Old IC Thread [Taming The Flame]

After finishing his drink and enduring the jokes of the other gillers Algos decided to go back to the library and get some studying done. After a thankfully quiet walk he returned, smiling as the doors opened for him. This was where he felt at home. As he walked through the shelves he did a mental check on everything he would need, feeling the books fly into his hand. as even more were carried to him by Arch. His arms were getting so full in fact, that he nearly ran into a girl who was obviously searching the shelves in vain. "Excuse me miss?" he said, putting on his librarians smile, "anything I can help you find?"


@Stickdom
 
Zevran looked into the room where the Fox pup ate his food before turning away from him and closing the door. She had to collect more information on those men that were hanging around town, and she didn't want to the fox pup with her. She left him with a small knife so he would be able to stab any attacker and run away...hopefully. As she wandered down the hallway she saw a mass of black as she slammed straight into a hard chest. She quickly stepped back away from him. She looked up and saw that this was, in fact, a Jackal like Sharian. His eyes were hard, there was a sneer upon his face, and a snake trailed behind him The only reason why she didn't lash out was because of that snake. She glared up at the man, her upper lip curling back in a snarl.


Her fur was on edge, and her entire body was stiff with a sudden mix of emotion. The first that had hit was fear, then anger, and then attraction. This man, if the robe was any indication, was someone who had his own people under his claw, using human's as his pawns to capture them. Zevran looked behind her at the door at the end of the hall, where the child was. Her motherly instincts were strong, despite the fact that this child wasn't hers. She wasn't going to let anyone harm him.


"Hello, sir," she said through gritted fangs, hoping to keep herself from lunging at his throat. She hated slavers. Especially Sharian slavers. the Sharian's were supposed to be an honourable race, but more than a few of them turned to the slaving Trade.''


(@LupusDeUmbra )


(Sorry that it isn't longer.)
 
Sheut was halted by the woman. He was irritated at first and sneered, but then noticed that it was the woman from earlier. As his eyes glanced towards the door of her room he noticed her tense up.


"Do you always greet people with such hostility?"





Sheut looked down at her. The snarl on her lips a sign to be cautious, yet Sheut was intrigued as well. He gave the woman a curious glance and waited for her response. Apophis stretched out his hood, showing the black and dark purple pattern underneath.


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@The Lady Kitsunerisu


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(it's okay mine isn't that long either... Sorry if it's too short, Ayl, I don't know what else to add to this. oh I also completely forgot that I left Apophis at the Inn, but it would make sense that he wandered about catching mice and decided to join Sheut once he got back so it's all good.)
 
Minke, in the town of Bolos

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"So whaddya think o' 'em?" Alvar asked, cutting the silence that had fostered between them as finally they neared the fence once more.


"Ah think they're pretty namby-pamby, no place for 'em 'round 'ere," Minke replied, leaving her blade to lean against the fencepost this time rather than keeping hold of it while she sat.


"Y'think 'at's what they're really 'ere for?" she went on, knowing the mountain of a guardsman beside her had much better instincts for this sort of thing.


A brief pause went by as Alvar considered it, scratching behind his ear while he stared into the distance where they'd come from.


"Dunno, awful convincin, but it dun' feel quite right. Why ride fromma South coast iff're comin' from Asralshar, message fromma king ought'nt be comin' from Kwovat right?" he asked, sounding for all the world like the instructor that had taught Minke her maps, lost cause that it was.


"So what're ye sayin?" Minke asked, enraptured now as she leaned forward in her seat, wobbling a little as she nearly toppled off the fence.


"Kwovat's North 'a 'ere, they'da had te sail downna strait te git 'ere, coulda just landed by Shykal, sailed'a river, then come up de mountain straight," Alvar answered in kind, growing more and more suspicious of the driver and his charge, Lord Driskoll.


"Now, I hate te ask dissun, but could ye break down tha' wagonna theirs?" Alvar asked, knowing that at the very least the carriage would be stopping for supplies, and likely to bed down for the night if the lord really was nobility.


"Y'want me te boost it?" Minke asked, quirking a brow at her partner, never having known him for illegal activity in any form.


"Nah, jes' te delay 'em, git us a coupla extra days to figure thin's out," he explained, not particularly bothered by the fact that Minke had brought up stealing the carriage, it certainly was expensive looking, and he'd always assumed she'd had sticky fingers in the past.


"Ya, well, I'll jes' go poppa wheels offit, Jyri oughtta take a couple 'a days te make 'em new bands eh?" the crimson-tressed woman replied, going through the steps in her mind, get a few bricks, two pry-bars, and she'd be able to slip the wheels off like a pair of gloves, then she just needed a place to hide them so she could sell them later.


