VoLimiNaL

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

After what seemed like hours of endless hallways and rooms that gave him not even a whiff of alcohol, Axol finally concedes defeat when he reached the battlements. It had been far too long (a day) since he had the chance to lift his spirits with the gods' blessed beverage, suffering from withdrawal. His irritability has been showing; he notices... A rare moment of self-reflection that led him to think back on the previous night, arguing with Andrea and even prompting the archer- whose name he hadn't even asked- to seek solitude and away from the sellsword's chaotic nature, even claiming that he'd settle for twenty percent. A hint of guilt burned within his chest. "You're supposed to be better than this now. Small wonder why your wife is haunting you." He sighs, leaning his back against a wall, remembering with a bitter smile. Countless times, Aena had scolded him and made him feel like a whimpering pup for getting into brawls and scaring away their neighbors.

"Five times, Axol!" Aena would yell, her voice a stark contrast to the usual sweetness with which she usually spoke. "Five times you managed to get yourself into a fight... In ONE DAY! And you aren't even drunk!? What am I to do with you? Those men's wives came to the bar just as I was getting ready to go home... Gods, don't you even think of the position you put me in whenever you make a mess like this?" It never even crossed his mind back then that other men had wives, parents... A family, waiting for them. No, he should not allow himself to think of that. Not with the lives he's already taken. "Means to an end." He nodded to himself, though his voice was shaky. His eyes wandered to the soldiers around him. "Bags of meat, is all. You're a sellsword, Axol- it's your job. You need the money. Your son needs the money."

The wary eyes of trainees and veterans alike followed him as he walked through the battlements, the cold winds feeling familiar now. As if his size and physique weren't enough, his weathered greatsword added to his concerning presence; thick and rusted, six feet in length and only half an inch shorter than the man that wields it. Axol paid them no mind. He'd watch them spar with their swords, watching the form, the footwork... It was all still foreign to him despite having already been a sellsword himself for a good twelve years. He only knew to swing, pierce, and bludgeon with the old blade. Though despite his dislike for remembering, Axol can't help but wonder from time to time how the weapon's original wielder used it. The knight that he took it from, who he found dying on the battlefield. The reason he was called "the Unworthy." The sellsword couldn't even recall his name anymore... Though what he told Axol was not something he could forget, try as he might.

After some aimless wandering and stare-downs with some soldiers, Axol saw a familiar figure. The pointy-eared woman, Andrea, studied her book calmly as she faced the vast outskirts of the fortress. He could not find it in his heart to trust her with her oddly inconsistent eye colour and cryptic offerings. However, Aena's voice once again bickered at him... With a heavy heart, he strides toward her. "You-" He quickly stops himself before he points his finger at her like he did last night. "Andrea, I meant." He stood there for a moment, his deep-blue eyes unreadable despite the man's supposed simplicity. It was silent, save for the breeze and the clattering of steel that permeated throughout the battlements. Axol, in spite of all he's faced, found himself unable to say the words that he wanted to say to the woman. He sighed, his eyes now reluctant.

"I am sorry for my behavior last night." Axol finally managed, the apology denting his pride deeply. "Know that I only acted that way because I needed assurance on who I'll be working with. That, and because I need the gold." He considered telling Andrea why, but he hesitated. "However, I still do not trust you." One may fault him for the many things he lacks, but his honesty is one of his few admirable traits... Albeit often blurring the lines with rudeness. "I do not wish to squabble. So, I ask you as a companion, why are you here? I've stated my truth already, and wish to know yours." In his mind, Axol wondered if his late wife was proud of him. He stood there, arms crossed, but his expression was softer now, awaiting Andrea's response. Still suspicious, but earnestly hoping to be swayed.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Remembering...

Axol got up next, his eyes still too blurry from a good night's sleep to know whose silent figure passed by his cot. Yet, having just woken up, his eyes betray him, and he perceives a more familiar shape, warm and bright. "Aena...?" He slurred, before quickly snapping awake and sitting up, the figure slowly becoming the silent lady that (in his own opinion) loathed joy and alcohol, staring out the window as the sun's fingers barely crept into the room. For five years, he had managed to go on without remembering.

"Why do you haunt me now, my love?" Axol took a moment in the quiet, just sitting there with his mind. A minute passes by in the room, but years go by behind the sellsword's eyes. He shakes his head and gets up from the floor, stretching his arms and grunting noisily. He turns to see the greatsword lying on the cot, a small part of him worried someone might have stolen it. "Well, not that anyone could carry it so easily." He picks up the blade, not caring for the noise it made when it hit the ground as he pulled it away from its comfortable bed. "Do not follow me... Unless you find ale." Axol announces, stepping out of the barracks to look for something to do to distract himself from his own thoughts.

