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Path of the Outcast

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Sovereign

He Bled into the Throne
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The smooth, marble railing slipped beneath Alistair's haunting touch. The glossy stone slid across hazy fingertips, as his lightly glowing eyes focused their foggy gaze upon the grand hall.

Oh, the splendor. The grand, golden halls of the Crane manor. It was the source of envy that clung to each and every nobleman of Ravenvale. No matter the deep, thundering clouds that would gather outside, this manor served as a beacon within the city. Even if the sun were to be extinguished, the light of this grand hall would remain.

So why did he feel so cold? No matter the silks that his money could buy, his skin would feel no comfort. No matter the food; no matter the drink, he could not be sated.

He was alone, more than anything. How could one understand? How could one be torn between this world, and the fantasies of a dream?

The party was about to start. His father expected Alistair to make an appearance. His family loved and cared for him, greatly. It was... Unusual, regarding the normal values of nobles. They treasured love over money, which had become rare in this dark city.

But that wasn't the case with everyone. Alistair always knew that he wasn't human... There was a strange beauty about him. Countless maidens offered their hand to Alistair. Those daughters of dukes, counts, and even kings... Alistair had turned them all aside. All but one... But this wasn't the time to conjure those stinging shards of broken memories.

Other noble heirs looked at Alistair with disdain. Their eyes burned holes through the foggy shroud that followed him. How could they not? He had more money. He had the love of women. He had the beauty of an Eladrin prince, and the mystery of the night sky.

Alistair continued down the stairs of his balcony. Entering the family salon, he took a seat high above those of his parents' guests. His mother looked up at him with her perfect blue eyes, giving a small wink.

Alistair merely sighed, as he sat upon the throne. His cheek came to rest upon his palm...
 
In a small, but opulent side room set for guests, dignitaries or performers a woman was sitting back bent forwards and head in her hands. With what looked like a strong effort she was breathing slowly and carefully, as her hands shook lightly. You can do this, you’ve performed for emperors, nobles and royalty. It’s not that difficult.

But it was. Whether it was the unease that always came with performing, the innate shyness that had dogged her for her whole life or the very deep seated fear that she would be found out the moments before a performance always led to her doubled over, trying to breathe. Maybe it was all three; the faint chattering gossip was not helping either.

Wyn Kruegar? What a common name…

I hear she’s a bastard from Kislev.

Odd looking isn’t she?

Slowly, with a good amount of effort the woman straightened, the talk from servant or minor nobles that was probably still circulating the hall sounding in her ears as if those that had spoken were in the room with her. A tense jaw, and a faint weight to her soft blue-violet eyes was the only signs of distress and she nodded before smiling at the footman that had come to direct her to the hall.

Hopefully her attire would be appropriate; she had chosen an ankle length dress of a midnight blue. Starry lines of silver shot through the sheer and clinging fabric made her hair shine all the more. Layers of the fabric had been set to make the dress tasteful though some of the more conservative set would be scandalized to see her bare shoulders and back, as well as a slim leg peeking out from the knee high slit of the dress.

A star like gem pendant rested at her throat, matching the arrow of bright jewels in her hair, sparkling among the silver-grey waves of her hair. The battered mandolin case she carried with her looked out of place but the woman held it with an air of near worship. The footman had led her through the golden halls and to the wide dining hall beyond. A curtain separated her from the stage and she could see the family that had hired her, as well as the mysterious eldest son.

He was handsome and she watched his face, seeing boredom, loneliness and a spirit that chafed at the world it lived in. Brief sympathy stirred, she had felt that and more in her years on this Realm and quickly she revised her order of songs, deciding to see if she could bring something to his life even if it was just a song.

