Paradise Lost - A Semi-Advanced Roleplay discussion

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Arielle sat on a bench in the armoury sharpening her daggers. Her hair was pulled back into a bun with only a few stray strands hanging loose. She was singing softly to herself as she worked, a hobby she had picked up when she was still working with her mother. She knew quite a few songs, many she had picked up from the travelers that passed through and entertained the king and his brothers. She had a few hours free and she wasn't quite sure what to do. She had just finished training so that was no longer an option and her daggers weren't going to get any sharper. With a sigh she put them back into their holders, some on her thighs and the others in the sleeves of her dress.

Mezentius entered the armory, his arms and face soaked in blood. People tended to bleed quite a lot from their necks. He ran a hand through his now sticky, black hair and immediately set to wiping down his beloved axe, the huge blade becoming shiny and beautiful again once he wiped away the gore with a wet rag. He glanced casually to the side to see the Queen's handmaiden fiddling about with her weapons and singing to herself, yet paid her no mind. Most the maidens about Court feared him, in fact, the only people who weren't creeped out by him were the court mage, and the king himself. He couldn't blame them, after all, he was a creepy bloke.

The armory was where he spent most his time when he wasn't in the dungeons or in the courtyard, chopping people's heads off. He had just come in from decapitating a man for stealing bread. He had nothing personal against the man, but for the fact that he stole from the King. And when the king asked him to kill someone, kill someone he did.

Now, whilst covered in blood, was probably not the best time to approach the girl, but it was imperative his axe was sharpened to perfection at all times. He walked over to her purposely, and without a shred of emotion on his face, he held out his hand.

"I need that," he said bluntly. His social skills were not exactly polished.

Arielle looked up when she saw a hand and tilted her head a bit as she took in the blood covered man before her. After a moment she recognized him as the executioner and smiled. "Sure thing" she said in a gentle tone, handing him the blade sharpener. "Another execution today?" She asked studying him. It was a stupid question as she could easily tell that there was by the amount of blood covering him, and she had also heard people talking about it for the past day or so but she knew most people were scared of the executioner. To be fair to them he did look quite hostile most of the time and the rumours of the torture he put people through had circulated the castle quite a few times.

But Arielle wasn't scared so easily, with her training she had been hardened against things like that and she liked to give every once a chance. She wasn't big on listening to rumours when she could find things out for herself. And even though the executioner was pretty brutal when it came to tortured, she knew he needed to be. If torture wasn't brutal it wouldn't be torture.

He took it without thanks; Atilius was still teaching him the concept of 'please' and 'thank you' but he did reply to her question. "Yes," he said, "And he had a fat neck; it took its toll on my poor blade. Alexander does say fat people are always the ones to steal things."

Mezentius immediately set to sharpening the huge blade of his executioner's axe, his hands working across it expertly as they had done a thousand times. He worked like that for a while before setting it back on the stand and moving over to where there was a cupboard of sorts. He opened it and drew out a dagger, before moving towards Arielle. "It slipped my mind; the Queen had me make this for you. The assassination attempts on the Fallons have been rising lately, which means the Resistance are growing in numbers. She wants to be well protected." With this blade she would be. "My blades are faultless," he said, though his voice held no smugness, arrogance or superiority. As though he was stating a fact that didn't affect him in the slightest.

Arielle nodded in agreement to his first comment and smiled when he showed her the dagger. Throwing knives and daggers had always been her favourite weapons. They were so much easier to hide and you could coat them in poison completely. They were a lot better than swords in her opinion.

She reached out and took the dagger, balancing i on her finger before she weighed it and took aim, throwing it into a wooden beam across the room. "So it seems." she said, standing up and going to get the dagger from where she had thrown it. "Do you make weapons often?" She asked, looking back at Mezentius, her brown eyes curious. It was difficult to find someone who could make good daggers or throwing knives; it had taken her a few weeks to find the person to specially make hers. If she had known the executioner had made such good blades she would have just gone to him. He seemed to be a man with a few hidden talents.

