A Single Rose Amidst The Ashes...

[Chaqery 427]

 

 
As the ship drew near to the dock, a lone figure stood out upon the deck. Clad in a ragged leather cloak with an upturned hood, the only remarkable thing about this individual was his height. He was tall - too tall for a human, and yet his stature spoke of a rather muscular build under his rough clothing. A half-breed perhaps. Protruding over his right shoulder was the hilt of a claymore, sized accordingly to it's owner, and wrapping in a simple black leather. Another soldier of fortune then? It's not as if the land wasn't plagued with their kind already.
 
The ship groaned to a near halt, sending the crew began bustling about, preparing for the long and arduous process of unloading all of the cargo... made worse by the fact that it meant less time they could spend at the dockside pubs and inns. With a smooth stride, the hooded figure set out upon the dock, causing the warped planks to creak beneath the weight of his booted feet. -But, there was something in the way that he walked. It spoke of a militant upbringing, years spent being forced to stand in a very precise manner... and his hands were clasped before him as if in prayer. Breaking finally into the sunlight past the docks where the great mass of ships cast a long shadow, the figure reached up to flip his hood down. His nearly sickly looking pale skin and long, white hair reflected the glorious light, longing for it even. They were not the only luminescent attributes about him though. Giving a thankful glance to the sky for such a lovely day, his eyes seemed to catch ablaze. Orange... with a bit of a red tint. Clearly inherited from his parents... as was perhaps the necklace about his throat. Simple, with a metal band to hold it in place, and resting against his sternum, was the flower of a rose, carved from ivory.

Looking back down from the heavens, he took the time to get his bearings. A youth in a new land with only tales and descriptions of people to look for to go on. Perhaps those he came in contact with along the road would recognize him for his likeness to his father and mother... or perhaps their names meant nothing anymore. With a soft sigh, he shrugged the strap of his satchel into a more comfortable position and set out down the path.

"Creator watch over me." he whispered, lifting the necklace to kiss it gently.

((If you'd like to RP bumping into him along his journey, please feel free to do so. If you're not sure who his parents are given my name and his description, then you probably wouldn't recognize him... and no, I don't expect anybody to know his name. Go on then, he doesn't bite.))

[firespirit44 1323]

A man in blue and silver watches the people go to and fro, as he stands as the silent bystander to the world. Seeing this ragged youth mutter out the prayer for humanity, he cant help but step forth into the sunlight.

 

"The past cannot be forgotten, the future a mystery to beholden." He says, strange words to be said in passing. "You are not human, and yet you seek His guidance?" He muses.

[Will (TauFirewarrior) 2466]

Kais Ishikawa while standing in the docks near to his own ship stands, reading over his ship manifest of the cargo and crew, two Eastern looking men stand close to him curiously wearing more western styled fashion similar to what the Old Man Boiendl use to tailor for himself and his close friends. Kais glances up the tall figure catching his attention, he takes a moment remembering a man who once served Godfreys Empire who was tall like the man before him, he shakes his head believing it just to be coincidence  Glancing back down at his manifest he continues his work as dock workers scuttle about from ship to ship collecting cargo to bring back ashore.

[Chaqery 427]

With a pause, the youth adjusts his gaze on the gentleman clad in blue and silver. Arching an eyebrow, he scans the crowd around him, pausing only momentarily upon Prince Harold for fear of attracting undesired attention. 

 

To his accuser he speaks plainly, his accent neutral, but with hints at foreign influences.

 

"I am partially human, and raised to be nothing more than the average man. See?" he offers, tugging his hair back behind his ear, which is round instead of the tell-tale point.

 

"-But you speak in tongues sir... the past cannot be forgotten, the future a mystery to beholden... do you address me or merely ramble?"

[ski_king3 0]

A woman walks towards the docks, wearing unfamiliar robes of white and gold. Although there was a hood set about her head, patches of her black hair remained in view. At her side, there was an ancient blade of gold, with carvings of unfamiliar meaning even to the woman. Upon her back, a satchel of her own, unladen with goods and therefore relatively light. In her hands was another blade, a shortsword of custom make, wrapped in leather, tied down with rope. With her, she carried everything she held dearest, save seven. It was time for her to leave.

 

As she approached the port, she let out a quiet sigh. Her eyes were red and bloodshot; even to those who could only see the faintest traces of her face beneath her hood would know she was unwell.

 

As she slowly tread down the dock, the old boards creaking beneath her feet, here eyes caught upon a small group of individuals among the crowd. She stopped briefly, scanning the group before continuing forward. Although she recognized the Easterners and the the Northman, her eyes were beset on another individual.

 

As she continued forward, her eyes inevitably darted away from the large individual, towards the ships which she hoped would mean her escape. She would not tease herself with fantasies of the men of a past era returning to the present. Yet as she neared the group, she heard the young man speak, turning to watch the man reveal a part of himself to the Prince.

 

It was only now, as she'd drawn closer, that she could see the man and recognize him. It was not the color of his skin that gave the man away, nor his eyes or hair. Neither was it the rounded ears of the man, or his great size. No, what truly revealed the man's identity was the way the man stood, reminiscent of another holy man of the past, and the necklace resting against the man's neck.

