A weary sigh escaped the older smith as he finished setting up a stack of wood for the next day's work at the forge. He checked off the task in his mind, one of many that had to be done each day for his smithy. This was particularly so now since he had moved from a centralized location in the thick of the Marketplace district to one of the outlying burbs that surrounded the major roads that lead into the city. It was a nice compromise from the hustle and bustle of the city and the rather relaxed pace of a detached village proper. Of course it wasn't like he had had much choice in this decision to relocate since his previous place of business and dwelling had literally been blown up and burnt to the ground months earlier nearly ending the surly smith in the process.
But then that had been the whole point of the attack" the launching of bombs and fire arrows into his dwelling while he and Neikla where within. The details after that point were still fuzzy to the man, though from what he had been told he had all but dashed his head open upon the cobbles of the street below extracting the elven woman and himself from that inferno. He didn't recall the process that had occurred to heal him of his grievous injuries, that ritual performed by the Sundered sisters: the healer Luki, the crackpot Freisha, and the spitfire Neikla. The dour smith didn't particularly care for magical healing, not given his history with the arcane, but he was thankful nonetheless. It not only allowed him to try to find those that had attempted such insult to him and his but also served his new found interest in life as he had finally, after so many years, found something worth living for other than spite for those things he had been willing to die for.
The hulking man patted the dust off his leather clad hands before ambling along from the modest forge and storefront across the property to where a simple yet large house sat with an addendum structure attached which served as a small clinic. Both seemed rather at odds with the old soldier that had spent more of his life living out of a couple travel trunks than he did in a home and he was most certainly not a paragon for life and health. But then things change and more than his fair share had happened to him as of the last year, a slew of soaring highs and crushing lows that culminated with the bitter, dour man now promised to the woman whom he now dwell with along with the children they had borne. His children....children that had not right nor plausible reason to exist and yet so they did, the cursed mantle of the destroyer placed upon the smith so many decades back in a reckless youth seeming lifted by some machination the man knew not of. A son Taren and a daughter Allyse, both healthy and with strong, Tangian names....names from a land they would never know. Perhaps it was for that reason and that reason alone that he capitulated to the whims of the mother, for them to receive not only the family name Qyneishal as was tradition from where he had come but also that name which he himself had been branded a traitor, exiled, and 'executed' from: Me'endevalo. It was almost a humorous joke if one were of rather poor and dark humors; bitter and cynical as the smith tended to be....but then it did bring a touch of pride to the man that had so long lived without such. And as for the details of the relations that had brought about the children from different mothers and yet not' Well....Petar was guarded at best about that business which revolved around him and his but he seemed particularly more so regarding this if not perhaps for the fact that it all sort of confused him as well as he figured it would confuse others.
But at the end of the day the fact of the matter, which was simple and easy to understand, was that he was....content. Probably much more so than just that but there was too much unknown, to many enemies in the wings for the man to fully accept how happy he should have been, how happy he knew he did not deserve. He still did not know who had attacked him at the forge, did not know who sat behind these machinations he just couldn't quite fully grasp nor shake off as simple paranoia, the feeling that his past was catching up and involving not only him but those he cared for. He felt that everything he had gained and was still building sat precariously upon a daggers edge with wolves all around simply waiting to tear it asunder once more. It was a crushing thought and yet it galvanized the man. He had been on the short end of the stick on many things in his life but he would accept such no more. If the short end was all he was to be offered than he simply had to clutch it that much tighter, use what he'd gained through so many years of hardship to pull that short end out and use it to beat the very fates themselves until they gave him what he wanted.
