Orphan At The Edge Of The World
/ Orphan at the Edge of the World 59 OEW
Looking at the blond haired girl with a heart shaped face that looked pleasant enough while sleeping that he didn't immediately wig out over his situation, Orison shifted his attention to where her face was laying. At some point, the lacing on his pants had been ripped open and left that way, revealing a part of himself to the world he'd rather not remain that way. With a painful hiss that he tried to keep quite, the young mage packed his goods away, noting teeth scrapes that hurt enough to warrant a touch of healing before further assessment.
Inching his way out from underneath the woman, Orison began taking in the rest of the room. Booming head fading to a duller, more manageable thud, He realized that he was currently in the master bedroom. Further spanning his vision, he saw that his brother had, at some point, not been content to just watch whatever scene he had orchestrated unfold. What Orison's booze addled mind couldn't piece together, his spiritual sub-mind helped him fill in.
Whether by coin or coaxing, the pretty blond lady had taken it upon herself to get acquainted with the sleeping mage. Whilst in the midst of impatiently preparing him for deeper introductions, Orison's older brother had become infatuated with the other heart shaped feature of the young lady. Despite the unexpected 'intrusion' into the physical conversation, the kind lady attempted to converse with them both in the most natural way available. Unfortunately for Orison, his older brother was a rough conversationalist, causing their own communication to have issues that resulted in light injuries. Seeing that, even having fallen asleep, his older brother and the lady hadn't technically ended their conversation, Orison quietly excused himself.
Having successfully exited the bedroom, Orison's focus shifted to finding a place to relieve himself. As he contemplated the best way to step over a couple that used their own clothes as bedding, blocking the way down the stairs, the young mage saw Lyra surveying the battlefield. Even with a light hangover she still managed to exude the aura of a valkyrie assessing the fallen for worthiness.
"It's only third bell, Orison. There's no place for you to sneak off to and avoid helping with the cleanup," Lyra said while smirking.
The young mage quietly chuckled, "There's going to be a lot more to clean up if I don't find a chamber pot soon."
Taking another small sip from her cup, she said, "Sadly, my room is a body free zone. As long as you're capable of hitting the target without shooting wide, you can use mine."
A few moments later, half embarrassed but 200% relieved, Orison found an outlet for his worries in Lyra's room. Torn loops on his trousers betrayed his hopes as gravity cruelly bared his assets to the woman he realized was watching him from the doorway. He could have caught the pants before they had slipped to his ankles but he was a little too concerned what would happen if he took his attention off his current task with the chamber pot.
A soft click of closing door with even softer pads of bare feet made the young mage wish he could finish his business much faster than what nature would safely allow. A cold, narrow, calloused hand caressed his backside as another worked under his shirt and over his belly. Soft weight rested against his back as wine soaked breath tickled against his neck and ear.
"In another year or two it might not be true but you really are pretty enough to be a girl. So much like my shield sister from that time, soft in the right places, hard where there's need to be," Lyra said in a slurred whisper.
Orison took a sharp intake of air due to cold fingers and unexpected stimulation. Being compared to a girl yet again by her rankled but he was a little too compromised to be thinking about such complex thoughts too carefully.
She continued, "I'm going to make myself comfortable. If you can be a good girl who knows how to clean her plate then I'll let you have dessert. If not, then I guess I'll just have to wash the dishes myself."
Amid the sounds of rustling clothes and a creaking bed frame, Orison stood frozen in indecision as bruised ego warred with desire and a small amount of compassion. In the end, ego lost to numbers and a stronger opponent. A little later, knowledge from another life and a pair of misty ocean eyes framed and held tightly by strong thighs gave a pair of cold blue ones the special kisses they craved. And if in the process of the young mage getting what he wanted and needed, a slightly higher pitched voice and shamefully worded whispers to closed eyes were used to protect the fantasy, then that was their business.
When they were done, Lyra gave out a temporarily sated sigh and with a somewhat guilt laden voice, she said, "I'm not one for cuddling. Not to be cruel but I'd like to be alone right now."
Orison slowly nodded before slipping his clothes back on, casting a mend on his trouser loops and trying not to look a little hurt as he quietly slipped out of his second room of the night. Closing the door behind him, Orison looked ahead to see Venito standing outside of the master bedroom with complex emotions on the Northlander's face. The young mage didn't know what to expect so instead of trying to slip past his older brother, he climbed over the railing and soundlessly jumped to a clear spot on the floor below before walking outside.
Still a little before dawn, the crisp mid-spring air of the Northlands would be too chilly for most but it was a negligible thing for Orison. Venito didn't seem much bothered by it either as the older brother caught up and silently walked beside the young mage. Once they found a relatively private spot on an eastern wall lookout point, they both turned to look at the predawn sky.
