“So.” he concluded;
“Kaom left them.”
Dancing his fingers in and out of the carvings, focused his only able eye on the very rock that he knows he has to lean back on. Already forgot his surroundings, the hostility he suffered on his way here. His own heart beating like a crazed man enduring horrific imagery beyond imagination. Wraeclast was not kind to those who washed ashore, at her unforgiving foot.
“Was not kind, indeed.” he said, paying no mind to those who has been accompanying him;
“It’s obvious why she was interested in this place.”
He knew who he was talking about; why he ended up on a forsaken land. Breathing the unholy air, eating the corrupted meat, knowing what’s crawling under his feet. He wasn’t able to stop her before, why should Gods forsake her for the sake of his avenging spirit this time? Didn’t make any sense to him. Seemed ironic and logical.
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked the exile, sitting on a rock holding her injury.
One other; another man with a flask of fresh water kneeled before her to help, murmuring about the man with the gray eye;
“The idiot was reading all the damn notes they carved. He’s out of his damn mind.” making sure she had a fine sip out of it, he kept talking;
“We should’ve left him to what he asked for back in that bloody nest!”
“Yet, I was able to read them, wasn’t I?”
“They didn’t help us, did they?”
“Enough!”
Gray-eye stopped. They weren’t the one with the injury, but they weren’t the men who had everything under control. As he was able to feel again, the breeze passing through this washed up graveyard told him once more that his skin was not thick enough without the aid of his companions. Good warriors they were, starving warriors nevertheless. He had the eggs; he went for the prize they fought for as he had managed to blow a final strike at the creatures’ mother; he stole the eggs, even more than they originally asked for, but he did not feel the blinding pride of the accomplishment. He wasn’t about to become her. He wasn’t easy on the idea of being her.
“I’ve took a few more. This should be enough for a couple more days. It might even get us inland.” he told, handing over his bag.
The man he argued took over the bag with little to no appreciation on his face, suffered enough injuries but left alive. He had something else on his mind. Something he still fights within him since they left the Watch;
“We’re following the Blackguard. Outnumbered everywhere; out-slept our lives even. We can’t keep doing this.”
Exiled man, a craftsman evidently, revealed a flask cut in half with a forged cover, enough space to boil four eggs. Not the monster ones, but he could cook a giant. He could find a way, he knew. Might not be the one with a considerable determination in his eyes, but a handy one nonetheless. He surely had his reasons that eventually led him to exile. But they feared him enough to throw him away; as they should now, he thought.
“Their death is an opening. The other exiles were talking about a Cave. We won’t be making out without their expedition failing before us. Dominus knows what he’s doing, he’ll leave what’s left weakened.”
“She’s right. They’ve been shipping out the experiments first, either they’ve failed or Dominus had a different plan. She… She has a different plan.”
“I know what he’s after.” the exile woman said, standing up with a strict refuse to any kind of help on her face;
“But I don’t know what she is after. That, I believe, is your problem. Isn’t it now, huh, blind man? You don’t know anything about the experiments!”
Coming out in a moonlight. Revealing her face, showing her eyes. Furious, maddening, full of hatred; darker than black, swimming in a pool of red. She could see, no matter, she could see through the darkest corners even. But she could not differ a loved one from a stranger, a monster from a critter, a friend from a foe. She could not understand the difference. Only saw opportunity and profit. The eyes they gave only showed the fallacy of a fact, that her own dilemma.
“The carvings are the history that lived through the making this cemetery. They serve to guide the future, no matter what smug intend they may carry. When we head back into the shadows buried by the land, we will know what’s there and why it is there. We will have the even hand.”
“I smell an aristocrat, not boiling eggs, old man. Perhaps both!” smiled, the cook;
“If there’s one thing for sure, is that you and that wench Piety ca-”
The spawned sounds weren’t faint enough not to strike first. Made them forget their struggles for the moment, their hunger, their tiredness, their dysfunctional pact of a party; but warriors they were, good ones.
Woman forgot about the infectious opening in her chest, lifted a hammer bigger than any men lived, eyes full of rage and the teeth ready to bite off anything that is rotten or fresh. Her hatred for her masters and their masters carved its path into her exiled mind way before the first moment she ripped apart the servant of His Highness.
Craftsman and his blade had already made their way into the line the group of three has formed, the smirk from before and the anger from way before did not even lost their effect; fast his hands were, as the dagger forged to shine appeared on his off-hand. Heretic, a crafty heretic. A heretic that led many to steal for not only glory and wealth, but for knowledge beyond what’s taught of. A rightful, a truthful heretic.
Gray-eyed took his position against the hungry fog, drawing his axes and making his stand against the darkest of his thoughts. His burning veins, a pretty mix of red and black, proved what the experiments were. His fate was sealed the moment he disagreed, thrown away like a bone, the good dog had her fun with him. Eventually revealing her secrets. Eventually throwing him away once more. But not before making him watch. Making him watch his beloved daughter fed to the greed of a maniac, becoming the very apathy he disagreed.
His Piety. His experiment.