A humorless snort helped to push these thoughts back into the miasma of his mind as he stepped in through the mudroom to the waiting and receiving area of the clinic, his boots cleaned off on a wicker mat as those azures took in the familiar. Well, to call it a 'clinic' was probably rather generous given it had a single practitioner and a part time assistant of dubious assistance. In reality it was more a place that the healer could work with an area to produce the poultices, balms, and potions of her trade as well as storage for more typical aid supplies as the soldier was used to. The mudroom which the smith stepped out of lead into a small waiting area with a few seats across from the curtain that separated it from the patient area with a couple of beds and plenty of shelving. There was an archway that lead into the attached pantry next to the large hearth with it's menagerie of pots and brewing apparatuses and a space left for the live in drakin to sleep with the flames within. Yet another change the man was rather uncertain on, the generally mute drakin/hume mix Zasir Thiek'Siel which had taken to following the smith as a cat sized nuisance turned hellhound sized annoyance that liked to rest in the hearths of the man's residences. He was still uncertain as to exactly why the creature had taken to following him or held such an ardent desire to keep his foul, dour company and yet such was exactly what it did following him despite his greatest attempts to prevent such. And while the man had thought himself rather bullheaded and patient, perhaps able to wear down the creatures desire with his typical gruff nature the drake had proved the better of him in that regard too as it just continued to come back. Perhaps it was the tired acceptance of his fate in this which had had the man looking for the creature at the burnt ruins of his old forge when he had recovered enough to do such....search around until he had found Zasir and showed it to this new home. It certainly wasn't that he was getting used to the creature....hells, the man had spent many years killing this ones kin. No, the acceptance of Zasir was simply self serving....a measured peace of mind to have a live in guard dog that just so happened to be a drake. That was most certainly the only reason why he had thought to do such though his idiot apprentice still liked to make snide remarks on how perhaps the sour soldier actually cared for the beast.
Of course such glib remarks usually only earned the younger man some harsh words and a meeting with the smiths hand but it did make him wonder at times. Was he really changing so much' He had hated elves, hated those who practiced magic, hated drakes and all their ilk; was wronged by each in the mans long history. And now" Now he was involved in a relationship with a couple of elves, living with a magic user, and had for all intents and purposes a pet dragon....it almost seemed ludicrously impossible if the man wasn't living that exact life. Living it uncertainly as he had so much now to lose. The man had thought himself content in the little modicum of peace he had carved out for himself, the humdrum of civility and the slow procession to death he had accepted. An exiled man of import stripped of title and family who was banished to a land he found daft and unnerving. He was broken, left paranoid by the many battlefields he had walked, the wars he had fought though such was medicated well enough with a constant consumption of alcohol which kept his sense dulled. It was an alright life, devoid of attachment and perfect for an old warrior like him that was put out to pasture no longer useful to no one. He had accepted this, found comfort even....and then it all changed with one encounter.
Petar shook his head to chase off those vagrant thoughts that were most certainly working to leave him a grinning idiot in the waiting area of the clinic. He knew well enough what happened after that point: the odd courtship he had with Neikla, the trials and tribulations they had endured, the involvement of her sisters, his falling into the unknown machinations of Nasheima, the strange turns of fate which lead him now to the present. They were events he thought on often, puzzled over as he just knew there were things he was missing, connections that he was failing to make that may well have been vital to try and keep all the skin he now had in life intact. Taking up that amble once more the man crossed over to the oaken door that separated the clinic from the home, one argument the man had won. Inviting strangers to recuperate in the clinic was one thing but not having the ability to lock them out of his home, away from his children and their mother was something the former soldier could not abide especially after that attack upon his prior residence. Hells, the man even had magical runes carved throughout the interior of the home protecting it from fire which was something so very much against the man's nature but then again all this change required adaptation. The lessons learned as a general a lifetime ago were being dusted off from the malaise of peace, the begrudging allowances he tolerated as a soldier once more being considered as he was once more living for more than just himself.
Pushing through the door the man was greeted by the smell of a fresh cooked meal with succulent meat, cooked vegetables, fresh bread, and baked goods. It was a greeting that had the man smiling ever so slightly and yet feeling stupid and perhaps even a slight bit guilty. It was a life he had lost once, did not deserve again due to the life he had lead, and yet here he had it once more and it was just as sweet as he had so imagined it to be many, many times prior along his life. Those azures traced over the trappings held within as he closed and locked the door behind: of furniture beyond that which was absolutely necessary, of decorations that served no greater purpose other than to add a personal touch to the residence, of the myriad bits and pieces of life just strewn about without a trunk from when they came from in sight. It was more than just a place to lay his head, more than a storage for his gear or a place to do paperwork...it was an actual home. Fingers traced along the back of a couch as he moved along slowly, those azures still drinking in the marvel of the life he had carved for himself. A home so simple and yet so magnificent for a man that had lived more of his life a soldier than person; a life ready to march rather than with any sort of roots.
