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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13 starting with the 20th post. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised. |
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Conflict had ripped apart home and had sent each surviving member on their way into other parts of the lands beyond. Willam had traveled far, fasting along the journey. A week with no food and a cilice wrapped about her thigh found her outside of the skull lined borders. She leaned her weight against smoky black Canadian Horse, Châtiment, and took in the decoration. It was an odd form of expression but it reminded her of home. It made her wonder over the execution method and what was done with the rest of the bodies. They were readily displayed so were they cremated or were there headless bodies stuck somewhere?
A hand lifted to stroke the wooden rosary that hung about her neck, or more like the carved crucifix of a canine saint. She really should have kept on going but she couldn't. Her body was tired from her pushing it to its limits. She hardly spent anytime resting but pushed to keep going as long and as far as she could go. The stallion nickered softly, bringing her attention back to the equine. She knew that she had to get going once again but her feet were unwilling to move.
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the noonday light so that she could stare into the land beyond the skulls. She was trying to find the looming shadows of large wooden crosses in the distance but was seeing nothing of the sort. She didn't know why she was expecting the execution spot to be easily visible to outsiders. She should have known better than to expect there to be public admission to the event. No, that would only cause riots and chaos. Execution was a matter for the viewing of only the pack.
When she finally found the will to move it was only to take her closer to the borders to further inspect the decorations. She knew she had to continue on since she didn't reach the land's end yet but the longing for home had barred her way. She decided then and there that she simply had to know. She raised a call into the air in order to attract attention to herself. Maybe once she found out what happened to the bodies her journey would no longer be impeded by the curiosity that had stopped her dead in her tracks.
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Ithiel is by me!
Lystra's hooves carried him swiftly toward the borders, as ever. He had already finished scouting in a ring around the whole of the clan, but as he was drawing his horse back to his cavern for a rest, the howl drew him back out, turning his horse abruptly at the start of the call. He had held the chestnut but a moment before unleashing her to a trot.
A thick and heavily-built horse, Lystra was not a pretty sight, nor was her gait particularly swift or comfortable. Jouncing and steadiness marked her pace -- and still, none could say the horse did not move. She did so as a rolling boulder, slow and utterly relentless, and it was this trait Ithiel now appreciated best of all. Lystra was no endurance horse to be ridden great distances, nor was she a sleek racer. She was made to charge, and charge she did.
The borders found him trailing an unfamiliar scent until he came across her. It was immediately apparent to the dusky hybrid that she was larger than he was. As Ithiel was tall and made willowy, it did not take much to overtop him -- but this gray-brown woman outweighed him and her thick fur, indicative of a life in northern climes, made her appear even larger.
Ithiel de le Poer of Inferni. How might I help you? he inquired, flat voice neither cold nor warm. Dead evenness and neutrality characterized most of Ithiel's interactions, and it was no different here on the borders.
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She would get her answer and be on her way, the decision was made firmly within her mind. Still she knew that she shouldn't have hesitated at all. Châtiment knew this as well and had tried to get her moving but she hadn't listened. What was wrong with her? she left home and suddenly decided to turn her back on her teachings. "Another week of fasting should do it." The words were muttered under her breath as her hand gripped the crucifix tightly. Penance had to be paid for each and every wrong move. She had no one but herself to dole out the punishment now. Not unless she might be able to meet with one of her brethren at the land's end. Yes, that was the purpose behind this journey. She would put everything right once she got there.
But for now there was something that she could do to remind herself that this wasn't a journey of leisure. The crucifix was dropped to rest against her chest once more and to free up her hands. She reached down for the metal device that was wrapped about her leg. She loosened it for only a moment, only doing so in order to reposition it so that it could be fastened tighter. With skilled hands that showed she wasn't a stranger to this sort of punishment the female was able to work the cilice tighter, it actually biting into flesh now rather than having just been resting uncomfortably against it, without having to look down upon it. But then again the scarring that wrapped her leg should have already attested to that much.
She had just finished affixing the object used in mortification of the flesh when she spotted coming to answer her call. The pinpricks of blood were ignored, blossoming at each point that she had forced the metal to sink into her flesh. She deserved it and she knew it. She shouldn't have strayed from the path and since she had the wrongdoing would remain carved into her flesh as many others had been.
