Heresy

[CladInMidnight]

This thread is dedicated to Literotica member Dizzyfish (Goddess of all the is amazing and epic), and CladInMidnight (Archduke of asshats). If you are not one of these members, please refrain from posting in this thread. Any questions, comments, or concerns that one may have can be PMed to either Dizzyfish or myself.​

 

[Dizzyfish]

Vibrant colors as far as the human eye could see, floated across a sea of fresh green. The blades of grass danced in weightless motion upon the gentle tug of the breeze; appearing like a vast ocean that stretched on for miles. This was a free land. A place of healing. Death and rebirth, unfurling a calm and collected existence for the inhabitants of such a minute valley. Henna, one such inhabitant, opened her eyes after a long spell of meditation, asking that good health be brought to the people of her village. With no family to call her own, it was only destiny that led her to foster these faces as her own flesh and blood. They were the meaning in her life she had been searching for. Long before this day she could imagine the old Henna, eying the world as an unnecessary evil and cursing the existence that had been laid out for her. That day had come and gone as swiftly as the wind that engulfed her still body. With so much maleficent in the world, Henna sought to find the good that balanced it and much to her surprise. Oceanskye Valley had been her final destination.

The warm hands of the sun gently caressed her pale flesh, the robes she had been sporting sprawled out beside her as the sky took in her nude form. The tip of her bosom heaved gently outward as she took in a fresh breath of air, and released it; the small of her back coming to rest flat against the moss laden floor below. The coolness of said ground offered a mixture of temperatures which flushed her cheeks a most pristine rouge like a maiden's first night of passion. There was no one around for a few miles, the sheep herder having already taken his flock to the grass plains, Henna was safe to meditate in the most comfortable way she knew how. It was customary to feel a oneness with your true self when you lay entirely still in the fashion you came screaming into this world.

Flexing her toes, Henna pulled herself from the comfort of the valley hill and sat up to her full seated height. The silver rings that adorned her toes glistened like diamonds in the sun's rays. Henna reached for her treatment oil, a "youth potion," as some of her elder village friends refer, and slowly unscrewed the silver lid. The smell of lavender and honey filled her mind with tranquility, a peace unobtainable by any other means. Lavender was her favorite flower in all of the land, and it is to that exact flower that she owes her finding Oceanskye Valley in the first place. Though she had been searching desperately for an existence worth fighting for, the overwhelming allure of Lavender brought her full circle to the valley. It grew in abundance here, unprovoked by human hands, needing not a single ounce of sweat or blood to further its existence. Just like the people.

"I am your child, Mother of great Earth. Hold me against thy bosom. Thy heart is yours. Thy spirit is yours. Thy body is yours." The ritual was as simple as they come. Pay homage to the deities that put you here and rub ointment on your skin. Though the Wiccans were capable of much, much more, Henna used only what she could take from Mother Earth in order to give back. "Whatever you do will come back tenfold." That was not a statement Henna took lightly, she owed part of her identity crisis to the disobeying of such a historical warning. Porcelain hands drew a plethora of Honeyvander from the jar and coated her skin till its glow rivaled that of the great copper penny hanging low in the sky. "You are now with thee forever. Blessed be to you Mother."

Henna stood to her feet, closing her eyes to the warmth the sun brought to her, a single tear rolling down her cheek. There was so much beauty in the wonders of life. Such as the sun rising up over Earth. The stars twinkling in the velvet black. The fact that she could move parts of her body without first having to say their names. Everything was astounding and nothing made her more content than knowing that to this day those little wonders would never stop ceasing to amaze her.

The rituals for the day had finally come to an end. The villagers would be fully awake and bustling in their tiny town square and she would be needed in her den when trouble started. Which it did, very early in the day. Sighing Henna wrapped a single sheet of silk around her nude form, ensuring that her head and hair were nearly concealed; leaving only the view of her face for the world to see. With all her equipment gathered Henna began her long trek back towards the village, her bare feet stepping lightly in the tall grasses.

A short distance away, a small white creature fluttered into the sky like a tiny white cloud in the endless blue. It was frightened by movement but Henna was certain she was alone, and although a voice rang up from the dark and told her to hurry on her way; she stayed. The butterfly, wings as soft as baby's skin, floated pass her line of sight and fell straight to the ground. Henna watched it squirm, helpless on the dirt path but stopped moving only seconds before she could react to help it. Henna was not a fan of Omens. Not one bit....

 

[CladInMidnight]

"Cazzo, fa caldo!" the Templar exclaimed.

Sayn von Saren regarded his lifelong friend and teacher with an eyebrow held aloft, a bemused expression upon his lips. Repeatedly, the younger knight had advised against Cefarus ever embarking on expeditions in full plate mail, but the fool hardly took his junior's words into consideration. 'Security over comfort,' he always boasted. Sayn was quite sure that Cefarus was biting back a snide comment while he sweat buckets. Many times, the senior of the two would snatch at his cloak to wipe away the amassing perspiration upon his brow. One would think that with the cloak already so laden with moisture that it matted down to the horse's haunches, Cefarus would have long ago shed his armor plates, but the Templar was stubborn. Infinitely so.

Sayn exhaled and rolled his eyes simultaneously as Cefarus yet again repeated the motions. The younger Templar was clad in much more conservative attire. A modest, if snug layered black silk tunic that came together at a metal seam, and was held with a brooch-like piece in the center of his neck, and at the hem of the tunic flared out a decorative fur embroidery. About his shoulders, instead of sporting the accustomed Templar cloak, rest a simple, yet stylish chain mail mantle fashioned into an almost cape-like piece. Encasing his legs were but leather and a very odd set of steel boots that reached almost completely past his thigh. An engraved Fleur-De-Lis type design dressed the leg guards.

Sayn did not envy Cefarus. The younger knight was indeed breaking out into a mild sweat due to the pleasantly warm climate that Calabria greeted them with as they had trekked south from the Vatican on a routine patrol of the coast, but he was in no way taking as heavy as a toll as Cefarus was. Even the repertoire of well armed infantry they led was sweating less profusely then their commanding officer, and they were walking. The patrol trekked onwards, through the seemingly endless expanse of iridescent grass fields that groped beyond the foreseeable horizon. A small dirt road cleaved its path through the plains, a path which they rode.

"Cefarus," Sayn gently nudged with his voice, "Perhaps it'd be wise to allow the pack mule to relieve you of your plate. You're likely going to faint if you keep this up." His ecru eyes stared at his best friend with sincerity, genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. The knight glared at his student for several heartbeats, the only audible noises were the soft calls of distant birds, the plodding of the horses' hooves, and the shuffle of soldiers' feet. At first, Sayn had assumed that his elder had been staring at him excessively to merely prove a point, exerting his indignance as was per usual, but this sort of stupor was eerily dissimilar. Cefarus' horse's hoof caught in a particularly gnarled hole in the trampled dirt road. The mount stumbled, but did not collapse.

Its rider did.

As Cefarus fell from his steed with a dull thud, landing flat on his back, Sayn uttered a curse. "Merda!" Halfway before his companion had fallen to the dirt, Sayn was already dismounted. He ran to Cefarus' side and inspected his face. The infantrymen they had been leading instantly scrambled into an attack posture, suspecting an arrow had been loosed from the surrounding grass in an attempt to assassinate the Templar. "Stand down!" Sayn bellowed, "He's just unconscious. Heatstroke." Even with the circumstances, Sayn couldn't withhold a small chuckle. "Maybe this'll teach you to listen to me more, eh?" Sayn stood and beckoned for several men to assist the Templar on to a makeshift gurney which they carried in the center of their formation. Sayn seized the reins of Cefarus' mount and slowly urged it forward until they had matched their pace previous.

Though an urgent situation, Sayn's mind wasn't reeling in an attempt to discern a settlement out of the countryside. Cefarus was a tough old bull--thick as one too--but tough, just the same. Just as he had contemplated asking one of the men he had been requisitioned if they knew of any hospitable towns within the area, the familiar appearance of a settlement was apparent in the distant golden grass. Not a major location, if one were to judge by aesthetics alone, but it appeared peaceful nonetheless.

Within the span of an hour, the entire unit had come to a stop outside the village. Most of the townspeople paid him no mind, the hustle and bustle of their everyday lives far too interesting to give a greeting to an entire platoon that had parked outside their home. There were perhaps a handful of women and children that glanced towards the Templar and his troops, but none of them knew precisely how to act in the presence of such company. Sayn bid his men to stay and watch over Cefarus as he dismounted his horse. The young knight walked steadily into the center of the town square, all eyes now locked on the newcomer. Some eyes were curious, others delighted, and few even outright hostile. The town had fallen dead silent. With the slightest of grins, Sayn spoke. "I seek a doctor, a practitioner of medicine. One of my friends has unfortunately become victim of heatstroke."​

 

[Dizzyfish]

The frail carcass of the butterfly lay fallowed at her feet. Pale blue eyes lingered on the memory of its final days in this existence, how it tugged at life's strings in hopes to see the sun just one more day. It was that valiant effort that Henna found rewarding. Without so much as a second thought she salvaged the poor things's body and placed it neatly into an unused jar and sealed it shut. Henna was known to collect strange bugs, including these rare beauties and pin them in clear glass cases. Some of the local children came just to see the wonders that lined the walls of her den. The centerfold of that collection, the great behemoth spider. Nothing special in terms of commonwealth, but the distinct iridescent coloration made it one of a kind.