"Dinner will be ready shortly." The melodic voice dragged the mans mind back to the present as those azures turned to the albino in the kitchen, a trace of gaze along those alabaster features as a warm smile pulled upon weathered features.
"A'righ'. I'll se' tha' table af'er I check on the young'ns..." His course had changed as he spoke, those lazy strides carrying him over to the woman now so as he could lean down and steal a kiss from the healer as she turned to watch him. That tender embrace of lips lasted for a couple rhythmic beats of the heart before the smith tore himself away. He almost could have smirked at the goofy smile that remained upon Luki's features as he began moving once more, but then again he damn well knew that his own features, aged as they were, likely held the exact same expression.
Moving once more for the nursery the smith would let his naked fingers drag along the walls of the home, the door to the washroom, the door to a linen closet, the door to that reserved room for Neikla. As much as he had attempted to welcome the standoffish woman into the home, to include her in the family that she was part of yet the woman had stubbornly resisted all his attempts at such. He had seen less and less of the woman as time marched on, her visits sporadic, rare, and typically rather brief. And given the man's preoccupation trying to get everything going at this new location while providing security and care he had little time to wander as he once did for even the chance encounter with the woman. It was something he tried hard not to dwell on and yet it was something that still festered in the back of his mind, particularly given that as yet still fresh transgression between Neikla and Alec. Despite the stoic fa"ade that the man showed in regards to such it was still something that left a sour taste upon the man. Perhaps he was simply being too greedy, perhaps he was truly in the wrong on that entire affair, or perhaps he had every right to feel ill at ease about the situation and how things remained strained months after" but to dwell on such with everything else that was going on would do nothing by mire him down, and now more than ever was time and life marching forward uncaring of what distractions the man took on. And so he kept the thoughts back as best he could, focused on the tasks at hand which he could control, and kept the door open for when"or if the woman would ever come around to discuss things and bury the hatchet one way or another.
Those weathered fingers would finally came across that last door to the master bedroom which he pushed into, azures sweeping across the furnishings. A grand bed large enough even for his hulking frame that was actually being put to use, a number of dressers and armoires, a desk that was obviously not his by account of how tidy it was, those couple of travelers chests that contained his life and somehow survived the razing of his prior house, and last but not least a pair of cribs near to the bed that contained the centerpieces of that maelstrom of change in the man's life. The lumbering old soldier crept quietly to the hearth, another log added to the bed of coals which kept the room comfortable warmth before he ambled up to the cribs.
Those azures gazed down at the little lives that slumbered within the cribs; weathered, aged features that typically held a stern, stoic expression softening as he watched the babes. The children were pale though not as ghostly so as their mothers and they each had a slight pointing of ears not so sharp yet not so round telling of their half-breed heritage. As well, both were much more graceful of form than one would expect of a human yet far stockier than the children of elves with both having an odd shade of royal purple eyes. Rough, calloused fingers barely breezed over the wispy platinum blonde hair that crowned Allyse and the willowy silver hair that crowned Taren; a slight pause as he beheld that shocking contrast. The smooth flesh of fresh life was almost blindingly innocent in comparison to the scarred, mangled, and stained flesh of the old soldier's hands. It was a constant reminder how he did not deserve this, that he had left far too many corpses, far too many broken families in the wake of his life to even remotely deserve the happiness that these innocent and pure lives brought. It was selfish of him to feel this swell of pride and joy as he bent down to press a whisper of a kiss to each of his children's brows, this was only evidenced by that cold fear that gripped at him in equal measure, screamed at him that a destructive monster as he would only bring ruin to such innocent lives. This fear was only fueled by the fact that as time started moving once more for the man so had his bloody past begun to catch up to him once more threatening not only him but those close to him and these two' they were most vulnerable of all.
Thin lips pulled downward as this sobering thought washed over him. He may not have deserved this joy, may not have deserved this life" but it was that which he had. And the man had lived a long and hard enough life to know that consequences suffered against those as he rarely ever simply ended with just the individuals in question. No. He would not run from that past which chased to catch up to him, would not run from the uncertainty of the future. He would stand his ground against all contenders; for himself, for those he cared for, and for the present happiness which he was nurturing.