Hearing her name being presented, she took a breath and closed her eyes, setting the mandolin down carefully. Concentration made her brow furrow faintly and magic stirred the air lightly, the power of illusion and song that many bards wielded collecting on the stage in the form of faint blue-white mist. It coalesced into clouds above as the faint rumble of thunder shook in the air, mist sweeping along the ground lightly. The call of a night bird and what sounded like a haunting voice hovered in the air a moment and ghostly figures that timed out a rhythm formed on the stage, eliciting gasps of awe.

Wyn nodded to herself and flicked out a hand, the small band of spirits tamping down as music surged into the air, explosive, passionate and loud. A few of the lesser nobles and hanger-on’s sent up a cheer and the red curtain opened, revealing the slightly young woman who let her voice rise out to the crowd, powerful and strong. Her voice reached to the watchers and to the family high above. She sang of loss, the loss of love and of the person that had given it. Of fleeing to somewhere unknown and the uncertainty that bonds brought.

In the middle of the stage now, her voice shifted, still strong and bright but tempered now as the verses turned to another language Bretonnian, quite a few recognized it as the chorus. The ghostly band tamped down on their wavering instruments as around her, a spirit choir formed, flanking her. Powerful voices surged up, backing her voice, which soared above them all. The song slowly faded, along with the mist, the ghostly choir and misty players, leaving Wyn standing on the stage along, her voice ringing in the air before it was swallowed up by silence. Some of the nobles looked dumbfounded, others looked enthralled and most were confused. In all it looked to be a successful performance and Wyn couldn’t hide her smile as she bowed to the family and their son.
 
Alistair urged forward in his seat, gripping the arms of his chair. A brief murmur of a heavy breath flood from his parted lips, upon the end of Wyn's performance. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Something that you couldn't touch... The music. The illusions. Alistair had everything one could ever desire in this world, and yet, he didn't have happiness. He didn't have the beauty that the girl possessed. She seemed... Content.

What was that? A smile? Yes... That was it. Alistair gently fell back in his chair, sighing to himself. He stood slowly, clapping his hand lightly. His lips quivered as the corner pushed itself up in a smirk. He stood, glancing for a moment down the hall which led to his chambers. A mirror hung upon his door, revealing his visage to himself, before turning.

His features were nearly angelic in nature. His cheekbones carved in arcing gauntness, leaving his soft, pale skin nearly flawless. His lips were thin, and a soft red, almost pink. Pale, golden hair fell in waves to his shoulders, shining with cascading beauty. Most of all, however, it was his eyes that caught attention. They were luminescent, glowing with a sorrowful blue. The crystal colored eyes gently flickered.

It was as if Alistair wasn't truly there. A... Fog, surrounded him. Not a literal fog. No, it was something different. His features were stunning... And yet, there was something surreal about it. As if he were barely there; seeing him, out of the corner of your eye. His voice was echoed, and far away... He was something of a dream. His clothing was that of a long, silken robe. It tightly pressed against a chiseled chest, lowering into a flowing white and gold gown. It was soft, luxurious, and ridiculously expensive.

Upon seeing his reflection in that familiar mirror, he turned. Biting at his lip softly, he shook his head. He couldn't leave, just yet. He needed to talk to her. To speak to her, before she left.

Passing his mother as he proceeded down the stairs, he gently placed a hand upon her sleeve.

"Mother, I shall only be a moment..."

His mother was beautiful, just as he was, though not supernaturally so. Her hair was golden, falling into tight curls about her neck. Her eyes were the color of the sky, on a clear day. With a warm smile, she gently nodded.
 
No matter how many times she heard it Wyn couldn't help but smile at the roar of applause (if somewhat delayed) and straightened again as she caught the noble scion's eye, tipping a soft nod to him. She wasn't the usual flirtatious performer, while comfortable in her skill she was modest and seemed to enjoy her work for the joy if brought her and others. She was happiest on stage, or when creating new music, whenever she was there everything else faded away and she felt confident and truly content with her life.