With nothing left to consider, aside from Mother Nature's clever use of beauty and death as a means to slow her down, Henna continued onward towards the loving arms of her Utopia. The rooftops slowly broke into the horizon, small clouds of black smoke billowing from chimneys of individual domiciles. Breakfast was important here, at least a tradition that Henna started upon her arrival. The village ate as one in the cobble stone center. The voice of her own empty bowels broke through the rhythmic crunching of grass beneath bare feet, eager to be fed. Henna's natural cherry tinted lips parted to reveal her pearly whites in a content smile. Knowing that the charmed faces were now closer than they were just an hour ago, a sense of relief washed over her, like a cool tide rushing to a sandy shore.

The town lay just ahead, if she kept this pace, which she found herself to be skipping unintentionally towards her destination, she would be in center square in the whole of five minutes. Henna halted her child like sprint and stared, wide eyed at her home. A part of her had forgotten that she had yet to be fully dressed and that was the part that had gotten her to skip blissfully back. It was logic that awoke her from the hazy dream that had clouded her judgment. Henna chose to go around the back, the closest path towards her den where she could be properly clothed.

The den in which she referred sat in the far back of the village. It was quiet and nestled between two willow trees and offered the most seclusion. With the way that Henna conducted her medicinal practices it was of the utmost importance she be left entirely alone. The third tree, was hidden inside of her home. Per her request her home bad been built around it. Though appearing dead, merely eying it would confirm that notion Henna alone knew it provided the best sap for glue solvents that have been favored through out the town.

Just in back of her personal dwelling a secret door would lead her into the security that which was privacy. Henna was close to it now, mere feet were all that stood between her and that desired privacy.

“Buon giorno mia signora” Catalina, a villager of no more than five, sat patiently upon the wrap around deck lining the circumference of said safety. She was dressed in a crush rose frock, with her hair tied back with fresh cut daises. The puffy flesh of her cheeks suggested that she had been waiting here for quite awhile.

“You know that my Italian is highly questionable, Catalina. How about we speak in English like I taught you?” Henna made sure that her bare flesh was well concealed in her robe. A bright smile, which she offered to the small child, brought Catalina to her feet assured that her waiting had not been in vain.

“Yes M’lady. I am sorry I keep forgetting.”

“Quite alright Catalina. Now, what did you need me for?”

“ I don’t want to eat breakfast without you.” Catalina rocked upon her heels, feet bare and dirty from her meager handful of chores. Most likely fetching water from the well and apples from the orchard.

Henna patted the girl’s shoulder and kissed her forehead. In her mind she was scrambling to find something to occupy her young friend’s attention. It wasn’t long before something presented itself. A rather odd chain of events, as Henna raised the jar where the once dead butterfly fluttered about furiously in it’s crystalline prison. Catalina’s eyes widened at the sight and though Henna was intrigued about it’s resurrection she handed the jar to the small child. “Give her a new home in the village will you? Somewhere with lots of flowers?”

She was gone in a dash of white flowers and rose colored petals, like a fairy in the whispering forests. Henna smiled after her and disappeared into the darkness of her homestead. Inside she dropped the robe and hurried up the short flight of steps towards her sleeping chambers. There her clothes had been laid out in wait for her. Most of the clothing she wore were not from this country, traded from merchants that had probably pillaged and murdered the woman who had been previously wearing them. The only true justice to be had was for Henna to find them and keep them. Though she paid a hefty price for such pieces they were worth it for the women who owned them previously.

This particular piece was the witch’s favorite. A deep crimson red bodice that stopped short at the peak of her rib cage and a form fitting skirt that reached the floor and flared just lightly at very tips. Though they paled in comparison to the final piece, both the bodice and skirt had been made of pure silk, of that she was certain. A sheer, heavy piece of fabric embroidered with flower and paisley shapes -which were decorated with grey and sea green beads- was wrapped around her left arm and stomach leaving the bare flesh barely visible. Everything but her right arm was hidden beneath layers of soft linens and Henna slipped onto her wrist a bracelet made of Italian blown glass beads a friend had made for her.

The robe she had dropped by the back door was retrieved with a level of haste that state she was well past hungry and starvation was close at hand.

“Hi.” Catalina’s voice rang up as Henna stepped outside, taking hold of her heaving chest. The girl had a way of appearing sprite like, the most unexpected times to show up was her specialty. The witch took note of the jar that she had given the girl which was now calm in its new home.

“Catalina. Why is she still trapped? I thought we were going to give her a new home?” Henna asked politely.

“Cause that man over there in shiny clothing.”

Raising a curious eyebrow Henna looked towards the village square. The silence was unmistakably and for a moment her heart raced with anticipation. A wave of curiosity and fright brought Henna back to reality, shiny clothing was a distinct signature of only one group of people on this entire world. Why had they come this far? This was far from their homes and lands of war. The whinny of horses confirmed that there were strangers in town, perhaps the worst time to ride in from what ever heathens they had been out slaying. Her feet carried her back inside and scrambled to find hiding places for her things. Things that, to her people meant nothing but a healer with a multitude of reagents, but would crucify her as something cruel and awful if her least favorite knights made a guest appearance.

Catalina was still waiting outside when Henna returned and she shoved her off towards her home. “You go to your mother right now. I will handle this.” Wrapping her cape around her colorful manner of dress the witch hurried towards center square where the villagers had stopped dead in their tracks. In all the years she had spent amongst them, this was the most quiet they had been since her arrival. It was eerie. Chilling even, goosebumps covering all flesh visible or otherwise.

What she saw however, was not what she expected. One solitary knight too young to have seen endless years of death and decay. Henna knew that judgments should not be taken lightly, for time meant nothing where death was concerned.

“Unwise to come alone.” Henna spoke out above the silence, her piercing blue eyes scrutinizing the knight with some level of interest. He would not cause trouble while she could help it. It didn’t matter what kind of army he had waiting at his beck and call. The Powers That Be were far greater and they had no mercy left to give. “I speak for these people. Tell me to what do we owe the pleasure of knights this far from home?”

 

[CladInMidnight]

Sayn uncomfortably shifted from heel to heel as the reception he was given was construed only of blank stares and an unnerving silence. His glowing chamoise orbs flicked from vacant gaze to vacant gaze. Each person emanated a veritable tale of reverie, fear, resentment, and hatred, but none of them spoke outright. They all stood absolutely still. Their collective stares focused upon him as if he were a predator stalking in the tall grass of a savanna, and he had mistakingly stepped on a dried husk of something. The longer the townspeople remained silent, the more uncomfortable the entire situation seemed. Sayn had opened his lips to ask once more if they had a doctor within their stupefied midst before he heard the gentle resonance of a woman's voice behind him. He turned towards the call.

Sayn was relatively stunned at who it was that the voice had originated from. He canted his head slowly as if to slowly drink in the almost fairytale creature who stood not twenty feet away. It wasn't her attire which drew the Templar's gaze, as whimsical as the garbs were, but to her face. Even though they were a fair distance apart, Sayn could clearly discern two gleaming blue lenses staring back at him. He felt riveted in place, and content to merely observe her frighteningly beautiful countenance until he realized that she had initiated a conversation with him. At first, he fumbled with his words, "P-pleasure? Oh, erm . . . " All trace of his formerly cool disposition thoroughly dissipated. However, after a few attempts and a clearing of the throat, he was able to produce the words. "This impromptu visit is wholly the consequence of a knight being a stubborn fool," Sayn spoke, jabbing a finger in the direction of the platoon that held Cefarus on the gurney. "That stolto insisted he wear the heaviest variant of our raiment while we patrolled the coast. As you can see, he is now unconscious."


OOC - I'm disgusted in myself​

 

[Dizzyfish]

The great elder witches of her time spoke of these men. Valiant steeds whose breath, hot like fire broke the silence on the battle fields, caked in blood and the footsteps of ghosts. The eyes of the creatures pierced the breaking dawn like two red suns, an expression of coming death apparent as Death himself was standing before their opposition. The masters mounted atop these hellish monsters mulled their steeds, transforming what would appear to be the devil on four legs into nothing more than children's play things. Their glittering, cast iron armor impenetrable by all mortal weapons. There were rumors that Gods from foreign lands had tried to slay these vicious acolytes of Chaos, only to meet the end of their immortal lives. How such things were possible was unknown, but rumors travel on the backs of galloping horses, while truth will travel upon foot. It seemed to Henna that truth still had much more to go.

This creature was not that rumor at all, in fact she was disenchanted by such a subterfuge her heart sank. Henna bit the puffy flesh of her lower lip that she would even hope to see such a fable, however, the excitement was relentless. Her heart beat returned to normal when the profound likeness that this creature could bleed became apparent. Sighing, Henna took a few subtle steps towards the knight as he formed his inarticulacy to legible sentences. A few of the villagers had taken upon themselves to laugh heartily amongst one another; Henna only taking notice as she passed by. Her glacial stare shot them a heated glance that silenced them instantly, as if frozen in time. There was no need to provoke him. Nothing was ever as it seems, for all they knew this seemingly harmless creature could blossom into something hideous and devour them all upon a hungry blade that could only be sated by blood.

To avoid such a melancholy end, Henna wished only to abide by a strict code of conduct that required respect be given to any and all travelers. Including this one, whose personage now held her undeterred attention. Expecting a knight to have sharp, jagged features like that of tyrant, this one was soft. Pale peach complexion with nothing but regalia and poise in abundance, even as he stumbled to gather himself in her presence. There was no doubt he was young, perhaps around her age but Henna could see in the swirling mess of sorrow and purpose billowing in his irises he had seen more than most, twice his senior.

