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Drifted Away; Open
Topic Started: Jul 30 2008, 09:27 PM (654 Views)
Vaudeux Jupiter
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Yeoman
[ *  * ]
In a strange sort of shudder, the rumpled hump of a back belonging to Zacharias swayed as he mindlessly made his way through his spacious study, knocking around pieces of loose parchment without notice on each step of his knobby and unsteady legs. His heavily wrinkled face, of a deathly pale pallor, was framed by a halo of wispy, gray threads, so that one could easily spy discolored blotches stippling over his thin skin through fine hair. Protruding veins ran over fragile limbs that shook with the invisible earthquake of his body, long affecting his raspy speech, now numbing his once proud gait to an everlasting hobble. The senile man scuffed around his Tudor-style abode without a sense of purpose, but drifted from room to room fondling trash and mumbling things of incoherence to himself and yelling lyrics lacking clarity to ghosts. Everyday his age-lines would become like fissures of decay, ground deeper into his ruined visage and thereon his beady eyes would became more and more vacant. Vaudeux watched this slow destruction warily, and found age to be an angry storm upon the body; its harsh winds roughing it, its relentless rain pounding it down.

Zacharias was a blunt, strict master to the young thief; their relationship was build between books and weapons, two strangers learning from one another under the same roof. Vaudeux came to enjoy the regular meals and steady shelter, Zacharias the company and his ability to exploit this young body for medial, laborious tasks. They spent time forging both weapons and acquaintances for the nearest village, and the rest was their own, spent in learning. Only recently had Jupiter come to notice his prescribed master’s mind beginning to become aloof. When intellectual conversations were cut short by a strained memory or absence of word, where far-off callings would go unheard and simple, overused items would go astray. Yet it was on this day, the distance between master and pupil was exceptionally grave.

Fresh from the village and the arms of a blossoming milk maiden, Vaudeux strode leisurely up the dirt lane that inclined itself towards the Zacharias manor in a lovely stretch of grassland, with his raven locks shuddering against his tanned temples from a tall pace and a slight summer’s breeze. He adjusted his lust-enthused collar properly upon his shoulder as he moved, attempting to still see day before he made it back inside master’s home. The sky above bled carnation pink into a deeper ginger the longer and farther he carried on, the night a palpable sight beyond the reaches of the setting sun. The heavens were cloudless besides a stream of smoke that was perhaps journeying from the mouth of the manor’s chimney, where he expected to be burning a hearth’s fill of log. But once he had passed just enough road to see the house in the distance, a blaze was burning brilliantly through the first floor window, sending long drafts of smoke into the air and waves of fire out shock-exploded windows- told him otherwise.

Mind in a panic, Jupiter sprinted towards the house, jade eyes filled with the fire’s blazonry and its destruction. He burst inside to a world of heat and smoke. Blearing around with agitated tears, he knew not where the fires began or how to end their lustrous lives. By the door there was a pale of water, which he used -to some extent- to quail the flames, though he could see no end to their rage. It was standing in the midst of the inferno did he begin to seek out his master. The young thief, shielding his impeccable features from the heat, stepped his way through the fires looking always for Zacharias with doom in his eyes. By the vacant hearth he found his aged lecturer reclined, sleep apparent in his slowly rising chest and closed lids. Vaudeux rushed to his side and bade him to wake, but found him unresponsive, whether from the smoke or his age he knew not, but carried the decrepit bulk from the flames and out into the open. He laid the man onto the grasses, beading sweat from his brow as he watched him sputter awake. Wrinkled eyes like leather blinked around glossily.

“My- What happened Jean-Paul?” quested the muttering man. Where he had conjured this name, Vaudeux knew not, but decided to grimace instead of correct him.

“Your house is burning, sir,” motioned he, worry-lines beginning to mark his smooth countenance as looked upon his master. “Do you remember what happened?”

