Private The Death of Virtue

[Illia]

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Art by Lucasestellar @ DA!​

She had been taken for a fool.

But even the meek had teeth.

In the dead of night came a frightened wail as the bloodied Unicorn tumbled to the earth amongst the silent trees, for they had grown sparse indeed in the shadow of the jutting fortress before her. Lia had seen it the archaic building from miles off, but for even longer than that, there had been the grunting and calling of her pursuers… two long days, one terrible night. They would not shake. They followed the drops of blood, the whisps of fur upon the leaves, every time Illia thought she had gotten the better of them-- hopping daintily up tall climbs, crossing deep, raging rivers-- they came. Armed with steel and clad in fur from boot-tip to skull, a score of them who had caught her sight and refused to let it leave their minds, frothing at the mouth for blood or hoof or horn.

It was not Just, the hunting of her species. At first, when they had tossed their spears whistling spears forth to pierce her hide the beast immediately stood her ground. Was it violence if she had been attacked first…? No, said the unwritten law of the Unicorn, this was cause for punishment. Those nearest had had their eyes blackened, burned from their sockets in a solitary flash of magicked light, and one had been cut at the legs by the swinging of a shining blade that caused the air to turn with the sizzling of blood and flesh as he lay writhing upon the ground… but the humans did not learn. When she outran them and coiled to rest again they came, this time with more upon their minds than the butchering of her parts; retaliation. Revenge. For the men who had ran first to survive the initial attack, the mewling of the newly blind pair and the static form of their dead friend upon the ground only gave them the courage to pursue, for such was the way of Man.

Why did they not learn their lesson the first time? Why, on the second day they came with nets and rope, did they not learn from the caving of the man’s ribcage when her back leg connected with his chest…? When Illia galloped away she felt no pity for the way he gurgled and choked and clutched at himself like he had been laid bare, because they had continued on. Seven, now. Illia’s coat was wet with her own blood as well as theirs. The spears had drawn deep holes into her back and flank, and though they would heal fast with no scars, they would not heal fast enough to escape the interest of the attackers; her blood rallied them on. And she ran, though every time she did, it was a little slower than before.

They had cornered her in the dip of a prairie, where stone slyly jutted upwards and hands came to pin the Unicorn to the ground with sneers upon their sweat-laden faces… and being this close together was dangerous. For both parties. Grimey, dirty fingers smeared dirt and oil against her body as she warned them, for the last time, that they could not have her, for this would be the end of the long, tiring game of cat and mouse-- but they had come too far and lost too many to give up. Snared by the throat by wire that drew a red line about her neck she thrashed and bit and stomped, lifted a man from his feet and leant her teeth like a savage animal to his throat instead in an explosion of cartilage and arteries. They tugged, she bucked and spat blood, a spear came to lodge itself against her chest and jostled there like a gigantic thorn, she threw herself against the pulling man in fleeting terror at the pain and immediately broke his spine beneath the weight. His deformed body became a trampled mess of organs, Lia staggered to her feet, with hooves sliding in the bloody mud, and screamed.

Terrible people, awful people. Tenacious people. They had not let her go, they had been forced to briefly stop the chase, because the broken man was begging for relief and they had long let go of the ropes… and into the distance, she limped, seeking to cower in the vales of the Astenvale Monastery. Roki had said if she had needed help (though it had been magically orientated, help was help), that is where she’d find it, and Roki was a good person. It had not been the Unicorns intent to be spurned towards it so quickly, but with the great Vayd tree upon the horizon there was nought to do but to gamble that yes, this was the monastery the Orc had mentioned. It had to be. It had to be.

A trail of blood and terror had been left in the hunts wake in the way of blood and disturbed grasses, scarred trees, and the mangled mess of human flesh that was not stolen away with the bodies carried back to unknown villiages… a straight line heading North, carved into the forests with violent intent. But as Illia collapsed upon the moonlit field, still she struggled to find a hint of sadness for them. They deserved it. They had started it. They had looked upon her and seen only the cutting lines of the butcher, the price tags affixed to her pale coat. The parts of the female left white glowed gently as silver hooves pawed weakly at the earth, but the beast could not stand… the wire snare about her throat still hung. Loops of rope at her back legs, frayed from being dragged forth through all manner of substances. The wounds… were festering, and with the rotting came waves and waves of dizzying heat that made her heavy head spin. No longer could the target stagger forth, and in the warm summer night, beneath the indifferent gaze of the crescent moon, lithe ears pricked at the guttural howling in the distance of four men gathering at the edge of the monasteries grounds. They were ready for the spoils of their little war.