He felt deep satisfaction as the blade imbedded into the beam with precision. Wonderful blade. "I never trust a blade unless I made it myself, a ethos I'm sure you're familiar with. I was making swords by the age of five, a wolf who cannot smith is no wolf at all." He doubted she'd understand the mindset of his old tribe, but nevertheless, the message was still clear.

Mezentius made everything himself. He was a sword man himself, because to use other weapons would be a complete waste of his strength, but daggers and little knives were good for torture, as were crossbows. Axes were an executioner's sigil, and he had a range of those. In fact, a sold quarter of the weapons in the armory were his, the others belonging the knights and princes who walked the palace. Forging weapons was one of his few hobbies.

Arielle nodded, clearly impressed. She tossed the dagger in the air and caught it a few times, not really paying attention. Using daggers and knives had been a second nature to her for years. She could use many weapons as if they were a part of her body, she had to be if she wanted to be good protection for the Queen. If she ever let the Queen be injured she would walk herself to the courtyard for an execution.

"Do you charge for the weapons you make?" She asked, tucking the dagger away into one of the many hiding spots in her sleeve. Her throwing knives were a couple of years old now and they were going to need to be replaced soon. She had been thinking about going to the town and finding a blacksmith to make her newer and better knives but if she could get such good quality from Mezentius then going into town would be a waste of time.

"I don't pay for the materials," he said "And it's what I choose to do in my spare time. I make them, never use them, make useless designs for no reason and then put them away to gather dust - no I do not charge. I made the King's sword, and Princess Arya's dagger. I made the thigh holster for it too, actually, she was very specific."

He raised an eyebrow at her, catching her drift. "If you want new weapons I will make them for you - I'd stay clear of the town. It's just unnecessary hassle. Last time I was unofficially I had to kill four children just to stop people attacking me. I like children. Executioner is not a popular trade to have."

Something appeared to come into his mind and he reached over a bench, pulling a long, leather bag towards him. "You might like these," he said, "Before I came here, there was a female warrior of my tribe who used these." He pulled out several long, thick yet sharp needles. "You throw them, like knives. Completely skewer a person."

Arielle listened to his his story with interest. "Yeah the town is a hassle, especially since the resistance has become more popular." She said. She couldn't compare her experiences in the town to his. Being the executioner in the town filled with the relatives of those he had killed could not be a good experience. But Arielle herself was known widely as the Queens Lady in Waiting, though few knew she was trained as well as an assassin in order to protect her Queen. She had run into problems in the town with people trying to get her to join the resistance or trying to attack her, hoping to replace the Lady in Waiting with someone who would try to take out the Queen; but she was smart and deadly. She never fell for their tricks.

Arielle moved closer when he pulled out the needles. She picked one up and weighed it in her hand, looking completely impressed. "You could make good money selling the weapons you make Mezentius." She said, sitting on the bench and running her hand along the needle. "It's been years since I've seen such good quality weapons." She added, trading the needle out for another.

She had always been very interested in the different kinds of weapons and prided herself in knowing how to use most weapons she knew about. She also had an interest in learning to forge them but that was not a job for a lady and it took a lot of time to learn. Time that she would not be protecting the Queen and that was unacceptable.

He smiled in amusement. "I don't need money, I never have. Selling my weapons would not be beneficial to me whatsoever. Besides, I'm far too selective with my customers." He moved over to the right side of the room and picked up a katana he had made when he was sixteen. It was his earlier works that amused him - they were better than anything he could make now. The trades of the tribe had been lost in time within him, which only went to show that it was never just about forging. The mindset has to be war, and Mezentius was no longer interested in war.

His weapons were still the best, but that was besides the point.

Arielle watched him, sliding the needle away. Mezentius was strange, but not in a bad way as most made him out to be. Arielle had always been interested in mysteries and Mezentius as a whole seemed to be a mystery. "Where are you from?" She asked, busying herself with pulling her hair out of the bun it had been in and running a hand through it. She had heard rumours about where he was from but she never really listened to them, preferring to get an actual answer from someone who knew.