With a sweeping glance, the aged warrior’s pale grays found his building, and peered over it queerly as if seeing it for the first time. Vaudeux watched sadly as his master did not remark over the destruction, but begin to recite a long stream of mutterings he had accustomed to himself over the last few days. He wheezed out smoke and laughed hoarsely at the sound it made, much like how a baby would fawn over something new and squeaky. Jupiter stood away from the man, beginning to notice a disgust within himself for this vulnerable shell of a being. This man was a man no longer fit to teach him, nor did he wish to learn from him any longer. But he couldn’t rightly leave his master astray, could he? Vaudeux sat away on the front steep, hearing the dying embers crackle menacingly in the house behind him and watching his tutor slowly fade away in the grass before him. Deep into the night he watched the man stop stirring and, not long after, cease his incoherent yelling until, before long, he was just a motionless slump of flesh and over-worn cloth upon the darkened earth. It was like watching a grand building wither and fall, a colossal tree bend and break; it was a horrifying sight and yet an awe-inspiring one to see something so grand wilt away to nothing. Jupiter couldn’t help but feel responsible, but not saddened. The waiting for his burden to become lighter had passed through the night, and in his waiting, that dark adolescence began to again creep out from his pores. He reveled in the darkness and began to thirst to again see the great fall.

In morning the sun peeked at him from over the horizon, a wink of light to stir the troubled thief alive. He vowed to collect his things and leave the site of charred greatness to venture anew, and so he braved through the musty haze of smoke and burnt remains for pack and garments. He stomped around collecting his things and other gold pieces lying about for minutes strained in smoke, and others clear and welcomed. Then he trotted down to the unharmed storage area where sets of glimmering swords were hanging, now ownerless. Without seeing harm in taking them, he lifted a gold-gilded, sharp-edged specimen from the rack and had begun to admire its craftsmanship when movement nearby stole away his attention.

“Jean-Paul!” He had been caught. It was Zacharias, wheezing and disheveled, but clearly not blind or dead. Vaudeux paused, watching his master with disbelief having thought he had perished. The aged warrior hobbled shakily towards him, peering through sheaths of baggy skin and crags of heavily lined creases. “You know those aren’t to be played with as trinkets,” he told Jupiter, petting his cheek like he would a dog. Feeling repulsed, the thief shifted away from his master’s touch and was wary of his newly refurbished strength. Looking puzzled, Zacharias searched through Jupiter’s expression in a way he used to, a way to see if Jupiter was telling him lies. At first Vaudeux was happy to see this old habit return, because it meant that he would be able to have his mentor back, but this victory was short lived. Old Zach, in the midst of his searching, let a morsel of unattended drool escape in a wet thread from his cracked lips until his eyes were again vacant spheres; dark, beady and old. Vaudeux couldn’t stand it any longer, he backed away fearfully. What was this creature capable of if naught else but spawning into a more deadened figure? Into a shell void of no emotion other than confusion? Into a being stuck in his own world only able to take from and destroy this one? Such an entity couldn’t be good for society, or good for the self.

Jupiter found himself backing away, and his sword hand gripping firmly upon his taken treasure, lusting to be thrown out into a slash, a thrust, any of the motions it had so accustomed to being focused upon. For a moment he watched Zach sink deeper and deeper into his senile trance, slobbering and muttering over his self, miserable in the world that took his mind from him. Then, without another thought, Vaudeux impulsively saw his blade hand rush forward to purge this ruined man out of his madness. The sharpened tip punctured cleanly through the withered man’s insides like tendered meat, and spluttered out gore upon release as a spatter of crimson. Jupiter felt within him and unexplainable rush and dealt the man a rising blow across the throat, releasing more of the brilliant inner-terror to splash the charred floors. And throughout this whole onslaught, Zacharias continued to mutter and motion as if he was still speaking to someone affably, never trying to fight against his attacker, never trying to survive. The aged warrior soon crumpled, defeated with blood loss, in a red puddle at his feet.

Vaudeux watched stoically, trying to mentally convince himself of what he had just done; making sure his mind knew what was real before him, and yet, he still could not find sadness for his loss or a hurt in his soul. So he stepped over the body, not attempting to make the scene or the body decent, and shouldered his pack out the door. The clarity of the morning air surprised him as he journeyed through the grasslands towards the nearest woods, as did the freshness of the creek he used to cleanse his body and blade of the blood he had just spilt.

The senses, the feelings of freedom were upon him.
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Travster
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The sun's receding rays slowly reeled away, like a warm blanket being gently pulled from the treetops; dusk was setting. The birds called and gathered before the cool breezes of Denbarrow Wood began their chilly paths amongst the foliage.