Gaze lifted upon the male that was seated atop his steed. Her own wasn't used for riding but would typically have a travois hitched to it so that large kills could easily be dragged back to where the rest of the pack awaited the meal. Of course that wasn't present at he moment as there was no body to be dragging about. No, Châtiment only had the pack containing Willam's few possessions slung across his back. His presence on this trip was mostly to keep Willam focused and ever moving, not that such had worked out all that well at the current moment.
"Willam la Chemin, survivor of la Chemin. Where are the bodies?" The male was addressed in the same fashion that he had delivered his own address. The female didn't hesitate with her own question. It was what was weighing on her mind and preventing her from completing her journey. For some reason she absolutely had to know what was done with the bodies of the slain.
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Ithiel is by me!
Lystra shifted beneath him, sidling left and then right again, but the dark coyote stilled her with a murmured word and a stroke. His red eyes lingered on the stranger -- her odd garment, the cross about her neck, her red-orange eyes. The scent of blood caught his nose and he glanced about, sighting the strange contraption upon her leg. He had never seen its like before, and he made a half-curious twitch of one ear, though he did not comment or question it.
Her words confused him, and the dusky hybrid looked at her with a wrinkle to his muzzle, one eyebrow quirked. The bodies? he asked, not understanding. Glancing about with bloody-red eyes, his gaze fell upon the skulls, and he glanced back toward Willam and his head quirked to one side. The bodies of these skulls?
He hesitated, shrugging dark-tinged shoulders with a faint frown. Nowhere. Everywhere. I don't know, he confessed. Why? It was not every day a coyote showed up at their borders just to ask after the decor, and it had never occurred to him to inquire after the disposal of the bodies. Some had been plucked from graves, surely, but still more had been given over to Inferni after bloodshed. He ought to know -- he'd hung a skull or two along their perimeter.
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"Of the skulls, yes." She confirmed what she had been inquiring after. She hadn't thought her words to be so cryptic. But then again she couldn't imagine herself being the only one to wonder what happened to the remains. The practice was an odd one so she figured that more would have paused to inquire about such a practice. Or maybe it only intrigued her because she was used to something similar but many times more severe.
"So they are not kept for private viewing?" Such would not seem to be the case since he couldn't answer the question. "I am simply used to whole bodies being impaled or crucified to act as warnings against unlawful heretics. Leaving only the skull to be seen is a bit peculiar, is it not? But still it remains effective, does it not?" The female saw no other purpose to do such a thing except for it act as a warning against any whom might oppose.
"I should hope the pyre is saved for your own and not used upon the blasphemers." To her the pyre was a sacred object, used to cleanse one's body and allow them to pass peacefully into the next life. To grant such a thing on the undeserving felt like a betrayal to her. But of course she hadn't even really paused to think that there might be opposing views.
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Ithiel is by me!
The dark-furred hybrid was more than a little taken aback with her words. Private viewing? She wasn't making any sense, and the dusky-furred coyote had only so much patience. As the silver-highlighted woman continued to speak, however, his ears pricked up forward again. He recognized some of these words, and they held deep meaning: crucified, heretics, blasphemers. The Duplicarius's dark-hued muzzle did not break into a smile, but he stared down at the cross adorning her neck, then looked back up toward her face.
You follow the book, he said, still flatly. I understand. Or, at least, he thought he understood part of it. Surely, their beliefs did not precisely mirror each others. The skulls aren't meant in that way, nor the bodies. They have a different meaning. This is a place of heretics -- only some even know of the book and the way, and some of those disregard it. He shrugged. Ithiel was not one to evangelize and proclaim his beliefs for all to hear -- faith was a private thing to him, and it was therefore quite alright to live amongst blasphemers, at least in Ithiel's eyes. He could no more save them than he could move the mountains and divert the rivers.
Where do you come from? he inquired, again appraising the contraption about her leg. His eyes lingered there, and he spoke again, as if it was an afterthought. Is that penance?
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Their ways differed but not so much that they couldn't understand each other on some level. She had thought the bodies might be kept for clan view only as to remind them what they are fighting against, a reminder of what happens to those who refuse to abide by the laws. But the male's words said otherwise. The bodies seemed to have no use to the pack at all.
