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Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

A long rumble poured down over the mountains to the west. Lightning forked menacingly as Cezanne opened a shutter to watch the storm brewing in the distance. Frantically, the wind began whipping fallen leaves as they rattled across the lawn and clattered lightly against the stained glass windows of the theatre. She hated to leave the warmth of the fire, but she’d gotten an idea a few days before, when she had accompanied Stephen to Umbra for a bit of cloth. The thought had lingered persistently ever since, and would not be put off any longer. She hurriedly reached for her traveling robe and wrapped it around her, pulling up the hood as she dashed out the door and whistled for Covenant.

The storm was fast approaching. She would have to work quickly to beat the rain. She tucked a handsaw into her pack, mounted up, and encouraged Covenant as his hooves carried her swiftly toward Umbra.

Just outside the city gates, Cezanne diverted Covenant, reigning him left and off into the darkened forest. The trees here were black. She did not know what made them so, whether by magicks or flame. But they were quite strikingly odd and beautiful. Covenant slowed, his eyes darting nervously, as if watching shadows that Cezanne herself could not see. She pulled the reign gently. “Here will be fine, Covenant. Fret not.” She patted his neck reassuringly as she slid to the ground and approached a blackened and distorted tree.

Cezanne reached inside her pack and pulled out the handsaw. She stood on tiptoe, finding a branch just the right size. It was a daunting task, but when at last she had felled the branch, she cut off a length that would be substantial for her project. Fat drops of rain had begun to splash in the dust around her feet as she mounted up again and urged Covenant back toward the Bramble Rose Theatre.

She arrived home again just as the storm’s full force unleashed itself. Cezanne brought Covenant in beneath the overhang and threw fresh hay for him on the dry grounnd there. Then she sprinted through the stable gates and into the tavern hall. She dropped her hood and removed her gloves, lowering her pack onto the floor beside the door. She turned toward the stairs to make her way to the fireplace in her quarters, but instead froze in place as a dark figure stood motionless on the bottom step. Instead of releasing the strap of her pack, her grip tightened. Her heartbeat hastened and her mouth went dry. The silhouette’s head moved almost imperceptibly, his eyes darting to her pack, then back to her face.

Fighting the urge to fly out again into the storm, Cezanne tried not to look fearful as she took a step toward the man. His hair was raven black, as were his clothes. He had the hungry look of the brigands who camped near Umbra. His eyes darted toward the door and beyond, outside, as if to make sure she had come alone, and then his burning blue eyes turned more fiercely on Cezanne. Surely if she ran, he could overtake her in moments. She’d never make it to Covenant before he caught her.

Her mind addled, her breath short, Cezanne forced the most amiable smile that she could, and spoke.

“Welcome to the Bramble Rose.”

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

At first, the raven-haired man didn’t move. He simply glared. Intently. It felt like he was staring a hole in Cezanne’s soul, so scorching was his gaze. Cezanne felt the urge to shrink away from him. The expression in his eyes betrayed a calculated plan evolving, and whatever plan he formulated, she wanted no part of it.

“Is there something you desire, good Sir?” Cezanne asked shakily. “Do you need food or lodging for the night? The storm is….”

She trailed off as the man’s demeanour changed without warning. His eyes softened at the edges, and his stiff posture relaxed. He moved easily toward Cezanne and looked her up and down slowly. For reasons beyond Cezanne’s comprehension, his new demeanor suddenly terrified her more than the former. Cocky and wantful, with an air of entitlement. Subconsciously, she retreated slowly backward until her back was against the tavern wall.

A smirk crossed the stranger’s face, and his blue eyes seemed to flash as he continued to approach her, removing his gloves. When he was but a breath away from her, the man raised a hand and placed his open palm upon the wall just to the side of her head. He leaned in toward Cezanne’s face, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if reveling in her scent. Cezanne tried hard to swallow, but a lump in her throat thwarted her efforts.