Illia did not care if others saw her in that moment. She could only pray that somewhere, someone good-hearted enough not to kill her where she stood could hear her calls,

“Help…” Came the mournful cry, and a picture that could have hung upon the walls of some great castle was woven into visual history; the woeful image of a lone, bloodied and injured Unicorn with her head to the stars and tears marring turquoise eyes of a hundred shades. A great, shuddering sigh escaped her.

“Please… someone, anyone… help me. Please...”

 

[Roki]

"Unicorn blood," Syr Lefelen said, sighting the streaks of multicolored liquid that trailed through the woods.

"And you are sure you saw it?" Syr Dunnird asked from beneath the rise of her horns. "The flash?" One of the hunters with their eyes burned out laid upon the ground. Half way to death's shore already.

He nod. Weak as it was. "Took my eyes," he wore an odd smile. "Was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen,"

Roki turned his eyes away from the dying man. Away from the carnage of the other hunters laid low, golden eyes lingering on the trails of unicorn blood. How it shifted in colors, in play with the light. Shroud swirling there about it. Life, coaxed and ended there upon the pools.

"Illia," the name fell out from his mouth. Worry a heavy weight on his heart.

She had turned into a white beast that night she had left their camp, all those moons ago. A horn pierced the darkness ahead of her, and her hooves had burned across the earth like starshowers.

"That they would cut this deep into the Vayden Wylds," Lefelen whispered.

Syr Dunnird finished a whispered prayer to Sitha and her mirror moon. Passed a hand over the dying man's heart. Twined and twirled fingers. Felt the last beats of it slow to still.

"Unicorns are a fine prize," she let on. "As fine as they come," she rose and looked to the trail of carnage set before them. "This one seems to be cutting straight to the Monastery,"

Lefelen nod his agreement. "Roki," his voice cut. Eyes looked about. "Roki?" hissed a curse. "Come on, Dunnird," set to move through the woods.

---

Wind swept, Roki's feet flew across branch and tree limb. Staff pressed behind him as he raced through the wylds, more squirrel and monkey than squire, with how he hopped, trailed, and swung through the canopy.

It was the smell more than anything that lead him. An iron laden musk, heavy with silver and shroud.

He couldn't be that far behind. He couldn't be!

A cruel peel of laughter at the edge of the treeline.

A glade, just south of the Monastery, opened up. He knew it well. Had practiced his shroudwork there time and time again.

Breath pushed out of flared nose like storm charged heat come pour off a cloud front. Hairs on his arms raced with the spiderleg trace of arc and lightning.

A leap from the branch. Spin of staff overhead, all crackle with blue and white. Down came the swing, and a bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky with it.

Forked and smashed down its electric green sear that spidered through the earth and up legs of the hunters.

One knocked out. Closest to the bolt. The other three, wide eyed in disbelief. "What in the fuck!?" one of them cried out, turned to face the stormcaller.

Roki was already swinging his staff into the side of his head with a heel planted to pivot and hips drove to snap.

THWACK

 

[Illia]

The hunters were aghast at the sudden onset of magic and violence directed towards them, and with the howling of the thwacked man cut short by unconsciousness, the remaining two looked at their sprawled out brethren and immediately took up arms-- but they did not attack. Not yet. Red in the face with ferociousness, the hunter with his head adorned with the horns of a shorn buck’s took a step forward with his spear pointed right at Roki, but fifteen feet away--

“S-Stop, you lunatic!! What are you doin’!” He roared, the other rallying himself awkwardly at his side. “We are hunters, not knights, not pillagers, we are chasing game! Why are you assaulting us?!”

“‘Ere, maybe the tusker wants what we’re chasin’... I say bollocks to that.” The second man spat in Roki’s direction, “S’ours, we saw it first, y’ think jus’ cus’ ya’ can do some magic ya’ can take what is ours?”

“Law of the land, we have right to that beast, he’s right. We sighted it, we stalked it, we lost our party to it, so turn around and leave and we’ll pretend this never happened!”

