HeadacheNo candle burned in their room as Tredow lay on the couch, a moist rag over his eyes that did little to ease the pain flashing behind them. It still felt like fish hooks were being dragged through his brain constantly, the mind blanks only acting as padding rather than a wall. The only sounds were the muted commotion of the common room below, his steady breathing and Laila clicking her tongue to Caim and Nebibi curled protectively around her on the bed. The events of the previous day and a half were already faded now and yet certain images, emotions creeped up. The main one was a cool, slow-burning anger. Tredow was no innocent, he's certainly spilt plenty of blood but a mercenary fights others like himself. There was no point in drinking this night. There wouldn't be enough to wash out the sight, sound and smell of the women in the breeding chamber exploding in crimson due to Mihas' "mercy". At least little Felicity escaped that fate.
"When a knight falls in battle and his wounds too grevious to treat or the act of trying to remove his armour fatal, his squire will adminster the misericorde. You're no knight or squire nor will you ever achieve your childish ambition of becoming a Purple Dragon like your grandfather but you're still a Sworn Man. If the time comes that you have to grant someone their mercy then it must be by dagger or sword, only those. A clean death is important.
You must look them in the eye and see if it is truly what they wish and burn them into your memory till the end of your days. Each time you sleep, you will have to kill them over and over again. This is a swordsman's karma, his burden to bear the lives of those he has taken. Even if they do not wish the mercy, sit there with them till the gods take them. Hold their hand, tell them it will be alright, lie to them about how it's worse than it looks. I've done this for many a youth and I'll likely end up having to do it with you too, Folquin, impetuous boy as you are..."Taking the cloth off his eyes and settling it on the back of his neck, he sits upright on the couch watching Laila. She had Caim snuggled up to her face, cooing to him like a child while leaning into the ever-sleeping Nebibi. With ultravision-enhanced eyes he could see Skeith wavering but not in the slow, melodic way when Laila was happy, holding his hand or eating cheese. This was more agitated and tendrils of shadow wrapped around an limb now and then as if seeking reassurance from Laila's presence, her response to turn her head and look at a whisp or mote silenty and then nod as if agreeing to some unheard conversation. Taking a swig of hot milk laced with pain-killing herbs that made it very bitter, he can barely take stock of just what in the hells had happened. There was the usual small bickering and passive-agressive attitudes but nothing like previous outings with groups of misfits, at least this lot had more sense than others. There was never any of that with Sofiya, Masame, Lazula and Shahal though. He missed working with them, missed professionals who just focused on the job and blanked out everything else, moving seamlessly with no egos, no jibes, no malice, all agreeing on a course of action. Missed the times they were outnumbered on all sides, back-to-back, their swords against their foes, lips curled into sardonic smiles of defiance.
Sometimes he wished they could blank out everything outside this little peace of sanctuary they had in here. Him, Laila, Caim, Nebibi and the
Old Shadow Skeith. Blank out the insults, the anger, the petty sentiments and emotional drama of people who cling to the past like a child to a blanket in the night, afraid to let go because it's become a strange comfort, something familiar in an unfamiliar world. The more of it that was revealed to him, the more he wished he was back to sitting in inns passing on information. He used to make money hunting rats and mink to afford better equipment. Used to be the entire world was that lakeshore, running with Laila and living day-to-day oblivious to the forces at work out there. Laila had grown, was still growing but Tredow hadn't really changed all too much. He was still an ass, he still shocked people when he was genuine and he was still that boy who watched Garagoss wade out into the harbour from the bluffs overlooking the city, a red wake of blood behind him.
Curling up into a ball on the couch, clamping his hands over his ears as his head constantly pounded a if trying to escape his skull he scrunched his eyes shut. Maybe things will look better tomorrow. Maybe.
[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvKkqqaFxp0&feature=player_detailpage[/youtube]