"I do. Every day. Directly after the morning offering." She had a strict routine that she followed ever single day. And of course there was the weekly regimen as well. These weren't things that could be slacked on. Not to mentioned that they are done in a certain order as well. But that was simply the norm for where she came from. Everyone where she had lived did the exact same thing so the rituals were part of life for everyone involved. It was also because of this that she had no qualms with speaking freely about the practices. The place that she had stayed and had been born into were full of the devout.
"La Chemin, Quebec." The former name was unlikely to have been heard of as that was the group that she had stayed with. Everyone with the group had adopted it as their surname as a sign of faith. So it wouldn't surprise her if he was unable to place it unless he had heard tale of the devoutness of her group before. There were some that said the la Chemin line took their faith to the extreme but for Willam it was all that she had ever known.
"It is. I have strayed from the path and so I must suffer in order to not stray again." Of course this was one of the procedures that may thought to be extreme but for Willam it was simply a part of life. She had to suffer as he had suffered so that one day she might be whole and blemish free. "I had become distracted from my journey to land's end." She gave a brief sweep of her hand to indicate the skulls which she had already sought answers for.
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Ithiel is by Kitty!
The dusky-furred hybrid nodded and spoke his own ritual. There was no hint of boasting to his tone, and his face remained still as he spoke. I read it daily, as well. In the morning and before sleep, so my dreams might be as pure as my day. Of course, it did not always work in such a fashion: he, too, had strayed from righteousness in the past, and he, too, had paid the price in penance for such deviations. The dark-furred hybrid had never done something so severe as to require scourging -- at least, not in his adult life, anyway -- and he was curious as to the nature of her crime, though he hadn't inquired on just what she'd done as such might have been taken for rudeness.
The dusky hybrid shook his head at mention of her home, though it was more a twitch than anything. I come from the far west. Both of us come to a land of non-believers. When she confirmed his thoughts on the leg-binding acting as penance, he nodded his understanding. Prayer was penance, but some crimes were a worse offense and required physical sacrifice to make amends. He was surprised, however, as she spoke of her crime: a minor offense, one Ithiel did not fully comprehend. Though his surprise remained hidden beneath the neutral mask of his face, the dusky hybrid's mouth did twitch in a frown, indication of thought occurring behind his blood-red gaze.
Perhaps this is meant to be your journey's end instead, he suggested mildly. Some say it is no coincidence when followers of the faith meet. His tone suggested nothing in the way of his beliefs: whether Ithiel agreed or disagreed with the statement was not apparent from his tone or his body language. He sat still in his saddle, straight and tall as ever.
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"With whom do you make your confessions?" Again her curiosity was getting the better of her as she pried into his devotion. He had proclaimed the land as one belonging to heretics so to whom could he turn to in order to pour out every single wrongdoing or misstep no matter how minor the violation was? It was her belief that one had to confess often and take their penance. There was no a week to have gone by that she hadn't had something to confess, no matter how small it might have ended up being.
"It is a pity that the devout have dwindled in numbers." If not for the attack on her home she wouldn't have had to make such a long trek and therefore would still be tucked securely among other practitioners of the faith. Sadly that was not the case, though she had the hope that others would make it to land's end so that they might be reunited once more. But with each having gone their separate ways she had no clue what had happened to the other survivors of la Chimen, if there were even any other survivors other than herself.
"Perhaps..." She spoke softly and slowly, thinking over his words. Could she have not strayed at all and had been on the path that she had been meant to take all along. Once again she was reaching a hand up for the crucifix that dangled from her rosary and was clutching it again. She sent up a short, mental prayer to ask for guidance. Certainly another of the faith wouldn't lead her astray.
She released the religious artifact and offered up a hint of a smile. "I believe you." The words were spoken with conviction. If she were indeed on the correct path then there was no longer any need for the severe suffering. She reached down to loosen the cilice from about her leg. Though she ended up taking it a step further and removing it completely, of course she had plans to transfer it to the other leg so that her self inflicted injuries might heal. But before that she had decided to offer it up to Ithiel for closer inspection as he had shown interest in it.
She had it laid across both of her upturned palms and made to take a step closer when she swayed. It was this wave of dizziness and nauseousness that had kept her pressing on with very little rest. Her fasting couldn't end until her journey had ended so the quicker she got to her destination then the quicker she could fill her belly once more. As she had stumbled she squeezed her eyes shut and stilled herself to wait for the ailments to subside before she could try the feat again.
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Ithiel is by me!