In a voice laden with complicated feelings, Venito said, "Was it as good as we imagined?"
The message Orison heard between the words went more along the lines of 'Why her instead of any other woman' or 'Why you and not me?'
The young mage looked at his older brother and said, "What she wanted, what I had to be for her, was a girl she used to know. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy myself but now I feel empty and trying not to take being unwelcome to stay, personal."
Venito chuckled mirthlessly, "When you put it like that..."
The young assassin leaned on the stone and mortar safety wall before he drew up a fist to head height and slammed it down with the force of a fully swung eight pound hammer. Aside from a bit of redness on the side of his hand, no one would be able to guess that the dislodged stone and mortar chips were caused by Venito's ham-fist strike.
"Couldn't you have just let me rough you up a little? Do you always have to be so damn serious and clever?" Venito said with a watery smile.
Orison shook his head and said, "Serious and honest. And no, only to the people I care about. In this world, this life, you're my one and only manwh*re of a big brother."
The assassin speechlessly blinked a couple of times then smiled wickedly. "Says my girly faced little brother who had to pretend to be one to become a man."
Orison smiled bitterly, "Too low. Too soon."
Venito hooked an arm around Orison's shoulder and lightly headbutted him from the side as they faced the eastern horizon. With the first light of false dawn, the assassin finally dropped his arm. For the only time Orison could ever remember, Venito seemed a little hesitant to let go rather than looking relieved and accomplished.
"Took it for granted you'd be around. I think I'm going to hate not being able to find you whenever I feel like it," Venito said with his back to his little brother.
Continuing to look out at the starry sky, Orison said, "You have a plot for a hot springs cabin and another for a lake house up on my land. Let mom know whether you want to get them built yourself or if you just want her to take care of it."
Venito chuckled with false cheer as he said, "I've already got two houses. Now I've got to worry about two more?"
Orison smiled to himself, "With all the future wives and mistresses you're racking up, you're going to need places to put them all."
Walking away, Venito said, "In that case, I might need a couple more... Better find yourself something to do for awhile. I'm going to see how loud I can get that wild girl waiting for me to howl. I want to know if I can get her to clear the house AND clean it."
Orison muttered to himself, "Absolutely ruthless."
Walking the long way around, Orison shuffled by a sudden soft orange glow coming from the front porch of the smithy. It wasn't a surprise. Orison had seen a faint glowing blue shape standing there long before he reached it.
"Still getting up before the sun, Volta?" Orison said letting his eyes' glow brighten for a second.
"Back so soon? Did Centerland kick you out too?" Volta shot back.
Orison snorted, "Close enough. Made me a baron and stuck me in the mountains over by their northern border by the west coast."
The blacksmith's wife looked over Orison and said, "Must have been the Abyss itself on that island. You don't look a day under sixteen."
Orison sighed, "Ran afoul of an artifact. Coincidentally, that was next to an Abyss gate. Verified by Frost Fort's archmage to have aged me to seventeen. That's not something you can spread though. You'll get me in trouble with him, the Abyss gate part I mean... Since I ran into you, did you ever find the owner of that ring?"
Volta said, "There were a few that tried to pass it off as theirs but not a soul could get it right. The proper thing to do is give it back since you're the one who found it but I have a little request I'd like from you first. For the trouble, you understand."
Chuckling, the young mage said, "Alright, lets hear it."
Volta said, "I'd like you to come to the temple and tell my brother and his friend all the good things you've done. Let them share a little of your glory."
A part of Orison wanted to say no but there was a chance that the ring could be a boundary item. It might not have anything special about it but, as Lily said, every boundary item is valuable. Girding his resolve, the young mage followed Volta to the temple to earn back his maybe valuable ring.
When he first arrived in the hall where the nameless warrior stood, Orison began telling his story like he was thinking out loud. Something about being sensitive to the energy around him, paying attention to everything he did, made him take it a lot more seriously than he originally intended. By the time he finished his adventures, he was speaking to the nameless statue like a friend who silently listened to his woes and triumphs, sharing his joy and pain.
Orison's logical side was telling him that it was just the power of faith doing what it was directed to do but there seemed to be something deeper to it that defied explanation. Within that part the young mage couldn't understand lied a kernel of hope for any who fall. It was like a slim chance of renewal and continuance that Orison found a sense of comfort from, a solace from the nightmare of the reality he understood. At the same time, it also made him feel humble. There were things, maybe even entities, much greater than himself that cared, loved on a level beyond mortal understanding, to counterbalance the madness inducing chaotic ambivalence and malice of the alien forces he had brushed against.