The stranger opened his eyes again and gazed directly into Cezanne’s green eyes, wide with fear. His own blue eyes sparkled somewhat mischievously as he took the gloves in his left hand and trailed their soft leather fingertips lightly down the front of her doublet.

“Matter o’fact, there is somethin’ I desire.” He tossed his gloves unceremoniously toward a table, then took her hand, shaking it free of the strap on her pack with a flick of his wrist. He raised it to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Though I think I can find it myself.”

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

Cezanne flinched. She found the stranger’s deep blue eyes somewhat mesmerizing. A blanket of calm covered her as silently as Sunday morning snowfall. From somewhere deep inside she heard her own voice crying out...Dangerous…So very dangerous... And somehow the bottomless pit of fear managed to undermine her wavering will. Coming to her senses, she deftly slipped her hand from his grasp, grabbed her pack, and ducked under his arm to move to the bar, closer to the center of the room. At this point, she knew the worst thing she could do would be to show fear. Good thing he’s not an animal, she mused to herself. They can smell it…

“I’ve plenty of food, and a room to let if you need accomodations.” She pushed a crate of scotch under the backside of the bar with her foot to obscure it from view. That was the last thing she needed.

Unfettered, the man smiled more genuinely and approached the bar. He leaned against it, seemingly at ease, but he continued to watch Cezanne closely, his eyes hardly veiling the thoughts behind them. “How about a glass of the scotch ye jest kicked under the bar?”

Cezanne flushed, but hesitated for only a second before she nodded once and took out a bottle. She uncorked it and poured a glass, sliding it across the bar to him. She followed by filling a plate with roasted lamb and bread and pushed it over to him in much the same fashion, careful to keep herself out of his immediate grasp.

The man watched her narrowly as she wiped down the bar and wrapped the leftover bread in a cloth, then packed it into a food crate. Cezanne kept the man in her peripheral view, but did not make eye contact as he ate and drank. So it surprised her when he spoke in an altogether new manner.

“Thank ye, M’Lady.”

Cezanne spun on her heel to face the newcomer. His eyes had not changed, but his expression had, as he continued. “You’re an angel.” He paused for a moment, looking as though he had more to say, but he turned his eyes back to his plate instead, and returned to eating.

Cezanne was taken aback, unsure of how to respond. She settled for a quiet, simple “Thank you.” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and turned her back to him for the first time to wipe out a glass and place it on the shelf. “I’m glad I could be of service. I’m Cezanne, by the way.” She turned to face him again. “Cezanne Abella. This is my theatre, and you are quite welcome.”

The dark-haired stranger put down his fork and looked at Cezanne as if she’d been speaking another language. He looked somewhat astonished at Cezanne’s kind and steady introduction. His eyes surveyed her again from head to toe, pausing in all the places that would make Cezanne’s blush deepen, before responding. “I’m Gustav.” He turned his attention back to finishing off his plate of food, continuing without looking at her. “This’ your theatre eh? Ye really should be careful alone in a place like this, Cariad.” At this, he lifted his gaze again to meet hers. Gustav smirked darkly, then winked. “Nobody around to hear you scream.”

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

Cezanne’s stomach fell into the bottomless pit. Her body reacted to the gravity of Gustav’s insinuation, but her mind was racing for another reason. Cariad. Papa called Mama ‘Cariad’ as far back as I can remember. Cezanne steeled her courage and looked him in the eye as she came around the bar with an armload of dish towels to put away. She paused in front of him and spoke coolly.

“I’ve never had a problem before. I’m not quite as helpless as all that.” Gustav chuckled and reached out for her arm. Cezanne shrugged her arm just out of his reach and carried on with her load. Gustav rose and followed.

“When I see something I want, I take it,” Gustav stated flatly, and grabbed Cezanne’s wrist again, twisting it and pushing her back against the wall. He leaned in and kissed her neck, teeth raking her flesh. Again he inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t doubt that, Sir, not a bit,” Cezanne replied, trying to breathe evenly despite the churning deep inside. “Is that why you were hiding here in my theatre tonight? Hiding from the last poor soul you stole from?”