"I will defen' yer futures....defen' yer 'appiness....an' make sure tha other bastards dies fer such....nae more runn'n. 'Haps I've lil ta no honor af'er sae many years....but this I promise as a man o' mae word ne'erthaless." A promise spoken in hushed tones as he pressed one final kiss to each babe before straightening once more, a linger of gaze as he moved now for the door to continue in that picturesque family life paranoid as he was at the wolves that lurked just off in the wings.
But then that had been the whole point of the attack" the launching of bombs and fire arrows into his dwelling while he and Neikla where within. The details after that point were still fuzzy to the man, though from what he had been told he had all but dashed his head open upon the cobbles of the street below extracting the elven woman and himself from that inferno. He didn't recall the process that had occurred to heal him of his grievous injuries, that ritual performed by the Sundered sisters: the healer Luki, the crackpot Freisha, and the spitfire Neikla. The dour smith didn't particularly care for magical healing, not given his history with the arcane, but he was thankful nonetheless. It not only allowed him to try to find those that had attempted such insult to him and his but also served his new found interest in life as he had finally, after so many years, found something worth living for other than spite for those things he had been willing to die for.
The hulking man patted the dust off his leather clad hands before ambling along from the modest forge and storefront across the property to where a simple yet large house sat with an addendum structure attached which served as a small clinic. Both seemed rather at odds with the old soldier that had spent more of his life living out of a couple travel trunks than he did in a home and he was most certainly not a paragon for life and health. But then things change and more than his fair share had happened to him as of the last year, a slew of soaring highs and crushing lows that culminated with the bitter, dour man now promised to the woman whom he now dwell with along with the children they had borne. His children....children that had not right nor plausible reason to exist and yet so they did, the cursed mantle of the destroyer placed upon the smith so many decades back in a reckless youth seeming lifted by some machination the man knew not of. A son Taren and a daughter Allyse, both healthy and with strong, Tangian names....names from a land they would never know. Perhaps it was for that reason and that reason alone that he capitulated to the whims of the mother, for them to receive not only the family name Qyneishal as was tradition from where he had come but also that name which he himself had been branded a traitor, exiled, and 'executed' from: Me'endevalo. It was almost a humorous joke if one were of rather poor and dark humors; bitter and cynical as the smith tended to be....but then it did bring a touch of pride to the man that had so long lived without such. And as for the details of the relations that had brought about the children from different mothers and yet not' Well....Petar was guarded at best about that business which revolved around him and his but he seemed particularly more so regarding this if not perhaps for the fact that it all sort of confused him as well as he figured it would confuse others.
But at the end of the day the fact of the matter, which was simple and easy to understand, was that he was....content. Probably much more so than just that but there was too much unknown, to many enemies in the wings for the man to fully accept how happy he should have been, how happy he knew he did not deserve. He still did not know who had attacked him at the forge, did not know who sat behind these machinations he just couldn't quite fully grasp nor shake off as simple paranoia, the feeling that his past was catching up and involving not only him but those he cared for. He felt that everything he had gained and was still building sat precariously upon a daggers edge with wolves all around simply waiting to tear it asunder once more. It was a crushing thought and yet it galvanized the man. He had been on the short end of the stick on many things in his life but he would accept such no more. If the short end was all he was to be offered than he simply had to clutch it that much tighter, use what he'd gained through so many years of hardship to pull that short end out and use it to beat the very fates themselves until they gave him what he wanted.
A humorless snort helped to push these thoughts back into the miasma of his mind as he stepped in through the mudroom to the waiting and receiving area of the clinic, his boots cleaned off on a wicker mat as those azures took in the familiar. Well, to call it a 'clinic' was probably rather generous given it had a single practitioner and a part time assistant of dubious assistance. In reality it was more a place that the healer could work with an area to produce the poultices, balms, and potions of her trade as well as storage for more typical aid supplies as the soldier was used to. The mudroom which the smith stepped out of lead into a small waiting area with a few seats across from the curtain that separated it from the patient area with a couple of beds and plenty of shelving. There was an archway that lead into the attached pantry next to the large hearth with it's menagerie of pots and brewing apparatuses and a space left for the live in drakin to sleep with the flames within. Yet another change the man was rather uncertain on, the generally mute drakin/hume mix Zasir Thiek'Siel which had taken to following the smith as a cat sized nuisance turned hellhound sized annoyance that liked to rest in the hearths of the man's residences. He was still uncertain as to exactly why the creature had taken to following him or held such an ardent desire to keep his foul, dour company and yet such was exactly what it did following him despite his greatest attempts to prevent such. And while the man had thought himself rather bullheaded and patient, perhaps able to wear down the creatures desire with his typical gruff nature the drake had proved the better of him in that regard too as it just continued to come back. Perhaps it was the tired acceptance of his fate in this which had had the man looking for the creature at the burnt ruins of his old forge when he had recovered enough to do such....search around until he had found Zasir and showed it to this new home. It certainly wasn't that he was getting used to the creature....hells, the man had spent many years killing this ones kin. No, the acceptance of Zasir was simply self serving....a measured peace of mind to have a live in guard dog that just so happened to be a drake. That was most certainly the only reason why he had thought to do such though his idiot apprentice still liked to make snide remarks on how perhaps the sour soldier actually cared for the beast.