It proved to be a difficult task as he'd walk into rooms with servants and guards who either eyed him with wariness or just ignored his presence. Eventually, he does find an empty hallway. The quiet allowed yet another memory to invade his mind; long bronze hair and a smile that softened him when he thought that nothing ever could. Axol sighs before lifting his greatsword, a weathered heap of metal with its edges chipped and the ornaments that once gave the weapon grace rusting with disregard. With a powerful swing, he struck the ground, growling, praying that anger dulls his grief. He then swung again at the wall. For five years, he had managed away from the pain, but now... "Aena, I beg of you." He rasps, swinging his sword again, begging against nothing. It was all that he knew to do when wounded. To fight.

After a while, Axol stopped. He gasped for air, the flurry of strikes he had brought upon the keep's walls leaving him exhausted. It was no use. "Ale..." He told himself in between ragged breaths. "Gods, what does a man need to do to have some ale to drown his sorrows?" He swung the greatsword to the ground again before storming off, his late wife slowly leaving his mind for now as he ventures about the fort in a desperate search for alcohol, bumping shoulders with guards and scaring off servants as he marched with purpose, a new distraction, looking as if he was about to kill someone.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Calmed but alert.

Axol's eyes never left Andrea's, even when the archer had spoken to de-escalate the rising tensions, even when she offered him a piece of bread. Then it was there again; the green in her eyes that had flashed before him now lingered intentionally. He couldn't help but feel a sudden thrill at her words, whether it was excitement for a potential employer or excitement for an inevitable fight, no one knew. What was clear was that Axol trusts this crimson-eyed woman much less now. He snatched the bread from her hand, agreeing with her treaty for peace. "Keep your spare change. Doubtless, you'll perish on the mission. I'll make sure to collect your bounty in your stead." He shoves the bread into his mouth, chewing furiously before swallowing with concerning speed as he keeps his glare on Andrea for a moment.

He then turns to the archer, whose mouth is still muffled by bread. He raises a finger. "Do not yell at me. I am sensitive." He said plainly, before leaning in to whisper something in his ear, "I do not know if you are in love with this woman, that you keep trying to impress her with kindness, but she is not to be trusted." Axol did not really know how to whisper; he just spoke in a breathy voice, but the volume remained loud enough to be audible to others. He walks off toward his chosen cot and picks up his greatsword, walking back to the table as he drags the heavy heap of metal beside him. He then sits himself on one of the chairs by the table, the wood creaking under his weight as he holds the massive blade, leaning his head against it. "The fashionable lordling and the quiet lady are yet to say their piece." He comments. "At this point, I may as well be doing charity work. I doubt the young lord will pay us a high price, anyway. Given how pitiful this keep looks." He scoffs. Axol doubts they'll use their gold for any good. He growls in frustration, now regretting even coming to this place.

Axol just sat there now, letting the others speak. He shot a glance toward Andrea now and then... "This one reeks of mystery. I do not like mysteries." He thought to himself, however, her fiery spirit was something that the sellsword could respect. It reminded him of his late wife- the only woman to tame an animal like Axol. But unlike his wife, the pointy-eared woman was unlovable. He did not like remembering things, but the memory of Aena was something he couldn't easily shake off. Oh, how she had changed him. How grateful his companions should be that he was not the man that he used to be. Five years have passed, and the hole she left keeps growing bigger and deeper. "Never mind that now..." He told himself, "She lives on in our boy." Suddenly, Axol musters the strength to regain his spirit, forcing a smile to himself. If the other travellers insist on keeping their share, then the sellsword will have to pray to Meldaron that his companions suffer a swift demise during their venture.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Irritated and suspicious.

Axol nodded his thanks to the quiet lady, but before he could grab the entire basket and devour all of its contents without leaving any for the rest, the pointy-eared woman butts in, her crimson eyes gleaming with challenge and disdain. He finds himself flinching at "Adahl," somehow finding it more insulting than what she said about his posture. Who is this woman to so brazenly decide a new name for him? "I am not Adahl." He says through gritted teeth, his frown deepening as he tried his best to ignore the loud rumble coming from his stomach. "I am Axol. My mother gave me that name, and you will respect her wishes." He scoffs in disbelief. "Adahl... What a stupid name." He mutters, moving to grab a loaf of bread before shoving it in his mouth, chewing begrudgingly. Axol dislikes her now. He plop himself down on the floor again with a loud thud, arms crossed, trying to recall what prompted the pointy-eared woman to act so uncivilized. So painfully unaware of his own terrible manners.