Yet, neither of them moved in the direction they knew the Unicorn had bound in, the streaks of glittering blood against the tall grass clear to them both exactly which way they needed to go… but they were not Weavers. They had no skill with a staff or a stave, and frankly, the image of electricity crashing down to earth at the whims of another’s will meant that if they tried to fight they would certainly lose. So, fighting was not on the agenda. As the more unhinged hunter took a step towards the lightning-struck friend to assess that he was still alive, the first, more wordy man attempted to reason with the Orc,

“Forgive my friend, it has been a long hunt, and we are tired, wounded and bitter. In all honesty, whether you believe it or not… we are tracking a Unicorn.” A feverishly mad side-eye was shot at him by his scowling friend, but the man refused to meet his gaze. “If you let us go… we’ll let you have a hoof or two, law of the land be damned. That way we both walk away with something, right? S’good deal. Just put the staff away… and think about the money for a second, eh?”

 

[Roki]

"You have no business here," the young man's voice rumbled clear through the blood laden air.

His golden eyes traced by electric blue, storm webs still running across his hands, trickled and jumped across runes whittled well into the ash wood staff his wide palms held sure.

"Leave," the word pushed out between curled tusks. Hot and roiled with his breath.

A strong wind swept over the glade. Rustled the trees, shook their boughs and rattled the leaves.

Roki twist his lead foot, turned toes inward whilst end of staff staid pointed and long. The wind curled around him. Like a mantle come wrapped.

"You will not be told again!" He shout with wide and wild eyes. The wind buffeted the hunters still standing.

 

[Illia]

Their eyes darted about the shivering trees and refused to meet the gaze of their opponent--

“... Fuck.”

Their friends, unconscious friends, tipped them off that maybe this fierce Orc and the command of the elements he held would lead not to their deaths, but to their own fitful slumber. What would be the point of all four of them laying unconscious in the middle of some blasted woods? And if this was no bluff, was their pride as hunters worth dying for…? Ordinarily, yes. Ordinarily they were stood against other humans with plate and steel and other humans could be meddled with, but not the Shroud. That was a tempest, and they were mere paddle-men on fishing boats amongst the typhoon that threatened to cast them down dark into the sea. With another angered spit in his direction, the rude man and the reasonable man walked tentatively over to pick up their comrades in a stiff and uneasy manner against the wind that buffeted them, slinging them over sore and bruised shoulders.

“Seems like the world is changing for the worst.” The calmer man shouted bitterly over his shoulder, “You’d think the old ways would still be respected…!”

They disappeared into the shadows of the forest with a last look back from the spitting man, half-closed eyes gleaming with malice from afar as his mouth moved with unspoken words, no doubt slinging slurs whilst they were at a safer distance. They disappeared, but there was a lingering feeling in the air, as if they would try again… as if they were going to chase their hunt to the end of the bloody world and over it, if necessary, and such was the tenacity of the huntsman.

The target of said hunt was far enough away to not hear the happenings over the treeline, but cautiously she lay low like a new-born fawn in the long grass. Magicks were afoot, and the hunters had never used any when they had brought their weapons against her skin. Was it friend, or was it a new, terrible type of foe…?

 

[Roki]

Nothing more than an angry growl left Roki's lips, watching them gather themselves up, like a pack of wounded dogs.

Save, dogs were better. Dogs didn't hunt for trophy. Didn't hunt for sport.

Made the young weaver's gut twist all the more, just thinking on it.

"To the winds with your old ways!" he shout out as they left into the shadow. Fists all crackle with the light of sparks, wind set to howl about him.

Their old ways were the old ways of Lords and their Laws. Not the ways of the true land. Not the ways of the Wyld. Not the ways of the Knights who protected these lands. And they were lucky they weren't killed for their transgressions.

Hunting a Unicorn.

Ice run through his veins. "Illia," realization took the breath from him, as he cast his eyes into the long dark of the woods. Gaze lit by stormlight, Roki ventured forth, following the signs of shroud-laden blood.

Grim as it was. Hauntingly beautiful in how it bent the colors of the world around it, like liquiform crystal come spilled across blades of night colored grass, and soft earth, eager to drink it up.

Twisted.

Some part of him could see it. How greed could come from something so ethereal.

Parts of his mind already whispering horrible what ifs that made him hate himself.

Forced him to shake them away.

Illia was no prize. No ingredient to brew or cook. And he felt shame for having such thoughts bubble up from the darkness of his curious mind.

