Abyssal Road Trip

Moke PoV - The Morning of Julia’s return to the Abyss

While patting the empty spot on the bed, my brain tries to remember her name and comes up strangely empty. It’s just after dawn, though I played till exceptionally late. Since arriving here I’ve needed far less sleep. The lyre the Innkeeper lent me has reaped a bountiful reward for us both.

Dawn, she’ll likely be there practicing as Neferu and Ipy said; hopefully, she’ll drop by to hear some songs soon. Even as the thought of Julia crosses my mind, the bond between us changes. The crystalline chiming bridge that had been strong within suddenly feels distant; Unbroken, but very faint.

Why? Has she gone back to the Abyss already?

Neferu seems to think she is a Celestial in disguise, but his initial experience with the Pact didn’t match my own. He had only experienced its crystalline singing beauty from the start, not the trudge through the Troglodyte infested warren I had experienced. The vileness of their tunnels, fouler than my mouth after a noble's party, had nothing on the initial sensation of the Pact. It had been like the tunnel we had sat within flooded with the excrement of a thousand Demons channelled straight inside me.

Wait, do Demons even crap? Surely such wouldn’t make for good song material? Then again, I wonder if it would make an interesting amusement to produce a memorable song based on such an idea. I’ll have to consider it further.

Though mayhap for some hosts, I could play such a song in their honour.

Sidetracked, my mind jumps off to lyrics before the sense of my link to Julia fades even further away. Startled reflexes sat me upright as my guest from last night emerges from the room’s necessary. The sight of her beauty renews my memory as I drink her in. Sleep mused, flame-red hair only partly hides her sky-blue eyes, as her raw beauty draws my gaze to her. Her wheat coloured skin, bronzed and ripened, draws me with its mortal honesty. She is so fierce, so beautiful, from her robust, broad face and full passionate lips alluring with wanton desire. The flex of powerful muscles and lively steps quickens my heart’s beat as I savour the energy of her movements. Though carrying more marks than many Charter House members I’ve met, she shows the smooth shine of blessing-healed skin. Then again, the Jarl’s daughter likely had guardians to ensure someone properly cares for her wounds. Not a delicate flower of the Pharaoh’s court but beautiful all the same, Angrboda moves with a steady, powerful grace.

“I hadn’t expected you awake so soon fire of my heart. Are you going somewhere at this hour?”

The words drift from my lips as I drink in the vision of her nakedness with admiration, and consider what fun the morning might yet bring.

“Enough, Moke. I’ll see you tomorrow. Father plans to ride out and check some holdings today, and I’ll be accompanying him.”

As soon as she mentions her commitments, I remember promises I've made, and it’s a moment of idle wonder to consider if Neferu is likely to skin me.

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to tend to your ardent desires again so soon. I’ve matters of the companions and Charter House to attend today, and I do not know when I’ll complete those duties.”

“Didn’t you say you needed to talk to Torm yesterday about that? Did you forget?”

“He has so many other commitments.”

“What? Are you saying that I didn’t distract you before and after your commitments of the evening?”

The light-hearted teasing in her words brings forth a smile of delight.

“You were quite able at distracting me during my performances for the taproom. Yet you are more than a distraction; you are a beautiful, wondrous facet of my life, oh she of burning passion.”

“You lie so soothingly well with the truth. Best be dressed and see Captain Torm before Neferu pulls that tongue from your mouth. I have other plans for it; next, we meet. We’ve still several positions in this section to try,” Angrboda says as she taps my shirt where it hangs from the chair on which we had flung it. Her movements beckon my gaze as her clothes slide upon flesh in a fashion that quickens my loins even from afar.

“I look forward to continuing our endeavours that so fill my dreams with delight,”

“Now that was a lie, Moke, but an unknowing one. You called out more than once, and it wasn’t from delight,” Angrboda said, a frown of concern not dimming the beauty of her sweet lips.

“Mere echos of nightmares now passed. I’m sure they’ll inspire properly heroic songs.”

“Heroic songs or poems about greeting a dawn?”

“The poems came after the nightmare fled. Would you be my muse for more cultural inspirations?”

