But It Wasn’t An Accident
(( @rodarin-calrise ))
The thick, liquid pearl sloshing in the fountain caused him to fancy it as congealing blood. Blood fresh from his victim's mouth, slightly foamy, but hardening into brown flakes. Blood seeping from where the ceruleum charge had launched it when it made contact with the soldier’s abdomen. The ichor from the body's stomach was even thicker, more in tune with the consistency of the fountain. The outer layers had congealed and darkened, becoming almost rubbery in texture like extra surprise giblets that coated the entryway to the man's-
A hand grabbed his shoulder, and the pout that formed over his deliciously purposeful feminine lips portrayed his disappointment with the manners of the equites here as he was force fed greetings of, “Welcome to Westmoore~ I'm Rodarin Calrise, the mayor of Westmoore. Come -- let's get you settled in. ”
The man's manner of dress did nothing to save him from the posh Viera's judgement. It was disheveled, poorly done, and basically an afterthought. Ka turned and bounced his travel bag up the touched shoulder slightly, also meant to dislodge the mayor's hand. A perfect smile played over the previous pout and he masked his voice with effeminacy, “Hello there, pumpkin. I'm here to inspect the scene.”
“Ahh, yes, yes, right away, but first let's get you settled in!” The mayor left little room for protest as he moved off down the path, but protest Ka did.
“I only have this little satchel. Hardly a reason to fuss over room and board,” he mentioned sweetly, if not saccharinely.
“Nonsense, nonsense!” Rodarin replied as he seemingly sped up even more, “Guests are welcome. Yes. Very welcome.”
The darkness closed in with no more candles to hold it at bay as Ka followed the man until they reached a crossroad, one sign pointed at Westmoore, and another at someplace called Devil's Edge. It was the latter that Rodarin chose to head down. “We aren't going to Westmoore?” he asked with a chipper lilt that cloaked an abrupt nausea.
“Oh no, no -- we need to get you settled in first,” the mayor replied with a stare devoid of thought.
One of Ka's ears folded over itself in disgruntlement, but -- the smell of the moist earth was so thick and rich the mosses growing over it could be visualized, shoving their image to the forefront for observation. It was nice, thick and green, but -- cold, cold, cold. He shivered. Arms wrapped tightly about himself as his nose bobbed nervously and his ears swiveled for any purchase on reality.
Rodarin was gone. There was no road. There was no sky. Only a forest. Another forest come to further mangle the remnants of his sanity.
He froze at the sight of a light, paused, thought, and then cautiously approached with arms still about himself trying to calm the shaking.
What the light illuminated left his head slightly slack from confusion. That was clearly his gorgeous self on the ground. His androgyny would be near impossible to replicate in the exact portions he had sculpted for himself. His eyes moved from where his skull had caved to the hole in his torso where the slightest hints of organs were visible -- what did his insides look like? Sheer curiosity overpowered anything else. The faceless, waxen monstrosity sampling his corpse didn't phase his mindset. It would just be a bothersome detail until it acted as something other than decoration.
The monster looked his way and Rodarin appeared from about a tree, “Welcome back to Westmoore. I hope you enjoy your stay. Try to avoid the Woods next time, won't you?” He was all smiles and sugar, displaying the points of his teeth. A new detail. And then he began letting out howling laughter, and not the sort you would release towards an ally in such a predicament. Not if a shred of empathy existed, anyway.
Ka stared at him as his mind did a few simple calculations that lead back to the conclusion that no action he would take would have any meaning. In summary, he was either already dead or this wasn't real. Either way nothing he could do past this point would ever matter, and so Ka did as he pleased-
-and gave a quick succession of jabs at the Mayor's gut, the same sort a rushed chef gave a chicken prior soaking it in spices. The previously unseen dirk was quick and to the point. It conveyed all he wanted to say to him, really.
While he aimed towards the gut, something else stabbed him in the heart. Ka's fist squeezed the wooden handle as the stream of pain hit and nearly brought him down. Without break, another torrent of searing ice in his chest forced him to his knees and his response was to release a steady tone, lips pulled back into some combination of a smile and a snarl. The tone raised, hit a new note, and continued in song. Even as the agony tore at his innards and brought him flat and blind, he sang gently until his mind joined the void with his other senses.
At least, until he woke up. It was the roof of his wagon he serenaded now. A ball of sheets had been bunched into a fist and clammy moisture dotted his gooseflesh afflicted skin. His expression quickly dulled with voice falling to silence, nose bobbing slightly, and he muttered to himself with disdain, “That's what I get for drinking myself to sleep.” And he'd do it again tonight.