It only lasted a brief moment but Orison had what could only be called a vision. Whether it was a hallucination induced by his own hopes and desires or if a higher power was showing him a glimpse into the fate of the fallen virtuous, he didn't know. Within that vision he saw the two men who fell to the necromancers, bolstered by his tale, a little stronger and brighter. They beckoned to him and showed him a blurry figure of a man who turned to him sending a sensation of pride, sorrow and a bittersweet happiness tinged with guilt.
Orison may not have been able to recognize the person by sense but the emotions painted a picture that could only fit one person, Baulder. Once again, logic could not grasp a small part of whatever experience just befell him. Orison had not though of Baulder for quite some time and yet the man appeared, just enough doubt to cause unease at blindly accepting the cold theory of faith essence inspired hallucination. Whatever the case, the young mage left the temple feeling a little lighter, a bit cleaner in a way he couldn't express.
Seeing the complex look of mild bewilderment mixed with a touch of spiritual euphoria, Volta said, "It happens from time to time. Not often, mind you but every now and then. They reach out to you or you reach to them and for just a moment, you can see them or feel their presence. It's not a big thing. It's so you know they are well where they are. It's to help you move on and to let them do so as well... Death is just the beginning. No one should seek death for what happens on this side holds importance but neither should we be afraid of it."
Some of it had been forced on him but Orison had made his choice. There was a place and a path for those who led simple and virtuous lives that was, in its own way, no worse than 'climbing'. The reward for such a life may be only theoretical but his path was no different. The thorns and brambles of staying true to ones own heart were no easier to overcome and just as possible to fail. Such was the revelation that had been granted to him. There was no bitterness or regret in that understanding for Orison. In fact, it released some of the shackles of worry and anxiety over leaving loved ones and friends, whether close or at the fringe of the circle his acceptance and care drew.
As they left the temple, the eighth bell rung. With a small amount of hesitation that seemed to bring a slight cloud of confusion in her eyes, Volta gave Orison the ring and walked away on her own business. Despite her brusqueness, the young mage had a new found appreciation for her. Underneath that layer of blunt action and sharp tongue lay a heart of gold for those who could earn her esteem. He chuckled to himself at the fortunes of her husband, a man who was blessed and cursed with a woman like her, in equal measure.
Since he was a noble in another country's domain, to be courteous, Orison went to the great hall and said his greetings to the legate there and explained his visit as being one of pleasure, not business. Because it was protocol, the legate passed on the information to Lord Whiteriver's aid and asked the young mage to wait on a response whether the Lord desired to see him before he was free to carry on with his visit. Of all the things he'd not miss when he arrived elsewhere as an unknown, a nobody, it would be the absurd amount of bureaucracy and observance of custom that came with entitlement.
The aid came in with burning ears about half a bell later to say, "His Lordship is currently entertaining an important visitor and expresses some regret in not being able to hear of your adventures. He, er, encourages you spend as much of your coin as possible but advises against poaching the, uh, beauties of his land." The aid's face grew redder as he continued, "If, if y-you absolutely cannot live without a Northland woman then she m-must carry no bounty greater than thus."
The poor aid looked close to dying of embarrassment as he mimed breasts upon his own chest with his hands to the size of somewhere between a B to a C cup. The legate looked onward blandly, somewhat jaded to Lord Whiteriver's sense of humor.
Orison pretended to fish a box from inside his robes as he summoned it from his space and handed to the aid. "It's a mere token of my gratitude towards your lordship. It's nothing much, just a ring that staves off weariness and will help fight off poisons to a small degree." Orison leaned in and whispered, "Let no one examine or test it other than what is absolutely needful. It's quite a bit stronger than the average of its kind and that could elicit some greed and curiosity of its origin that I'd rather avoid."
As the aid nodded with understanding, the legate said somewhat ruefully, "I suppose I should be grateful not to be thrown from this office and be assaulted but I can't help feeling a little disappointment for meeting the boy marvel who survived Obsidian Island and have no token to remember the moment by."
Orison couldn't help cracking a small smile over the admirably straightforward but ultimately shameless gift begging. He thought over it for a moment and pulled out a few small sealed porcelain pots.
Pointing at them, Orison said, "A little trophy from my walk though horror. It's scarlet flower resin. It's contraband in our home country but commonly used here to bring relief to the injured. It slipped my mind to turn it in. It might be a bit lazy of me to dump it on you like this but I just don't want to deal with the paperwork. Could I entrust you to dispose of it in any way you see fit?"
A knowing smile flicked past the legate's face as he gathered up the porcelain pots. With an affected seriousness, the legate assured Orison that it was no trouble to leave the minor bothersome task to him.
Chapter end
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