“Yes. It is always a pleasure to have company in our fair haven. And what a treat, Knights of the Church of the Holy Father, of all visitors.” Henna hoped to carry the conversation further, calmly interjecting with her voice full of honey. Though as soon as the word church rang out from her lips it was as though she excreted bile from her stomach and proceeded to return it from whence it came. If nothing else, the Church had been the source of her dismay since before she could remember.

They made enemies from any heart they could shove their jagged swords through, just to watch them bleed. More blood had been wasted in the name of God than the betterment of humanity by ten fold. The carcasses of men, women and innocent child burn under the fires of their heresy but all was well because anything done in the name of God was justifiable. Except Henna. The girl who gathered roots and ancient blossoms to rid plagues and illness. She was a heathen amongst the children of God.

Henna clenched her first behind the folds of her fabric, fighting back the urge to unleash the wrath of a hundred years of persecution of her kind. But she knew better that the death of one, single man was not going to undo the damage of a thousand years and more. For now she had to toss aside her petty hatred for the men so easily scared into slavery by men of evil; veiling themselves as the Voice of God. This knight did not deserve the aim of all her malice.

After gaining some composure, destructive evil thing turned to an intellectual treasure trove of wonderful conversation. A knight with a vocabulary and strong voice, why the thought was positively sinful…. Henna turned her attention to the fallen comrade that her knight had spoken of.

‘YOUR knight?’ She asked herself, suddenly unsure of why she thought of such a thing. Either way it was not important, what was important was the injured knight in question. Henna looked back towards the direction of her den and built a reagent in her mind that would best serve as a cure for heat stroke. Lavender was always a part of her agents. It served to calm the heart, making it easier for the medicines to flow through the body. Mint would certainly wake the fallen once applied just underneath the nostrils. A three part use of dog tree bark and hibiscus would serve to rehydrate what the body had been missing. Henna still had yet to move. How could she even hope to help this servant of false idols when if they knew what she really was they would burn her, drown her body and leave it in the streets for citizens to spit on? One less knight in this world was music to her ears. What kind of example would she be setting for her people? They had all grown to respect the world through forgiveness and unequalled kindness. The wrong doings of Earth must be forgiven in order for them to truly be happy and though Henna has rights to feel betrayed by her fellow man they were not tenacious enough to break her troth.

“Remain here. I shall return in just a moment.” Henna excused herself from the group with light feet as she drifted closer towards her den. There the ingredients necessary to send the knight on his way lye in wait. In a matter of minutes she had forgotten where she hid her collections, including that which she had needed. But as bright as the guiding star, she found them as if her body knew something she did not. It wanted them gone as much as her shaking mind. However, the knight in center square. He was not like the rest of them. There was nothing frightening about him and Henna had to wonder if it was possible to find one single white rose amidst a field of red? Blue eyes rested upon the leather bag in her hand that kept the dog wood bark safe from sunlight. Exposing it to overtly hot temperatures would cook the healing factor from its skin, rendering it useless. And as most witches know, dog wood has to be the most difficult natural occurrence to find on Earth.

She tried to focus on her hatred for these people but no matter how hard she tried all she could do was go over the list again and again as if pleasing this knight would some how absolve her of all crimes. That his forgiveness for what she was, was crucial to the betterment of her existence. Why did she even care? They were just going to patrol the rest of the country side to scourge heathens from their so called, ‘evil devices,’ and maim more innocent victims. What was the rush? Blood thirst had all the time in the world to be patient. And yet, Henna continued her thorough investigation of her homestead for the perfect cure for such an ailment.

Henna returned promptly as promised, a leather pouch and water canteen in hand. “If you would follow, I can bring your friend back to the land of the living.” Nodding she turned towards the entrance of town and headed up the path towards the unconscious knight. Henna could recognize immediately that he was breathing, though ragged, he was not going to die any time soon. A porcelain hand reached towards his neck and felt for the main artery vein. He blood was pumping fast which meant his heart was working double time. Not dangerous at this exact moment but could most certainly cause a stoke. Medical knowledge that would not be obtained for a good hundred years or more. Henna kept that information to herself. It was just safer that way.

“Strip him.”

The other knights stood straight up, looking at one another as though Henna had spoken in dead language.

“You aren’t going to hug his unmentionables, you are saving your friend’s life. Just remove his plating so that I may bring him back to full health. Now on with it, all of you.”

Henna’s forceful nature caused them to act, each removing a piece of armor till their was nothing left but cloth and of course a full breeze. Immediately Henna noticed a change in his breathing always a good sign, if she did say so herself. From the leather pouch she combined the dog wood bark and hibiscus into the water canteen and shook it’ setting it to the side for later use. Crushing the lavender underneath her finger tips, the witch wiped the flower’s life force across the knight’s forehead leaving feint purple streaks where her fingers had been working the blossom into his skin. Next came the peppermint, in a thick heavy cream, was lavished underneath the nose. It took a few moments before he awoke. His eyes fluttering, fighting with the light that was now pouring into his vision.

“Sir. I need you to be awake enough to drink. It will taste odd but in order to be back on your feet before nightfall you will need to take the medicine I have prepared for you.” Henna held the leather canteen to the knight’s lips, her gentle hands guiding the liquid into his parsed mouth and lungs. The rejuvenation must have been invigorating, suggested only by the calm whimper emanating from him.

“I must implore that you do not make such a foolish mistake again. I value my protection as well, Sir, but you cannot value such things if you are dead. Armor will do nothing for you against that, now will it?” Henna stood to her feet again and stared her deep blue eyes into her young knight’s. They were face to face now, just a single foot away. She smiled at him, if only slightly, looking down at her bare feet. Trying not to stare too deeply into that face. One that had stolen many hearts and quite possibly a trail of shattered ones straight behind him. And they had the gull to call her bewitching…

“He should be fine. I wouldn’t suggest moving him great distances until he is fully recharged. Direct sunlight, something Oceanskye Valley has plenty of, would just cause him to collapse once more. I wont send you on your way without this recipe, I have enough medicine to spare.” Henna paused, holding her hand to her directly at her bosom, squeezing an imaginary charm. “Perhaps..” She began, her voice quiet and yet, inviting. “Next time you visit it would not be on such… unfortunate terms?”

 

[CladInMidnight]

Lavender. He was certain of it. His mother had grown them in abundance within the garden at their prairie home away from the Vatican, and they grew in far greater affluence in the infinite sea of shifting golds and oranges that nestled the modest homestead. Slowly the scents began to accompany the majestic expanse of an ocean of shimmering colors interspersed with amaranthine. He remembered quite vividly standing in the center of the field with his mother, she holding his hand, and watching the waning sun sink below the flat horizon beyond. More prominent the nostalgic balm became as Sayn blinked at the pulchritudinous countenance that stood not an arm's length away him. Her face was of the purest porcelain, and an elegant pale shade that would have seemed unbefitting if it were on anyone else's face but hers. Her hair was a polished ebon that seemed to provide its own luminescence. Sayn almost reached towards her to be sure that she was not just a figment of his gnarled sanity.

Sayn was drawn from his rumination as his mind clicked at what she had asked him. He had heard her, but he hadn't fully registered what it was that she had said. His body, however, seemed perfectly content to answer for him, and his lips moved without his ministrations. "I believe I would enjoy that," he said unconsciously with a smile, "Especially to see a figure of such astounding beauty," he finished. In the span of a heartbeat, Sayn's face had sunken into the brightest shades of red. In an attempt at redemption, he managed to force out a plausible link, as if what he had said was a misunderstanding. "I mean--your village is quite the sight! I could imagine coming here to spend leave." Sayn could feel the stares of the infantry he had under him as well as the villagers. All seemed to be trying their absolute hardest to not break into a hysterical fit of laughter.

Without another word, Sayn spun on his heel and barked at the soldiers, inquiring why they were still standing about when their commander was still weak and barely conscious in an improvised gurney. The men saluted and scrambled about, but ultimately nothing was accomplished. The old man was jarred in his curricle and groaned as the soldiers essentially ran around in circles. Sayn slapped his forehead and turned back to the woman with an apologetic smile. "Oceanskye wouldn't happen to have an inn, perhaps?"​

 

[Dizzyfish]

Villagers returned to their daily tutelage and chores, leaving poor Henna alone to defend herself against the meanderings of these knights. Inside of her heart she sighed, a place that was secret and hidden from all other eyes aside from her own. If there was anyone that should play hostess, it was she. Imagining the conversation these particular knights would be having with a certain archdiocese she often dreamt strangling as he tried to spit out his demonic sermon disguised as the demands of God. Villainy. ‘;Putrid.’ Henna thought to herself, knowing that Oceanskye would be ripped off every major map from here to Rome. It would be listed under the category of, “brainless.” Henna was not trying to belittle her people, she loved them with every drop of blood that collaborated within her. They were simple people, farmers and millers, a position that demanded that utmost respect, but did not easily gain it. Especially by those who have little time to think of such things. Henna supposed with the to do list the likes the Church sees every day would not take time to get to know its more simple aspect of life.

There was a long list of things she would like to say to the Church. Things that were both filled with contempt and were not all together untrue. Most of what she disliked about the church were not silly rumors of disapproved followers, or disgruntled ex-members. Henna had weeded out those lies a long time ago, everything she hated this group of people for were for acts of wickedness performed on her fellow man. Church men thought themselves higher than mankind, or so it seemed. Either way the fact that they could be so lucky as to be forgiven for their sins was a joke spat in the face of God. Henna did not know much about Him, but knew enough that if one creature was so powerful and could be tricked by a few choice angelic words of apology must not be that omnipotent.