Andrea, which was her name, moves to place hot stones on the table. His eyes lingered on the stones for a moment, thinking it was actually more food that was set on the table. He quickly snaps his eyes away from it as soon as Andrea makes an insulting remark about him being dumb enough to eat it. This was not true. Axol would lick it first to see if it tasted good enough- desperate times have driven him to eat far worse before... He swallowed the last bite of the loaf before turning to face the quiet lady. "You say you avoid sin?" He says to her with a passion, "Yet here you are, befriending a woman that evokes the sin of wrath. Calling me Adahl..." He shakes his head once more. The two rivaling forces lock eyes again as she strode towards him after offering the stylish lordling hot stones.

Andrea's question had him scratching his head; what was he going to ask her? He recalled quickly this time as he slowly got up to face the fiery spirit that tests his patience with every "Adahl" that escapes its lips. But just as he was about to speak, the woman's crimson eyes flashed green for a half-second. He tilted his head to the side. She hid it, before slowly opening her eyes again, though her glare seemed less resolute. Axol grimaced in confusion, a slight feeling of suspicion creeping in the back of his mind. "What are you here for?" He asks, his deep-blue eyes meeting the challenge in hers, his question sounding more like an accusation. "Me and the loud archer over there have both decided that if none of you object, the gold will only be shared between the two of us. It's best that we get this out of the way now, rather than have to shank one another out there... Though, I wouldn't mind that either."

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Curious, but still hungry.

The archer's response quickly snapped Axol out of his trance, though he was getting close to remembering the beggar's name. He squints his eyes, trying to see what the archer is playing at... "I am Axol." He replies, though there was suspicion in his tone now. No sellsword would ask for another sellsword's name unless they were about to deliver the finishing blow. "Just Axol. Though, they've branded me as the Unworthy..." He looked over his shoulder, eyeing his greatsword which still lays flat on the ground, remembering things again... He shakes his head, turning back to the archer who now laid his intentions bare.

"Gold, eh?" His brows furrowed. "So am I. Gold and a good bloody fight." He starts to scan the room again, eyeing each of the other travellers carefully. "A fashionable lordling who I'm sure has more than enough gold, a quiet alchohol-hating lady, and a pointy-eared woman... Based on what we're looking at, it seems that only you and I are interested in the bounties. That's good." He lets out a hearty laugh, his voice booming throughout the barracks. "I am relieved to know that I don't have to kill any of you along the way. A two-way split it is, then!" He declared, not even waiting for an agreement as he patted the archer's shoulder. "However, the pointy-eared woman still eludes me... I'm afraid I don't do three-way splits." His eyes darken once more, glaring at the aforementioned mystery with distrust.

"We must speak with her and ask. Also, the quiet lady has bread. I wish to eat some. Come." He gets up and walks toward the corner where the two women huddled, his stride enormous and his footsteps heavy, not even looking back to see if his companion followed. On his way, he eyed the chilly man whose sense of fashion Axol now envied. "You." He growled, pointing at the woman of unique complexion as he just stood there, his frame completely towering over them. Before he could continue, however, the aroma of bread invaded his nose, and found himself staring intensley at the bread basket. He had forgotten why he walked over here in the first place. "I am hungry, and you have bread." He declared. Asking nicely was not something that was taught to sellswords, but then again, most sellswords at least knew to fake politeness. If anything, Axol only asks nicely when it comes to alchohol.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Axol, The Unworthy
Status: Hunger unsated. Thirst for ale unquenched.

Axol raised a brow at the quiet girl's response, interrupting his thoughts. He took note of the emptiness in her eyes and the felt weight in her words in spite of her merely whispering. After a few moments of contemplation, Axol concluded that perhaps she does not drink, and hence, does not grasp the concept of happiness. He only shook his head in pity before responding, "I pray the gods don't frown upon your sorrows, young lady. We all carry it in our hearts. Not me, though." It may have come accross as an insult, but the words were from his heart. Sarcasm is not a part of the swellsword's arsenal. Nor is socializing, unfortunately.