It had been a good performance and she mentally ticked off what to improve or enhance, feeling some of the weariness that came from using her bardic magic settle on her. Pushing that aside she stepped from the stage and approached a table that was set for performers or lesser visitors when they needed time to rest. She would go and sing or play again soon and let the group of nobles settle in to talk once more. If she was lucky she would be able to get some requests here and perhaps some more work.

After a quick break, she was back up on stage again, now seated on a oddly comfortable stool with her mandolin cradled in her arms. Taking a breath she looked up at the young man and half smiled "T-this is a song for the you." she offered and ducked her head, beginning to play. The soft notes of the mandolin welled around her and she shut her eyes lightly starting to sing.

Bards all over the worlds and years had written songs of love, or sang them to moved audiences. This was one Wyn had learned years ago and always loved. Her clear soprano rose, signing of love and someone that had forsaken it, moving on until they were nothing but a dream. Perhaps they had never existed at all. Either way that was a tragedy, love lost always was and her voice reflected the tender, always present grief that lingered in every moment.

The song always moved her and Wyn kept her voice steady, as well as her hands. She had done this long enough to not show her feelings physically but she put the loss and grief into her voice as she raised her voice, the song becoming stronger and heavy with pain. The faint ghostly piano that had appeared at the beginning of the song vanished, fading along with her voice and playing and she looked up seeing quite a few moved faces and some tears, before a rush of applause and faint cheers filled the theatre.

All in all the night was a success and Wyn slipped from the stage again, accepting payment from the seneschal with a smile and thanks preparing to leave. She paused though as she noticed the young man approach and looked up in surprise. "Oh, h-hello. Did you enjoy the performance?" she asked, her voice was melodic, fragmented by a stammer and rounded by a thick Kislevian accent.
 
Alistair stood before Wyn, a light, distorted fog gently billowing his robe. His eyes trailed off into two soft ribbons of blue light, as the noble son held parted his lips. His voice was hauntingly gentle, echoing itself a thousand times over, though barely noticeable... Almost as if his voice was lost in the distortion of elegance that followed his very being.

"You were... Beautiful. May I ask of your name?"

Alistair's eyes were fixated upon Wyn, though they would slowly slip away, as if he were nervous of the situation. Strange, for one such as him. Kings had knelt before him, and yet he couldn't look this girl in the eye without becoming shy.
 
Wyn blinked, seeing the soft fog coalesce around his form and the faint glow to his eyes. That was odd, but she wasn't one to talk being what she was. His voice was wonderful; if he was a bard he'd have audiences falling in love with him, and would be famed beyond belief. She ducked her head faintly, silver-grey bangs falling in front of her face.

"Wyn K-Kruegar. I'm glad you enjoyed the performance."

He looked away once in awhile and she realized he felt as shy as she did. Maybe he wasn't used to talking to people outside of noble circles. She didn't consider herself part of this group; she was more comfortable with the merchant class or the people of the city. It didn't show in her eyes, she merely looked interested and welcoming.
 
Alistair tilted his head, as she revealed her name. His lips parted slowly, though he couldn't force himself to speak. Closing his soft lips, for a moment, he slowly extended a silken-clad arm. Brushing the silvery strands of hair from Wyn's eyes, he spoke in the strangely calm voice, though his eyes were clearly uneasy.

However, they seemed to be possessed with something different entirely from nervousness, now. They shone with a sparkling curiosity, before he slowly slipped his hand back to his side.

"You're different, aren't you? You're not like everyone else... These nobles, drowning in a pit of their own wealth. You're like me."
 
Wyn took the outstretched hand and gently clasped it before letting it go. He looked so uneasy and she had no idea why, maybe he wasn't used to speaking to others outside of family and acquaintances. It was honestly odd to see a shy noble, especially one as handsome as the young man that stood before her.

His look shifted to curiosity, something she was well used to. Her reputation as a bard was growing more and more, her looks always made someone give a second glance and her...family connections had her respected or derided wherever she went.