"Lots of different places." His answer was ambiguous, but it was also honest. If anyone asked Mezentius the exact location of his birth he would not be able to tell them. As far as he was aware, he had lived there for 3 days before the tribe had decided to move on again. He spared her the gory details of his people. They were a loyal, yet barbaric race, this much he knew, and it did not sit well with civilised folk. That he had learned for himself as a child, before he realised that people didn't really want to know about where he was from. They could never handle it.

Arielle raised her eyebrows slightly and nodded. Mezentius was interesting, and the way he answered questions only made her more curious. "Why don't you socialize with more people?" she asked gently, hoping she wasn't crossing any boundaries. She didn't want to upset him or make him angry but she wasn't sure where he put the line on question asking. She wanted to test it out though, find out how he reacted to different questions. Which would be a hard game to play. Arielle was usually fantastic at reading people but Mezentius was so straight faced, his eyes never revealing much. He was very difficult to read.

"Because people are frightened of me," he replied calmly, "and I am not interested in those who run at the sight of blood." It was true, it was more than just him being an executioner. It was when they brought up the prisoner, eyes glazed over, smiling at their own imminent deaths. It was one thing to behead them, or hang them, or burn them, but the stories of Mezentius' Torture Chambers were the things of nightmares, that the children of the town were too afraid to speak of. There would be one who braved to do it, only to be the one with the worst nightmares at the end of the night. Mezentius never cared for rumours, but in this case, he knew they were true in their element of brutality.

Arielle leaned back against the bench and nodded, taking him in. It made sense. She had heard all of the rumours and then some. Most of them seemed silly and untrue but there were others that gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Not that she would ever admit to it. She wasn't exactly afraid, she had been trained not to be afraid; she couldn't let fear stop her from protecting the queen or push her to give up any of the queens secrets. The feeling was more instinctual, Mezentius was the predator and people who betrayed the kingdom were the prey. She was glad she'd never have to be in the torture chamber on the receiving end.

"But killing was a huge part of my culture before I came here," he continued, "Which was why Alexander brought me here in the first place." Many who knew of his story often wondered why he would be so loyal to Alexander when the man had torn him from his people. But the king was very fond of Mezentius, like a father to his son, or even a master to his dog, and he could say that he was approximately one of the two manservants that Alexander had not struck. The worst he got was mild death threats when his king was in a bad mood. Alexander did not love a great many things, but killing was the exception, and Mezentius was a killing machine.

Arielle nodded, her eyes never leaving him. "People say you were a barbarian before, is that true?" She asked, unable to keep a small smile from spreading across her face. She was clearly interested, it filled her face and her eyes and as far as she knew no one had been brave enough to ask Mezentius for any details about himself or his life, they were all to afraid. In her opinion, there was nothing to be scare about. She doubted that Mezentius would hurt anyone he wasn't supposed to. Even as he said killing was a big part of his culture, it hadn't phased her.

"It depends on your definition," he told her, "For me, it was normality. For the 'civilised' people here, they would consider me so, yes. They still do, but they can justify it. After all, I am but a walking weapon." At least, he believed that was the way Alexander saw him. Atilius, the court mage, would tell Mezentius frequently that he had to always remember that he was as human as anyone else, and that way he would be more than just a weapon. But Atilius was a sentimental fool, as Alexander put it. An odd thing to call your best friend, but nevertheless.

Arielle frowned slightly. "Pardon me if I'm speaking out of turn, but you are a human. Not just a weapon." She said. She had always had problems when people classified others as objects, it just never sat right with her. In her opinion being called something like a weapon dehumanized you, made you seem like you were worth less than you actually are. But King Alexander did that with a lot of people; not that she would ever voice that opinion. She deeply respected the King and did her best to keep him happy, she just slightly disagreed with the way he treated other humans.