"Oh stop countin' coin would ye!?" Alvar asked incredulously after patiently waiting for his watch-partner to go through the process in her head, but when she started counting off fingers, he knew where she was at.


"What else'd I be doin' wit' 'em?" Minke asked, just as offput it would seem, as Alvar was, though for different reasons.


"Ye'll be givin' 'em to me, I'm comin' along now. Not gonna jes' let ye steal from people," the man-bear replied in what was almost a lecture, which quickly reminded Minke more and more of the instructor from their training days.


"Fine, but ye'll be liftin' th' wagon," she said with a laugh.


From that point, the day passed as normal, albeit slowly, and when Minke headed back into town to scrape together lunch for the pair at the barracks, she went a little further to check that the carriage had indeed stopped at Odran's, and decided to stop in to fill her horn for lunch.


Back at the roadside, while he berated her for drinking in midday, Alvar also mooched near half the horn of stout.


Much later into the day, when the sky began to tint orange as the sun fell behind the horizon, the pair were relieved, though with their replacements, Tarmo also came strolling up the road.


"Yer bein' relieved," the captain began, saluting as he did so, though none of the four other guards did in response, "The visitin' lordship had some words wit' me earlier."


At that, Alvar got a little bit fidgety, though the impending beratement didn't seem to phase Minke in the slightest.


"Parently 'e's lookin' fer an escort, wants our best fighters at 'is side 'e does," Tarmo continued, at which Alvar relaxed with an audible sigh.


An awkward silence passed as the four guards around Tarmo looked at one another, all pointing a finger toward themselves.


"These two ye dolts!" he shouted, swatting the two he'd come alongside over the backs of their heads before he went on to discuss details with the pair just coming off duty.


"Not a one strong as yerself Alvar, and while ah hate te admit it, th' two 'a ye's; make a good team," Tarmo said, struggling through the end of the sentence, as though complimenting Minke was physically painful to him. A look at his purpled nose and swollen eyes though explained more than any number of words could about Tarmo's feelings toward Minke.


"E's makin' th' trip up te Hjatland, though ah'm sure ye already knew 'at. Not sure ah trust 'im meself, so keep an eye on th' bugger," the aging guard-captain explained, just as the three of them arrived at the barracks, and he took their weapons to stow inside.


"Be ready at sunnup, annat includes you Minke, so no drinkin!"


The door slammed shut behind Tarmo with the scream of metal on metal, leaving Alvar and Minke to stare at one another, trying to figure out if this was a joke or not.


"Wellat's a coin-in-th'-fence," Minke said, to which Alvar attempted to correct her, though technically she was right, a coin in the fence was certainly a metaphor representing a coincidence.


"Drinkin' time ah s'pose," the short woman chimed with a smile, already making her way to Odran's after turning on her heel.


Alvar put a hand to his forehead, then simply stood there, facing the barracks door for a solid five seconds while he mourned Minke's lack of reason, then followed right behind her.


"D'ye jes' not hear the words 'at come from Tarmo's mouth, or jes' the ones ye don't want te?" Alvar asked, ducking through the door to their local watering hole. Inside were the other regulars, Jyri, Frida, and Ukko, the smith, seamstress, and farmer, and the lordling, sitting at Minke's table.


"Oh bollocks," Alvar muttered, though the words were lost in Minke's furious shouting.


"Git yer arse outta me spot ye lilylivered lady-boy!" she practically shrieked, stomping across the room, Alvar in tow.


The driver, also at her table, rose calmly from his seat to apologize, though as his mouth opened, he was struck with one small, stone-like fist which turned his head almost unnaturally far to the side as the corded muscle of Minke's arm shot straight, pushing his jaw aside like a bough of leaves blocking her path. After he was struck, the driver collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes, bleeding from the mouth as two of his molars flowed out with the blood, bruise already forming at the hinge of his jaw.


At her display of force, the lordling backed away from the table as he rose, hand immediately going to the hilt of his sword. Before the blade cleared its scabbard though, and before Minke launched herself across the table to throttle the poor lad, Alvar scooped her off the floor, arms under hers, crossing his hands behind her head. While she kicked and screamed for quite some time afterward, the guardswoman eventually calmed herself down, though Alvar still wouldn't let her down immediately. At the other side of the room, Ukko had finally stopped laughing, and Odran had made his way around the bar to check on the unconscious patron on his barroom floor.


"E took me table," Minke whined, finally calmed, or at least no longer kicking anyways.