There was a time in her life where God seemed like the answer to her problems. When all had been lost and nothing remained, she could see how God would feel the void and how easily it must have been the same for anyone else. When you have nothing to lose and everything to gain, religion offers a plethora of pantheons to adjust your belief structure. Henna came to the realization that she cannot hate a deity for its followers, for they have no control over what they do in their name. No deity acts upon those whims not even Henna’s, who had been beaten and punished for last five hundred years. Humanity controlling the word of Gods was like what a lake of gold in the desert does for a thirsty man.

There was another slew of lingering thoughts Henna was prepared to contemplate until the knight before opened up the air for conversation. She was drawn to his voice like a fly to honey. Her imagination had painted hellspeak to be his manner of articulation. She was jubilant to have that belief laid to rest. It was not that of a song bird, nor the whispering winds but it was soothing in its own right. Henna’s glacial stare returned to the young man with a strong level of interest. Though she remained still, porcelain and statuesque her eyes made small mental notes about every inch of him. Henna had a great memory and wanted to remember this face when she cursed the Church and all of its wrong doings. He was innocent, kind even two things she had not come to expect from a class of people. He loved God. Convictions belonged to He, whom he followed not to the Church.

“I think I would enjoy that.”

“Oh?” Henna responded, folding her arms so that each hand gripped the other’s elbow. A smile followed close behind as Henna closed the small gap that was between them; their shoulders perpendicular to one another. “Enjoyment is quite up there on the list that construes Oceanskye. Amongst it, spiritually and mentally uplifting. Inviting. Exotic. Do not let the small village setting fool you My Lord.”

“Especially to see a figure of such astounding beauty.”

The few lingering villagers covered their smiles with well worked through hands and Hanna smiled back at them, waving them back to work with the highest respect possible. Henna knew she could handle them alone without needing assistance. The power she now had over them was as crystal clear as the morning’s light cascading across a field of fresh dew. Before beauty and appearance of skin meant nothing to her, it was overrated and with people being so dissimilar from one another it was hard to determine what was beautiful anymore. For Henna, it was in everything. In the trees that gave air to breath. The beasts that filled her belly. The fresh water that cleaned wounds and hydrates a thirsty stomach. The mother that gives birth to her child and raises said child to become the walking contradiction to Henna’s entire belief structure…

Now, beauty was her weapon and Henna would wield it as if it had been the sword if Michael. The witch turned her head towards the knight with a warm and inviting smile, her blue eyes locking onto him, searching through his soul. The more she searched the less she found and that almost caused her to grimace. She was careful to keep up her charm, but it bothered her that he was so vague and confusing. What skeletons were buried in that closet, she had to wonder? One thing was certain, the longer he stayed the more time she had to find out. In her heart, she was asking the Great Mother for a rainstorm.

“Let’s hope that you do. Then you can look upon this figure a lot more. The village that is....” Henna offered a playful response, her gaze now eying the skyline, waiting for the clouds to start forming. Mother Nature was a fickle old woman with beauty unbound. The pursuit of knowledge meant everything to her and knew that it was the same for Henna, she would not disappoint; all she had to do was wait. The sun was high in the sky, after their fallen comrade had been well rested it would be nearly sundown, by that time there would be dark clouds swirling with the promises of rain. The witch was almost certain. Would bet her life on it.

The knights behind her scrambled at their higher ranking officer’s demands. They made a great attempt but in the end it bore no fruit and Henna chuckled girlishly in response. “Yes, yes. We have stations that will accommodate said needs. Just ahead, the largest building, Icarus will allow you station. I apologize ahead of time it is one large room with several beds. It’s mainly used for large groups of travelers. But you will have absolute privacy should you need it.” The tiny female ran a hand through her dark hair, it cascaded to one side and shimmered down her bare shoulder. “I will send a nurse to check up on your friend in the mean time. He does not need me any further. However…” Henna stopped midsentence. Thinking about her words before she decided to voice them. “Should you need me, for any reason. I will not hesitate to make myself available.” With that, Henna put a hand to the knight’s shoulder and nodded at him before walking back towards her home with her hands tucked neatly behind her.

When Henna was out of view and inside the safety of her den, she shut the door and leaned against it. Her heart raced, her stomach ached from hunger. How she managed to seem dignified in their presence was the strength of the Goddess and she prayed to the Powers that Be for such a blessing. Now, about that rain…

 

[CladInMidnight]

As she turned away from him, he could feel his heartbeat within his ears. The incessant drumming caused him to be acutely aware of the woman's elegant sway of her hips, the way her hair glimmered in the sunlight, her--wait. Woman? It hadn't even occurred to Sayn that he was becoming quite rapidly enraptured with a nameless girl. Quickly side-stepping his thoughts and emotions of guilt and stupidity, he looked for her mesmerizing figure against the glowing brush of the inflamed golden hills beyond. She was gone. Sayn slapped a gauntlet to his forehead and dragged it down his face. Great.

--------------

Icarus, a squat young boy with a face that not even a pig would envy, led Sayn and his entourage to the inn, where they were to spend residence while awaiting Cefarus' recovery. The old bull. Sayn smiled as he observed the grunts ease him into the bedsheets. The Templar grunted at the sudden shift in comfort, but then his face visibly relaxed as he felt the cooling, comforting embrace of the bed he lay upon. Sayn dropped a hand on his old mentor's shoulder as he hovered above him. Then Cefarus slapped a palm over Sayn's.

"I'm not dead yet, bambino," he cackled with a raspy voice.

Sayn grinned and shook Cefarus' shoulder. "You'd better not, nonno. Now, riposo. You've had a rough day." The aged Templar drew a hand across his stubble of a beard, then ran his fingers through the thin strands of hair that clung to his scalp before sighing in resignation. "Bene," Sayn said with another smile. He turned from the bedside to see the eyes of a dozen or so armored infantry locked on him. They seemed expectant. Sayn's shoulders slumped and he scratched the back of his head while raising the right side of his lips in a grimace. "Alright, you can take the beds." The men howled. and laughed, and jumped. "Just, be careful!" he warned, and he was returned with a fourteen salutes.

As the men scrambled for which bed was whose, Sayn shimmied out of the room door inconspicuously, shutting it quietly behind him. Again, he turned, and again he was met with a degree of stares. However, these were different. They seemed sincere, almost. Happy. Several men and women smiled indifferently, while others nodded, and some even winking. Sayn felt a smile plaster itself on his face as he meandered past tables, chairs, and shuffling feet. The Templar was not naive enough to believe that the Church was loved by all, or even most, so he naturally found it admirable that these people would be so accepting towards himself and his men.​

 

[Dizzyfish]

Muffled crying captured Henna's attention. Her heart had finally settled back into her rib cage, allowing calm and steady breathing. It was difficult at first to feel the comfort she had felt this morning, her body naked for no one but the sunlight that gently caressed her bare flesh. It took time and it seemed she was running short of that these days. The only thoughts that kept invading her mind were the ones she didn't ask for, leaving Oceanskye was not up for questioning. This was her home and she would be damned if a few wandering soldiers were to drive her from what was rightfully hers. Besides, it did not seem as though they had any intention of such things, if they were she would have already been in shackles and being shipped off to the Burning House. Not a place spoken about freely, aside from shaky whispers in dark ally ways. It was a Witch's final resting place, said to have piles of ash that could cast a shadow over an entire city. Women and children that had been tried and found guilty of treason and set aflame upon the stake. Even those that had been suspected of just knowing a witch was a rightful reason to set someone on fire these days.

Casting the Burning House out of her mind proved difficult, but she did it by the grace of the Goddess. All that was important now was the commotion upstairs in her bedroom. At first hand, she thought it had been a spy, but the bells on the windows would have alerted that someone was entering from above. Unless these knights were playing coy and knew all about what Henna was, there was no reason for them to be suspicious of anything aside from her relationship status. Banking on the validity of that truth, Henna walked cautiously up the small flight of stairs leading into her bedroom.

The door was ajar, only a sliver of the room beyond visible. However, it was shrouded by the sunlight piercing through the open window. She could smell the alluring aroma of blossoms trailing from the fields beyond. Henna was hesitant at first but she was no coward and pushed the door open at a slow pace. She wanted to see the face of the intruder first, so that when he saw her it would be with a blade in hand rather than a surprised expression. A flaw in most characters in her position. Henna was not a force to be reckoned with, clever as the fox and cunning as the hawk circling its prey. She was no fool.

A girl with sunset in her hair and dirt stained cheeks sat upon the floor sobbing quietly to herself. Henna's jewelry box lay sprawled across the wooden planks, crests and stones stretched out in a beautiful prism streak. In the foreign girl's shaking hands was the symbol of Henna's devotions. A tree painted green and brown, the chain made of pure silver and sparkled in the powerful sunlight.

"Arwen?" Henna called to her, sure now that the woman that had broken into her house was someone she hadn't seen in years. Too long, in Henna's book.

"Henna." The red haired woman called out, turning towards her, a face that had seen the worst of life and perhaps more. Tears had cleared away dirt in long streaks down her face, Arwen had been crying for hours and for a long time Henna suspected. "I am so sorry, I tried your door but you did not answer. I couldn't risk anyone seeing so I came inside."