Milo watched the scene from inside his home. Gazing through the circular glass window nearest his front door. To him, those all too brief moments before nightfall seemed different every time. Squirrels, ferrets, and deer made up for most of the forest's four-legged creatures, from what Milo could tell. He toyed with the warped and splintering wood atop his finely fashioned desk. Most of his furniture was equally well crafted, and all of them were heirlooms made by his great great grandfather. His favorite chair creaked beneath him as Milo turned about.

“A little fire going, old boy?” he said with a smile, “And cook up those rabbits you caught yesterday? How bout a little stew, hm?”

Buddy's only reply was a flop of the ears and the usual “puppy stare” he gave his master around this time. If one could even refer to Milo as Buddy's master. After all, the hound was a stray, and a male at that. Trouble was the dog's middle name, and had Milo known the animal before taking him in, the Halfling might have just named him “Trouble” to fit better. Or perhaps “Dummy” or “Slobber”, he thought to himself with a chuckle.

At that, Milo finished preparing the two rabbits in the storeroom and tossed the furs out back, so the bugs could clean them off thoroughly. And after chopping some carrots, peppers, potatoes, and onion (and a few spices: barleywine and cloversalt), he tossed it all in with the rabbit meat and hung everything in a pot over the unlit fire. He ventured out back once more for some firewood and started it up with some flint-on-stone. All the while, Buddy followed Milo with eyes wide and wagged his tail and rolled over to get a better view. One would think it was Buddy's first visit to the Sprybottum household from his excitement!

Before long, the meal was served and eaten, Buddy dozed in his corner, and Milo found himself on his favorite chair with his most favorite pipe in-hand. Milo looked out at the bright night from inside, this time with the window wide open and the fire still burning. The pipeweed was stale, and Milo liked it that way. Shadows danced all about the room as the fire began to sputter, but he took no notice. The Hobbit's eyes were fixed to the forest—it relaxed him just before bed time. Like a child, Milo couldn't wait to be out there bright and early the next morning, and he vowed to Buddy that he would take him along as well, even though the dog snored in the corner.

For it was Milo's job to walk about Denbarrow Village, and quite often as of late, for he was a picket, and there was much talk and reports of strange folk—both big and small—all over Denbarrow. He blew a thick smear of smoke out his nostrils and moved his jaw around (as if chewing) to further taste the effect, and the pipesmoke rolled out the small window and drifted away with the chilly breeze. He sat there for a good long time, rocking back and forth.

He gave a sudden shudder and looked back at the dying fire. Only black soot, littered with a few bright red embers, remained in a small ashen pile now. Milo then did something that was most peculiar for one of his kind, he slipped a pair of brown and white socks over his hairy feet. For Milo was a most peculiar kind of Hobbit: eccentric to say the least!

Then suddenly, Milo picked up a smell that was different from his pipe or the fire ash. He set his covered feet on the floor and leaned towards the open window, and sniffed twice more. He smirked, paused, and smelled some more. With his pipe hanging from his crumpled lips, he ventured outside and took a look at the starry sky. The moon was so bright that Milo practically had to squint as he searched for a visual aid to match the odd scent. But alas, he found none (for the night was still too dark to see a bit of smoke far in the distance) and shrugged his shoulders, and puffed nervously for a time. It smelled to him like something fairly large was burning or had burnt some time ago; for Milo's nose was quite accustomed to changes in his forest, and he didn't like them one bit.

After Milo had had enough of star gazing, he sauntered back inside and fell into bed, leaving the house a mess. He dreamed of strange creatures and other sorts of weirdness entering his woods. He tossed and turned most of the night, yet found when he awoke the next morning, to be oddly well rested. The sun peeped through his bedroom window, nudging him from bed. He could hear Buddy yawning and stretching in the other room. Today will be a good day, he told himself as he fixed some tea and flatbread. He decided to take Buddy on a bit of an adventure as he sat in his favorite chair for breakfast. The chair creaked as Milo looked back at his dog, and Buddy was in the same spot as always, this time with a furious fit of tail wagging.

“I'm thinking we'll head for Badger's Pass and then round down to that trail you like so much.” Buddy's ears perked at this, “Then we'll cross Farmer Buggem's field and then head straight home from there! It may take us till mid-day just to make there and back. So we better bring some things for lunch, of course!”