"An' 'e was gonna say 'e was sorry fer it, but ye knocked 'is tongue down 'is throat afore 'e got te. Innat right Driskoll?" Alvar half-rambled, trying to keep Minke from doing anything else completely foolish tonight.


"I'll be doing no such thing! I've heard of violent tempers in Mjulnir, but this is beyond outlandish, I'll not stand such follhardiness from a member of the town guard!" the lordling shouted. His face uncovered, no longer needing to protect himself from the wind, the young man, and he was that, looked to be no older than seventeen, though it may have been the soft skin of his face, untempered by the icy winds of Luyn that deceived Alvar.


Drawing his blade now, the young lord continued;


"Now hold her still that I might put a hole in her heart and end the life of such a violent mongrel before it bites again!"


At that, Alvar let Minke go, and shared a word of his own.


"Ah tried te be civil wit' ye, ah really did. Ah won't be standin' 'ere all the night listenin' te ye berate us," he said, rolling his shoulders as Minke did the same.


"But yer a long way from home if'n ye think we'd jes' let ye kill sommun fer a punch, 's practically a hullo fer her," Alvar continued.


As he finished what he was saying, just as Minke was about to make an insult of her own, Alvar struck her, one clean punch in the ear, and she was down for the count, eyes rolled back in her head.


Just before the red-headed drunk blacked out, she caught sight of the lady flinching away from her, like he'd never seen a woman struck before, despite his offer to kill her just a second ago. A short thought ran through her mind before hitting the floor;


Heh-heh... Panzy-arse...
 
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Shan'Manrir had been much different than Sirecy, back in Mloik. There were less trees, and more mountains. At least it had been by the water, a feature Zanna would never be able to live without after living so close to it during her childhood. The sunlight danced among the ever changing horizon, and the smell of seawater floated along the air wherever you walked. Tall buildings surrounded her, and mimicked the grand nature of nearby mountains. They seemed bold and elegant, almost regal, and casted long shadows all along the streets of the glorious capital. Sights like this had been rare back home, even when she attended the academy. The school had been grand and graceful in its own manner, but would never be comparable to the buildings that guilded the streets of Shan'Manrir. Most of the buildings back in Sirecy resembled wooden cabins. They were built with a simpler idea, that they would endure the elements of the wild, and not to impress the common passer.


The beautiful scenery of the golden city had distracted the young woman so much, she had become oblivious to the various glares she received from the natives. It was true, Zanna stood out from the rest of the crowd. No, it was not due to her choice of outfit; which included nothing more than a tight crop top and short skirt, it was not from the way she carried a tall, imposing spear by her side, or how she concealed the bottom portion of her face with a deep, red, silk handkerchief. None of those things, while they would draw attention to her in many situations, were not the main reason for the inquisitive glances. Many folks back in Mloik knew Zanna as The Scarlet Seductress, the name being pretty self explanatory, due to her reputation. But here, in Shan'Manrir, they only saw her as a Dylenor.


"Ma'am, are you lost?" a kind native finally approached Zanna, and offered his assistance. Zanna broke her trance from the new, empowering surroundings, and turned her head to send a kind smile.


"I'm just finding my way, thank you," she replied, her voice was strong and deep. "It is my first time in Shan'Manrir, but I believe I will manage." With no other means of communication with the gentle Sharian, she continued to walk about the city.


Now, how was it that someone like Zanna ended up in a place like Shan'Manrir? What had compelled the young woman so much to migrate that far South? These questions were the ones she hoped to avoid during her time in Serenne, because they were not easy to answer. Her reputation back home, to say the least, was becoming distasteful. The Scarlet Seductress had been her title for years, to the point where no one could even recite her birth given name. Had she become guilty for her promiscuous actions that earned her that title? No, not in the slightest. She would always be The Scarlet Seductress, but people back home never saw Zanna for who she could truly be. She had initially been enrolled in the academy for her natural talent in spear fighting, not love making, but the people of Mloik had been blinded by three simple words. They did not realize her true potential as a warrior, a fighter, something she was far better at than seducing a man.


Zanna hoped her travels had been faster than the untamed rumors her title carried, so she could begin showing the ruthless soldier she could become. Sirecey was all ready far North, so it made more for her journey to go South, but everywhere she turned, it seemed that her old reputation had followed her. The strange looks she received when she entered the city were unsettling at first, but the manor in which the kind Sharian had approached her had confirmed her prospects, and it seemed that her reputation had not caught up quite yet. A smile had grown on her lips when she had turned her gaze away from the native as she began to walk further into the city.