It was hard to make out words in Arwen's speech, her constant sobbing broke her sentences to pieces and Henna deciphered what she could with great success. She wasted no time joining Arwen on the floor and embraced her old friend with warmth and concern abound. Arwen was a strong willed woman who fell in love with a Catholic man who had turned his faith away for the sake of the woman he loved. A bond he felt more stronger than the one he had with God and the men that pretended to serve him. They had two beautiful children, both girls and had grown up in the city Henna had been born. That was too many years ago, so much in fact she could not recall them. "What happened? Where are Micheal, Ariana or Ariel? Why did you leave them to come all the way out here?"

Arwen stopped crying immediately and stared vacantly out the window, searching for something that Henna at the moment could not provide. "Dead." And that was all that she had the strength to mutter.

"What do you mean dead?"

"They are all gone. Dead. Those bastards killed them! They slaughtered them! The took away my babies!" Arwen's voice rose up and Henna shushed her respectfully and held her once again. She knew who had taken the lives of such innocent people and that could only mean one thing.

"And the village?'

"Gone. Everyone. It sits in flames. God has only enemies now...." The red haired woman buried her face in Henna's bosom, sobbing without relent. Henna stroked her hair, her finger tips brushing away the tangles till her beautiful phoenix colored hair was as silken as she once kept it. All that stood between Arwen's village and Oceanskye was a long stretch of open country side and two other towns. If they proceeded in that direction they would be in Oceanskye Valley ontop of the month. Give or take a few days, Henna was not trying to be accurate, there was no certainty that the raping of the beautiful country of Italy would commence this far South.

Henna looked down at Arwen's feet, which were bare and dirt laden. She had trekked far, perhaps miles, to the only friend she knew she had left in this world. But it was not the dirt that caught her eye. She broke Arwen away from her body and took her by the arm rolling up her sleeve in the process. There, deep gashes and scars where her hands had been bound had been torn into her flesh. Burn marks ran the length of her arms and her legs the further she investigated. "Oh my Goddess." Henna whispered, anger and melancholy filling her veins with a black bile that could allow her to do anything she set her mind too. That kind of dark power was forbidden, if only for the fact it did more harm than good. She needed to breath but she needed to know. It was dire. "What happened Arwen. What is this? Who did this to you?" Henna nearly shouted at the girl.

She was hesitant to reveal the nature of her wounds, but Henna gave her the look that said she was safe. Arwen sighed heavily, her glazed eyes stared deeply into her friend's. "He told me I could save them. I could protect my village if I just... He said he would keep me safe Henna! He said he would treat me kindly if I did what he asked of me! Look what he did to me Henna!" Arwen threw herself to her feet, with shaky hands lifted up her torn skirt revealing the knife wounds that had been cast across her genitals. Henna cast her eyes away as quickly as she could, clenching her fists in anger, tears glossing her already pale blue eyes.

"I finally escaped. And my babies. He killed them and left them to die. They were wearing the dresses I made them." It was then that Arwen broke into more tears and Henna could not hear another word. Her concern was for Arwen's wounds and that they needed to be cleaned and tended too immedaitely.

After putting Arwen into a deep slumber, Henna raced downstairs and out the door of her den, the door slamming behind her. She needed someone with a level head, someone who could help her friend without an emotional connection clouding her judgment. Henna did all she could to look a lot less suspicious as she felt, but there was no hiding her discontent hurrying into the town square where Markus sat with his wife Nora enjoying the last bits of their breakfast.

Whispering into his ear, Markus stood to his feet and looked down at his wife who immediately did the same. They were both doctors themselves who had assisted Henna on several occasions, becoming her closest friends and confidants of all in the village. They nodded to her their understanding, Markus leaving in the direction of Henna's homestead, Nora to her own home to get fresh supplies.

Henna however made her way towards the Inn where the Knights were to be keeping up refuge. She needed a conclusion. The status of Gonzi de Florenco, what was to become of the survivors, if there were any to begin with.

"Hey M'lady! How can I help--"

"Not now Icarus." Henna shoved past him and straight into the Inn, her feet heavy with each step. The other villagers moved past the angered woman, who stopped dead in her tracks. If she revealed Arwen she would seal the girl's fate. Certainly news travels fast amongst all ranks in the Church, Henna had to assume. Her angle would have to be something mundane and strictly curiosity. Perhaps a vendor she had worked with had gone missing? It would be in her best interest to inquire his whereabouts, so that is the story she stuck with.

Before her stood the knight who had spoken to her, had been the voice of his men the entirety of their arrival. Henna proposed that asking him would be safer than an officer who could tell immediately that she was suspicious, which she hoped to avoid. But how could she face him after such an exit? Henna's cheeks flushed as she fumbled with the words she was choking on. It was this moment she had been staring too patronizingly that he was certain to have noticed.

She turned, hoping to find a distraction but nothing presented itself. Why couldn't he be inside so that she could see the door to their room and lose her nerve to ask them such questions? Goddess, protect me.

"Sir Knight?" She asked, having crossed the final fleeting steps through the inn and stopped dead in her tracks, a single table stood between them. "I apologize, I don't remember catching your name. I know that I said that you could call upon me for any desire you might need fulfilled." Henna bit her lower lip nervously. What did she hope to gain from such a forward statement? Either way, she was sucked back in to the splendor of this Knight. It was hard to lose focus in his presence, of that she knew to be true. "But I must ask that you fulfill a desire of mine own. Could you spare me a moment of your time? If not, please go about your business, we can congregate when you have retired a bit longer?"

 

[CladInMidnight]

"But I must ask that you fulfill a desire of mine own."

Needless to say, the Templar took this statement quite literally, along with half of the tavern. They gasped, they cheered, they blinked and stared with disbelief. One of the tavern maids giggled madly behind her hand, nearly spilling a tray of assorted fruit and ale on the people close to her.

"Erm, heh, uh. Uhm. N-no, I'm free of any engagements at the moment," he said shakily. Calm yourself, Templar! he cried within his mind, You barely even know the poor girl, how can you think so ill of people? Sayn flexed his fingers out of instinct and slowly his composure was rebuilt from the pile of refuse to which it had collapsed a few seconds prior. With a clearing of his throat, Sayn erected his posture and held the bearing of a knight. That was what he was supposed to be. Right? Not another word passed between the two as he gently urged the girl towards the door, the tavern patrons' stares beginning to drill holes in the rear of his skull.

Sayn tugged open the door and allowed the woman to pass through the threshold before himself. With a click of finality, he sealed the door behind him, causing him to release a withheld sigh. Within the young knight, a memory sparked. Just a year ago, perhaps, on the night of the spring solstice. Sayn had taken the liberty of escorting Lady Ysvera Mancini from the ball that had been thrown at Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore to her family's estate on the outskirts of Firenze.

Ysvera was clad in a dress of liquid velvet that night, the fabric seemed to ooze off of her curves when she walked. The way it shone in the moonlight would give one the impression that she was wearing a dress of blood. Her honey hair fell down to her waist in the regal fashion; long and whimsically straight until the accentual curls at the very tips. Her lips were full and gorgeous, not a speck of makeup marred her features. Her large sapphire eyes gazed out of the carriage window, observing the rolling and sloping hills in the luminescent distance.

She turned to him, eyes twinkling with mischief while a devious crescent splayed across her lips. Sayn felt his heart stop. The two were sitting an arm's length apart from each other, for the sake of privacy and comfortability. Ysvera slid that arm's length into Sayn's side, the swell of her breasts molding around his right arm. Sayn looked away pointedly, his face undecipherable and statuesque in nature. He could almost feel Ysvera's sly grin melt into a heart-warming pout. "Come now, Lord von Saren. Surely I cannot be that hideous?" she inquired with a sad tone. She knew she had him.

"Absolutely not," Sayn managed to choke out, but by the time he had turned to tell her, she had retreated to her end of the carriage, her face as placid and blasé as when she first entered the carriage. Sayn's shoulders sagged, and he released a sigh. They had reached the Mancini's estate. Sayn leapt from the carriage door and rounded it to where he stood before Ysvera's door. He creaked it open and allowed her to step from its confines. Her long legs carried her out on to the smooth cobblestone and cool night air. She curtsied to Sayn, to which he returned with a gentlemanly bow. "I thank you for the escort, Lord von Saren," she said, smiling at him again.

Sayn bowed, yet again. "The pleasure was all mine," he said. Then Ysvera had done something Sayn could have only dreamed about. She stepped into him and seized him by the trousers. His eyes grew as big as chicken eggs.

"Surely not all of it can be yours," she whispered ravishingly. Sayn twitched. Ysvera relinquished her grip. "In fact, why don't you join me in my chambers, m'lord? Mother and Father will not return for some time, as they are still enraptured with the going-ons at the Basilica." Sayn did nothing but nod. "Hmm, good," she replied slyly. Sayn had dismissed the carriage handler and delivered to him a hefty sum to keep his lips sealed about the matter. Ysvera then led him into the mansion. Before the two even entered the foyer, the sole daughter of the Mancini house had thrown herself into Sayn, grabbing at him wherever she could find purchase: his hair, his clothes, his neck. Sayn stumbled into Ysvera's room with Ysvera along for the ride. The young knight fell on to her bed with an oof, but before he could even sit up, Ysvera was already working at his trousers. Something wasn't quite right, Sayn thought.