The dark-furred hybrid grimaced visibly, a twitch downward of eyebrows and mouth. It was no severe expression, but more than he usually gave. Ithiel had not made confession since Kastra had departed some weeks ago. Inferni has no priests. I confess with silent prayer, for now. Perhaps Angel or Aemon would hear him out, but as the dusky-furred hybrid was brother to one and friendly with the other, these might be biased ears by which to make his confession. Myrika was his Aquila, but a leader was not a priest.
The dusky hybrid's head bobbed in agreement with her proclamation. The unfaithful could not be steered or shepherded into propriety, but it was a stain on the world all the same. Sometimes Ithiel even had difficulty reconciling belief with actuality: his cousin and leader was a heretic, a blasphemer, even, from their more heated debates. Yet he'd sworn an oath to follow her and serve Inferni, and to turn his back on either was to break his word. The dusky-furred Duplicarius might not have reconciled this dissonance within his person were it not for Myrika herself. He still recalled the quandary she'd proposed -- his oath or his honor. While the dust-furred coyote had yet to come up with a definitive response, he understood the meaning of the dilemma itself. It served as nothing more than a parable used to provoke his thought processes, and yet here he'd encountered a real instance of it, all the same.
The dark-furred hybrid watched with curiosity as she consulted her omens. The dark-furred hybrid himself was not so open with his faith: while he bore its symbols openly enough, prayer and penance were private acts to be made on ones lonesome. Willam, with her cross and her cilice, seemed more a mystic to him than a kin of the same belief. Still, he was not one to question: there were many books and many interpretations, and all led down the same path of righteousness, or so he thought. When the woman seemed well-satisfied, she professed belief, and the hybrid inclined his head, though he was not entirely certain as to why. It was a gesture of thanks, almost, but he wasn't certain what he was thanking her for. Perhaps it would become apparent, given time.
When she undid the contraption about her leg and held it up for his inspection, he leaned forward, red eyes appraising the device, though his gaze snapped back to her face as she swayed. Alarmed, the dusky hybrid slid out of his saddle and held out a hand in attempt to steady her. Are you alright? he asked. Let me call for my cousin. She will admit you to the clan and we will find someone to tend to you. Ithiel could procure food, too: for the moment, perhaps some of their salted stores might do.
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Willam had never had to hide the means to her belief before and so she had not the knowledge that it may not be well received by outsiders. These things were the basis for her everyday life and so it would be hard to change it to hide it from view now. What she did she did without thought given to how she portrayed herself to others. She had never been subjected to living somewhere where she wasn't among other practitioners.
"Perhaps someday then?" Willam found it difficult to imagine that there was no one with which sins could be judged and atonement doled out. But if their faith had brought them together as he had attested then perhaps it would also bring along someone which could listen to each infraction and give out the proper consequence. Willam simply had to hope for as much if she were to actually take up residence among the heathens.
The steadying touch came as a surprise to her. Her eyes slipped open at the unexpected contact and her head tilted to look upon his face. "Thank you. I'm fine. It's only been a week." The words were spoken to put his mind at ease. It really wasn't the lack of nutrition so much as it was the fatigue. Or maybe it was actually a combination of the two? Either way she felt fine as long as she kept moving. It was trying to start again after a prolonged stop that unbalanced her.
Willam applied the cilice to the opposite leg of the one that she had been wearing it, fastening it only tight enough for it to stay in place. She wasn't seeking punishment this time but she simply wore the device always. As long as it was on her body then it could never get lost. Besides she would feel quite odd if she wasn't wearing it as what has been the previous feeling of discomfort when she had first started wearing it had turned into comfort at having its presence always.
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(318) :3 We can either assume Myri howled back and told Ithiel to do whatever and OOC end it here, or we can keep going? Either way! Also, let me know if I got her eye color wrong. ;_; And also lol don't mind Ithiel, he's just got some... latent... fetish... issues.
Ithiel is by Raze!
The dusky-furred hybrid nodded, though he knew such a priest as Inferni carried would have to be open to all their many faiths, else he would serve only a few within the clan: Ithiel and Aemon, Angel, and this new Willam were the only ones in keeping with the book Ithiel knew of. Again, a toss-up between clan and faith, and the dark-furred hybrid found himself unable to answer. One can pray for a priest, but only God can deliver one to us, he said, deciding this was the safest answer.