"Stop!" a voice suddenly commanded, and appeared behind Zanna. The woman quickly spun around to see who had addressed her. A tall, large Sharian stood before her, dressed in heavy armor and equipped with a long, steel sword and shield. He gave a serious expression towards Zanna before speaking again. "I have received reports of a suspicious Dylenor figure walking about the streets of the city. State your business."


"I am simply looking for the military general, sir," she said, a look of innocence covering her face. "Word had come to me that your military was recruiting new soldiers," she paused briefly, and glanced over the outfit that the Sharian guard wore, and noticed the symbols on the shoulder plates. "You wouldn't happen to know the person I could speak to about such a subject," she trailed, and looked up to the guard through her deep, brown eyes.


The guard could not control himself, and let out a high pitched laugh. Zanna's eyesbrows raised in a state of concern and confusion. What had been so hilarious about her statement to make a high ranked officer break out into a frenzy of laughter? His fit lasted for several seconds, until he was finally able to collect himself, then began his repsonse. "Dear me, you're looking at him!" He laughed some more, practically collapsing to the ground, then compiled himself once more and continued his statement. "Why would a Dylenor want to join the ranks of a Sharian military? Our reputation holds nothing compared to your birthplace. Just go home." The guard started to lead the small group that had followed him back to the base located in the heart of the city, his shrill laughter still heard along the streets.


Zanna's expression suddenly shifted into one that read of deep anger, and she glared at the soldiers as they walked away. She began to follow their path, but they had all ready become oblivious to the female Dylenor. She had been utterly shocked by their manners. Maybe that was the reason why their military had fallen short of Mloik's. Zanna let out a huff of air, then stopped in her tracks. "Hey!" she shouted after the group of warriors. The guard who initially addressed Zanna was the first to turn around, a grin of mockery shining on his furry face. Before the Sharian had a chance to turn around and ignore her, Zanna lifted her spear into the air, then sent it flying through the air. She watched the jesting expression drop to one of fear as her weapon approached her target. The Sharian braced himself for the sharp object to impale his skull, his eyes closed and his muscles tensed, but the pain did not arrive. He heard a loud thunk, and felt a breeze over his head, then slowly opened his eyes. A sigh of relief escaped him, and all of the muscles in his body relaxed. He raised his paws to reach for his helmet, but realized it was absent. Wildly, the male Sharian looked about, then finally located it moments later ten feet away from where he stood.


