Ythika - Midnight Offerings

[ I had the urge to write a corresponding scene of Ythika and her mental wanderings during the Vinguld's wedding night. ( Read Vinguld's Blog Entry here! ). So you've been warned. This is also very out of sequence of the usual 55 Word entries, so I apologize for that. ]

[ Want more Blood and Felfire? Go to the Blood and Felfire blog! ]

House Vinguld's Ebon Templar, Ythika, was, in fact, sad and lonely somewhere.

The willow-shrouded pond was quiet as the grave. The air smelled crisp like it would be frosted in the morning, and standing at the edge of the dismal pond was the towering form of Ythika Vrael'nor. The eredar was staring at the moonlight as it danced with the motion of the pond's wind-stirred water. Tonight was a sad night made for memory. It was the night that marked a few anniversaries, and would be a new one for the house under which she served.
 

“There's a shadow just behind me, shrouding every step I take...
    Making every promise empty, pointing every finger at me...”

Lord Ythgar Vinguld, Ythika's ward and master, had been wed this morning to a harpy of shadow from whom Ythika could not ever obscure her distaste. She bristled at the idea of arranged, political unions as this, and something was unsettled in the paladin's mind when near the woman. It would be only a matter of time, she thought, before his attention would be completely diverted from even idle thought of the tall, twilight-hued creature that stood guard over him. The Countess would have children, and demand more of his time as she allowed her tiny human body to become some disturbing breeding ground for Vinguld's line. A thought that made Ythika's skin crawl.

And then, she would perhaps finally have a moment to properly bury Adorion. To hunt down the elves who stole her purity out in Silverpine, and to gather her wits after a tumultuous set of years since she'd buried her entire family in Azuremyst.

And perhaps then, after all that, she could have some time to herself.

With a heavy sigh, she lowered herself to perch against the trunk of a weeping willow. The scrape of articulated plate that covered her was irritating, and once her seat was taken, she took to work on removing some of the armor to set aside, and to let herself breathe freely. She first yanked her articulated gloves and gauntlets, freeing her calloused warrior-mothers' hands. A moment was spared to stare at these clawed mitts, and for that moment, she remembered how it felt to cradle her twin infants in them. Tears formed and spilled down her cheeks, and she shook her head, staring off as she worked almost automatically to continue her armor removal. Pauldrons, spiked and jaggedly notched from days, no – months, -- of fighting, were shed from her shoulders, and the fel-corrupted woman hung her head. Her great horns, the color of obsidian and twice as sharply twisted, felt heavy, and held her now-stringy ebony locks away from her face as they hung with her posture.

“I will find a center in you, I will chew it up and leave...
     I will work to elevate you, just enough to bring you down...”

Images rushed into her head. Flashes of faces and events. Recollection consumed her consciousness:

Twin elves. Calm and wild all at once, their hands scraping over her, clawing into her flesh. The hot breath of these brothers on her back as they laughed, delighting in defiling her. The Scarlet Spider, and the Ebon Raven: The lords of House Severidan of Silvermoon; and how they did so adore making her shriek with pain and anguish. She clenched her jaw, stifling her cries in her chest as the memories washed over her, overwhelming her with the sting of guilt and the lashes they doled out over her skin, happily inflicted by the brothers of torture. She felt the lingering jolts of agony from their invading flesh, their gleeful whips, their sturdy shackles and collars. The leash at the end of which she crumpled, knees battered and bloodied, aching for release and serenity.

And then another face: Luciola, with his stitch-scarred brow and winsome demeanor. How he smiled, and wished her well. How the light in his eyes seemed to fade as he fell, a bullet in his chest fired from the barrel of a scurvy, lonely seaman's gun. How his pain became hers after a time, and how that black rage of vengeance welled up inside her when she sought to destroy her best friend's murderer. And then his face flickered again, smiling to calm her... taking the short sword from her hands as she bore it down on the throat of the captain. She felt her stomach lurch as every sin she had committed was brought to the fore... and how the end was not justified anymore. And she knew how it felt now to be damned.

Outside her memories, the eredar had bitten into her lip so hard that now blood trickled down her chin, blue-black and hot as the rage that howled in her like a beast.

Back in the fog of her memory, more faces flickered. Lives ruined, innocence bleeding, families destroyed at her hand as she struggled, fighting her way through those who stood between her and her ultimate goals: Saving Adorion's soul, because hers was lost, and their infant children needed a guardian with no hate in their heart.

“And why can't we sleep forever? I just want to start this over...”

 She recalled the way that Adorion would touch her cheek, featherlight, like she were some fragile thing that might crumble under a more firm touch. She saw for a moment, those amber eyes that smiled at her, the azure of his hair, and the way he smelled like leaves. She felt in her arms the warmth of her children: Melarorah and Tiriosh, as they slept swaddled there; and the softness of the embrace Adorion offered with his wings, protecting his beloved wife and children. She felt the breeze sweep up, and that touch was across her cheek again. With frantic eyes, she sought the ghost of her love, only to find the wind her only company, her arms devoid of the babies she bore. Ythika sobbed in agony, broken. She was not as tough as she always portrayed, and everyone has their breaking point.

This was Ythika's.

 Xannivard looked on as the female eredar, half-armored, coiled into a ball and sobbed with arms outstretched. This was his mate, he reminded himself. This was who willingly bound herself to him, and in return, he knew she needed him. He listened calmly, almost pained, as he heard her sobering cries of, “What have I done? Light, what have I done?”
 

Moving from his hidden place, he knelt at her side, enfolding her in his arms, crooning softly. He held her tightly, trying to show a passion he not yet possessed for her.

“Trust me, trust me, trust me...”