Author Topic: Lost Words, Found Paths - Hytéo LaCroix  (Read 96 times)


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Lost Words, Found Paths - Hytéo LaCroix
« on: December 02, 2019, 03:09:34 PM »
Hytéo walked in to the Lady's Rest, past an imposing Radu standing on guard, his head hung low so that his hat covered the upper half of his face. His walk was slow and steady as he made his way up to the front counter of the tavern. The barkeeper looks up from the mug she was polishing at the 6'0" man standing in front of her, "Help you?"

When Hytéo spoke up, he remained very formal, in contrast to what others might think of him upon observing this slightly intimidating bounty hunter, "Bonjour... I would like a room."
She sets the mug down, "Da, bun" after reaching down below the counter and producing a key to set in front of Hytéo, "For the noapte."
He looked down at the key for a moment, a slight nervous tick displayed as his finger tapped the leather of his belt, and in a sudden attempt to be accommodating in foreign lands, he begins to speak fluent Balok, "Mulțumesc, adio si buna noapte."
There's an awkward silence as the barkeeper seemed completely indifferent to Hytéo's sudden change in speech, and as his eyes shift quickly from left to right, he gives a quick tip of his hat and makes his way upstairs.
"Your key."
"Ah!" Hytéo halts and turns on his heels, walking back to the bar to take his key in hand, "Da, desigur, mesc..." He turns with hastes and finally manages to make it to the top of the stairs. Arriving at the door to his room, he places the key within the lock, struggling for a moment with the handle as the key didn't seem to want to turn. He yanked and pulled at it, and awkwardly nodded his head to passer-byers making their way downstairs, and by some miracle the lock finally turned. He swung the door open, rushed in, and then slammed it behind him. His back pushed up against the door as he slowly slid downward, down until he was sitting on the wooden floor. Hytéo wasn't used to this, he was an introvert by nature, a recluse to all except those who knew him well back in Dementileu. So to journey to a completely different region and dig deep within him to deal with the inhabitants of Barovia was a gigantic leap outside of his comfort zone, and his proper and formal ways of conversation could only do so much to hide his inability to maintain a conversation without giving into his shy behavior. For the time, he seemed to maintain an strong facade, but everyone has their limits, and his was starting to show more towards the end of his day. Now locked behind his door, safe within his room, there's a sigh of relief from Hytéo upon entering his natural habitat.

Hytéo spent his first night in Barovia in a rented room in The Lady's Rest, on the western outskirts of Vallaki. His studded leather armor carelessly set aside on the left side wall, his hat discarded on the bed behind him, a set of reading glasses pushed upward on the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on a canvas lying on a wooden easel. He brought paint brush to canvas eagerly, little by little adding to his most recent artistic obsession. He stood back for some time, in long observation of his painting of several figures walking within a shallow lake, but in his eyes the perspective wasn't right, and anatomy of the figures were off, the focus lacked life, and he found himself to be more annoyed with his painting by the minute.

"La!" He marked all across his painting with a black paint brush in aggravation, then sat down in the nearby chair, knuckles gently placed to lips in contemplation, eyes went from being focused on the floor, slowly shifting over toward the black grimoire sitting on his desk, and remaining there for what seemed like fifteen minutes. He would find the courage to open it to the first page, with words written in Souragnien, "These realms devour all with good intentions, find balance." His late father's words.

Hytéo turned to the next page, blank, and reaching for his quill before dipping it in black ink, there was much thought given to the first few words that he would write in the grimoire, also written in Souragnein.
"I am not my father, I am unsure if I am capable enough."

For the next hour, he would lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, grimoire remaining open so that the ink could dry. There was a slight exhale from his nostrils as he turned his head to look back at the grimoire...

And he found the courage once more to add,

"But I must try."
« Last Edit: December 02, 2019, 03:16:22 PM by OgreTimeYay »