Before things could get too far out of hand, Sayn intervened by crawling back further into the bed, and yanking his breeches back from the vixen's grasp. "Ysvera, please, wait!" She didn't. She pursued him hungrily, without respite. She would have what she wanted, whether the spineless whelp would enjoy it or not. Sayn fell from the bed on to the cold stone floor, landing on his side. "Ysvera!" he cried, but she crawled after him, her eyes blank with lust. This was just becoming ridiculous. Working his way to his feet, Sayn hobbled to the chamber door with a sex-driven Ysvera trailing not far behind. He had almost considered crying for help if the door hadn't flung open his face. Sayn could only feel the ache in his nose for several moments. That and the ever apparent feeling of trouser-lessness. All Sayn remembered after that was a voice like thunder saying, "Dammit, Ysvera, not another one!" That night did not end well.

As Sayn resurfaced in reality, he felt the faint tugging of a breeze and his fallow mane. The wind was beginning to pick up. Leaves from a faraway land blew in front of the Templar, for the hues were foreign to Italy. The bright pinks and vibrant blues very atypical this time of year, especially so far south. Without looking at the woman who bid him a moment of his time, Sayn scrunched his brow in curiosity at the leaves, but regarded her with full mental attentiveness. "What was it that you would request of this humble night, m'lady?"​

 

[Dizzyfish]

Judging by the sound of the occupants in the tavern, they were both amused and pleased by her request. Though she had not meant it any other than face value, her words could be easily taken out of context. Henna shot the tavern people a stern look and they went about their business. When she was upset, the entire town was upset. It was best to keep her as happy as possible. There were times that Henna could recall being exceptionally depressed, the melancholy hanging on the sway of her hips as she drug herself through the town. It would rain hard those select few days, eventually she would pull through the thick black that surrounded her and sunshine would prevail. The harvest had never been greater.

Henna glided her eager fingertips over a polished-wood bar stool. The coolness beneath opted reality to continue its hold on her. She was alive. Breathing. And about to be in the most dangerous place she had imagined ever possible. Alone with her one common enemy. Though the phrase often rang true, keeping your enemies closer than your friends, it never described just how frightful it would be. How her heart raced as the seconds continued to pass. The people around that surrounded them seemed to be staring at her with darkened faces; some even frightening her as she walked past.

Reality reared its ugly head when the Knight urged her forward, to a place they could speak in private. It was best she kept her friends as far out of the loop as possible. The little they honestly knew, the less danger she posed them. She had spent her entire life running from these people, dodging close calls and shielding her identity from those that would cause her harm. There had been friends along that path whom had changed her life and views countless times. In the end, it led them to their graves, mistakes that Henna would never make again, she made a vow, one she intended to uphold. It was the least she could do for these people, they had showed her kindness uncommon in this time period.

The folds of her sheer gown swayed with each step, the bells around her ankles adding a minute melody to the dry air. The playful conversation that had been shared between Henna and her Knight would soon come to an end. Her mind kept trailing back to Arwen who was dead asleep in her bed. The wounds around her wrists and ankles never left her mind, haunting her as the need for information drove her further out the door.

The cool air instantly rejuvenated her racing mind, the smell of winter vastly approaching heavy with each breath she allowed to invade her lungs. The witch exhaled slowly as to not set of the Knight that she was troubled in any manner. Her calm was necessary in order to trick him into giving the information she desired. A part of her felt wicked for having to do this, he had been nice to her. Kind even, qualities that didn't come naturally in most men his age. Youth was the rapist of morals and divinity but he proved time and time again that it may just be a thing of the past. "Thank you M'Lord." Henna announced, tearing through the silence with a voice as deep as wine and just as sweet. The fate of Arwen's family lay here, in the hands of this Knight and thus it was Henna's duty to respect him as he is. Regardless of his beliefs....

Far beyond the horizon, dark clouds billowed up from the mountainous hillside that lined the coast. It was a good four days travel but clearly visible this far from its base. Henna had prayed for a storm and from the looks of it such a gift may yet be given. Henna glanced briefly at the Knight, focused on his own mental musings but still held some small degree of interest in the woman that had sought out his company. It was good enough for her, any more and she may have well choked on her words and drowned in the pool of blood they left behind.

The witch paced a few feet away, one hand resting on her hip while the other clasped the opposite shoulder. Henna was acting concerned and was certain to be raising suspicions, if she played her cards right it may have been all the cards she needed to try this hand. "I received my doctorate many years ago, when I was nary out of my youth. My methods of healing the ill have been.." 'Witching.' She wanted to say but knew that was unwise. "Unorthodox. But well respected." Henna turned back towards the Knight, her blue eyes paled by sorrow and discontent. Dropping her arms to both sides Henna closed the gap between them and stood just an arm's length away. She felt sinister in comparison. A dark and gruesome witch trying to snare the handsome Knight whose beautifully honest eyes she could no longer bare to linger. Henna side stepped so she could no longer gaze upon her sinister reflection therein.

"With that being said, my healing reagents are sometimes useless and I need to call upon the help of nearby physicians who have aided me in the past. We have a certain understanding of one another and we trade secrets whenever possible. Such as the use of leeches to suck the demons out of people who were thought to be possessed. It was from my inference that those practices be retired." Henna smiled to herself, toying with the fabric in her dress, anything to keep herself from crying. "That doesn't matter, I am rambling. The point I make is that in order to get these supplies, I need a carrier. He was sent back to me five days ago. And hasn't returned." Dark ebony curls followed suit when Henna turned abruptly taking hold of the Knight's hand to accentuate the importance of this matter. "Tell me the state of Gonzi de Florenco, you had to have passed through it on your way to Oceanskye. I have heard from not a single one of my friends and I worry for their safety."

Henna realized the more she spoke the harder she dug her nails into her companion's palm. Before digging further, she pulled her hands away and threw her gaze elsewhere. "I am sorry. I did not mean too. I suppose I am just, a little off balance." The raven haired woman paused for but a single breath and continued. "Do not feel obligated to answer if you don't have the information I seek. This was more, wishful thinking, than anything..."

 

[CladInMidnight]

Sayn felt his head grow dizzy at the haunting resonance of her angelic voice. He felt the blood in his fingertips vanish, his extremities all growing numb for this woman that he had known through the course of only a few minutes. Despite the loss in feeling, his hands grew clammy within his gauntlets. He flexed his fingers to ascertain a glint of self control. He splayed his toes in his boots to be sure that they too were still in working order. The back of his throat became barren of moisture, and he almost rasped with anticipation. Then she spoke.

"I received my doctorate many years ago, when I was nary out of my youth. My methods of healing the ill have been.." she paused briefly, "Unorthodox. But well respected."

This was well understood, especially by Sayn. Roma bore a veritable oasis of dissident practitioners, all of which were reputable in their own right, but some of them were downright manic. A doctor Isaris promoted bathing in bull urine as the cure of sexual diseases and counter to infertility. No one was quite sure if it actually worked, but reportedly women acquiescing to this strange treatment gave birth to a score of children. Literally. This passed the Templar's ears without a hint of a discrepancy; it was her eyes that seized him. They shone at him, calculating, timeless, and immaculate. How he wanted to just hold her face between his hands and look into her eyes for the rest of his days . . .

"With that being said, my healing reagents are sometimes useless and I need to call upon the help of nearby physicians who have aided me in the past. We have a certain understanding of one another and we trade secrets whenever possible. Such as the use of leeches to suck the demons out of people who were thought to be possessed. It was from my inference that those practices be retired." She fiddled with the ends of her dress, an act that Sayn found exceedingly adorable. "That doesn't matter, I am rambling. The point I make is that in order to get these supplies, I need a carrier. He was sent back to me five days ago. And hasn't returned." Sayn's heart leapt into his throat when he saw her take his hand between hers. She must have held some substantial feelings for this carrier, it seemed. Sayn felt his stomach sink somewhat. Even more so with the next words she spoke.

"Tell me the state of Gonzi de Florenco, you had to have passed through it on your way to Oceanskye. I have heard from not a single one of my friends and I worry for their safety."

Sayn's eyes grew cold in hard, his posture grew rigid as well as his overall demeanor. The images of that place still haunted him. The ashes, the bodies, the blood . . . so much blood. So much pain, so much scorn, so much spite, so much death. Too much death. Too much spite, too much scorn, too much pain, too much blood! It should have never happened. Any of it.

"Gonzi de Florenco . . . " the knight began solemnly, "Has morphed into a playground for spirits of misery, of hurt, and of loss. It has been," he paused, "purged," he spat angrily. He was looking into the ground at his feet, he realized. He look to the woman's eyes, his own brimming with liquid lament. "I'm sorry," he smiled sadly.​

 

[Dizzyfish]

She heard him. Or Lord in Heaven Almighty had she heard him. Every single word, a spear with a glistening, steely smile sharp as wit at each end, stabbing through her already fragile heart. Henna could feel her own blood rising in her throat, drowning not only her body but her soul till nothing substantial remained. Her heart wrenched writhing in agony abound, her bones shattered by its loathsome screams. A shaking porcelain hand grasped her chest as she choked on the breaths her lungs cried for. As the word, “purged,” escaped the Knight’s lips Henna felt her handle on reality languidly slip away, her mind trailing off in silence to a place only the witch knew existed. It was a wonderful place with beatitude comparable to the great Eden of the Biblical community.

“Auntie Hennie!” A voice called to her, small and frail like a feather tugged through the crisp blue on a silent downward spiral. Henna turned her frosty blue eyes towards a distant horizon, willow branches flowing gently across the dancing fields of amber. Ariana is twirling in short melodramatic circles, the ruffles of her summer dress draped down her legs like tulip petals. Michael, a handsome man with dark features and a well trimmed beard picked her up high into his grasp and gently let go. Ariana flung her arms out wide as if she were any higher the atmosphere would pick her up into its sweet embrace and flutter her off into the cerulean sky.