The coyote looked up and into his face, and the dusky hybrid was struck with the brightness of her eyes. They were vibrant red-orange and seemed to be the color of both leaping golden flame and vibrant red life's blood. There was the faintest touch of a smile at her words, though he was not certain just what she meant by a week -- a week since she'd eaten, drank, or departed? The dusky-furred hybrid knew hunger, thirst, and travel-weariness were particularly combative and dangerous foes. Even the strongest could succumb to them. Food and rest, he said. It will set you right.
As the woman fastened the item around her leg, Ithiel turned away under the pretense of calling for their Aquila. In truth, he found the act of removing and replacing the item almost perverse, though it stirred him in a way that shocked him. He could not look, but he wanted to look. The dusky hybrid lifted a chocolate-streaked muzzle to the skies. His voice was coyote, flavored with just a touch of wolf. It was, perhaps, the most wolfish thing about him, outside of his size. His facial features and otherwise seemed to be entirely coyote, for which he was quite glad. It wavered more than usual as he called for his cousin's presence.
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- Ranks!
Remember: Inferni’s ranks are based on character behavior and activity. Read over our Rank Information for hierarchy information -- approach the higher ranked canines in your tier, and try interacting with them. The Rank Advancement page details how you can go about getting promoted! o:
- What Now?
Wondering what else to do? Check the website!
- Confused?
If you're confused about anything regarding Inferni or being a member of the clan, feel free to PM one of our pack leaders, and they can help answer your questions!
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[html] It doesn't matter to me. I'm enjoying it but if you'd rather not then that is fine as well. As for eye color is is this: hot cinnamon. Though I do like your description of it, makes it seem more impressive than what it is... at least to me. *is now curious about these fetish issues*[/html]
"This is true and he will only do so should he see fit. For now it will be a test of faith. A test to see if one might remain devout in the face of adversary or will one turn their back on their faith and believe themselves to be forsaken." Life was filled with trials and tribulations. This would only prove to be one more of those. She had been abiding by her faith and keeping to her routine while she was traveling on her own so she believed that she could withstand this test as well. Perhaps a congregation might even build up slowly over time as the faithful end up drawn to each other by some unseen force.
All of the above actually. Fasting made the body clean and the mind clear while one traveled, or that was her belief at least. Any lengthy trip she made was done on an empty stomach. To eat was to get distracted from one's purpose. At least that is what she had been led to believe. Willam only ate and truly rested at a journey's end as a reward for staying the course and remaining true to her path.
She opened her mouth to argue that she still had another week of fasting to do for allowing herself to get distracted from her destination but his words came back to her. This was her destination and there was no further punishment to be had. "What of Châtiment?" She inquired after what should be done about her equine companion instead. And just in case he didn't pick up on exactly what she was asking the female nodded her head in the direction of the horse that had taken to grazing on what vegetation that he could find.
Willam straightened up again once the cilice was scratching comfortably against her leg once more. She listened to his voice as he called for his cousin. It was oddly beautiful, even moving in a way. But perhaps that was because she was missing the wordless songs of when the congregation came together for mass and communion. It seemed as if that would be another thing she would have to figure out how to accomplish in the land of non-believers. "Your voice is beautiful and moving. It leads one to want to join in the wordless hymn." The thoughts were spoken aloud and perhaps she was silly for it. But in her experience there were only few who could start and have the sound of their voice to compel everyone else to join in. Of course her own voice wasn't one of those blessed few.
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(465) Post count increase = goooooood and cool beans c;
Ithiel is by me!
It was good to find one sharing of his beliefs. Ithiel was more fervent than many even in Scintilla, but here he felt almost a complete anomaly. He found he could only nod in agreement to her proclamation; all in life was a test of faith, and Ithiel was certain his would not waver. It had not in his life thus far, and he -- among others -- often forgot his youth. His training had hammered him into a particular shape, and part of that shape was a forsaking of youth and youthful pastimes such as play and laughter. His humor was dry, feeble and often dark, on the rare occasion he was humorous.
There was no humor in him with the thought of the thing binding her leg, digging against flesh and old scar tissue. He wanted to shiver even thinking about it, but the dark-hued coyote kept his composure all the same, turning back to her and keeping his eyes even with her horse. Red eyes studied the chocolate animal, appraising its fine coat and tall stance. It was a good specimen of horse, Ithiel thought: more sleek than Lystra, and surely of better temperament.