Faint unease stirred at the question, recalling blinding headaches and rambling prayers from priests. She gave a small shrug "I'm a bard, that's d-different enough in these parts." she replied with a tiny grin, trying to deflect curiosity with one small truth.
 
Alistair quickly slipped his gaze away, the light of his eyes dimming slowly. Languidly, and hand raised to his chest, as he began to trace a familiar, hidden tattoo. It was a ruin, in actuality. Its ink glowed with a light blue glimmer, twisting into a strange and alien pattern over his heart. As he traced the familiar marking upon his chest, a gentle, cool tingle ran down his fingers.

"No... That's not what I mean. You're not human. You're something else, like me..."

Alistair's lips trailed the words off quietly. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
 
Wyn hid the nervousness well, the mask of polite interest falling over her features. She froze though when he traced the ruin over his chest, light coming alive in blazing bright blue. That...that was new. She knew alot of mages and while it looked like an illusion or presdigitiation something told her that this was different.

She gave a light shrug and grinned "And what would you be? All I see is a handsome noble son." she replied, not enjoying deflecting but knowing that having her true nature being said aloud in this noble house would mean disaster.
 
Alistair's gaze shot back towards Wyn, his nervous lips forcing themselves into an ever-so-slight smirk. His echoing voice dripped from his lips, with hazy and warm words. "I am... Kalashtar. I do not belong of this place."

He had never spoken those words aloud to anyone, before. Why would he reveal his origin to this... Bard? This entertainer? Alistair didn't care, anymore. He was beginning to crack beneath the pressure of his disguise, and it sickened him. He needed to get away... And she was a bard. A travelling performer.

"You needn't be afraid, dove..."
 
He looked so worried, even with the faint smirk playing about his face she could tell that this was hard to say. She blinked, frowning and searched her memory. Kalashtar. Her eyes widened and she looked up at him "The Dream Walkers?" she asked, shocked. She had visited the world of Dream but didn't mention it, hardly anyone believed her.

She kept her voice down and shook her head, keeping her face straight. Why was he telling her this, here, somewhere where they could be overheard. He looked so lost and tired and she wanted to tell him but she had survived by secrecy and silence.

"I can't. There's n-nothing to tell." she replied, voice soft.
 
Alistair sighed softly, shaking his head. A few strands of pale golden hair fell to his chest, as his eyes slipped to a close. His features calmed, for a moment. Slowly, his breathing become subtly smoother. A slight glow from his tattooed chest was the only reaction that Alistair's body gave, as he slowly opened his pulsing, blue eyes.

His features froze. An utter calm essence filled the room... A gentle, warm, embracing echo could be heard.

"You're hiding something... You don't need to. None can hear us."

Alistair merely tilted his head, speaking without words.
 
Wyn frowned, confusion showing in her eyes. Was she wrong? The lore of the Dream-Walkers was so thin it could have been a mistake. She watched the rune glow again and took a faint step back eyes on his face again.

Her jaw tensed as the calm overwhelmed her and the voice sounded gently in her mind.

You don't understand. Everyday I have to hide, people hunt others, hurt them. That won't happen again.

He'd never believe her anyway and she folded her arms, not wanting to say she was part of the undead sect, to see the horror and revulsion on his face like so many others.
 
Alistair suddenly closed his eyes, choking the faded light of his eyes beneath twin, fair lids. He pressed a slender hand to his forehead, shaking his head back and forth, slowly. No... No, no. He couldn't go barging into another person's mind, like that. Alistair's features froze with a cool, nonchalant presence.

Though, anybody with empathy could see that wasn't the true case. His eyes were weary... Exhausted, and now, ashamed. "I-... I apologize. Please, I hope you will forgive me. My mother should have your payment... I believe she's still on her balcony. Your performance was beautiful... Wyn, was it? Yes, Wyn."

Alistair turned, before beginning to walk to his quarters. He couldn't help but to look back, though.
 