Of course such glib remarks usually only earned the younger man some harsh words and a meeting with the smiths hand but it did make him wonder at times. Was he really changing so much' He had hated elves, hated those who practiced magic, hated drakes and all their ilk; was wronged by each in the mans long history. And now" Now he was involved in a relationship with a couple of elves, living with a magic user, and had for all intents and purposes a pet dragon....it almost seemed ludicrously impossible if the man wasn't living that exact life. Living it uncertainly as he had so much now to lose. The man had thought himself content in the little modicum of peace he had carved out for himself, the humdrum of civility and the slow procession to death he had accepted. An exiled man of import stripped of title and family who was banished to a land he found daft and unnerving. He was broken, left paranoid by the many battlefields he had walked, the wars he had fought though such was medicated well enough with a constant consumption of alcohol which kept his sense dulled. It was an alright life, devoid of attachment and perfect for an old warrior like him that was put out to pasture no longer useful to no one. He had accepted this, found comfort even....and then it all changed with one encounter.
Petar shook his head to chase off those vagrant thoughts that were most certainly working to leave him a grinning idiot in the waiting area of the clinic. He knew well enough what happened after that point: the odd courtship he had with Neikla, the trials and tribulations they had endured, the involvement of her sisters, his falling into the unknown machinations of Nasheima, the strange turns of fate which lead him now to the present. They were events he thought on often, puzzled over as he just knew there were things he was missing, connections that he was failing to make that may well have been vital to try and keep all the skin he now had in life intact. Taking up that amble once more the man crossed over to the oaken door that separated the clinic from the home, one argument the man had won. Inviting strangers to recuperate in the clinic was one thing but not having the ability to lock them out of his home, away from his children and their mother was something the former soldier could not abide especially after that attack upon his prior residence. Hells, the man even had magical runes carved throughout the interior of the home protecting it from fire which was something so very much against the man's nature but then again all this change required adaptation. The lessons learned as a general a lifetime ago were being dusted off from the malaise of peace, the begrudging allowances he tolerated as a soldier once more being considered as he was once more living for more than just himself.
Pushing through the door the man was greeted by the smell of a fresh cooked meal with succulent meat, cooked vegetables, fresh bread, and baked goods. It was a greeting that had the man smiling ever so slightly and yet feeling stupid and perhaps even a slight bit guilty. It was a life he had lost once, did not deserve again due to the life he had lead, and yet here he had it once more and it was just as sweet as he had so imagined it to be many, many times prior along his life. Those azures traced over the trappings held within as he closed and locked the door behind: of furniture beyond that which was absolutely necessary, of decorations that served no greater purpose other than to add a personal touch to the residence, of the myriad bits and pieces of life just strewn about without a trunk from when they came from in sight. It was more than just a place to lay his head, more than a storage for his gear or a place to do paperwork...it was an actual home. Fingers traced along the back of a couch as he moved along slowly, those azures still drinking in the marvel of the life he had carved for himself. A home so simple and yet so magnificent for a man that had lived more of his life a soldier than person; a life ready to march rather than with any sort of roots.
"Dinner will be ready shortly." The melodic voice dragged the mans mind back to the present as those azures turned to the albino in the kitchen, a trace of gaze along those alabaster features as a warm smile pulled upon weathered features.