The young lord spoke and sang the singsongy tune of lord-talk, something that usually brings sleepiness into his bones, but the man gave promise of food- and Axol hungers. There was also mention of training, and the visible discomfort of the guards at whatever they murmured about, which excited him even more. No mention of ale, though... Maybe they'll be offered wine? "I shouldn't drink around where the quiet one can see, though. Envy is a sin, after all." He thought to himself. Strangely, he noticed the air around him get colder when the alchohol-hating lady stepped away from him. Did the warmth he feel come from her? He did not know. Axol can only conclude that perhaps she is not interested in gold, which gave him some relief...

As they walked into the barracks, the archer proceeded to claim a bed of his own. Axol did not like this, giving him an annoyed glance; for he took the room the sellsword eyed first. However, Axol deems himself more mature than he used to be, and decided that he will not physically assault the archer for now. After accidentally walking into other people's rooms, he eventually found a vacant one to claim. He unsheathed the greatsword strapped onto his back and letting it fall to the ground with a loud thud that shook the whole room. "I keep forgetting how heavy this thing is." He chuckles to himself as he took off his armor. The thought of questioning the other travellers on how they'll split the share suddenly came to mind, and wondered if the rest of them even cared about gold.

A question for later... Now, he must search for the food that was promised.

Axol took his time walking through the halls looking for the dining area, the dim light from the torches igniting memories that he did not wish to think about. Thinking is not Axol's profession. Fighting is much more fun when he can break his enemies' bones, less so when the enemy is just voices from a distant past. After roaming around and cursing at one guard for ignoring him, he happens upon the archer's room. He stands there for a moment, just looking directly into his eyes...

"Did you get your food yet?" He asks, "I haven't gotten mine. The guards are deaf, won't tell me where we're supposed to eat." He shakes his head in genuine frustration, not grasping the concept of being ignored. "What foolish lord employs deafs for guards?" He walks in, uninvited, though not really asking for an invitation. "But then again, losing one sense does heighten the others... I know of a blind beggar who caught every rock I threw at him. Damn, I forgot his name..." He then just sits there on the floor, unwelcome and completely lost in his own thoughts, his hunger momentarily forgotten as he struggles with recalling the name of some random beggar.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

Character: Axol, The Unworthy
Status: In need of food and ale.

Axol couldn't recall how many times he had fallen asleep on the wagon, waking now and then in a brief state of panic and rummaging to see if something had been nicked from his pockets and throwing accusatory glances before falling asleep again. He couldn't even tell which of them were dreams, though there was one instant where he awoke to find himself surrounded by humanoid alligators.

That one was definitely a dream, because he knew that alligators can't breathe on land. Well, that's what he knew, at least...

The clinking of heavy chains and the low moans of the Bastion gates did wake him, and he soon found himself walking half-asleep alongside the other travelers before being halted by guards. He rubs his eyes and looks up, his hood falling behind his head as he stands still, witnessing the tall and cold structure that looms over them, suddenly feeling small. It was a feeling he did not like. Axol has no idea where he is in the world right now. He came in the promise of a wealthy employer that needed his talents in exchange for gold.

All he really needed to hear was "gold." Leave it to the gods to help him find his way back.

The winds were harsh against his skin, his armor doing little to keep him warm, but it seemed that his companions were a lot less used to harsher climates, save for one of them, clad in fine clothing akin to a lordling who appeared to be one with the chilly breeze. Axol kept quiet with his arms crossed over his chest, taking brief mental notes of each of his companions. He slowly realizes that whatever rewards they'll be receiving might end up being spread too thin, given their numbers.

"Too many to share with..." He mutters to himself, albeit a bit loudly.

Some louder man with a bow began throwing jests, engaging in conversation with a pointy-eared woman who looks to be just a few minutes away from freezing up completely. Axol found himself chuckling at the sight of the archer nearly kissing the sharp end of a pike from one of the guards. He found it amusing to imagine; blabbering and being abruptly interrupted with a pike through the skull. "I don't know about a fire, but some ale and a hot meal would definitely fix me up." He remarks, nudging the quieter girl beside him as if they knew one another. "You don't happen to have some ale on you, do you?"

Before the meek lady could respond, Axol's eyes landed on the young royalty that stood before them; most certainly their employer. A grin slowly crept up on his cheeks. He recalls the last time a lord had employed him: a poor balding bastard sneaking away from his wife to meet with a mistress, and needed some muscle to secure the perimeter while they copulated in the woods. He was paid a fine sum. This young lord, however, seems to be troubled by more than just forbidden nocturnal activities- and the deeper the trouble, the better the pay. Though he wonders just how big an amount he's looking at, and more importantly, how bigger it'd be if there were fewer of them to share with in their ragtag group...