Sounds of pigs squealing in nearby pen and geese honking as they waddled up the muddy path; assaulted the ears almost as much as the scent of dirt, rotten produce, and feces (whether human or animal was nearly impossible to tell.) This village, if one could even call it that, wasn’t even worth a dot on a map; a few hovels here and there, a couple wheat fields, and a small inn that housed a measly two sleeping quarters, was all this village could hold. On the southeastern border of the Wild King’s Forge, it would seem to be a common place for travelers and merchants alike to pass, but from the look of the inn, and lack of any shops, it was clear that was not the case. The village was pathetic, but even a passerby could tell the people here worked hard to make their living, and that was enough to earn Roselle’s respect.
Standing outside of the inn, the short, burly man before her seemed crude, shrew, and needing of a bath. Roselle stood firm, but her patience was growing thin; business deals were never her strong suit.
If only Cornette were here. Oh! That’s right…
Roselle shook the voice from her head and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.
“You can’t honestly expect me to pay that much for this simple beast? It’s absurd!” The man’s voice, high, nasally, and giving away the years he must have spent with his head breathing in a fire pit, was grinding to Roselle’s ears.
Although her temper was rising, she calmed her voice as best she could, “This is a strong, and well sized buck. There is no reason it is not worth a single night stay. I’m not asking to be fed or bathe, just a place to sleep for the night.” Years working with children and idiotic parents have taught her how to keep her voice calm during the most trying of times. Even so, there was still a string of annoyance in her speech she could not hide.
The man smiled, his teeth a shade of tan that made even her Hytori stomach churn, and reached out a stumpy hand for her to shake. She knew he was getting the better end of the deal, but she was far too tired to care. She had not slept in two days, and was having some difficulty remembering the last time she had slept in an actual bed. A Thal of her stature should not be forced to reside in such filth. What stature? You’re no Thal. Again, she shakes the voice out of her head, and focused on the man in front of her. Roselle shook his hand, noting how moist and warm his palms were compared to hers, and handed him the bag containing the hide and meat that was once a deer.
The sun was still high in the sky, maybe an hour or two past noon at this point, but her lack of sleep these last few days had left Roselle weary, and she longed for the comforts of a bed. At this point, she would settle for a bed of hay, as long as it was within four walls, and kept her warm. Roselle began to take a step into the establishment, the smell of stale mead and chicken roasting on the fire, hit her nostrils harder than any arrow she could ever sling. Her stomach rumbled, and she began to crave the meat and stale drink. How long had it been since she had a full meal? She never learned how to cook, so the most she could do was spit roast some meat over a fire, maybe a handful of berries here and there. This smelt like a meal, and quite a fine one at that. Her mouth began to fill with saliva as she took another step into the inn-
A crash. the sound of wood and metal clattering together, followed by a woman’s near frantic voice. “Gabriel? Gabriel!”
Roselle turned her head to the side, her instincts driving her towards the sound of trouble. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she knew she needed to help. Roughly ten yards away from her, in the middle of a barren field that looked to have been harvest only a month earlier, a woman was clutching a child in her lap. A hoe and a shovel lay half-hazardly next to the pair. Before Roselle could spend a second thought towards the situation, her body had turned towards their direction, and her feet started to carry her forward. As she got closer, she saw the child was a boy, human, no more than seven or eight years of age. His ebony hair stood out starkly against his pale skin. Pale? Roselle looked up towards the sun, then around at the field. There’s little shade in this area, and from the looks of him he is probably a farmer’s son. His skin should be sun-touched by this point in the year. Why is he this white? She reached the child and woman, who was kneeling in the dirt, crying over the child like Roselle had seen many women before. Must be the mother. That look of fear, only belongs in the eyes of a mother afraid for her child’s life.
Without even an introduction, Roselle knelt down to the child and asked in her regular, matter-of-fact tone, “How long has he been this pale?” Unable to comprehend, or simply taken aback by this unknown woman asking about her child’s skin, the mother just stared at her blankly as Roselle pulled her sleeves up slightly. “I’m a nurse. Now please, how long has he been this pale?”
Shaking herself from her stupor, the mother stammered, “Two, maybe three days? I tried to get him to rest, but his father…” her voice trailed off. That was enough for Roselle to understand. Father forced him to keep working.
She placed her wrist on the child’s forehead; the heat nearly burned to touch. “He has a high fever. Extremely high. I’m going to have to do something a little unorthodox. Please, don’t touch him for a moment, I need a solid connection with him.”
