Julius Warden was a tormented soul bound by a curse he didn't know how to reverse. Decades of guilt and grief had warped him into an ostracized creature of the night, and while he wasn't bound by blankets of stars and moons, he found solace in the quietness of it all. Old wounds were bound by isolation and distance, encasing him defensively from the life he'd parted from. The loss of love, of a sense of home, left the hermit wandering aimlessly. Little direction and no foretelling of his own future, the man caught in limbo between humankind and the monsters that went bump in the night fit the theme of the gypsy festival.<br/><br/>Since his exile from England and his escape from Devil's Island with the aid of a thief, the ex-militant soldier sought something he wasn't all too sure he'd ever find again:<i>a home. </i>Home was a distant memory of ghosts, the haunted echoes of a life that no longer belonged to him. Though he bore the name that resembled the man named Julius Warden, he was nothing more than a stranger. The man he saw in the mirror was someone... some<i>thing... </i>else. A face caught in it's youth, with smooth lines and sharp angles. Eyes that were once vibrant in it's slanted hazel warmth now appeared tired. The soft bow of his lips that used to smile consistently were fixed in a neutral line.<br/><br/>He was a wandering soul, seeking redemption of a past he could find no peace from. From one place to the next, Julius' journey took him farther from England into foreign lands. He'd lost direction some time ago, and he often questioned if it even mattered anymore. After all, what would be the point of retracing his steps? Exiled, didn't mean<i>return later. </i>It was a life long sentence of banishment... and what if his life was never-ending?<br/><br/>It only by happenstance and sheer curiosity that he'd asked another soul in his path.<i>"Pardon me, sir... could you tell me the name of this land?" <br/>
<br/>
"Why, we're in Tyrael, sir! Do you not know where you travel?" <br/>
<br/>
"No," </i>Julius had murmured before ducking his head, whispering his gratitude and quickly leaving the man with a look of surprise and confusion. He hadn't looked back and barely remembered what he looked like. Faces tend to blend together when you see too many of them, a whirling blur of memory.<br/><br/>Eventually, the wayward stranger had followed the smells and sounds to the festival. The music that floated through the breeze like a calling murmur to the accursed man, followed by the smells of food and people. Sometimes, it was difficult for him to discern between the two and the revelation caused his nose to wrinkle in distaste.<i>This is not how one should think of others. </i>He saw the flames of pyres and the lights of the festival before the encampments and tents, the people bustling about to experience what the festivities had to offer.<br/><br/>Curiosity bloomed in his chest as he edged closer, realization dawning that the majority of those running the festival were gypsies. It was a surprise to just<i>happen </i>upon the traveling vagabonds and merchants, but it eased some of the tension in his shoulders. It intrigued him, though he made sure to keep close attention to his pockets nonetheless. Slipping into the crowd, the sights and sounds had his attention slanting from side to side like an intense game of tennis. From one side to the next, the various stands and tents.<br/><br/><i>"Would you like a handcrafted talisman, sir? This stone here is Aquamarine... Do you look for courage? Luck? Perhaps inner peace... look no further. You've come to the right place." <br/>
</i><br/>Admittedly, as appealing as inner peace was... he knew it would take more than a simple gemstone to soothe his aching soul. "No, but thank you monsieur. It's beautiful," he'd murmured to the man before moving along.<br/><br/>A woman with a sultry voice and curves that brought a flush of pink to his cheekbones beckoned to him with a seductive curl of her finger.<i>"Care to lay your weary head, handsome? Let Marisela take care of you..." </i>she crooned to him, gesturing to her private wagon. Releasing a shaken breath, he sheepishly ducked his head. "Kind of you, madame. But n-no..." He rasped, retreating quickly while the woman pursed her lips to the rejection. It might've made him feel guilty for turning the woman down, were it not for her attention drawn by another man who took her up on the offer.<br/><br/>He paused to the man dancing with fire, his eyes locked onto the man's control of the element with amazement and intrigue. There was a small crowd collected around him at a safe distance as he swallowed a mouthful of liquid and cast a plume of flame toward the sky. It stirred the crowd, who clapped and called to him. Julius merely walked behind the crowd, peering over a shoulder to catch a glimpse at the spectacle. It was an admirable talent, he would admit.<br/><br/>Julius absorbed everything he could from the festival, reveling in the feel of being around people. Even though it made his chest tighten in a fit of anxiety. The only thing that calmed his nerves, was the fact there was so much going on, he could blend in and become invisible among the other moving bodies. He looked normal among them, in simple clothes. A simple green tunic that tied at his chest, brown trousers and soft leather boots. Perhaps the only thing that stood out was the<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.numisantica.com%2Fdata%2Farticles%2Fimages%2Flightbox%2Fbig%2Ffrench-court-sword-or-rapier_7924_3.jpg&amp;hash=e44787bfc1ce15d34fc9e0a6e8da5928" href="https://www.numisantica.com/data/articles/images/lightbox/big/french-court-sword-or-rapier_7924_3.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">rapier sheathed at his right hip</a>, given to him by the same thief who'd helped him off the dreadful Island. A replacement for the treasured weapon he'd lost. Gifted in silence from the quiet Nightingale, he'd merely passed the sword to him before walking away without another word... disappearing into the shadows. It was only after he'd left that the blade had been unsheathed, discovery of it's engraved blade with a lone word that meant more to Julius than he could've described.<br/><br/><i>la miséricorde<i>. </i></i><br/><br/>It wasn't until he'd reached a peculiar tent, it's entryway catching his attention immediately. The decorated tent with stars and a crystal made his brows furrow deeply as he stared at it for a moment, but there was no chance of moving along for Julius. As much as he had no interest in what his future foretold, the shrill cry of a woman inside sank his sank to his feet. Her previous cries had been snuffed out by the calls of the crowd at the fire breather. It made his body grow rigid, a split second before he took action in sheer reflex. His feet was moving before he could think, his left arm crossing his torso to curl his fingers over the elaborately decorated hilt of his sword. His right arm swept aside the flap of the tent as he charged through, his hazel eyes widening to the sight before him.<br/><br/>The large man assaulting a woman, his hand grasping her by the throat. His mouth opened to speak up against it before it was cut off by the growl that raked from his throat to the backhanded slap administered by the drunkard. It instigated the firm grip of Julius' hilt as he slid the blade from it's scabbard with a smooth execution. A few short steps brought the soldier behind the man, extending the sword until the point of the blade was pressed beneath the first rib at his back. Even through his fabric, he would be able to feel the sharpened bite poking through the fabric to the skin beneath. "Unhand the woman, lest you find your heart has stopped before you hit the floor." The strict, unfaltering expression of Julius was as serious as the unwavering grip he held his blade with, confident and certain. Intolerable to the abuse of the woman the ruffian currently had his hands on. "I believe the wisest decision would be to leave, and find yourself a place to sleep it off." A slight flare of his nostrils clued him into just how much the man had been drinking or at least a roundabout estimation -<i>a lot. <br/>
<br/>
</i><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
<button class="bbCodeSpoiler-button button--longText button" data-xf-click="toggle" data-xf-init="tooltip" title="Click to reveal or hide spoiler" type="button"><span class="button-text">
<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">la miséricorde</span></span>
</span></button>
<div class="bbCodeSpoiler-content">
<div class="bbCodeBlock bbCodeBlock--spoiler">
<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">French for "mercy".</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>