She felt like she was caught in some horribly dramatic tale, the brooding hero struck by tragedy while the young beautful ingenue stood breathlessly sympathetic nearby. Though instead she felt confused and faintly guilty, pushing it aside in the wake of the need to protect herself.

He looked shamed and so tired, which made her heart sink and she nodded "I c-can't fault curiousity." she replied and smiled a bit "It was, and I'm glad to meet you." she offered, already having her payment by the seneschal. Watching him go she sighed faintly and waved once before turning around and leaving the palace trying to leave behind the unease as well.
_____________________________________________________________________

As days go this was not the best one in her memory and she had had days where it felt like her world was crumbling around her. It had started with the hope of being able to break up a slave cell and free those within and now she was edging around a large warehouse not liking her odds. It was night and the ragged streets were gloomy at best and she cursed her eyesight before touching a circlet on her brow, allowing full night-vision.

Her guide was gone, having fled as soon as he had led her to the sector of town. She could hardly blame him and sighed inwardly, hearing muffled voices and a faint yowl of pain. Anger fueled her next action and she kicked open the door. The next few moments were flurried and fragmented; cruel faces, scattered weapons and battle filled her world. It took a great effort not to draw her sword and to use the inner boss of her shield, knocking the slavers down and leaving them sprawled unconcious.

After what felt like a span of hours, she stood in the middle of the warehouse, one side of her face bloody and aching, her muscles shaking from fatigue and scattered dents in her armour. "My..my lady?" a voice asked and she looked up, seeing that the slaves had grouped up, watching her with a mixture of awe and fear. Geneviève Lys made herself smile "It's alright, I'm going to get you all out of here." she offered, husky voice worn, Bretonnian accent rounding her words. She went to each of them and with a touch the chains fell away from them. It took careful work to lead them to a safehouse and after a quick identification the now freed slaves were tended to.

Injuries were healed papers were burned and slowly the fear ebbed away, being replaced with a faint cautious joy. A woman nodded at her, one of the handful that ran the safehouse as Geneviève disentagled herself from a few embraces and handshakes. "We'll take them out of the city. You should leave, the guards hear about these matters quickly. If you're caught.." she shook her head and Geneviève nodded, leaving through a small side street. It took some time and evasion and she ended up near the docks. If she was lucky she could book a ship and leave this damned city behind.
 
The night wind was gently pushing itself through the sails of numerously docked ships. It was quiet. It was dark. The moon, however, allowed for a small, cropping circle of light upon the bay. Though the night was silent, a clicking noise soon accompanied the barely audible shrill of gulls in the distance, and of the pressing tide. As heeled boot came down upon the stone pavement, a deep sigh was exhaled.

The sound was accompanied by a gentle, sweet scent. It was the perfume of foreign lands. It was of warm winds, and of exotic spices. The man's boots continued to shuffle in front of each other, each step as perfectly placed as the last. Standing in the midst of the shallow bastion of moonlight, he paused.

---

Lucien's eyes glanced over the shoreline, his lips gently urging out a dark and heavy mutter as his vision passed ship after ship. He couldn't believe they would have the nerve. How could they steal his darling Sanguine Rose away from him? Sure, he was wanted in at least eleven different cities related to this trading route... But how could they possibly know that?

Lucien bit his lip. Scratch that last bit.

That was when he saw her. Battered, bleeding and bruised. She was clad in thick, heavy plate armor. Was she a member of the guard? No... Lucien knew the uniform of the guard well, by now. Besides, they never worked their shifts alone. She must be something else, entirely. A knight? A paladin? Lucien's eyebrow raised, as he gave a vulpine chuckle. This place was one of the darkest that civilization had to offer... She would find plenty of work.

Lucien approached, pressing his lips together in a sweet, caring pout. His hazy red eyes showed that of compassion, and of worry.

"Are you alright, ma chérie?" Lucien stepped forward quickly to her side, pressing a feather-soft hand to her arm.