Gustav lifted his face to find Cezanne looking more angry than frightened. He cocked his head. “What’s wrong, Cariad? Most women love to be ravished.” He leaned in again to nuzzle her ear.

Cezanne set her jaw and pushed Gustav back with all her strength, hissing through her teeth as she scolded. “You just use it to get into their coin purses. And don’t you dare call me that. Cariad. It’s what my Papa called my mother. And you…you’d make a mockery…”

Gustav’s eyes had widened, and he laughed as Cezanne trailed off. If there was anything that truly angered her, it was being laughed at. She reached up and with a quick shove, threw Gustav off her. He backed away, hands raised in front of him, palms open toward her.

“I’m not laughing at you, Cariad.” He blinked before he quickly corrected himself. “Cezanne.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, processing the situation. When he looked up at her again, eyes sparkling more brilliantly than before. “You’ve got gypsy in you," he purred. "No wonder I’m so drawn to you…”

Cezanne stared incredulously, apparently unimpressed by his explanation. “No wonder…” she mocked. “My mother is gypsy. What is your point?”

Gustav smiled warmly, yet looked longingly over Cezanne with eyes that still betrayed his desires. But before he could answer her, there was a crash in the stable. Covenant squealed, his hooves clattering toward the gate, obviously trying to escape. Flames lit up the stained glass windows that overlooked the stable, and swarms of footsteps crisscrossed the steps and path up toward the door. A distant realization seemed to settle into Gustav’s eyes as he looked quickly toward Cezanne and dashed outside without another word.

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

Cezanne stood dumbfounded, watching after Gustav as he dashed out the door. Without wasting another moment, she grabbed her pack and secured it in a locked crate, exchanging it for a pouch of reagents and flying out the door behind him.

A pair of orcs remained behind, swatting and swiping at Covenant as he reared in one corner of the stable. She could hear numerous others retreating into the night. Several torches had been dropped as Gustav took them by surprise, and a pile of hay was blazing in the center of the stable. Cezanne leapt the fence and began dousing the flames with buckets of water from the trough, but the orcs attacking Covenant had seen their chance to take her by surprise. They quickly converged upon her. Over the fence, she could see the flames of torches flickering behind and between trees in the distance, and she knew that Gustav had led the majority of them away from the theatre.

The two orcs who remained grunted to one another as they approached her cautiously from opposite directions. Cezanne frantically grabbed a quarterstaff leaning in the corner. She had no training in fighting with staves, and so she stood holding the staff in both hands, parallel to the ground. She began shrinking into a cowering stance, eyes shifting from one orc to the other until they towered over her. The larger one grunted a short count to the smaller, and Cezanne thrust the quarterstaff upward over her head with all her strength, catching their chins with the ends of the staff.

As the two orcs collapsed inward on Cezanne, she heard a sharp, deafening squall in the treeline. One of the orcs rolled to the ground beside her, head lolling uselessly to one side, his neck broken. The other scrambled to his feet, his jaw crushed. Blood poured from his mouth as grasped Cezanne’s arm and pulled her roughly along with him toward the stable door. Squirming and screaming, Cezanne jabbed her elbow into the bloody throat of the beast. He instantly fell to the ground, clutching his throat and gasping.

Cezanne mounted Covenant without bothering to bridle him, urging him into the forest where she’d seen the torchlight disappear. The slain corpses of orcs lay strewn across bramble and stone, but there was no sign of any survivors. To her right, she heard another screech and the sound of flesh tearing. She leaned down and grabbed a torch from the lifeless hand of an orc, and tore off toward the sounds of battle. But as she approached, there was nothing left here but what had obviously once been someone’s pet, now wounded and seemingly feral, fighting the last straggling orc. The panther spared a quick glance toward Cezanne, but turned back to its immediate foe.