Father caught daughter into his arms and placed her sweetly to the grasses below where her mother and newborn baby sister sat waiting for them to join. Michael looked out over the amber grains and stared directly at Henna as if he was truly standing before her. His brown eyes fixated on her so intently Henna cringed at the weight of his stare. Ariana was following in her father’s footsteps along with Arwen whom had no facial features to be recognized. That was the habit of the Dreaming, it was a foretelling of the future as well as review of the past. It was misery and grief now tangled up within happiness and memory, where Arwen was still breathing and alive. Even the Dreaming knew that information.

Ariana and Ariel were now older, Michael and Arwen sitting on their front porch overlooking the grassy hillside. The girls were dressed in long skirts with layers of petticoat and gobs of glistening white pearls. Ariana was seven years old where as Ariel was nary two. Henna had been watching the pair in awestruck wonder, as they danced towards her singing songs and chattering about who was going to win the race over whom. The eldest sister reached her first and smiled wide eyed with flushed checks. Ariel took her sister’s hand the other clutching a white tattered rabbit that Henna had stitched for her when she was first born. It was Henna whom helped deliver these two youthful beauties, their hair filled with sunshine much like their mother’s. Arwen and Henna had been friends for longer than she dare recall and after delivering the girls to this world safely, Henna became their God Mother. She would have cared for them as if they were her own if anything were to have happened to Arwen.

But now they were long gone and Arwen was left to mourn their passing. Henna looked off into the distance where shrill cries broke her concentration. It was Ariana and Ariel, screaming in agony as their house burned down with them still inside. All the witch could do was watch in horror, she was frozen there. Statuesque and unmoved as the cries boomed through her head like a landslide.

“I suppose that there is something sinister about the youth of this world. Something dark and evil about life where it means so little to everyone these days. Purging life from the innocent is the… only thing God concerns himself with these days.” Henna spoke after so long, her eyes staring at her Knight with that heavy blue oceanesque hue, ragged and tired from years of emotional persecution. She did not mean that, nor did she agree that purging anything was the work of God. Every word she muttered was sour and decayed, making her stomach churn. Henna was blowing her cover, every action was too attached to the city that had just been burned to the ground. What did it matter now? She had to bury innocents before the worms began tunneling through her insides. What a serious injustice….

“Thank you My Lord. I appreciate all that you have told me. This brings a lot into perspective. Perhaps I can rest easy tonight… for once… haven't slept right in... in a long, long time.” Henna glided away a slight few feet that felt like miles. Her feet ached. Her heart was breaking. The world was crashing. And all the while she was fine. Unmoved, her eyes were drywells where they should have been overflowing waterfalls glistening her cheeks with sun kissed tears. The raven haired witch was a strong woman. Years of life on the run had taught her that over emotion led to one’s death and the more she hurt the closer she was to that.

Henna turned back towards the Knight. His beautiful features, strong and proud were the only things keeping her from falling off of Earth into oblivion. What was he? A knight? No. It’s impossible. Henna and all of her people hated them, and yet, she was drawn to this one. Why did he have to be such an Enigma? Why did Ariana and Ariel have to die? What did they do wrong? Where was Arwen? Was she feeling better? Who had been sexually abusing her? Why was Michael skinned alive and then shoved on a spike? Why was the devil so handsome? Where did the years go? Where had the levelheaded Henna de’Barbarac go? The one whose intelligent and prose were teeming with imaginative wisdom and refined dignity?

Questions raced through her mind like a whirlwind of juxtapose. “Make it stop.” Henna spoke, her quivering lips barely moving. “Oh God what have they done?” She said, her eyes forcing out tears in such rapid succession how she was able to see the Knight in front of her was beyond her. The pale maiden only felt him, heard his heartbeat as she put herself in front of him, standing many heads below the Knight. “They were just babies! I held them, in my hands, they were here in my hands!” But none of her words were legible. Her cries cut through the torrent of wind now surrounding them, picking up leaves and throwing them in alternating directions. Her knees usually strong and balanced buckled beneath her as her legs gave in. Let her body hit the ground and never get up. If God had any mercy in his heart, let her hit the floor dead.

 

[CladInMidnight]

He could see her only as a silhouette as she turned away from him. A silhouette laden with melancholy, with despair, with mourning. He felt his heart fall apart as if it were a glass vase that had been slowly heated from within, then just crumble to the ground in silence; not a sound of a splinter, fragmentation, or breaking, just the collapse of fragments around a smoldering center of empathy. He took a step after her, but it felt as if his legs were made of pure stone, but his joints were the consistency of warm suet. He wanted to hold her, to embrace her, to have her feel secure within his arms. That desire itself burned brighter within him than a funeral pyre, yet he could not move. Then she turned to him. His blood went frigid within his veins.

She was beautiful even when she shed tears, he realized. Her eyes were brimming over with her sorrow, and he felt his stomach shift. She stumbled towards him, sobbing. Then to the ground she slid. There, below him, lay the most beautiful girl he had ever dared dream of seeing, and she was crying from something that he had said. His hatred for himself, the church, the Templars, the Vatican, they all flared at once, but were doused by the overwhelming aura that this woman before him exuded. She was reduced to a bawling tangle of robes at his feet, and he was responsible. Slowly, ever so slowly he sank down to meet her fretted, yet serene gaze. Sayn's eyes of fallow, as he now noticed, were slowly and steadily producing their own streams of tears. His arms curled about her shoulders and brought her into his chest. They shuddered together in agony for those lost. Sayn held her head tight against him to attempt to help stifle her tears a measure as he nuzzled her hair with unperceived affection. She even smelled beautiful...​

 

[Dizzyfish]

Death did not persist, even now after begging for it to take her soul. How often did the devil pass over a chance to take a willing slave into its skeletal bosom? More times than Henna dare recall. But she did not want her soul to be added to the pockets of God nor the Devil, just that it cease to be in this dramatic world. Where humor and tragedy, the Play of Man, bore no stylus over her own character. Though she begged and pleaded, the release she wished to feel did not wash over her and life continued its twisted path through fate and consequence.

She was however, not alone. Henna mused the idea that she was being held by an angel. No matter what twisted, rotting corpse shell this Templar occupied, his presence was sheer innocence in that he had yet to be born. He aged with rapid succession as did all of humanity, but had not yet lived. A life worthy of such, where your mannerisms and choices were your own. Not decided upon by the men of God. Those that decided that when God had no voice of His own to offer up guidance, they gave him one. All that which they did not understand, all the fears of life, were then personified as demonic and thus be stricken from existence by the swift hand of Holy Righteousness and the world would be spared a dark fate. The tragedy in this story is that this Knight was following a path to his own demise. Henna knew that it was not he that was pulling the strings and suddenly, her troubles seemed far less complex.

Henna pulled her head from the safety of his bosom and stared up at him, perplexing were the gentle features of her skin, akin to someone having heard a strange sound and proceeded to investigate. Her hands, before having shook as if the Earth itself rumbled and she had not the strength to keep steady, now calmed and traced the masculine lines of his body where his heart nestled safely in the cage of his chest. So it was true. They were not the heartless, soulless creatures that her people made them out to be. The fluttering she felt underneath her cold hands was not unlife, but unawakened life. She felt him teeming with vitality and curiosity not yet sated by the God he followed. The witch felt a sudden urge to continue her ventures over his body, her hands gliding almost ghost like to his face where she cupped his well rounded accents. The salt water from his tears glistening her palms as she wiped them from his eyes, which glittered in the light cascading prisms across his porcelain features.

The dark maiden stared into the Knight's eyes. Searching for the source of this dismay. Surely his melancholy could not have been directed towards the loss of her people. For they were evil, spiteful and abandoned by God. They were vile and devious, hiding in the most insidious crevices waiting for the right time to ensnare a virgin smile with wide curious eyes. How on Earth and Heaven could he find pity for the likes of such? As sure as she was live and thriving, the sorrow he was feeling was for her and her people. She could feel it emanating off of his sharp, glittering armor like a thousand stars burning brightly on the dark black velvet canvas. "I am sorry." Henna whispered, tearing away from his comforting hold and quickly gained her composure.

Clearing the stains of water off of her cheeks, Henna stood to her feet and walked several feet away. She did not want to like this Knight in any sense of the term. His people were responsible for this misfortune. They slept safe and warm in their beds with nothing to fear when it came to personal safety and security for loved ones. What was there to shudder when you were the only force in the world not to be reckoned with? The woman with ebon hair turned towards the Knight for but a single glance, one filled with hate and contempt. Henna wanted to warn him the dangers he would face by siding with that demon dressed in Holy Light he devoted his wards too. But something stayed her voice. Yet a voice rose up from that hate and vied for her to be better than them.

Her features softened. Her eyes, doe like and awe-inspiring held his glorious reflection and her lips, dark as fine wine parted to speak. "I must warn you. Heed this, if you have any morals left that do not belong to God. Do not involve yourself in this... manslaughter. They.." Henna pointed towards the men residing within the inn for all intense purposes. "Will lead you to darkness. Tell me Knight. What does the spilling of innocent blood do for the forgiving deity you call God? Ask yourself that and you may not like what you find."

"You bastard!" Henna turned abruptly towards the shouting voice, so full of anguish it could only belong to one person.

"Arwen!" Raven tangles followed close behind the witch as she clutched onto a stunned Arwen who had her finger extended towards the Knight, shaking madly. "Come on love. We must get you back into bed, you are very sick."