"I just hope you're alright," he hoped against the night air. Eyes on the grass, and the rushes. "Illia!" he called out.

 

[Illia]

It was not lightning, nor was it fire. It was something else, something shining brilliantly like a crescent moon brought to earth and pinned there just for him; but it was no moon, neither. It was all angles, the creation of light that briefly appeared before his head, the barely held-together form of a sword forged from nothingness to wash over the long grass with an intense turquoise glow-- it made no noise, it did not announce its arrival, it simply blinked into existence to turn the gold of his eyes electric yellow with its vibrancy… and then vanished. Its caster of the weapon had not the energy to keep it there, and with the coming of the familiar voice, it needn’t exist.

“R-Roki?”

Lithe ears pricked; the relief that washed over the Unicorn spurred her to stagger to a shaky stand as the continued to turn the greenery reaching out to her deep red strained violently by the iridescence of the ever-looming shroud. The beast was barely as he had seen her last. Half red, a quarter mud, the white of glowing fur was eclipsed by ragged wounds that stemmed from axe and sword and pike, they drooled with soreness, they glistened wetly in the now quiet night… and yet still, those eyes retained their intensity. Those squared pupils pinned him from afar and a small step was taken, but the tall mare kept turning her head too and fro to peer at her hind quarters-- back legs tangled in thrown rope that Lia could not reach. She stayed where she was.

“W… where are they?” It did not need to be specified who they were. “I saw some light afar, was… it you?”

Unexpectedly, uncharacteristically, Illia’s ears fell to her head and the mares teeth were bared, head bobbing ominously with the now entirely red blade affixed to her head boldly gleaming,

“W-when I find them… I… I will kill them. I’ll… I’ll chase them, I’ll kill them…”

… But while her breathless speech had fangs, it was clear to both her and the Orc that such a thing was not possible, not at that moment. Lia weakly kicked her back leg out in an attempt to displace the rope. The motion took a little of the wind out of the equine's sails as the inevitable jolting of pain caused her to huff heavily-- and so Illia let the anger fall from her dilapidated, shaking form that strained to keep itself standing. The mare turned her head around far, if only to not look upon him in minor embarrassment.

“I… sincerely apologize. I did not know… where else to run.”

Unicorns were extraordinarily proud creatures; she wore disgust upon her long face, for dragging this trouble to Roki’s doorstep, and for looking as terrible as she did. Because being graceful and courteous were more important than almost bleeding to death, apparently.

 

[Roki]

Breath had been stolen out of him. As if the moonglow flame of the sword had eaten it all away.

His eyes, still adjusting the to the sudden death of such brilliance. The absence of such light. Made him feel hollowed out. As if he had witnessed the death of a thing he knew to be far too rare, and most precious.

"R-roki?"

Came a sound through the stunning darkness.

"Illia?" he called back. Arms and legs tensed with excitement. She was alright!

He moved to where he heard the rustling come from. Smiled wide when he saw eyes that could only belong to her. She was alive! Safe and- He saw the rest of her, there beneath the pale light of the moons.

Brillian star fire coat, hardly visible through the weep of wounds, and the coat of grime and gore that clung to her.

"W...where are they?"

He shook his head, still stepping toward her, though softer, more caution there behind each step. His staff held behind him. "I, I told them to away, to be gone from this place," he tried to explain.

Saw the red horn, shining like a bloodied sword above her.

"W-when I find them...I'll kill them..."

He shook his head. Didn't say a thing, but hurried to her side, and looked to pull the rope free.

"I... sincerely apologize. I did not know... where else to run?"

"What?" he said. Caught completely off guard. Gave another shake of his head. Shook the apology away with a fan of his fingers. "I, I am glad you came!" he said. Too sure. Maybe too loud. "I am glad I, I am glad you are still alive," his voice all tremble. He looked to the tangle of ropes. "L-let me help you!" he said, hurried closer. Too quick. Too tense with all the worry and fear that swirled with shame and disgust.

If he had only been here sooner. If he had only known she were coming.

He stopped himself before he snagged for the rope. Felt the tension in his hands, so ready to reach out and grasp. Curled his fingers. Let out a long breath as his spine softened. Muscles in his arms loosed. His gold eyes looked to her starlit blue.

"I can take off the rope," he offered. Voice soft and easy. It was as much a question, as it was something he was sure he would do. If she let him.

