We can make this work, Kahn'a thought to himself.
The room was filled with a great silence. Had they spoken to each other? What did they learn from the exchange of words? Whatever came to pass in the intimacy of the room, it had not brightened the mood, not lifted the spirits high, not soothed the concern. The reality of a struggle for survival dawned on Kahn'a as time passed by. Odd moment to feel that way, there, in the safety and comfort of a place most would have gladly spent the rest of their existence, but the Miqo'te's instincts kept ringing the bell of doubt in his ears. They had been saved from The Black Chains, yes, but something else was in the works, something he could not grasp but only feel.
The contemplation of twilight before fell the cruel night and rose the Pale; an omen not to be overlooked. It was enough of a bell spent confined between those walls for Kahn'a to discover all he could use and to make his preparations.
"I do this for the right reasons," he threw in the air, feeling scrutinising eyes on him. It sounded very much like the confession of a criminal caught red-handed. The irony of the thought tore a smile from the Keeper. Oh, what crude contraptions was he resorted to, when deprived of the safety of distance. Elegance mattered not, however, only the success.
A guard with a stern and suspicious expression stood before the door. On the flat of his palm was a plate of some fine dish, the mere sight was enough to upset his very empty stomach. There was nothing edible to buy around but disgusting porridge, and it was still infinitely better than the rations his unit could grant him. So to have fine cuisine delivered to some captive Lieutenant, understand how upsetting it was to the foot soldier.
"...Your Captain urged us to speak up should we need aught," a low and rough voice had explained through the wooden panel, answering the simple soldier's doubt. "So shall you bring us those plates?"
He grabbed the handle of the door, grumbling. He had had little choice but to comply, he wanted no attention from Captain River, none at all. But still, what would he do to get just a bite of that food...or the other. Of course there was another plate. A plate that had yet to be brought back there. Oddly, that second dish took much longer to arrange, so it had been decided between the two guards that they would carry each a plate. The soldier grumbled, because he knew this was just a dirty excuse for his comrade to beg for food to the cook, and probably see his modest request satisfied.
"Stand back, I'm opening the door!" he warned, pinched with annoyance, and then he gave a turn of the key slotted in its lock.
The first thing he noticed as he stepped in was the presence of only one of the two prisoners. The Hyur was in sight, but not he other one... There was also a noise in the background. Yes the soldier could hear running water. For a fatal instant, barely two steps into the confinement room, he relaxed and motioned at the origin of the noise, a room with showers separated by thin walls.
"Is the other...?"
But he would never learn the answer to his unfinished question, for suddenly, a great force oppressed his shoulders and his head. It was like the alluring call of gravity, inviting him to meet the floor with the violence of lightning. The poor man scarcely had time to blink that his legs lost their balance and he fell down, dropping the plate in a surprised gasp. And as if it was not enough, he was swiftly robbed of his consciousness, struck with something very hard on his head. Something, or rather someone had dropped on him.
A wooden stick met the floor too, near him. It was one of the foot of a chair. A pale hand reached at a piece of meat in its pool of sauce spilled unceremoniously on the ground, right next to the soldier's face. It brought the chunk to an equally as pale mouth. Kahn'a took a much needed bite, before kneeling down next to the unconscious guard, and his hands slithered on the uniform.
Some Gil, a shortsword, yes that would do. The Keeper smirked victoriously, he could not deny that getting the drop on that poor man had been exciting. But he wasted nothing more than a look at him, before turning once again to Titor.
"It worked, the second one is still busy. Now, I give you the luxury of choice, you may remain collared here..."
This was it. The dice had been cast, it was now time to move, time to disappear from sight, but most importantly time to pursue hope, that fragile thing.
"...But I will not. I chose them."
And in a blink of the eye, he was gone.
Kahn'a took time to assess his surroundings. Quite a few bells had passed, and the Shroud was in his reach. He had done all he could to traverse the land as discretly as possible. Come to think of it, the only risk he has taken on the way was back in Highbridge, where he snuck into a house to...attire himself more approprietely. An Immortal Flame uniform would not have not crossed Wellwick Wood without notice, so he improvised. Thick and heavy cloth now draped his potent body, giving him a much more unassuming appearance.
But as he passed through Quarrymill, he had felt his heart skip a beat. There was a smell, a smell he was not completely foreign to; somebody he knew was near. Taking a seat on his bench a little out of the way, Kahn'a removed the wooden mask from his face to better look at the passers-by. Amongst one of them was a soul that bore more knowledge of his position that he had thought would be possible, given the haste of his move.