 

The woman gasped in surprise, for if it was truly whom she believed it to be, she had not seen the figure or his parents since he was a young boy. She took a step back, then another, tripping upon the uneven boards of the dock. She landed hard on the docks, her weight falling upon her shoulder. The wrapped blade in her hands escaped her, clattering along the docks towards the young man.

 

As she looked up towards him, an anguished expression driven by nostalgia and fear marked the lines of her face. She opened her mouth to speak, seeming to choke on a word as she awkwardly laid upon the docks. After a moment, she managed to let the single word escape her mouth in the form of a strained question as she spoke the man's name: the name of his father.

[tnoy23 202]

Toby would see the youth, blinking at its height before smirking a bit. He taps his staff on the ground before leaning on it, watching from a distance, waiting for his turn to speak to the person.

[Chaqery 427]

With his gaze fast upon the man in silver and blue, the young half-blood, freezes. The utterance of his fathers name tenses him nearly as if stricken. The clatter of metal upon the stone starts him, and instinctively he reaches to grip the pommel over his shoulder. With an initial tug he brings several inches of his claymore free of it's scabbard, revealing a blood-red blade that glistens in the sunlight. His head darts around, finally landing upon the woman. Confused, he manages to force out words...

 

"That is the name of my father... Toov. Who... are you that knows him?"

 

With a sigh he relaxes his grip upon the blade, not wishing to frighten the lady. Blinking a few times, the youth slowly becomes aware of the odd glances he has begun to receive. Shrugging, he makes a move to the woman, kneeling and offering one of his pale hands to her, along with a reassuring smile.

 

"Given what my father told me of this place, you are either a true friend or a mortal enemy... at least that is what he told me of his relationships in the Empire. I'll hope you're the former."

[tnoy23 202]

Toby nods as he hears his assumption was correct. He would advance forward, wing whipping his dark blue coat a bit. If you were to look, you would notice his right hand, grasping his staff, would have a glove on it, while his left would not. "What's your name mate?"

[Chaqery 427]

Glancing from the woman passively to the now questioning man, a short name is offered, 

 

"Geralt, sir."

 

His attention focuses back upon the woman, hoping his appearance hadn't harmed her in some way.

[tnoy23 202]

"Geralt... Wonderful..." He leans on his staff again, waiting for everything to end before speaking once more

[Aislin 4354]

Gronkk begins to bombard the man with bread. He believes this will vanquish the half-breed demon.

[Lark 2227]

Seagulls fly overhead as Lark orders some recruits of the King's Watch to unload the crates of supplies from the arriving ships, the sun casts a glare on his eyes, turning away he notices a small crowd gathering near a man, squinting his eyes he finds no fimiliar features except for the ivory rose. Taking in a deep breathe of salty sea air, he turns back to watching his men work, now with a light smile on his face, remebering better times.

[ski_king3 0]

The woman takes the great man's hand, rising up with the man's assistance. Her shoulder stings, yet she chooses to ignore the pain, forcing a weak smile to form on her lips. With her uninjured arm, she raises a hand, pushing the hood back to reveal her face fully. She glances back at Toby briefly, before returning her attention to the large man.

 

"I knew your father, aye... I never expected to see him, nor you again. Your father was my mentor and a friend, in an age long since past..."

 

She looks down for a moment, dabbing her eyes with her fingers to wipe away the tears that had begun to form. She sniffles quietly, trying to conceal the noise with an awkward cough before raising her head to look upon the young man, forcing a smile onto her face once more.

 

"I doubt Baldir would have told you of me, although I cannot be certain. However, I am certain he would have told you of Bran Volsung. He was- is my husband... a man whom your father once called a son...before he received you, young Geralt."

 

She looks at the young man, waiting to see his response. Though the encounter might be meaningless to him, it was rather important to her, so she opted to ignore the fat orc throwing bread down upon the docks.

[tnoy23 202]

Toby takes off his coat, breathing deeply for a few moments. It would go through the air, going to land gently on the woman's shoulders. He leans on his staff once again, not saying anything

[Chaqery 427]

With a smile, this one genuinely warm and filled with relief, Geralt would move to awkwardly lower himself in order to give her a soft hug.

 

"Of course... Lady Valois, that's right, isn't it? - My mother and father spoke very often of you. I believe I was instructed, should I have the fortune of finding you, to call you my aunt."

 

At this the shrugs, stepping back from the hug, "Though I won't if that title bothers you."

 

In another moment of clarity, the youth takes a look around, scanning his surroundings briefly for any signs of trouble. Seeing none, he focuses his attention back upon his newly discovered friend... or acquaintance, at the least. With another warm smile he listens to her. Though there is something about his eyes... perhaps a reaction to the woman's projected sadness, but for a moment they almost seem to glimmer in the sunlight, very much like his father's, before resuming their fiery orange hue.

 

"Perhaps we'd best not... meet, or catch up I suppose is more accurate, here in the middle of the street? I don't really know any of these people my father told me about... so I'd prefer not to wonder into his enemies absently."