The smile that slips easily upon her lips I find echoing upon my own, smothering the nightmares whispering within my mind. They must have darkened my gaze for Angrboda’s frown deepens, and she traces my face with well-calloused fingers.

“A nightmare might flee, but scars remain. Perhaps you need to talk to a Priest to find aid to cleanse them,” she says soothingly as her hand strokes down my arm.

“I promise I’ll speak to my lady mother when next I see her if they persist.”

As I speak Angrboda leans close and slowly kisses up my neck, and I’m sure I’ve said too much. Though as her lips murmur against my skin between lingering kisses, I have no complaints about the tempo of her actions and words.

“Father remembers your sister with respect and says your mother is even more powerful. If you’ll wait till you see her, at least I know she’ll set you right. Well, as right as her roguish son can get.”

“Oh, I’m wounded by your words. I’ve never practiced the way of a rogue.”

“Are you sure? I thought you had quite a light-fingered touch on my fine silken purse. Perhaps I was mistaken, and it was someone else I should have woken up with this morning. Oh my, what shall I do?” Angrboda murmured before her tongue began moving distractingly along my neck.

“That’s both unfair and harsh, sweet one. It’s not purses I deal rather desire, plucking the strings of passion till their song quakes the very soul.”

The delighted laughter that elicits is far better than the darkness our conversation had wandered near. Though attempting to steal a kiss has her dancing clear.

“No, I’ll be late,” Angrboda said, her quick swaying steps beckoning my gaze to follow her motions, "just as well I had my equipment ready yesterday."

Her last words come even as the door clicked shut. The warmth of the bedding beckoned, but with dreams now refreshed it might enable their return. The thickness of the rug holds the coldness of the stone at bay. Setting the lovely outfit aright to hang properly, I pull a tunic from the cupboard. Julia might have resorted to making my now prized garments, but the Jarl’s tailor had old clothing of his son’s available. Their finery was more than suitable to let me save the wear on my prized garments for the right gatherings. The Jarl's youngest had grown so quickly they had barely any wear at all, and he’d possessed good taste. The odes for the Jarl’s court had brought such joy that he had instructed his castellan to provide largesse in return and been happy to help clothe me anew. My fingers trace the silver axe-shaped clasps a time or two before I leave, the lyre case a fine weight upon my back.

The stairs don’t creak beneath my tread as I listen out for voices that would raise concern. Fortunately, none of my previous overnight guests is about as I slide onto a seat near the kitchen door. Ylva even glides past without glaring, and I can but guess she’s forgiven me for the mistake regarding her younger sister. They look so alike, and they even sway the same. How was I to know it wasn’t her sister’s arse I was patting before she yelled at me? The saucy look Helga had worn earlier had me hoping it was her when I moved behind those swaying hips that first night.

Torm rescuing me from the tongue lashing had been ironic given the way he’d behaved earlier in the day. I guess my poetry honouring Julia must have won his respect. Though I don’t know why so serious a fellow as he took delight in hearing the ode to dawn’s rapture. Alfarr’s whisper must have been on my behalf as Torm stopped glaring at me after I was done with that verse. Still, I was inspired, it is an ode to remember. Though why he’d repeated part of it with such amusement when next we met really seemed strange.

Perhaps he has taken too many blows in battle.

Though the drum of my knocking resonates within the house, I hear no footsteps. Surely if Julia has returned to whatever Plane she calls home, she would have been in touch first. Though Neferu and Ipy had spoken to me, there were arrangements to complete.

“Hello, the house! Can anyone hear me?”

Tapping out a beat upon the sturdiness of the door as I call elicits not the response I expected, and when the deep rumble sounds nearby, my heart stutters.

“You’re making noise all down the street, of course, we heard you.”

Turning towards the rumble, I find my eyes having to look up further than expected. A sturdy lass looks down at me, though her appearance certainly surprises, even though Alfarr had mentioned their serving girl Rika’s nature. Her chest carries some impressive personality traits for one so young, and she comes with more muscles than the powerful Angrboda.