 

[Illia]

The injured beast stood still as Roki worked the rope, her leonine tail rounding itself in pretty circles as it forever chased its end to no avail. He himself had been chasing what appeared to be a never ending length of rope before its end was revealed with his speedy work-- a lasso about the Unicorn’s back hoof, strengthened by three lead weights that hung about its frayed end. This was not specialist gear, this was the sort of affair used to control the ever-eager wild stallion, the mountain goats, the ferocious bulls, distracted men with little brains and a lot of guts rushed in when the front half was distracted and slipped the knot about the leg knowing only human hands could loosen it free.

“Please do; do not fret… you cannot harm me any more than my pride is hurting now.” If Illia had the ability to speak with humor, that would have had a depressingly playful note to it. She carefully raised her back hoof, head tipped sideways to make sure she wasn’t booting the poor Orc in the face…

“I’ll… I will heal quickly enough.” She did not doubt that Roki already knew that the blood of the Unicorn could heal pretty much anything, hence their price upon the black market. “I… shall lie within this glen, and I shall wait for their return, for they will return, Roki. No matter what words you used, what magicks you conjured, when the hearts of men spy gold they seldom turn from it.”

Something unspoken, a sparse glance towards the monastery sitting upon high, a dark, imposing presence in the gathered night-- she could not shelter there. The Orc would invite her, that was certain: but if more people knew, even if they were knights of the older ways, all it took was one word to get out… one loose tongue, and suddenly, everyone would know that Unicorn’s walked the earth still. Roki could be trusted, that much Illia knew, but the others…? Could they be turned by money, or fame, or desire? The worry was evident upon her face, the pinning of tufted ears, the low way she held her head.

She was a wild animal, and the masters of her saviour stirred the great beast’s heart with more anxiety than the return of the hunters did.

“I had hoped someone would hear my calls… but I was expecting someone I did not know. I was… going to trade them blood for aid. So, as reward, if you wish it so, you may share in my blood for whatever use you see fit.” Illia’s voice was soft and lofty by nature, but whilst there was usually the most minute hints of emotion in the mares words, she spoke those sentences without the makings of shame. Like a woman trading away her virginity, when you were composed of the shroud and your body was worth something in all ways, when you had no gold nor food to give, it would be the only alternative. What followed was the slightest crinkling of a pink-ish nose in displeasure at even mentioning them again,

“And when they return I will kill them, so that they may never hunt again. That is my judgement, and that is my intention as a ward of nature.”

 

[Roki]

His hands moved fast. Sure to the snare, but hesitant, if only for one moment. "You've nothing to feel shame for, Illia," he assured, all ache and sadness in the tone of his chords. Hands shook with worry. Looked to her from where he worked at the binding. Hands stilling. "You live," and that was something to be proud of, right? His golden eyes fell back to his work.

Hands slow as doubts crept into his mind. What if he hurt her worse? What if-

I will heal quickly enough.

Right. How could he forget? She's a Unicorn, Roki. He gave a nod. Let his fingers go on, playing free what ate into her weeping flesh. Rubbed into her raw, where her blood stained coat still remained unmarred.

It took him some time to work the knots free, and ply the braids loose. A dark cloud of worry swirled about with guilt and hung over the young weaver. Pulled the trap free, and let it fall to the grass and earth with a thump.

Listened to her as she told how she would wait, and why. His brow furrowed. Some part of him knew what she said was true.

Might not be the glint of gold that caught them. But he had seen the hearts of men turn. Swept into frenzy and madness. Into people that were more things, driven by visions that hollowed out ones mind.

He paced in thought. Small, measured steps. "Well, why don't we go to the Monastery? Or, to Syr's Lafellen and Syr Dunnird? They are just-" Until she shift, and caught his eye.

She spoke once more and made him an offer that had left him wide eyed and speechless.

"What? No! I-" his own face blushed with heat. His eyes peered away, looked down. Saw how it had already stained his fingers. How even that small trace of it, her blood, unicorn's blood, made his fingers tingle with magical excitement. With the shroud itself, seeping through the treads of his finger prints.

It made him feel powerful. Like he could call down a storm on those hunters, and not feel a touch of the shroud's weight worked through his bones.

He closed his fists. Shook his head no. Looked to her, mouth set firm.