Buddy nearly ran in circles at this, and followed Milo all around the house as he gathered his things for their lengthy jaunt. He made sure to throw a pan for cooking and a sling for hunting in his old, weather-stained pack. After struggling through quite a selection of both old and new walking sticks on a stand by the entryway, Milo was out the door—with his sniffling companion an arm's reach behind. But something far off made Milo pause and stare with cocked brows in silence. A black cloud of distant smoke was fading to the northeast. Milo squinted in the sun, then put up a hand as a visor, and then squinted some more in a worrisome manner. It looked like something fairly big had burned on the previous evening—or perhaps mid-day?

Milo frowned at Buddy and knew that his companion would be distraught if left behind. But the dog was just so troublesome! And he never listened when he should! Something inside the troubled Hobbit told him to leave his friend behind, but he couldn't say no to Buddy that morning. So he then faked a smile and said:

“Don't worry boy! From the looks of it, the smoke came from somewhere over by Willow Wood. So we can still head for that pass you enjoy so much! We'll just make a quick stop and take a look around there, then head for the Pass, alright?”

Buddy cocked his head with tongue drooping and drool dripping.

“It's settled then!” Milo shouted with his arms wide and his hopes high as he headed in the proposed direction.

With his walking stick before him and Buddy behind him, Milo made his way at a relatively fast pace. After all, this was his portion of the woods to watch, and he was paid for his services. To say that Halflings are not weary of outsiders would be as misguided as hoping the leaves wouldn't change in the fall. But the Hobbits of Denbarrow were not always as paranoid as today. It was only up until a few generations before Milo's time that Hobbits had worried about nothing except their gardens, crops, and property lines. But the Human Rangers from the west became much more persistent in their hopes that their Halfling neighbors would take more caution toward outsiders. And they told tales of bands of Goblins and other worse things multiplying and creeping about at night. And that was how Milo and his father before him had taken on the duty of being pickets, both because the Sprybottums lived on the outskirts of town and because they were known to have a bit of strange “exploring fever” in their family tree.

With a few stops at different creeks and ponds, for Buddy was quite thirsty that day, the two passed over and under familiar terrain. Summer time in the woods was something to splendor at. Gleaming beams of sunlight cascaded all around. The trees far above Milo were dense with age, leaves dripped with dew from the previous evening. There were many animals skittering and hopping this way and that, and not once did Buddy resist the urge to chase them. Milo shook his head and knew that the dog was in too playful of a mood to catch anything, and reached behind him in his pack to check if he remembered his sling. A few times, Milo became rather worried when Buddy did not return quickly after chasing a squirrel or rabbit. But the dog always returned at his own discretion, eventually.

Soon the two came to a clearing where the canopy ended for a fair distance, and an open field of thick, tall grass lay ahead. As they neared the forest edge, Buddy woofed quietly. Milo shot Buddy a puzzled glance and then looked up to see a tall figure in the clearing. The Hobbit hit the dirt in a wink and peeked through tall grass and ferns, lying still as a stone.

The stranger in the distance looked to be a Man, and seemed to be alone.

Milo was about to call Buddy over to him and quiet the dog down—even if it meant holding the dog's mouth shut. But it was too late!

“Woof! Woof! Woof Woof!!” Buddy bravely barked as he dashed toward the Man.

“Buddy! Get back here!” Milo whispered from his hiding place as he slowly fetched a stone from his pack, and guessed the Man was within throwing distance. After all, Hobbits were known by most creatures (especially forest animals) as quite a nuisance (if not deadly) with stones, and Milo was no exception.

Buddy barked less and less as he rushed closer and closer to greet the stranger. Then, as if to give his most warm and friendly, “Welcome!” the hound sat on the ground, tail wagging through the grass and tongue hanging out. The warm sun brightened Buddy's big dumb grin and showed his fine brown fur.