I find I’m looking between three fine young ladies, each so different, is quite a welcome surprise, even if all are far too young for me. A sturdy redhead, looking at me with deep forest eyes, yet as I smile, storm clouds grow within them. Caution clearly shows on her sturdy features, and I can’t help but compare her grimness to the open beauty beside her. The hair is pale like fine parchment, with cheeks of clean sweeping grace. An ode dances within my mind at eyes the colour of deep sapphires, and a smile so shy and sweet. Even as I study them both, Rika steps between us.

Especially with such difference between them, they are captivating wonders to gaze upon.

“My pardon for the noise. I wish to speak with Yngvarr or Alfarr most urgently. Are they about?”

“If you’ve come for either, they’ve left to tend to Elven matters,” Rikka says with a headshake.

“Elven matters?”

The question struts from my lips as I wonder what Julia is seeking after now.

“You’re not an Elf, Skald Moke. Nor someone I’ve been told to share anything with for Master Yngvarr.”

“Rika told us of your lyrics about Lady Eakcï’s rescue from grim darkness.”

The blond beauty voice is as sweet as her shy smile, and as we exchange a wordless warming gaze, the redhead’s storm clouds grow deeper.

“I’m not sure I told it well, I told you that,” complains Rikka. The owner of the rumbling voice growing bashful to my eyes, as if the pale-haired beauty had shared information given in confidence.

“If my humble words inspire you to share them with others, I wouldn’t take offence. Is Julia about perhaps?”

While the link feels as if she’s far away, I can hope; surely she’s not left so soon.

“She’s gone with them this morning, just at dawn,” Rika admits reluctantly.

“Oh.”

Is but all I manage, words suddenly lost to me.

“Is that all?” The question from the redhead comes even as she steps between the pale lovely and myself, her air protective as she tries to pose threateningly with such youthful energy. I can but keep my smile in place when I wish to laugh beyond good taste.

Details catch my gaze and set my mind ablaze. The set of her shoulders, the curl of her hands, suspicion in her voice, with an expectation of hurt, yet the steel within her gaze reminds me of another. What has been done to her? Is there a villain whose name I need to blacken? I won't ask her unless I have to, but this I must settle: the heart's wound might have healed but such pain remains. Perhaps her parents might share with one with good intentions.

“My apologies for disturbing your morning, then. I’ll be leaving you to your work.”

With the politest of nods and my thoughts in a whirl, I bid them good morning and head on my way.

“You didn’t need to be so hostile, Sagga. He knows Lady Eakcï.”

“Men want what men want, Alfdis. Not all his works have been flattering of the Lady. I wouldn’t count boasting how ripe and lovely her personality greets the dawn to be flattering.”

My step slow as I take in their words and note the names of the two young ladies, their voices making the air delight.

Oh, he didn’t. I shared that ode in private discussion, and there were only ten within the Jarl’s room. The delightfully coquettish dove will surely want to kill me now. Is that why there was no goodbye? Wait, she’s not spoken to me again since the first day. It’s been almost a full week now, my how time races. How can I make amends for an ode inspired by a dream?

Though perhaps an ode or three would bring balance. Especially ones regarding yowling wolves in heat.

There was a fair maid.

No, I shouldn’t bring Eakcï into it. Though confusingly, I thought she used the name Julia here. If so, why was Alfdis referring to her as Lady Eakcï? Though Neferu and Ipy also knew her by the name Eakcï.

There was a nosey wolf,

Who seemed to consider himself Beowulf.

No, I’ll need a structure that can prolong the torment.

In the depth of night,

There moved a great beast.

Upon his wrath, promising smites,

Yet they seem more fleeced.

Proclaiming they must do right,

Though craving after her touch.

It would seem they are just uptight,

Dancing to her slightest flush.

And rather purely moonstruck.

Where to take it next? What can I use to carry it after moonstruck and then rhyme with that? Cassock, hardtack, hmm, good luck no, I don’t want to seem as if I wish him well.

Something to make him truly sheepish. I’ll need stanzas to support it and insert the depth of denied feelings. My steps lighten as I work upon the stanzas, ode to the smitten mutt, perhaps.

I’ve brought Eakcï into it again.

Very well, her touch it is.

Torm’s PoV - After dawn on that same morning.