"I don't need your blood, Illia, I, I won't accept it," not for something like this. Huffed, his tusks pointed as she passed her judgement. "And if you will stand against them, I will stand with you," there was no falter in his voice. But his eyes. They showed the truth.

There had already been so much blood.

He didn't want there to be more.

But he would not leave her here.

"I... I hope you are wrong though," he confessed. Still standing near her. "I hope they never come back," though he knew that wouldn't be true.

 

[Illia]

His words played about in her skull, but she did not grant him an answer. Roki would never understand the shame of a great beast, how dragons mourned the loss of their scales, how the leviathans wept invisible tears for the empty seas, how the Celestials stared down from the heavens to see their young warring. Whether mythical or not, the weight of their shame could not be managed in the manner in which the two-legged managed theirs… and so, as he removed the hemp-trap from her leg, she did not start free with happiness nor relief. Lia took a tentative step with hind quarters shaking, and upon her face she bore no real emotion, but what thrived in those eyes was malice.

They would never hunt again.

“Thank you.” She uttered sincerely, the anger at her hunters not tinting her voice as heavily as those big eyes, framed in white. “But why would you invite trouble upon your doorstep…? It is not your fight, nor your burden, nor your duty. Could you kill another, for an unwritten crime…?”

Her head tipped in the sweet way it did, sending ripples of her snowy mane about her long face.

“Could you kill without prejudice…? Because, I can.”

And he could feel it. The blood that had lightly blotted Roki’s fingers gave nothing away in the moonlight but the faintest glimmering sheen, red yet hazed like spilt oil, and every speck that dried upon the Orc felt warm. Nourishing. If there had been callouses caused by the stirring of a wooden spoon or the carrying of a pack, he’d find that they were gone. The brazing of rope against the skin left no marks, there were no aches, every spot kissed by red was blessed with an unceremonious renewal of the Shroud itself brushing itself there tenderly; summer rainfall. A warm bath after a long day. Comfort.

The blood felt like comfort.

She watched him think over the emotion as the moment passed in silence, and with a stillness that barely shook the grass around them as the cool night wind turned the field into waves of green, and in blue, the large animal took her eyes to the glittering sky and breathed in deep. The scent of the hunters could not be tasted in the air.

“... But if you are determined… I would inquire… do you perhaps know of any stables that I could hide away in?”

It was anger that made Illia want to camp out in the night, but there was no desire to drag Roki out into the wilderness too. It was a compromise. Plus, it did not help that stables were often sheltered… and had food… and hay was softer than the earth upon wounds. Hatred, in the face of rationale, could not win-- and Illia reasoned that a better rest would only make her stronger for the occasion. The long legged Unicorn spared him a look before walking forth in the direction of the monastery with slow, shy steps, trying her best to look dignified; and all the while with every dance of every swathe of grass she touched, the greenery became anew. The yellowing dead crawled back to life. For all that red, life came wherever it fell… and that voice drifted softly to his ears,

“Do not mistake me for a person, Roki. We beasts deal in blood and bone and meat. That is our currency.”

And she let him know the offer still stood.

 

[Roki]

Roki shook his head. "It's," he felt his heart swell. Chest full with all the things he could say.

Why invite trouble? Because the world was already full of so much trouble. And hardly a soul stood to fight against it. Because he was a squire of Anathaeum, raised beneath the boughs of the Vayd tree, and theirs were Oaths that swore them to protect the Wylds, and all life there in of it. To keep the balance between the lands of beasts, and the lands of kith and kin. Because she was beautiful, and could not bare to leave her out here, to fend off any that would try and hunt her.

He shook his head. "Because I couldn't live with myself If I didn't, Illia," he said sure. His own eyes of sunlight burning with no doubt there in them. Hair like clouds at dusk, mussed over his brow, tusks pointed in that wild curl of theirs. He watched. He listened.

Because he could.

Felt the blood dry on his fingers. How his nerves begged for more. How his veins pulsed with the promise.

Swirled in his gut. Wings fluttering there beneath their cage of flesh, blood, and bone. Like he could take flight. If only he had more of what she offered him. Her blood. Her life's very force.

"If I must," he said cold to the truth he spoke. For it was a cold truth.

A knight must be ready to kill. Not only in wrath. But for that word so oft set down like a sword itself. Justice. And here was a harbinger of the Wyld's justice. A being beyond the bounds of the likes of him. A creature that was of the Wylds in the way the Ur Wolves were of the wilds. In a way the Vayd itself, was of that same plane of Khurun's existence.