"A'righ'. I'll se' tha' table af'er I check on the young'ns..." His course had changed as he spoke, those lazy strides carrying him over to the woman now so as he could lean down and steal a kiss from the healer as she turned to watch him. That tender embrace of lips lasted for a couple rhythmic beats of the heart before the smith tore himself away. He almost could have smirked at the goofy smile that remained upon Luki's features as he began moving once more, but then again he damn well knew that his own features, aged as they were, likely held the exact same expression.
Moving once more for the nursery the smith would let his naked fingers drag along the walls of the home, the door to the washroom, the door to a linen closet, the door to that reserved room for Neikla. As much as he had attempted to welcome the standoffish woman into the home, to include her in the family that she was part of yet the woman had stubbornly resisted all his attempts at such. He had seen less and less of the woman as time marched on, her visits sporadic, rare, and typically rather brief. And given the man's preoccupation trying to get everything going at this new location while providing security and care he had little time to wander as he once did for even the chance encounter with the woman. It was something he tried hard not to dwell on and yet it was something that still festered in the back of his mind, particularly given that as yet still fresh transgression between Neikla and Alec. Despite the stoic fa"ade that the man showed in regards to such it was still something that left a sour taste upon the man. Perhaps he was simply being too greedy, perhaps he was truly in the wrong on that entire affair, or perhaps he had every right to feel ill at ease about the situation and how things remained strained months after" but to dwell on such with everything else that was going on would do nothing by mire him down, and now more than ever was time and life marching forward uncaring of what distractions the man took on. And so he kept the thoughts back as best he could, focused on the tasks at hand which he could control, and kept the door open for when"or if the woman would ever come around to discuss things and bury the hatchet one way or another.
Those weathered fingers would finally came across that last door to the master bedroom which he pushed into, azures sweeping across the furnishings. A grand bed large enough even for his hulking frame that was actually being put to use, a number of dressers and armoires, a desk that was obviously not his by account of how tidy it was, those couple of travelers chests that contained his life and somehow survived the razing of his prior house, and last but not least a pair of cribs near to the bed that contained the centerpieces of that maelstrom of change in the man's life. The lumbering old soldier crept quietly to the hearth, another log added to the bed of coals which kept the room comfortable warmth before he ambled up to the cribs.
Those azures gazed down at the little lives that slumbered within the cribs; weathered, aged features that typically held a stern, stoic expression softening as he watched the babes. The children were pale though not as ghostly so as their mothers and they each had a slight pointing of ears not so sharp yet not so round telling of their half-breed heritage. As well, both were much more graceful of form than one would expect of a human yet far stockier than the children of elves with both having an odd shade of royal purple eyes. Rough, calloused fingers barely breezed over the wispy platinum blonde hair that crowned Allyse and the willowy silver hair that crowned Taren; a slight pause as he beheld that shocking contrast. The smooth flesh of fresh life was almost blindingly innocent in comparison to the scarred, mangled, and stained flesh of the old soldier's hands. It was a constant reminder how he did not deserve this, that he had left far too many corpses, far too many broken families in the wake of his life to even remotely deserve the happiness that these innocent and pure lives brought. It was selfish of him to feel this swell of pride and joy as he bent down to press a whisper of a kiss to each of his children's brows, this was only evidenced by that cold fear that gripped at him in equal measure, screamed at him that a destructive monster as he would only bring ruin to such innocent lives. This fear was only fueled by the fact that as time started moving once more for the man so had his bloody past begun to catch up to him once more threatening not only him but those close to him and these two' they were most vulnerable of all.
Thin lips pulled downward as this sobering thought washed over him. He may not have deserved this joy, may not have deserved this life" but it was that which he had. And the man had lived a long and hard enough life to know that consequences suffered against those as he rarely ever simply ended with just the individuals in question. No. He would not run from that past which chased to catch up to him, would not run from the uncertainty of the future. He would stand his ground against all contenders; for himself, for those he cared for, and for the present happiness which he was nurturing.
"I will defen' yer futures....defen' yer 'appiness....an' make sure tha other bastards dies fer such....nae more runn'n. 'Haps I've lil ta no honor af'er sae many years....but this I promise as a man o' mae word ne'erthaless." A promise spoken in hushed tones as he pressed one final kiss to each babe before straightening once more, a linger of gaze as he moved now for the door to continue in that picturesque family life paranoid as he was at the wolves that lurked just off in the wings.