The room was filled with a great silence. Had they spoken to each other? What did they learn from the exchange of words? Whatever came to pass in the intimacy of the room, it had not brightened the mood, not lifted the spirits high, not soothed the concern. The reality of a struggle for survival dawned on Kahn'a as time passed by. Odd moment to feel that way, there, in the safety and comfort of a place most would have gladly spent the rest of their existence, but the Miqo'te's instincts kept ringing the bell of doubt in his ears. They had been saved from The Black Chains, yes, but something else was in the works, something he could not grasp but only feel.
The contemplation of twilight before fell the cruel night and rose the Pale; an omen not to be overlooked. It was enough of a bell spent confined between those walls for Kahn'a to discover all he could use and to make his preparations.
"I do this for the right reasons," he threw in the air, feeling scrutinising eyes on him. It sounded very much like the confession of a criminal caught red-handed. The irony of the thought tore a smile from the Keeper. Oh, what crude contraptions was he resorted to, when deprived of the safety of distance. Elegance mattered not, however, only the success.
~~
A guard with a stern and suspicious expression stood before the door. On the flat of his palm was a plate of some fine dish, the mere sight was enough to upset his very empty stomach. There was nothing edible to buy around but disgusting porridge, and it was still infinitely better than the rations his unit could grant him. So to have fine cuisine delivered to some captive Lieutenant, understand how upsetting it was to the foot soldier.
"...Your Captain urged us to speak up should we need aught," a low and rough voice had explained through the wooden panel, answering the simple soldier's doubt. "So shall you bring us those plates?"
He grabbed the handle of the door, grumbling. He had had little choice but to comply, he wanted no attention from Captain River, none at all. But still, what would he do to get just a bite of that food...or the other. Of course there was another plate. A plate that had yet to be brought back there. Oddly, that second dish took much longer to arrange, so it had been decided between the two guards that they would carry each a plate. The soldier grumbled, because he knew this was just a dirty excuse for his comrade to beg for food to the cook, and probably see his modest request satisfied.
"Stand back, I'm opening the door!" he warned, pinched with annoyance, and then he gave a turn of the key slotted in its lock.
The first thing he noticed as he stepped in was the presence of only one of the two prisoners. The Hyur was in sight, but not he other one... There was also a noise in the background. Yes the soldier could hear running water. For a fatal instant, barely two steps into the confinement room, he relaxed and motioned at the origin of the noise, a room with showers separated by thin walls.
"Is the other...?"
But he would never learn the answer to his unfinished question, for suddenly, a great force oppressed his shoulders and his head. It was like the alluring call of gravity, inviting him to meet the floor with the violence of lightning. The poor man scarcely had time to blink that his legs lost their balance and he fell down, dropping the plate in a surprised gasp. And as if it was not enough, he was swiftly robbed of his consciousness, struck with something very hard on his head. Something, or rather someone had dropped on him.
A wooden stick met the floor too, near him. It was one of the foot of a chair. A pale hand reached at a piece of meat in its pool of sauce spilled unceremoniously on the ground, right next to the soldier's face. It brought the chunk to an equally as pale mouth. Kahn'a took a much needed bite, before kneeling down next to the unconscious guard, and his hands slithered on the uniform.
Some Gil, a shortsword, yes that would do. The Keeper smirked victoriously, he could not deny that getting the drop on that poor man had been exciting. But he wasted nothing more than a look at him, before turning once again to Titor.
"It worked, the second one is still busy. Now, I give you the luxury of choice, you may remain collared here..."
This was it. The dice had been cast, it was now time to move, time to disappear from sight, but most importantly time to pursue hope, that fragile thing.
"...But I will not. I chose them."
And in a blink of the eye, he was gone.
~~
Kahn'a took time to assess his surroundings. Quite a few bells had passed, and the Shroud was in his reach. He had done all he could to traverse the land as discretly as possible. Come to think of it, the only risk he has taken on the way was back in Highbridge, where he snuck into a house to...attire himself more approprietely. An Immortal Flame uniform would not have not crossed Wellwick Wood without notice, so he improvised. Thick and heavy cloth now draped his potent body, giving him a much more unassuming appearance.
But as he passed through Quarrymill, he had felt his heart skip a beat. There was a smell, a smell he was not completely foreign to; somebody he knew was near. Taking a seat on his bench a little out of the way, Kahn'a removed the wooden mask from his face to better look at the passers-by. Amongst one of them was a soul that bore more knowledge of his position that he had thought would be possible, given the haste of his move.