Pity, poor beast. Someone has hurt you. Someone has left you behind… unloved, betrayed, and now injured. I cannot hope to tame your heart myself, but let me do what I can. Quietly, so as not to frighten or distract the cat, Cezanne reached into her pouch. She took a handful of reagents and murmured to herself. ”In Vas Mani…”

The orc gurgled and fell at the feet of the great cat as a radiant energy enveloped him. His eyes widened, as though he did not understand intent behind her magicks. As the glow dissipated, the panther turned, rejuvinated, and darted deeper into the woods. With a resigned sigh, Cezanne turned and reigned Covenant in the direction of the orc outpost, and rode forward cautiously, vigilantly, watching hopefully for any sign of Gustav.

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

The acrid scent of charred metal and flesh hung heavily in the air near the orcs’ outpost. It would appear there were no survivors in the fray, but there was also no sign of Gustav. Cezanne dismounted amidst the corpses, many burned by their own torches. She picked up her skirts and held down her torch to get a better look at the bodies, making certain that Gustav was not among the fallen.

Slowly, she made her way back to the theatre, step by careful step, but there was no sign of anyone but orcs. Cezanne led Covenant back to the stables and pinned him up. The corpses of the two orcs who attacked her were gone, and the charred pile of hay had been swept up. Cezanne left fresh hay for Covenant and locked the stable before stepping into the warm glow of the theatre.

There sat Gustav at a table, seemingly unharmed. He was quiet – pensive – as sat with a bottle of ale from the shelf behind the bar, spinning the cork like a top on the table. He must have known that Cezanne had entered the room from the rustle of her petticoat and skirt, but he did not look up. Cezanne approached him and stopped at his right shoulder, folding her arms across her chest as she watched him. As she paused, so did he.

Cezanne swallowed hard, suddenly somewhat overcome by what she’d just witnessed. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words faltered, leaving her speechless. Gustav gripped the cork in one hand and rubbed his thumb over the end thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry Cezanne, I am afraid I led them here. My last prize was ‘liberated’ from the orcs earlier. You were right, I was hiding from them here. I never meant to endanger…”

“It's over now," Cezanne interjected. "Thank you for risking your life to dispatch them instead of leaving me here to fight them alone.”

Gustav made a low sound in his throat. “There was a moment, when you were in the stable, I feared you’d fallen to them. With all the commotion, I didn’t know those two were still inside.”

Cezanne half-smiled. “I’m not as helpless as all that…”

Gustav sighed heavily. “Aye, believe I heard that somewhere, once before.”

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

Gustav finally looked up and met Cezanne’s gaze, seemingly searching for something. Cezanne did not budge. Her arms remained folded across her chest as she furrowed her brow, wondering what it was that he sought.

His eyes were still intense. They carried within them the light of hidden stars, sparkling in ways she had never seen before. Carefully, she let down her guard and sat down at the table across from him. Only now did she notice the piece of blackened wood she had cut earlier, lying on the table in front of Gustav.

He looked at her questioningly as he picked it up and examined it. “I take it you just needed a big chunk of wood?”

Cezanne smirked and bit her lip. “I needed the black wood for a carving. A panther.”

Gustav’s eyes betrayed a twinkle of …of what? Surprise? Amusement? He looked down at the wood and turned it over to show her the end. “It’s only black on the outside, Cariad. Inside, its flesh is like any other.”

Cezanne looked crestfallen, then pensive. “Maybe that’s the way of the panther too. They are no darker, no more foreboding or evil than any other. I saw one tonight that seemed almost to have a purity of heart. It fought to protect me from an orc. Maybe my panther isn’t destined to be stained.”

Gustav shook his head and reached out to take her hand gently. This time, Cezanne didn't resist. “Things are what they are, Cariad. Never let down your guard. Think what you will, but you can’t change the nature of the beast. When your carving is complete, promise me you’ll paint it black.”