into the woods

[spelleton]

There are stories told about who lives there, in the darkness of the woods that surround Subcon's various kingdoms, where even a brave knight would fear to tread. The desperate, the ghost-touched, the people who live on the edges.

And those who embrace that border between night and day, those who live and breathe magic; the witches. Those who offer strange magic and stranger things, but always for a price.

That's what everyone says, anyway. There must be some truth to it, surely?

Comments

[spelleton]

That gets a laugh out of him. "Very well."

He steeples his fingers, his eyes ablaze with crimson light and his face in shadow. For the first time, he looks more spirit than human.

"False death, or false life? To be grieved by all those who knew you, or to be a stranger to them? I can do either. Or perhaps you want something else...

What shall it be?"

[subconmodo]

Avery doesn't reply, staring into the crimson light, the shadows of the room (or perhaps the shadow of something more) slipping over to devour Ekkehardt's face.

"You're kind of over-dramatic, aren't you?"

[spelleton]

He huffs, the light receding somewhat but not snuffing out entirely.

"It's not as if you're making an easy decision," he says, settling back into his chair. The shadows still linger. "If I were to kidnap you ordinarily, who's to say they wouldn't burn down the forest to get you back? What you ask of me is difficult. You should treat it with the respect such a change in your life deserves, though you don't have to treat me with the same."

[subconmodo]

"I know that!" Avery insists, going a little red in the face. "It's not like the choices don't make sense. It's just..." It's the way he said it, he supposes? It's impressive, sure, but...

(But maybe he's a little more nervous about all of this than he thought. His mouth does seem a little dry.)

"False death," he decides after a moment. "They'll grieve, but royalty dies all the time. It'll be easier for the kingdom to deal with than a disappearance."

[spelleton]

"I suppose that's fair enough," Ekkehardt muses. There's a slight frown at 'royalty dies all the time' - he was old enough to remember a funeral, where the whole kingdom grieved, though not who it was for - but otherwise, he doesn't have any reaction.

"And where will you go, afterwards? I at least have a responsibility to see you to your destination." If he wants to shed his old life so badly, surely he would rather leave the land he was born in, too. So his thinking goes.

[subconmodo]

He shrinks into himself slightly. "I, uh... I didn't exactly get that far in planning." He wasn't even sure it was possible.

[spelleton]

He stares at him for a moment, and then sighs. The shadows recede entirely, the fire in his eyes burns out to embers, leaving him human-looking once more.

"And you're certain you want to do this." He's not just doing this on impulse, or on a whim? Something he's going to regret later?

[subconmodo]

"Look, I didn't even think it was possible before now, okay? Hard to think of what you're going to do after when you don't even think step one is going to work!" he's quick to retort. "I want this. I'm sick of politics. I'm sick of being told to shut up and smile. I'm sick and tired of everyone and their brother thinking they're clever and discreet whenever they try and make a tool out of me. I want out."

[spelleton]

He's serious, if nothing else, even if he's made no plans. That's enough for him, and he swallows down the last scraps of his own hesitation.

"Very well." He closes his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again, and they burn hypnotically red. He sounds like rushing water, the sound of the rivers that have run through Subcon's woods since before there were humans born.

"Gold and silver is too frivolous to be spent on such an important matter. So what will you give me in return?"

[subconmodo]

The sound fills his head, a familiar unfamiliar noise. He's heard it before, he thinks, like he hears the forest within him, though never this loud. And so it takes him a moment to full process what's being said, thoughts slowly beginning to trickle in through the rushing waters, becoming wholly aware of the fact that all he brought with him to pay with was silver and gold.

"Myself," he finally decides. "I'll work under you, doing anything you need me to do until you feel the debt has been repaid."

[spelleton]

Himself. It's an unexpected answer, but he supposes it must be an easy one for a man so bent on abandoning his old life.

"Then you'll work for me, for a year and a day. And at the end of that time, you'll be granted your freedom, and you can make your own way in the world as you so wish.

Hold out your hand."

[subconmodo]

"A year and a day then," he agrees, and holds out his hand.

He holds his breath and fights to keep from closing his eyes in a moment of weakness. False death or no, he can't help but wonder if this will hurt.

[spelleton]

He takes Avery's hand. For a moment, there's a sense of power seething just below the surface of Ekkehardt's skin, like a kettle boiling.

A bright mark - some odd sigil, a twisting loop - winds itself around his wrist like a tattoo. It feels cold to the touch, but quickly warms to Avery's skin. It doesn't hurt; there's slight discomfort at most.

"Then we are agreed. In three days, when the moon is new, I'll come for you."

[subconmodo]

He takes his hand back and rubs at his wrist. Maybe he'll fake being sick over the next few days, make it look believable, maybe take to wearing gloves at that time as well. The less people asking about where he got the marking the better.

"All right. Should I have something ready before then?"

[spelleton]

That light fades from his eyes, and he blinks. Once, twice. When he speaks again, he sounds tired, as if he's just laboured greatly.

"Anything you want to save of your old life -- you should be sure you're carrying it on your person in three days time. Everything else must be left behind."

It's death, after all, even a false one. The things that he can take with him are few.

[subconmodo]

He takes a breath, and by the time he lets it out, he assumes he's put himself together well enough. And then he laughs. "Right, right. I'll do my best to make sure all of my limbs are still attached to my body by the time you come along!"