The mother was at first hesitant to leave her child, but seeming the serious look on Roselle’s face, and the runic symbol on the back of her left hand, visible now that her sleeves have been pulled up, relinquished him over to her. Roselle closed her eyes and focused on the boys aether. It was weak, but still strong enough to be threaded, and a dazingly bright jade color. A soft smile came to the corner of her lips, as she began threading her aether within his, drawing soft lines against the boys skin and face. Soft lines of cyan, with spots of deep purple, now weaved in and amongst the jade. It took only a few seconds, but in her mind, it was a beautiful ballet of colors and hues. Once she felt a good strong thread was made, she began to erode the fever from his body, soaking the heat from his aether and into her. She felt her skin begin to sweat, and her head become lighter. As a Hytori, she was not used to fevers or diseases of any sort, but she had eroded enough symptoms to be able to shake it off fairly easily, and focused on the task at hand. Once she felt the boy was no longer in danger, she opened unthreaded herself, and opened her eyes.
Already the boys color had returned to a lighter birch wood shade, his breathing grew stronger, and his pores stopped producing sweat. Roselle handed the boy back to his mother, who took him in her arms and held him close, her face covered in tears, and mouth flooding with “Thank you” over and over again before a solid question arose, “Are you from the Tranquil Gardens?”
“Tranquil Gardens? I’m not sure I’ve heard of such a place.” The name was familiar, a hint of a memory in her mind seemed to stir, but she could not place its location.
“The hospital, up in Kalzasi?”
Before Roselle could ask further questions, the woman became abruptly quiet, her eyes so longer gazing on Roselle or the boy, but from behind Roselle, at the Inn. Roselle began to notice details of the woman she had previously missed; the large black circle around her left eye, the cut on her lip, the series of bruises up and down her arms. Looking down at the child, she saw matching bruises, and even noticed part of his right ear was missing, long dissected somehow.
“What are ye lazy shites doin’ on the ground fer?” Roselle turned towards the voice, but she didn’t even have to see the man to know he was far to drunk for the time of day. The man, a little over six feet tall, with a belly that extended far beyond his waist, stumbled towards the group. His raven hair was a match for the child’s. Roselle found her new target.
Before the woman could get to her feet, the man reared his hand back to strike. Roselle instantly stood up and snatched the man’s wrist before it could make contact. As soon as she felt the coarse, dirt covered skin against hers, she began to thread her aether. The man’s aether, a dark, sickening orange, that was near to the color of mud it was so tainted, was easy to thread and control. His mind, clouded by drink and sloth, could never push away her control. Her lines of Cyan dotted and weaved amongst the shit-orange wisps, before stitching a simple, but effective hex into him. As she started her stitching, never letting go of his wrist, she focused on his words.
“Who the fuck’re you? Let me go ye wrench!” he tried to shake Roselle away, but she held her grip, digging her nails into his flesh, as her stitching took shape. She recalled her initiation, the sickness she endured once she became a mage of affliction. The redness of her skin, the burning, the welts. Her aether turned dark purple as her hex took shape.
“Do you realize you almost lost your son?” Her words turned the man to stone. He grew silent and still in her grasp, his only movement being to look from her, to his son, and back. “Your son was suffering from an extremely high fever, from who knows what ailment, and has been for days now, yet you still forced him out here to work and slave away under this sun? Though a fever is the least of his worries, what with the beatings you seem to be delivering to him on what I can only assume to be a daily basis.” Her stitching is complete, now for the finishing touch, a bit of fear of what’s to come. “Your skin shall itch, crawl, and burn! You will scratch and scratch until you bleed and find no relief from your torment.”
And with that, she severed their aethers, and threw his hand away from hers. Instantly the skin on his wrist grew red, irritated, and his opposite hand rose up to scratch absent mindedly as he threw more drunken slurs at Roselle. Once he realized what was happening, he looked down at his arm, and the irritation had spread up to his elbow. He released a scream as he began scratching at his arm, bringing the attention of everyone around them.
The woman, who still was kneeling on the ground, screamed in horror, and shielded her child from Roselle as best as she could. The few half a dozen people nearby that could see what was happening, looked upon Roselle with disgust and hatred. Roselle turned towards the inn, only to see the innkeeper for a brief second, as he slammed the inns door. She knew what this meant. Without another word, Roselle lifted her hood over her head, and headed out of town.
Kalzasi eh? Tranquil Gardens…