"You KILLED them, you God fearing bastard! What does your God want with MY babies!" The red haired vixen broke from Henna's loving embrace and was vastly approaching the stunned Knight with some level of haste.

"Arwen! Please sir, she is sick, she knows not what she says." Henna mused the Knight.

"I am not sick! I am angry! You murdering snake! Have you and your so called, 'friends,' come to rape and pillage, and murder whatever you can get your disgusting, blood filthed hands? Does it feel good when you rape a screaming child of her life? Do you get some sick pleasure out of it?" Arwen was just a few feet in front of him, extending one hand with a gleaming dagger, with a smiling point. A sliver of mythril laughing in the daylight.

"Arwen don't!" Henna screamed as she struggled with the red headed woman, but the act had been done. That blade was coming down and it would find something, anything to bury its hide.

 

[CladInMidnight]

As the sliver of metal glinted in the malevolent radiance of the sun, the point undoubtedly bound for Sayn's heart, three entities arose from his subconscious. It was as if he had dove into the pristine mirror of a lake, swam to the bottom and let the air in his lungs help him ascend. The sensation he was experiencing was akin to that of breaking the surface from simply allowing one's self to float, unfettered. The first to arise from the lake was a tumultuous being born of fire, blood, and malice. This was Sayn's instinct to fight, to do battle, to dominate at any cost. The demon's tendrils seemed to want snake into his limbs and will him to draw his sword and rend this being in front of him in twain before she had the opportunity to even lay a finger on his person.

The second subconscious lurker was of a much more subtle and serene breed, the waters of spiritual calm cascading down its shapeless and indiscernible contours. This was Sayn's desire to abstain from violence, his diplomacy, his moral code that was so deeply ingrained into his soul. It wished for him, nudging, almost like an elder sibling suggesting the best course of action, to leap back and attempt to diffuse the situation with peaceful means. The body of war clashed with the body of peace, and together they tumbled into a great typhoon that enveloped Sayn and his thoughts. He began to descend into delusions and confusions, but then a third presence shattered his bewilderment.

It bore a sobering air, it's appearance no different from that of a sun-starved child. The frayed ends of its hair resembled Sayn's warped sanity, and its eyes bottomless and daunting. "Let it happen," it seemed to whisper. "Let the poor girl kill you. You heard what she said. You raped her child to death. You. You are the monster that razed that village to the ground. You. You are the blood hungry hound that skinned the heretics apart and crucified them. You. YOU!" Within that brief instant the entire infrastructure of Sayn's mental stability collapsed. He wanted death, he wished for it, he embraced it as the cold tip of the dagger sank into his chest.

Then he inhaled sharply. Sayn looked down to see the tear stained face of a woman who looked only a mite older than the raven haired beauty he had held within his arms not several heartbeats ago. Her face was contorted with rage, pain, and fear. Sayn blinked thrice. His breathing was surprisingly steady all things considered, a blade buried almost completely into his left ribcage, directly where his heart should rest. His ecru eyes fell upon the face of Arwen, who stumbled back, releasing the hilt of the blade. She was just as confused as he. Immediately, Sayn could tell that she had just barely managed to avoid puncturing his lung, the point of the dagger glancing off of his rib and only stabbing into him. However intense the pain was, he would live.

Sayn seized the hilt of the dagger and with a grunt ripped the blade from his chest. Halfway up the glimmering white shaft, the blade was stained with a crimson fluid. Sayn began to faintly recall the memories of his mother, her golden and honeyed voice echoing the words, "Il tuo cuore è speciale." Il tuo cuore è speciale. Your heart is special. Never once had Sayn considered taking the words at face value, unsurprising considering his youthfulness at the time.

Sayn's voice was only slightly mitigated by the slight panting he began to release; a result of the shock from being stabbed. He had only heard the term once before in a class his father had required him to take during his ascension into adulthood, but now it stood in his mind as prominent as the day of his mother's passing. Letters emblazoned and glowing red hot, almost screaming "This is why you're alive". Sayn looked up, a dreadful smile playing on his lips. "Situs inversus..."​

 

[CladInMidnight]

:: Let it be known to all that CladInMidnight is now the Archduke of Asshats. ::​

 

[Dizzyfish]

Watching the crimson spill from the fresh wound Arwen had made in the flesh of the Knight, Henna quickly took the knife from the redhead’s shaking hands and threw it into a nearby barrel of water. The loud thunk made certain it had made it to the bottom before she reacted.

“Arwen, I need you to leave now.” She stated calmly. Henna seemed composed regardless of what was happening, as if this wasn’t the first fatal mistake she had ever had to undo.

“He is a monster, Henna! Leave him to die!”

“Allowing this man to die will awaken a bigger monster, Arwen! We can’t afford to have the blood of God’s Men on our hands!” The witch helped the Knight to the floor, sure dragging him was going to be no easy task, she could manage just fine in that regard. But his friends were the other matter. If they spotted their friend being drug by the arms across the yard, it would be a travesty in her plans. Instead she would have to rely on ancient magic, magic that was believed to be just myths and stories told by folk interested in the arcane. Kneeling, Henna extended two fingers on each hand, gently placed them underneath the knight’s body and closed her eyes to focus.

“Light as a feather? That is an oldwives tale, Henna. Only fools believe that actually works.”

“I believe in it enough for it to work this one time. And the Goddess has yet to disappoint me. Now leave! So I can concentrate!”

The redhead stared at Henna and the Knight before staggering off sobbing into the town and disappeared. That was one problem now out of the way, this magic was the next obstacle. She could feel the course of the Wellspring, the power behind the arcane of all man. Hopes, wishes, and pure souls all coursing through veins of every Man, Woman and Child, as well as the planet on which they stood. That is where Henna hoped to draw the power for this otherwise silly incantation.

It was primitive, childish even, but the only thing she could think to do in order to work the real magic needed to recitify this situation. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” she whispered, and continued with those words before she could feel the shift in the Knight’s mass and volume; it wasn’t long before she could lift him off of the floor boards. In minutes she had him at half of her standing height, the perfect time to cover him in her cape and carry him off.

“How de-masculine you must feel right now…” She whispered to Sayn, now that he was in her arms in the manner one carries their bride. “I assure you there is no other way about this, and believe me, it’s not where I would have wanted to be.” In the back of her mind, she was still reciting the incantation, “light as a feather,” over and over again in her head, just as a security measure. The days of needing to recite spells out loud had come and gone, and thank the Goddess for that.

Sticking close to the village walls on her trek towards her den, Henna managed to stay unnoticed until she was safely inside. A few of the villagers had tipped their hats towards her, but not a single one of them stopped her to question what she was doing. Or what in the hell was the giant mass she was carrying. Another blessing, she told herself, after the door to her home was shut and locked. Henna could feel Sayn’s mass returning and without delay she ran up the steps to her bed and right before she could carry him no further, made it to her bed. Henna fell to her knees beside him and sighed.

“Old wives tale my ass.” The witch muttered, ripping her cloak off of the knight and revealing his still bloody wound. “Oh right, I almost forgot.” Henna opened a small jewelry box that was beside the bed on a side table drawer. Her porcelain hands tore the box opened and revealed a plethora of round silver charms that looked to be untouched by human hands.

“What you are about to witness is older magic than even the one I used to carry you here. I have used this on two people. My brother, and the Queen. My brother for poison ivy on his… nethers. Don’t ask. The Queen to help with fertility. Terrible circumstances I assure you. But I feel as though stabbing and death constitutes a terrible circumstance.” As she spoke, Henna held different charms into the light and peered through them as though they were looking glasses. “My God. I need to organize these better.” She mumbled, holding one charm before dropping it for another. “Aha. Tree of Life.”

Henna took hold of Sayn’s hands and moved them away from his wound. “This will only take a moment. But I need you to be still…” The ebon haired woman bent low towards the Knight’s face. “And conscious.” Smiling, she stood back to her full height and held the charm to the light. The body of the charm was that of a tree, its branches wrapped around and held in place a silver ring. It was no bigger than Henna’s entire hand but when held to the light cascaded the image of a tree along the back wall of her bedroom.

The dark haired woman moved her hand away and rounded the bed, however the silhouette of the tree remained. Spherical shaped shadows of what appeared to be fruit hung from the branches. Henna stood next to the shadow and reached for one of those round spheres. As she removed her hand, with it appeared an orange object. Henna’s hand wrapped around it tightly as the silhouette of the tree dissipated.

The room instantly smelled of peach and honey nectar, one of the perks of owning the only tree of life charm in existence. Henna worked her way back to the bed and held the perfect fruit just above the Knight’s wound and squeezed. It was as if the fruit had been made of juice inside, for the instant the witch applied pressure, a blue liquid dripped out from the peach and covered the entirety of Sayn’s wound. It made a bubbling sound much like acid eating away at a solid mass. Even Henna watched with childlike curiosity, never had she the chance to use this spell and she wouldn’t miss it for anything.

“Would you look at that. Seems to me fate is smiling on you today. It worked.” Sayn’s wound was gone, dried blood was the only sign that he had been injured prior. Henna sat down on the edge of the bed. “We have a matter to discuss.” She said matter of factly, twirling a metallic object in her hand as she did. “This is the Rider of Night charm. If you speak of this matter, even a whisper of it. I will have no trouble releasing Him to relieve you of the blessing I have bestowed. After you stupidly reveal what I have done here, I will be dead within the hour, so what would it matter if I take you down with me?”