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31_days2005-12-01 11:56 pm
beccastareyes) wrote in 31_days2005-12-01 11:56 pm
[Dec. 1] [Original] Life After Execution
Title: Life After Execution
Theme: E, come vivo?
Series: Blue Rose RPG setting/ original characters
Character: Melisan, Donovan (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yuuo's character, used with permission)
Rating: G
Notes: Sequel to This Piece
Melisan awoke to the rocking of the wagon. His shoulder ached and he brought a hand up to his chest – it was covered in bandages. He looked around, a bit disoriented, before seeing Donovan seated by the narrow bunk. He was staring intently into a tin mirror hanging against one of the sides, a jar of greasepaint in his hand. His face was half-pale under makeup. Some clothing, in gaudy colors, was tossed over the foot of the bed.
Donovan glanced over to the bed. “Glad to see you’re awake. You weren’t that badly wounded. What the hell did those bastard Jarzoni do to you that made you faint so easily?”
“Bad food, no fresh air, little exercise,” Melisan answered, trying to sit up, keeping the blanket drawn across his shoulders. He tried to remember what had happened – he had been knocked prone when a minor earthquake, Donovan’s, had disrupted his execution. Donovan had spoke, words of fire that cut like knives, decrying the Jarzoni Theocracy for hypocrisy of the highest order. As he was rising up, he spotted Cheset with the executioner’s sword, and hadn’t quite managed to twist out of the way in time. “You Roamers don’t do anything in half-measures, do you?”
Donovan shrugged. “If it’s worth doing, might as well go all-out.”
The wagon jumped again, and Melisan winced as he bumped his shoulder against the wall. “Who’s driving?”
“Puriel.” Donovan capped the greasepaint, and wiped his hands off with a rag. “I’ll have to wait until we stop to do my eyes.”
Melisan raised an eyebrow. He knew Donovan had asked for Puriel’s help in cutting out the Kernish spies in the Theocracy. He really should have figured it out when he messaged both of them upon his arrest, warning them to lie low or get out of the country before interrogation drew out any information he had on them. “He’s still hanging around you?”
Donovan nodded. “Can’t seem to find anything he’d rather do, besides follow me around.” He slipped a pair of gloves on. “We’re making for the coast – it’s difficult passage there, but they’d expect us to make for the Marsh, and even ignoring the mountains, going through Kern would be like going from the frying pain into the fire.”
Melisan nodded. “And then what?”
“Well, Aldis would be the easiest country to get to by sea. You could try overseas, but good luck finding a ship in Jarzon willing to risk that. The Aldins would take a darkfiend if it told them a sob story about oppression.”
“And then what? I can’t live as a refuge in Aldis for the rest of my life.” He saw his future stretched out before him, and it ended, not in death, nor in the challenging, if known, life of a keeper of the flame climbing to the top of the political ladder, but in terra incognita.
“If you don’t mind a life of selling things, theater and suspicion of petty thievery, you’re always welcome here,” Donovan said. “Or you can freelance as a telepath. Or see if anyone needs someone who speaks Jarzoni. You just got saved from death by a band of wandering Romaers. Life is your oyster.” He stood up, placing a hand on the wall for balance. “Just think about it.”
Theme: E, come vivo?
Series: Blue Rose RPG setting/ original characters
Character: Melisan, Donovan (
yuuo's character, used with permission)Rating: G
Notes: Sequel to This Piece
Melisan awoke to the rocking of the wagon. His shoulder ached and he brought a hand up to his chest – it was covered in bandages. He looked around, a bit disoriented, before seeing Donovan seated by the narrow bunk. He was staring intently into a tin mirror hanging against one of the sides, a jar of greasepaint in his hand. His face was half-pale under makeup. Some clothing, in gaudy colors, was tossed over the foot of the bed.
Donovan glanced over to the bed. “Glad to see you’re awake. You weren’t that badly wounded. What the hell did those bastard Jarzoni do to you that made you faint so easily?”
“Bad food, no fresh air, little exercise,” Melisan answered, trying to sit up, keeping the blanket drawn across his shoulders. He tried to remember what had happened – he had been knocked prone when a minor earthquake, Donovan’s, had disrupted his execution. Donovan had spoke, words of fire that cut like knives, decrying the Jarzoni Theocracy for hypocrisy of the highest order. As he was rising up, he spotted Cheset with the executioner’s sword, and hadn’t quite managed to twist out of the way in time. “You Roamers don’t do anything in half-measures, do you?”
Donovan shrugged. “If it’s worth doing, might as well go all-out.”
The wagon jumped again, and Melisan winced as he bumped his shoulder against the wall. “Who’s driving?”
“Puriel.” Donovan capped the greasepaint, and wiped his hands off with a rag. “I’ll have to wait until we stop to do my eyes.”
Melisan raised an eyebrow. He knew Donovan had asked for Puriel’s help in cutting out the Kernish spies in the Theocracy. He really should have figured it out when he messaged both of them upon his arrest, warning them to lie low or get out of the country before interrogation drew out any information he had on them. “He’s still hanging around you?”
Donovan nodded. “Can’t seem to find anything he’d rather do, besides follow me around.” He slipped a pair of gloves on. “We’re making for the coast – it’s difficult passage there, but they’d expect us to make for the Marsh, and even ignoring the mountains, going through Kern would be like going from the frying pain into the fire.”
Melisan nodded. “And then what?”
“Well, Aldis would be the easiest country to get to by sea. You could try overseas, but good luck finding a ship in Jarzon willing to risk that. The Aldins would take a darkfiend if it told them a sob story about oppression.”
“And then what? I can’t live as a refuge in Aldis for the rest of my life.” He saw his future stretched out before him, and it ended, not in death, nor in the challenging, if known, life of a keeper of the flame climbing to the top of the political ladder, but in terra incognita.
“If you don’t mind a life of selling things, theater and suspicion of petty thievery, you’re always welcome here,” Donovan said. “Or you can freelance as a telepath. Or see if anyone needs someone who speaks Jarzoni. You just got saved from death by a band of wandering Romaers. Life is your oyster.” He stood up, placing a hand on the wall for balance. “Just think about it.”