Raw. Unbridled. Life.

He shook his head. And all those memories of Knights Sworn returning from their hunts. Not just game slung over their shoulders to stock the Knoll's hearth. Steel writ into the creases around their eyes. Upon the pull of their lips.

How he had seen the horrors about a Lord's Manner. Cultists without their eyes. Blind to their madness, and still their hands drove their dagger points home. Same as the blight that had corrupted the wyld hearts of the wolves he had helped hunt.

He felt no hate for them. Pity. For what they had become. Fear. For how they had been turned. But nothing so hot as the fire he had burned whence he crossed the Bellamy. When he had scarred the Vayden itself.

No worse than a poacher then.

... But if you are determined...

His eyes snapped to her. "I, I do," he said with some hope rising in his chest. Smile spreading wider. "We'll just have to trek some time through the night," he assured. Would show her the paths through which so many of the Monestary ventured. Recalled an outpost, towards the southern edge of the ward rings.

An old lookout tower, with stables for whatever steed needed sheltering through the night. Hardly traveled this time of year.

Or perhaps it was because their numbers dwindled so low. He shook his head, cleared his throat and forced his perk across his face. "You didn't seem to mind my soup non, miss beast," he teased her. Shook his head, hand tightening into a fist. "I just want to help," he assured her. "I don't need no prize for that," and he would lead her through the woods if she let him. Out unto the southern watchtower and its stable house.

 

[Illia]

“And if you are not careful, the goodness of your heart will get you killed.”

Wasn’t that how it often went? Did not knights of old get their stories spun into tapestries because of their heroic deaths, more-so than their valiant lives…? Illia realized that beneath the pain a strange sort of emotion was unfolding in her chest, one of dislike, for she did not like that Roki was ever-eager to throw himself into harms way for the sake of sentiment and goodness-- but she also had no control over his life. He was no child and she was no brooding mare uttering about how she ‘knew best’ simply out of habit that spawned from talking down at other races… and the feeling was new. As Lia padded along she felt it mingle with the soreness of her limbs and the jolting of wounds twisting and stretching with every hoof-step, yet, Illia preferred the searing of injuries to matters of the heart. To the contemplation of emotions. She did not need to care.

But she did.

“Pbbbhhhhhh, trekking bothers me none. I feel better already.” The equine noise was a heavy sigh outwards. Wounds were one thing, ever-healing from second to second with the mute hum of the Shroud's help, but aching muscles from running and the tiredness of being jolted awake by a throng of angry men were not ‘counted’.

“And if you must know, my payment for your soup was actually an exchange; you got to know who I am. You were the first two legged to know, and now the total stands at two… most Unicorn would rather die than reveal themselves. I am not so shrewd, or maybe it is because I am stupid and young and wild.”

And trusting. Because Roki felt trustworthy. More words Lia would not dare mutter aloud, if only to stave off the awkwardness of talking so readily with another she knew only a little of. The mare knew they did it. They did it in taverns and in town squares and in alleys and everywhere, humans took ‘inside’ and made it ‘outside’. If beasts were as open, she wondered, maybe she would not have fled the glade. Maybe everything would be completely different. If Mama and Papa had said something--

No. Not now.

As the limbs of trees began to stretch ever denser overhead, the blue hues of the sky dissolving into the blackened entanglement of leaves clambering over leaves, the tip of her horn glowed a soft pearlescent blue that lightened up their pathway with a shimmer that moved likes waves; but there was something else caught in the light. One pair, three pairs, eyes. From the edge of the darkness, from above and below, the eyes of gathered animals gazed upon the pair in shades of yellow and brown and green…

“... They are wondering why I am walking with you.” Illia murmured, her head not turning to greet them, eyes barely visible through the mess of her blood speckled hair.

The owl, the rabbits, the mole, the crow, the squirrels and the fox stared on.

 

[Roki]

Roki strolled alongside Illia. Shameless smile there to meet her concern.

"There are worse things than death," Roki said simply. Soft as the bend of a branch against a great wind.

Not because he did not hear the worry in her voice, but what else could he say? The core of him, the heart of who he was. If there was something he could do to help, something he knew he could do. Well, he would do it.

It was what made him who he was.