Milo remained in hiding and waited beneath the shaded forest trees not too far off, his heart bounding all the while; with a nice choice of a throwing stone clutched tightly in his hand.
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Justice
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The scent of embers swam in her nostrils, acting as a kind of ammonia, her violet eyes blinking open, awaking from an unconscious state. Her body laid atop a mound of soft, dryish grass and she took in a breath, a mix of smoke and warm air, and exhaled, letting out a small cough. She proceeded to pick herself up, standing to her feet, brushing off the many blades of grass that stuck to her clothes, face and skin. The light smoke that floated in the air stung her eyes as it sucked the moisture from them, but she saw through the haze that the day was coming to an end. Her eyes continued to examine her surroundings but stopped soon as they settled on which stood a few dozen yards away: a manor was burning, and a thick, black plume of smoke rose from its destruction. Her hand found a way to her mouth as she uttered a horrific gasp, strands of her pearly white hair falling from behind her ears. What have you done, Fiend?

~~~~Some hours earlier...

Exhaustion crept into her limbs like a slow poison, reminding her of the great distance she traveled within Amalterre since her arrival on the vast continent. If people try to find reason to her journeys, they would find none, as she is an aimless soul. She has no purpose, no reason, no home; she is perhaps the perfect nomad. Justice knew this was her fate, as her father had told her...

Now, she needed rest. Her muscles and joints screamed at her for trekking for so long without proper relief, and it annoyed her to the point where she actively looked for a town or village to calm her aching body before continuing onward into nothingness. And before long, a small, seemingly pleasant village appeared to her amongst a healthy grassland that bordered some woods in a near distance. It was to her luck as sundown was just a couple short hours away, and she wanted a nice bed to sleep in instead of dirt and foliage like her most common of nights. She wouldn't mind bathing herself either for a stench began to manifest from the dirt and sweat her body clung to.

She fixed the leather strap that fitted around her shoulder as she walked into the settlement. It held her sword to her back, and she didn't want to make it any more threatening than its size already gave off, so she tried her best to hide it behind her cloak to not alarm the townspeople. You try to show care, but I think these people need more excitement in their lives.

Hold your tongue, Fiend, I will not tolerate your antics today. It was quiet for most of the day, perhaps because it felt there was no need to meddle, but Justice knew she was not rid of her; she could always feel its presence churning inside of her very spirit. It was her curse.

No one seemed to take notice to the village's newcomer, they only continued with their lives, not giving one simple glance or greeting. Did they get visitors often? She couldn't find an answer, but it did not matter anyway, she wasn't here to make friends. After a minute in town, she came across a small inn that appeared to serve milk! What a rarity! She thought before she opened the wooden, creaky door to find the building empty. Odd. She investigated the floor, her leather boots clonking against the well-laid floor, but found no sign of patrons or workers until she heard a ruckus upstairs. Was it a struggle? Or perhaps bandits? She rushed upstairs by the mere thought, pinpointing the room where the noise sounded from, and as she lifted her leg to kick the door open, she recognized the commotion... and her face flushed up with pink like a rose in bloom. It was not struggling she heard, it was passion. Come now, why don't you join?

Keep your thoughts to yourself! She quickly retreated from the inn, finding herself outside once again, taking a deep breath to relieve her face of the blush that covered it, realizing how close she was to making a terrible mistake. After regaining her composure, she stopped a man that was walking by, “Excuse me, sir!” She spoke in her kindest voice possible, “The inn has no vacancy, would there be any other place I can rest?”

Somewhat moved by her benignity, the man responded, “Well, there is a manor up the dirt road to the north. An old man lives there and he should give you some hospitality, but he is a bit senile, as his age has taken most of his mind. He has a student however, though I think he spends little time there now.”

Justice nodded graciously, “Thank you, sir.” Oh, this should be amusing... to shatter an old man to pieces and blow away the dust.

She ignored the Fiend's comment and went north, feeling a light breeze sweeping in from the west, adding a little coolness to the end of this sunny day, rippling the fine layer of grass that stretched across the plain. She tucked her long hair behind her ears so it would not interfere with her sight, tucking and tightening up her cloak so it would not accidentally fly away. As soon as she sighted the billowing chimney, she was surprised at the short walk she took, as well as the size of the manor. It was just two stories tall, but it was wide, with sightly architectural designs, and all with merely wood and little stone!

Her feet came to a stop to the front door of the manor, which by itself was a real piece of art with amazing patterns etched into the wood, and she rapped on it, only waiting a few moment before an elderly man opened in answer, his face dominated by great wrinkles, his whole bodily frame rickety and unsteady, as if he was to topple over at any second, and his hair gray and thin, almost resembling cobwebs, drooping over his head. It was a poor sight to behold, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for the ancient-like man. His dull eyes squinted at Justice, suddenly spitting out words that somehow made sense, “Gabriel?! Is that really you?”

She looked at the geezer with the look of utter shock. That was the name of her late mother, a woman she deeply loved with all her heart, and this man assuringly knew her? It might have been coincidence, as her death was long, long ago, “I... am not Gabriel, sir. I am simply someone who wishes to find shelter for the night if you can provide some?”

“Of course! Anything for Gabriel.” He said along with a few ramblings as he left the door open for Justice to walk inside the home, noticing it was slightly untidy with books and scriptures laying in random places, but these things excited her as she could perhaps find new material to read here. The old man continued mumbling inaudibly, unable to make sense of his words, even when she tried asking him questions, and she began to lose faith in this expenditure as she didn't feel right taking residence in a sickly elder's house. This senile old fool is useless. He doesn't deserve a house this grand. We should burn it.

No, you keep quiet, Fiend. It was then that a burning began to grow inside of her chest. Much like acid rising from the stomach, but it was more alive, more blatant, like a foul creature crawling. She then knew what was happening, No! You will not do this now!

If you are too weak to take action, I will happily do it for you.

The burning sensation crawled into her head, gnawing at her brain and she grasped it with fear and pain, “N-no!” She then yelled to the old man, “R-run! Get out!” But he only continued murmuring, not caring to notice that danger that was unfolding before him as flames shot from Justice's body...