He was tall. His skin was fair and pale, with black curls of shining, luscious hair cascading down his shoulders. He was well toned. Very well toned, as revealed by the crimson blouse of satin that tightly pressed against his chiseled stomach. The arms ended in regal frills of white lace. The blouse was open-chested, revealing the majority of Lucien's chest. Over his heart, a brilliant, blooming rose unfolded in the form of a tattoo. His leggings were black, and clad with a loose-fitting belt that draped languidly across his hip. Upon the belt, a small arsenal of scabbards and sheathes flocked to his side. Two rapiers, each with an intricate hilt designed to wrap the silver handle around the wielder's hands were resting in overly opulent sheathes, on opposite sides of his belt. On his left, another blade slumbered within a small, golden scabbard. This was a thick-bladed cutlass, curved with vicious elegance. Finally, a needle-bladed stiletto could be found beside the rapier upon his right. Long, ebon, heeled boots found their way to his knee.

His face was debonair, to say the least. Refined arcs formed his cheekbones, high about slightly gaunt cheeks. His lips were smooth, and the color of roses. Most noticeable of all, however, were his burning, crimson eyes.
 
Something different then the sea, street refuse and fish caught her nose and she frowned lightly turning to scan the streets around her. The moonlight didn't help to much and she adjusted the circlet to allow her to be able to see a bit clearly, her night vision was admittibly terrible. Slowly she saw a figure emerge from the gloom registering a slim form, weaponed and longish hair.

Red eyes, now that was new. And she knew odd enough people and had been to enough realms for that to be very unique. His arm rested on cold armuor and she felt a thrill of surprise as she heard the familiar Bretonnian endearment fill her ears. She was a good bit away from the place she was born and even if it didn't feel like home exactly it was still nice to hear something home-like again.

He was slightly taller then her, looking like a romantic hero stepped out of those tales that monies ladies swooned over. Faint uneasiness settled and she wondered if she was talking to a nobleman. If he was he would be able to tell she was a commoner in an instant, she wore no crests or family sigil, only her own of the bladed lily, something that wasn't recognized by most in these parts.

She wore well cared for full plate, a dull silver, with a bright gold emblem on the shoulder of an unknown house. The sword and shield she carried were well used, and cared for greatly and she stood with an easy competance though her blue eyes were tired. Dried blood streaked her hairline and the right side of her face was spanned with a ugly, painful bruise darkening her eye and cheekbone. Black hair was braided away from a heart-shaped, high cheekboned face and her chin was roundly stubborn. The most notable feature beyond all this was the two streaks in her hair, looking as if they were crafted from gold itself, shining in the dull light, reaching all the way through her thick braid.

She gave a wan smile "You could say that. I need to leave this city, or find somewhere to shelter. Some..would disapprove of the way I've been acting." she offered, a wicked light flaring in her eyes. Whatever she had done she didn't seem to mind that it was bringing negative reactions.
 
Lucien's lips slipped into a suave smile. The light grip on the woman's arm was released. He could see her face clearly, now... There was a soft beauty hidden behind the blood, and the bruises. There was an urge to trace his silken hands to her cheek, and to promise her safety. His fingers quickly curled as he pulled his hand away before touching her cheek. He couldn't promise safety... Not yet. It was dark. Gangs, slavers, corrupt guardsmen... They all prowled the streets at night.

Giving another gentle smile, followed by a playful wink, he looked to the distance. Numerous lanterns glowed hazily in the night. Pointing at the nearest, he turned back to the woman. "Let's get you a room, for the night... I know just the place."
 
And there was the sauve smile, the type that usually made her want to roll her eyes or laugh at the absurdity of being flirted with. He seemed to be sympathetic enough, for the most part it wasn't difficult to take care of herself, especially when she was with her old group. Here though, in a place she barely knew, she'd take all the help she could get.

A faint smirk crossed her face and she arched a brow. "Really. You know that could be taken to be a proposition." she teased faintly and shrugged "Lead on though, we should move quickly."
 
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