal and passion that a younger person might. His was simply controlled; matured. Experience tempered in knowledge. Ah, but knowledge of what? His brow furrowed for an instant, and then returned to a tranquil state. The old knight was dreaming, it seemed, head turning once again, now almost entirely on the side of his face as if looking to those glowing eyes.
The Ancient smiled softly, thin lips curling slightly but no show of teeth. Brushing back a bit of spider-silk silver, she gestured with that same hand and a gentle breeze of fragrant air wafted across the sleeping man. It smelled of Summer World, exotic flowers and green, budding leaves. Eyes looked down as the smile grew when a lock of his graying hair fluttered just so beneath its touch.
In truth, Sid watches him like one looks over a child. Wondering what he dreams, hoping the one he is reviewing makes him happy, brings him peace. She wanted him to have peace, at least in sleep though she knew he most probably did not. It wasn't hard to guess the knight most likely suffered of bad dreams, most mortals who had seen what Jodiah had obviously seen - from the looks of his battered body - did.
A kind of long, sighing breath was released from the dreaming knight. Were the Ancient to dive into his thoughts, would deeper secrets be shown" Jodiah's expression remained slack and stoic, whatever played out in his subconscious. It wasn't an unpleasant face, by any means - a vast improvement to the usual sneers and frowns he seemed to normally have. The corner of his eye twitched, and his shoulders rolled back against the bed. Another soft, near silent murmur of sound loosed.
What do ye dream, Jodiah Ayreg? Her words were not speech, but the gentle breeze caressing his cheek and brow. Something struggled deep within her, a pull to delve inside his dreams and watch him there. Silvered hair floated about her angular visage with the violent shaking of her head. Shoulders scrunched up and she worked tension from her neck. Tell us what ye see, Jodiah Ayreg. A frown mars faultless features as she continues the trickery. If she had a mind, she would call the Dreamwitch, Melyantha, to her side and beg her sister take her to the dream plane to see. But, her lips were still and silent. Only the breeze played on.
Playing with fire . . .
Things she gets herself into. She has got to remember that restraint can sometimes be a good thing. Ah, but that thought soon leaves, supplanted by another. Jodiah is upstairs asleep. A glance out the front window tells her false dawn is on the horizon, and in that instant she makes up her mind. Impulsive nature taking the lead, she climbs the steps to the second floor. Soft booted footfalls make their way to the door of room three and she presses her head to it to listen.
It is silent, of course. The small hours of the morning are reserved for sleeping, under most circumstances. All sensitive ears pick up is the slow, rhythmic rush of air, in and out from a slumbering body. She knew before she tried it the door would be locked, and using magical means wouldn't work on guest quarters' locks. So, bending to one knee, she slips her hand to a front pocket, drawing forth tools she's used now and again throughout her existence.
If she'd paused to think, which she didn't, too wound up from the night's previous fiasco with Chris, Lucky, and that raving female, Stacey, claiming to be having Chris' children, she might have stopped herself. But, she didn't. Silently she worked the tumblers until she heard the telltale click. Why didn't she just knock" We mentioned she wasn't really thinking, yes" Rising, the knob was turned and she opened the door a crack to peer inside.
The door parted, and the interior was black, save the ever-open window. What light filtered in from the early morning cast blue-gray highlights down onto the body of Jodiah Ayreg, scarred as he was, and resting comfortably. Three-quarters of a bottle of Midnight Tears and her eyes fairly glowed in the ghostly light. She watched him from the door, watched his measured breathing.
The Ancient could have simply walked through without bothering with the lock picking, but Sid had this thing about the overuse of magic. She wasn't content, however, to just spy on him from the hallway. Plus, someone might come along and speak to her and that wouldn't bode well. So, stepping inside, the door was closed behind her; keeping the knob turned and easing off it before it had a chance to sound its soft alarm of clicking.
She stood against the wall, then, not really knowing why she was here and what she wanted. Actually, she was still trying to figure out why she'd spewed her entire existence's history to him the other day. Still hadn't sussed that one out yet. There was just something about him. Was she attracted to him' Well . . . yeah. Sid found attraction in many things and many beings. That wasn't the issue, really. The issue was, what had compelled her to do the telling" For, truly, it was a compulsion.
Jodiah, it could be said, was not that attractive insomuch as the beings of Rhy'Din go. Old, human, small, and short - all by Rhy'Din standards, of course - the aging knight simply had to make his way through life with what he was born with. If there was a reason Sid found herself attracted to him, then it once again simply went to prove that the ways of the supernatural are subtle, and mysterious, and unknown to the human mind. It could be seen that Ayreg had been a restless sleeper this past night. He was prone to nightmares, though. A kind of loose-fitting black pair of linen pants were worn, and nothing else. The blanket he so cherished wrapping himself up in was in two separate heaps - one to his flank, and the other on the floor beneath that one, connected by a length of that blanket.