Come her protest, he smiled the wider. Stepped the lighter beside her. "I am glad to hear it, truly I am," he said, playful with his staff tucked behind him.

"And if you must know...you got to know who I am..."

His mouth grew small, pouty as his eyes widened as he looked at her. "I did," he said. Remembering how she had appeared from the forest. All bathed in light, and radiant for all her glimmering curls, and ice blue eyes. None the more had his heart felt to stop than when she ran away, not a hot bowl of soup later, whence the blighted wolves had howled.

"Most Unicorn would rather die than reveal themselves..."

He cleared his throat with a nod. "I am honored, beyond my words, fair Illia," he said. More solemn a phrase than he could remember uttering. Too formal. So formal in fact, he felt his face redden. His eyes cast away. Maybe, if he was lucky, she had not heard it.

"...because I am stupid and young, and wild."

To that he laughed, nervous. "That makes two of us," he could not help but fidget with his hair. Brush back the purple shock of wild waves that sprout from his crown.

The quiet came easy. Warm and cool, all the same. As so oft early autumn nights were. The tread of hooves, there with the pad of his two feet. Whilst the gentle opaline blue of her horn hazed through the shadow cast by bough, branch and leaves.

How it glimmered and gleamed off watching eyes made Roki stare in wonder. Breathless for yet another reason beside the pale mare, and her otherworldly nature.

"...They are wondering why I am walking with you."

Roki blinked. "Nosey as any squire or knight I've ever known," he said with a laugh. Looked about. Looked to her, all blood matted and still trekking. Felt more serious of a sudden.

"Tell them," he cleared his throat, grabbed his collar and pulled it up. As he tilt his head, this way and that as he coursed through the current of dreams and make believe. "I am your knightly escort," he held the dignified air about him for all of two steps before he cracked an eye as bright as yolk to peer at the Unicorn through the corne of his eye. "And because I care about you," he said more truthfully. "I want to make sure you are safe,"

 

[Illia]

Fair?

If the heat of ones face could be palpable from a distance, then it possibly felt like Roki was on fire; she uttered no correction, if only to spare him the shame he had seemingly bought upon himself. If only two-leggeds were always this kindly… the natural ego of the Unicorn made complete sense. Admired for eons. It only made her feel sure of the fact that they did not deserve to shelter such beauty from the world.

“It is engrained in them, as it is so for me, to fear those who do not walk on four legs. Through their families families and beyond, the cruelty of man has come to lick at their souls… they do not know if my blood was spilled by you.”

A gentle pawing of the ground, forward set ears and the bobbing of her head with a gentle whicker, and they understood the unspoken language of animals in turn. Hesitance, then acceptance. The retreat was tainted by the fear of the two-legged, no matter how noble a pose the Orc had struck… the glimmering of peaking whiskers, the disappearing of ruddy red fur, and the ever curious crow never fleeing his tangled mess of branches, instead choosing to watch on.

“So, Ser Knightly escort… they know not what that means.” Came Illia’s amused tone as she gazed up at the black bird, who gave a soft chirp in response, “Though, they may mistake you for a lady in season, if you keep talking like that.”

Evidently the mare found this funny, because the noise she produced was something akin to an airy snicker. Below the long fingers of a branch reaching out she delicately swept her head downwards, continuing on without missing a beat. But, despite their fear, as if the tales of princesses whose songs called to the little folk of the forest some of the animals trailed them a way behind, ever cautious of the Roki’s presence.

“I am their knight. I would protect them from the hungry Orc that would turn them into stew, they think. So they follow, believing that it is safer to do so.” Illia briefly wore a pensive expression, unsure if she’d stop him or not… people had to eat, too. And so did horses. If the mare had eyebrows they would scrunch upwards in a reflection of the desire to eat something tasty… squash… carrots… millet…

“... Please tell me these stables you mentioned are stocked…”

That mattered even more than perhaps the dilemma that he was bringing a horse with a very visible horn on its head into a public space-- but Illia did not care much. The initial worry of being seen had long since faded because food and bed was far, far more important; they could pretend it was a costume. An illusion. That’d work, right…? With the downturning of tufted ears she prayed to the moon herself, please, those feeble excuses had to work.

“If they are not, perhaps… I could change form… if there are kitchens…”

Once the mind was on food, it was hard to divert attention. Such was the way of animals.