Will he follow? the dark-furred hybrid asked of the horse. He did not think she was a rider: the horse seemed more a pack animal than vehicle of transport to Ithiel. If she had been a rider, surely she would have ridden to their border. I would give you my saddle, but my Lystra is not a kind horse. His voice was genuinely apologetic; perhaps he should take to riding Bairre around the territory -- surely the red roan was a better mount for any injured or otherwise incapacitated travelers he might find.
She complimented his voice, and Ithiel was almost shocked into silence for a moment. In the end, he smiled, a fuller one than he'd given before, and dipped his head. I have never heard that compliment before. Thank you, he said, pondering whether he was perhaps meant to be a priest, then. Surely, though, priestliness and godliness required more than just a good voice. The hybrid paused and lifted an ear as the answering call came. He listened, and turned back to Willam.
My cousin bids me let you enter, he said. He felt a swell of pride in knowing he was trusted enough to admit a newcomer to the clan, though he'd known such trust was coming sooner or later with Myrika at the helm. Shall we go to the mansion? There is food there, but if dried isn't to your liking, I will hunt. It was nothing to feather a bird in flight or a rabbit in retreat to Ithiel -- his aim was near flawless, and his arrows swift and deadly.
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Her days on this earth have been spent in the exact same fashion from her earliest memory on up to the present time. Willam couldn't think of a time when her belief and daily routine were not a part of her life. She could not come up with a single time that she had strayed from her convictions. But it wasn't as if she had been blessed with the angelic face that some of her sisters in faith had. There had been no heretics to come calling for her to try to lead her astray. Willam couldn't say she was jealous of such attention either. She had been brought with the knowledge that those whom were leading the group would end up deciding with whom she should be paired to consummate to bear forth the next generation of strong, firm believers. She trusted that they knew what was best and had never thought to be jealous of those that had males panting after them.
"He has so far." She spoke with a slight nod of her head. So far where she went Châtiment ended up following her. Somehow he had ended up coming to belong to her simply because he had seen it fit to follow where she might lead. And through that time he had proven himself useful. But should one day Willam go somewhere and Châtiment chose not to follow then there was nothing that she could do about it.
"I am not an invalid. It is only a passing phase that has come about due to prolonged rest during the midst of a journey." In other words it was something she had experienced before and wasn't about to let it bring her down. Since she was at the end of her journey it would fade once she reaped her reward for a job well done and for having not wavered. After all she was a big girl and could look after herself.
Willam had already come to appreciate how odd it was to see the other smile and was grateful for it. It made her feel fortunate to have caused such a reaction. "You are welcome though I only speak the truth. Your voice is a gift, a blessing. There seem to be very few who are able to entice others to join them in song with only a single note." Or that was her take on his voice at least. There had been few, aside from leadership, that made Willam feel as if she should be singing along as well.
"I do not mind dried as there is no reason for you to go out of your way for me." In truth Willam was used to being a part of the capture and kill of each meaty morsel that she ate, at least from the time that she had been first allowed to join the hunt and onwards. Feeding one's self was the most basic task of ensuring one's own survival.
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Ithiel is by me!
Though the dusky-furred coyote did not believe himself worthy of priestliness or godliness, his mind held onto her compliment. It was one of the few he'd gotten in life praising something other than archery skill or his ability to track a foe down; the only other compliment he remembered was Alma's, and perhaps she didn't count -- he'd only been polite and cute in comparison to the scum she'd left tied up. Try as he might, Ithiel could not push the image of the man wandering the city streets, bound and subdued by such as Alma. It continually resurfaced in his mind, and he shoved the thought away, just as he usually did.
He twitched his shoulders in response to her comment regarding whether or not she was an invalid. It was an "as you please" sort of shrug, and the dusky-furred hybrid, once ascertained of her ability to remain on her own two feet, was quick to hop back into his own saddle. He did not trust Lystra to be led back to the mansion -- she might grow interested in the horse -- Châtiment, she'd called it -- and he would not wish for extra trouble from the big mare. We are all blessed in some way or another, he proposed, shrugging. Everyone, even the most vile scum -- such as the canine who'd attacked Alma and ended up tied up, shamed, wandering through the streets -- no, he commanded himself, gritting his jaw as he headed in the direction of the D'Neville.
Dried it is, he muttered, suddenly colder. Why couldn't he shake that mental image?