It would be so easy to slip inside his thoughts right now. And, for a moment she contemplated it. Yet, the Ancient was a respectful being and she didn't root about unwanted in the minds of those she . . . felt something for. What she felt for Jodiah Ayreg, she hadn't defined fully, but she respected him enough to let his secrets remain his own until such time as he felt the need to speak them. There was a darkness within him, she knew this, she sensed it. She knew Belial was wary of this male, too. Curiosity was often quite the strong pull on the Trueblood, but she resisted the urge to meddle about. Standing there, back to the wall and watching him breathe, she dropped the glamour. Bare feet silently moved to the tossed off blanket. Gingerly she picked it up and slid it over him, a breath of fabric settled across his sleeping form.
He stirred. Soldiers sleep lightly, it is said, and the death knight had been a soldier all of his life. A turn of his head, and a faint, inaudible mumbled series of words rolled out of him, but he was not wakened. Not fully. That motion of his head, a few muttered words, and a shift of his arm beneath the now-draped over blanket was the only reaction he had to the feather-light touch of her covering his shattered and broken body.
Standing over him, high on the essence of Midnight Tears, more than once she stopped herself as a hand raised to hover above the slumbering knight. She knew, without having to be told in so many words, that Jodiah was uncomfortable in his aging body. It would be a fairly easy thing for one such as her to trifle and gift him with a surprise upon his waking. Three times that hand went up, and three times she brought it back down. What was wrong with her!" Why were these thoughts even being raised within her mind"
The filmy hem of the white shift breezed upwards slightly as she crouched beside the bed, eye level with the sleeping man. Rocked back to her haunches, arms lying atop her thighs, eyes aglow in the dark, she knew she was playing with dangerous fire, in two ways. The immediate being, he could awake and strike out at what he would take as an unknown intruder. She would continue on, true, but this would probably anger him. Again, she would deal. She was sure. The second, though, she couldn't see the whole of it. But, she knew that danger had far deeper reaching consequences.
Looking upon Jodiah's true face it is not the steel and frowning angles it normally is while awake. Lips turned simply into a neutral gesture, muscles relaxed, he could have been anybody's father. Maybe grandfather, if they were young enough, but Jodiah Ayreg was not so old and decrepit yet as to not have the fire and zeal and passion that a younger person might. His was simply controlled; matured. Experience tempered in knowledge. Ah, but knowledge of what? His brow furrowed for an instant, and then returned to a tranquil state. The old knight was dreaming, it seemed, head turning once again, now almost entirely on the side of his face as if looking to those glowing eyes.
The Ancient smiled softly, thin lips curling slightly but no show of teeth. Brushing back a bit of spider-silk silver, she gestured with that same hand and a gentle breeze of fragrant air wafted across the sleeping man. It smelled of Summer World, exotic flowers and green, budding leaves. Eyes looked down as the smile grew when a lock of his graying hair fluttered just so beneath its touch.
In truth, Sid watches him like one looks over a child. Wondering what he dreams, hoping the one he is reviewing makes him happy, brings him peace. She wanted him to have peace, at least in sleep though she knew he most probably did not. It wasn't hard to guess the knight most likely suffered of bad dreams, most mortals who had seen what Jodiah had obviously seen - from the looks of his battered body - did.
A kind of long, sighing breath was released from the dreaming knight. Were the Ancient to dive into his thoughts, would deeper secrets be shown" Jodiah's expression remained slack and stoic, whatever played out in his subconscious. It wasn't an unpleasant face, by any means - a vast improvement to the usual sneers and frowns he seemed to normally have. The corner of his eye twitched, and his shoulders rolled back against the bed. Another soft, near silent murmur of sound loosed.
What do ye dream, Jodiah Ayreg? Her words were not speech, but the gentle breeze caressing his cheek and brow. Something struggled deep within her, a pull to delve inside his dreams and watch him there. Silvered hair floated about her angular visage with the violent shaking of her head. Shoulders scrunched up and she worked tension from her neck. Tell us what ye see, Jodiah Ayreg. A frown mars faultless features as she continues the trickery. If she had a mind, she would call the Dreamwitch, Melyantha, to her side and beg her sister take her to the dream plane to see. But, her lips were still and silent. Only the breeze played on.