~~~~Some hours later...

What we have done, was put an end to that miserable cretin.

In panic and terror, she fled. Tears began to fall across the temples of her head as she ran with all the might she could muster. Upset could not possibly be enough to describe how she felt. There were so many emotions influencing her now; madness, sadness, regret, disgust... and the Fiend was laughing all the while, knowing this would only bring her closer to succumbing to its will.

Eventually, her legs failed her, and she fell from fatigue, landing in a patch of long grass, barely having the energy to sob softly as her body shut down into unconsciousness from a long, harrowing day.

Barking from a dog abruptly woke her from a dreamless sleep, dirt coating her face from the tears of the previous night. She tried to wipe off her face as best as she could before peaking out from the long grass, dreading that perhaps the villagers were hunting her, but those thoughts were gone when she saw a lone man, not more than ten yards from her position, being chased by a dog. A breed of bloodhound to be exact. She decided to play it safe and sneak away using the long grass as cover, but she was foiled, as her boot stepped on her cloak, shifting her weight in such an awkward way that it made her trip and tumble backwards, out of the long grass, yelling out the proverbial, “Ack!!”
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Vaudeux Jupiter
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Vaudeux had never found a love within himself to care for creatures of the furry kind. Animals were for the lone, dependant person; not for his sort of constant travel and independency. He heard barking and was alarmed, but only drawn in by the low whiffs and resonate woofs from the spacious wood, the promise of companionship in his newly restored lone. The tall thief paused and turned to greet this fresh sound with a curious brow, and found a saggy hound galloping his way. It trotted towards him, loose flaps of skin bouncing to and fro from under its opened mouth and lolling tongue of pale pink. Though its teeth were not bared for attack, Jupiter expected the worse from the charging canine and braced himself for impact. Only the hound stopped abruptly at his feet, panting a happy rhythm up at him, with the wetness of its exposed features shinning in the gracious sunlight overhead. For a moment Vaudeux admired this contented creature with amusement, how the little being wanting nothing more than his attention and his touch to sedate its hyper peering. Then he looked to the surrounding wood, wondering where - if any - this dog’s owner may be. He spied only the rustle of tear-shaped leaves, bustling against each other through the tall poles, from a distant breeze or roosting critter; but a person he did not come to find.

And so he was back to staring down at the beaming face of his animal visitor, its coat lustrously painted so that it seemed clean to the eye and smooth to the touch. He found himself wanting to stroke it down the back of its long head until his palm would grace the tips of its pointed shoulder blades and rounded muscles, run bumping up its glossy fur and hidden spine. “Hey, boy,” Vaudeux cooed, offering the tips of his just-cleansed fingers for the dog to first become acquainted with. A first phase of sniffing ensued, Jupiter began to reach around the canine’s droopy ear, when a disturbed thicket and womanly cry baited him from behind.