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How could she not compliment him? the few she knew with such voices had been able to bend an ear to their words and set hands to task. Granted most that she knew that possessed such a gift were also those in a leadership role of some sort. So it would naturally come to pass that she would attribute the same qualities to any beautiful and compelling voice that she heard. Where he would lead she would follow, but then again she sort of had to since he was taking her to a place to eat and get some rest.
Her steps were slow, even faltering for the first couple of paces, as she started out to follow after the male. Willam rested her hand against Châtiment's neck as she walked along next to her own equine. The female found herself staring at the male's back as she followed after him. She couldn't help but to wonder what had led him here to live among the heretics? Had he been placed here just so that they might one day cross paths? Was it silly for her to hope that such a thing ended up being the truth? Would it be considered selfish to want it to be so?
"I was thinking..." She spoke up softly, pausing to gather her thoughts. Would he even know? He was of faith so that she believed he would. He might even be available to help with penance if it turned out to be so. "I had wondered how you had come to be here and then I thought that perhaps you might be placed here just so that we would one day cross paths." Willam had started her thought over and was even now wondering if that was the best way to even phrase. "Do you think it is selfish to hope for that? Perhaps you could help me to discourage such thoughts from entering my mind if it is so."
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Ithiel is by Raze!
Ithiel was disquieted by his brain's insistence on such mental images. He was confused by their necessity to begin with, and almost wished Alma hadn't told him that story. Maybe he'd feel differently if it had been someone other than Alma to tie him up? The dusky-hued hybrid was quiet and ruminating on his thoughts as they traveled toward the mansion, occasionally wandering back toward that place and that canine. He always redirected himself, and was glad when Willam spoke up. His dusky ear flicked and he drew on Lystra's reins. The big chestnut evened her pace with Châtiment and even behaved herself marvelously, only giving a glance or two toward the other horse.
The hybrid thought on her words a moment before speaking, tilting his head. I came here because my commander Kastra led us here. We hoped to find my father, but did not. Still, he said, considering. That was the reason I came here, but I might have left with Kastra. So -- perhaps? he said. All happens for a reason, though sometimes we are not aware of that reason; sometimes it is only God's reason to know. The hybrid lifted a hand to touch his stiff hair, brushing a loosened strand back into place. He turned to look at her thereafter, appraising her with curious red eyes. Why would it be selfish to hope for that? He did not understand.
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Willam hadn't really expected him to tell her what had actually brought him to come here. His reason for being where he was was only a passing thought for her and hadn't been the point of her questioning. She felt glad to know anyways. He had come here in search of someone and stayed despite that someone not being found. "Do you have plans to leave to continue to look for him?" She wasn't certain if that was too personal or not. "There was an attack on la Chemin. They burned the church with members still left inside." The female spoke quietly as she delivered her own tale. It had been a scramble to get away. She didn't know what other survivors that there might have been. The intruders had set fire to the borders as well, trying to trap everyone in the ring of death.
"Because I hoped it for myself rather than for it being God's purpose for you to be here to guide any that might be lost in the right direction." She desired fellowship and companionship since she had lived in a community of worshipers. She wasn't used to being alone in her faith and therefore wasn't certain how to proceed when she was used to faith being a group activity. She was used to someone else taking the lead as far as Mass and Communion were concerned. She didn't know what to do with no one to confess to. How would she know that she was properly punished to stepping even a single toe out of line?
She was clearly torn about what she should do and her unease demonstrated itself as she once again reached for the religious relic that hung about her neck. "I think that I shouldn't make hopes for myself. I should be satisfied in God's will." When she spoke again it was in a decisive tone. She paused and therefore had Châtiment pausing at her side. She reached into the bag that she had tossed over his back that had the few meager belongings that she was able to grab before she left. Out of it she pulled out a barbed flogger, carefully unwinding the leather straps from about the handle so that they wouldn't become tangled.
"If you wouldn't mind. I've never been too good at administering this sort of penance to myself." As she spoke she held out the handle for Ithiel to take. She didn't see her request as being unreasonable. Certainly he must be used to this kind of thing as he was a practitioner of the faith as well. To Willam this was just a normal routine. "However many lashes you believe will suffice should do." Willam simply had trouble putting off punishment til later so she was fully prepared to brace herself against Châtiment's side and receive her lashings before they could continue their journey.
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