When had I become complacent in my skills?

The next attack sets me back even harder on my heels. Only a hurried dodge lets the follow up graze along my hauberk by the slimmest of margins. Even in deflection its pressure still puts me off balance, and I roll with the stumble. A kick snaps through the air where my shoulder would have been. I’d suggested sparring with Master Farhad out of frustration, and it seemed he and I had very different expectations of that activity. As I rise, an open hand slap barely keeps his fist from busting my snout, only for the sky to change position on me. Somehow he flowed past me, and with his other hand gripping my wrist, swept all balance away. A groan escapes me as a merry rascals cheers come from where she’s perched to observe my folly. Embarrassing as it is to recognise how lax I’ve grown, at least she’s no longer glum from Julia’s return to the Abyss.

“You should take the hauberk off, Uncle Torm; it’s just slowing you down,” Livia said, the delight in her voice lighting up the morning.

It’s normally a simple thing to rise to one’s feet, something I would repeatedly do in a day. Still, I move with wariness as if expecting my footing to betray me at any moment. Not because of my instability, rather Master Farhad is still standing far too close. Being bested by one who was once mortal might be the motivation I need to further my skills, but it makes it no less embarrassing. I've been knocked around far less than the beating Julia took the other morning, yet she kept coming back for more. Can I do any less?

“He walks his own path, that choice is not yours to make for him. Other distractions can slow far more than the armour. One should only fight a single battle at a time.”

Farhad’s reply cut in ahead of my own, and Livia just gives me a sad look, the compassion clear in her eyes.

I do not know how to handle this pair; it seems all the Monks I know can keep me off balance. Even in verbal sparring, they twist me in knots with a look. Farhad moves, which fortunately cuts off my chain of thoughts, and I dart to one side. My entire focus becomes staying on my feet, and he’s not making even that simple. I repeatedly pick myself up from the stones, aware of those nearby, most carefully not watching my humbling. Their attention raising questions of what they’ll make of Julia sparring for bells with Farhad now.

“A matter of focus?”

I finally have time to ask as the bell calls the second hour after dawn from the Temple’s tower.

“No, a matter of choice. I know that challenge well. I made many wrong choices in my younger years, and one I still deeply regret, even though they all were part of my path to here.”

The moments weigh heavily while my mind replays the conversations I’ve had with my liege of late. Finally, I admit to what I knew would be my choice.

“Would you object to another student?”

“Once, I would have objected to even one student. Now things feel different, I’ve no objections if students will focus properly,” Farhad answered, his tone unruffled.

“I have permission to do so. Lord Týr wishes others from this Plane to learn as well.”

“They’ll each need to show their own merit, regardless of who teaches them.”

Master Farhad’s calm words are firm with conviction, and I grow sure those inspired by Lord Týr will need to live up to his challenge. Farhad doesn’t explain further, he just gazes at Livia still sitting nearby. She claps in glee and flows to her feet, racing about me with such speed that she’s dizzying.

“You have trained for centuries as a Fighter, far longer than any I’ve ever taught. You’ll need to let go of your dependency on weapons and armour Guardian to reach a place beyond physical or Celestial strength.”

There is no point asking how he can tell the Prestige class I’ve followed till now what Mortals consider a path. I bow before speaking, copying Julia’s own.

“I’ll do my utmost, Master Farhad.”

“Very well, let us begin. Take off your armour and line up with Livia. We’ll review the fundamentals of balance this morning.”

My armour disappears into my Oath stone without hesitation as I move to stand next to Livia. The little miss having already halted and calmed the moment Master Farhad issued his instructions. Her ability to go from full speed to calm instantly is one of the least astonishing things about her. My existence has changed since she walked into the square, a glowing, beautiful blue Soul walking next to a hesitant looking Succubus. A strange Succubus who could laugh with honest glowing amusement and would care for the fate of a child above her own.

Inhaling as Master Farhad instructs, even though I’ve no need to breathe, I recognise my concern. As I exhale, I place it in Týr’s hand and pray for true Justice to reign supreme. There was nothing else I could do but hope Julia would continue to survive with the kindness she’d shown to Livia intact.