A divot floated through the air just at the edge of the tall grass, from whence he had just came, sprigs of the weed flying like odd-shaped bugs following a defeated pair of soles downward, which bounced to a hidden fall. Vaudeux spun to the site with eyes inquisitively wide, could it be the hound’s master coming to fetch it? A breath separated him from waiting and being approached. When the figure moved not from the weed, Jupiter moved towards it with caution, looking up the flat-backed and fallen wonder that was before him. Floss-like locks of cloud white, curtaining over a remarkably grimed visage that was marked with a reluctant grimace of hurt and embarrassment, perhaps from teetering to her backside

In approach his figure put her dirtied face in shadow so that he was a masculine outline before her, rays of sun blearing at him from behind. “Do you need help?” He offered, smirking through the shadows and presenting one of his wide hands for her to grasp upon. Tingles of rapture greeted their contact, iotas of energy swarming to the touch so that he could only crave more. A rush that made him happy, strengthened, that bade the images of death and loathing from him. Once they would settled with ease, Vaudeux motioned towards the figure of the waggling animal, moderating his words coolly through full lips, “Is that your dog, miss?”
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The her back tightened from the strain she put on herself by the tumble. Blasted cloak. She admitted to herself that it wasn't too smart trying to sneak away in such a cumbersome article of clothing, especially with husky Gúeneth strapped to her back, but what other choice did she have? After all, she didn't really expect her feet to get in the way...

She couldn't help but keep her eyes closed from the discomfort and humiliation, hoping she wasn't noticed, but the looming shadow that soon coated her head proved otherwise. Justice let one eye open to look at the figure dwarfing her, blocking the sun's rays from her eyes, and instead, she was nearly blinded by handsomeness; a tall, dark man stood over her with a smirk of a smile on his face that could melt a heart, his brilliant eyes reminding her of jade gems, and thick locks of black that she could imagine smoothly running her hands through... Without noticing, she gently took his strong hand to help her to her feet, her own hand diminutive and lithe compared to his own, the strands of her white hair fell in front of her subtly soiled face as she gave a bewildered look.

The question he posed acted as a match to an unlit candle, her head snapping back to focus, hooking the loose locks of her hair behind her ear and wiping down any stray grass blades and weeds that might have clung to her, fixing and readjusting her clothes and gear to a more comfortable position as she looked to the dashing man before her with curious violet orbs, speaking in a humorous tone, “To be quite honest, I thought that was your dog.” She hoped he wouldn't figure out that she was trying to sneak away, “The barking actually startled me from my sleep...” She cringed at her choice of words, figuring by now the stud thought of her as foolish for sleeping on the ground with no bedding, “...I mean, my nap!” Her mind was a mess! First with the Fiend and then the embarrassing fall and now she's making a fool out of herself in front of the most gorgeous man she's ever seen! Her fortune was truly running sour.

After an awkward pause, she looked down to the friendly beast of many skin flaps, droopy ears and sagging tongue, shooting a pretty smile at it before offering a hand to it, “Here, boy. Where's your master, hm?” The dog was at first seemingly confused, taking a couple steps forward before its expression changed from joy to absolute fear, its face slumping more than usual, its formerly wagging tail slipping between his legs as he backed off several feet from Justice before laying down, a look of dread in his eyes. Justice showed a quick sign of grimace before giving off a weak smile to her ravishing companion, “I was never that great with animals.”

She knew what it was, and it's been the same story since she was a child. The aura she gave off, the feeling, animals were always be able to sense it, the Fiend, even some sentient species. No matter how kind she was, how promising, they would always cower, scared of her very touch. She understood that she could not control it, but it didn't make it any easier to live with; it was just another reminder. Shaking her head, she decided to move onto other matters, which certainly and literally stood in front of her, with tasteful clothes of shady tones framed by a sizable, well-made chest, muscular arms that seemed ripped from a statue, and a chiseled jaw that you could sharpen a sword with. Justice was beginning to gawk until she caught and straightened herself out, Play a little hard-to-get, will you?!

I don't know, I find him quite delicious. You should take him now!

Stay out of this! It's been so long since she's actually done anything with a man, she's almost forgotten how to speak to them. She decided to strike up some kind of conversation, “So, nice weather we're having, aye?” Oh, by the gods, what's wrong with me... She shook her head again, going for a rebound question, “Er... where are you traveling to on this fine day, sir?” That's better. As she waited for his answer, she felt something was amiss. Her eyes kept on the man in front of her, but widened in view, stretching to and across the woods behind him. Where did that dog come from anyway?
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Vaudeux Jupiter
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“Well maybe,” responded Vaudeux thoughtfully. “The river holds him captive.” And the man moved forward from the brush and back into the wood where he had just came, back to the cleansing river babbling amid the russet, leafy poles. He moved because he felt exposed, journeyed because it was familiar, and with a sweeping glance over his shoulder he invited her along, because he was curious.

The river was deep and cerulean where its sandy bottoms were no longer visible, tinted with a teal clarity where it was shallow. Rocks like little brown hills dotted the sandy scape as minnows darted between them, moving specs of paint on a wheat-bottomed canvas. Jupiter’s fingers twittered across the surface, glimmers from the sun chasing them away. On his haunches he saw no track or trace of anyone else but his own prior prints, felt only cool tips upon his dried flesh. With no one but he and the lady, he figured, the dog could just be a stray. The forest on the opposite bank, however, was left untried. He made a noise of thought before standing then, looking her way, as he began to remove the burden of his waistcoat from his shoulders and unbutton the fastens of his shirt.

“And as for travel, I go no where but whatever suits me at the time,” boots were wiggling off, struggling to release his wide heels. “You could call me, Jupiter the free.” And he smiled, releasing his lines of straight teeth, letting loose to her a wink as he stripped himself of his collars and turned to face the gurgling waters. With a bundle above his head -smashed together clothes and shoes- he began to cross, dreading the moment when the chilled stream would touch the sensitive parts just between his thighs.


Mortimer, fat and jolly, white sprigs streaking his patchy hair.. like a collie. His mouth was as large as his gut-

“He deserves a swift kick.. in the butt!” the nearest guardsman yelled, chiming in. With a brutish slab of a hand, his fellow and he carried on chortling - slapping their knees as if intoxicated. They filled the small, tightly-draped wagon with booms that resounded harshly in the wood, that caused the horses dragging them along to hiccup their steady stride, to make the jolly jester purse his lips with voracious amusement. The entertainer giggled appreciatively and made a mental note of the newest touch to his adolescent tune, before the wagon came to an abrupt stop. Everything seemed to creak in this lapse of movement; travel-strained wood, loosened packs, and oblivious bodies all carried on a momentous ruckus as they were forced from going onward. Once the abrupt mess had settled, the jester peered away from his companions’ rattled jaws and out into the wild, through the slit in the wagon tarp. What he saw made his heart jump.

“Oi! Ol’ Morty is gettin’ out ‘ere!”

The threesome scrambled together and abandoned the familiar seat of the wagon for the fresh forest air. Assembling like the hired help they were, they stood with broad chests to the dainty, portly form of their king Mortimer. He did not spare them a glance from under his bushy brows, but immediately take to the surroundings in comfort with his page.

“Yes,” exclaimed the king with a rumble into the ambience of rustling leaves and chirping birds. He took a wide step around his nearest guard to look out through the wide oaks, his cloak of royal purple needlessly combing the ground, and then continued, “Yes. This will be the perfect location for the newest expansion of our kingdom, wouldn’t you say so Mr. Waters?”

Mr. Waters was his thin page, lean from constant carriage of scrolls and record books. He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, before gagging them up: “Isn’t this where a Shire is though, sir?”

Breaths could no longer be heard amid the quieted birds, for they were held in anticipation for their king’s reply. He stroked his straight beard, just where the gray had whitened into strands, and looked up thoughtfully. Finally he came around, and the jester knew before even hearing the man’s response what it might pertain, and his heart dropped.

Aged, cracked lips, formed a wide smile beneath long whiskers, and he pronounced too joyfully to his dutiful crowd,

“Even better.”
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