Zanna still stood where her tracks had stopped, the expression of anger still painted onto her face. She waited for the guard to notice that his life had not been taken, and the worst that had happened, was to his helmet. Her plans for the day had changed now, and she immediately set for the black smith before the guard could turn around to face her again. It had been a good spear, and Zanna wished she could have used it more sufficiently, but she found no use going back and fetching it. She would just have to craft a new one.
 
~~~Nir'Amen, The Library Of Infinity~~~


Soph jumped slightly at the sound of a voice. "Oh, Far..." She stopped, it was not the Farin she had been looking for, this was someone else. Her attitude changed, her expression turned dour and she looked slightly at the floor. "I suppose you can help me," she muttered, still facing the newcomer's shoes. They seemed worn out for a librarian's pair, and dusty, he was not of the staff of the Library, then, and therefore his attitude was suspect. But, she had no choice, her sister was running out of time.


Soph finally glanced to the man's face, he seemed sincere and friendly, but she did not know him, or even his name, and therefore he was a stranger to be treated with caution. "I need..." Soph hesitated, she was not sure if he would be able to help her in the task that she had before her, so she preferred as little outside influence as possible. She had to be very careful not to reveal her true intentions or risk being banished or tortured for the curse on her own sister, even if it was unintentional. She put on the air of confidence that she had seen in her mother at many Council Gatherings, as she read out the mundane scrolls of simple politics, not the grand and powerful words needed to cast a spell. "I need to find a way to expand my skills as a sorceror. Abroad. I have learned all I need to here, and a change of scenery and teaching atmosphere may be of some help."


Soph was lying through her teeth, and she knew that the librarian knew this. The Library of Infinity was the repository of almost all magical learning. If a source of arcane knowledge existed in the world, you could find a copy or at least a reference to it here. But, she hoped that this not-a-librarian would understand, that he would not ask questions and simply assist her.


@theunderwolf
 
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Tobiah was pretty sure he was lost, he was somewhere off the road between... Somewhere and somewhere else. Quickstep had been spooked by a tree waving in the wind, the branches creaking and cracking. As it had broken away from the pale brown trunk, the dun gelding had taken the bit between his teeth and had broken into a frenzied gallop. Low branches had whipped at his face and his fur and he kept finding little bits of stick on himself.


So, now he was riding through a forest, trying to remain heading in the same direction. It was disorienting here and with the sun at his back, he really didn't have much to go on. Everywhere he looked there were just trees and he was starting to think he had seen some of them before, then again it could be his imagination. He ran a paw down the side of the gelding's neck, patting him a few times. Ahead a few paces, some birds were flushed from the undergrowth and zig-zagged away through the trees, dodging the trunks expertly.


"This is all your fault, Quickstep." He sighed, letting himself droop forward to rest his head on the back of the dun's neck. "We're going to be lost forever. I know it."
 
Zevran saw his gaze go to her room, then back to her. He had a tone to his voice that put her on edge. You could almost always tell when a man had money and he knew how to use it. The tone to their voice could put anyone on edge, and it especially put her on edge. She loosened up a little and stood at her full height as someone turned the corner and went to their own room, only looking at the Sharian's in the hall for a moment before slamming their door and locking their door. Not that it would have mattered much. If she and him had wanted in that room all they would have had to do was slam their foot into it, then it would splinter under their strength. She looked down at the snake, seeing that it was starting to try to intimidate her. She sneered at the snake, not showing that she was a little intimidated. She was sure that one bite from him would kill her within a few days.


Her gaze went to the fellow Sharian's face, staring up into his scornful eyes. He was an alpha, this was obvious, but Zevran herself was an alpha as well. She challenged him by staring straight into his eyes, not blinking, her sneer still on her face.


"Your black robes are those of-" she paused a moment, letting her eyes fall to look at the cloak. There were designs and a rare fabric on those robes, placing him in Shan'manrir. She relaxed fully and took a step back, looking up at him with a suddenly embarrassed look.


"My apologies. I thought you were someone else..." she trailed off, seeing the snake settle down some. She turned away and went back to her room, deciding not to do errands at that point in time.
 
"hmmm, Arcane knowledge outside the library." Algos thought about it. His brain ignoring the suspicion of the question in exchange for a brain twister about the world. He shifted and grabbed a few books. Muttering to himself and making volume requests for arch and after a minute of speed reading he turned to the girl again. "Welll," he said with a smile, your best bet would be the Sharian lands or Duender-sharian trading posts, they usually are neutrally aligned so it'd be easy to get your hands on most of what you need. Not as easy as here though but no accounting for taste. Anything else?"
 
Confused by the woman's sudden backing down to the conflict, Sheut went to his room. It wasn't until he got back to his room and looked in the mirror that he saw what made her so tense. The men in the alley. The pieces fit together and realization hit Sheut. The woman and the fox pup, those were the Sharian the men had been looking for. Sheut looked over himself and realized he looked somewhat like them at first glance.


He changed into more traditional Chamorest garb. A loose, flowing tan fabric. The robes were adorned with jewels and gold trim. He had not worn this since the day of his Choosing. He walked back down the hall and knocked on the woman's door lightly. Apophis stayed in his room, asleep on the windowsill. As Sheut waited, he thought of how he would tell her the threat was gone. He had no proof, and she had no reason to trust him.


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@The Lady Kitsunerisu


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Soph relaxed as he simply answered her question. It was what she had been hoping for, but she had expected him to act otherwise. But, now that she had this opportunity, she was going to seize it for all it was worth. "Which way to the closest outpost? I think a Sharian-Duender city will suit my purposes just fine. Can you get me a map with the latest traveling routes? It's very important that I get there as fast as possible." She realized, too late, that these questions countered her previous lie that she was only in search of study, and not racing time to learn what she could do to save her sister. Again, her feelings of apprehension shook her, if he decided to find out who she was, her parents would surely get word of her actions. That would mean failure to her, and she could not abide that.


She quickly glanced at the book he held in his hands, but could not read the title from this angle, but she did not have time to squander needlessly. She took on the air of her mother again, firm and instructing, used to being obeyed without question. As she did so, Soph stood as tall and straight as she could, imitating her father's bearing and presence, though she was noticeably shorter than this other duender, it did present a little bit of a slightly intimidating posture. She tried again with her new confidence and urgency, "Please show me a map to get to one of these outposts, this is a matter of some importance. If you require, I will be glad to repay you sometime in the future for your services." Even if she was going to blow her own story wide open, using her own words no less, Soph was determined to succeed in her objective anyway.
 
Minke, in the town of Bolos

​



Muffled words began to pierce the blackness, which soon became blurred brown when Minke opened her eyes. Over a few seconds, the guardswoman remembered exactly what had happened, reminded quite sharply by the aching in her right ear.


"Fookin' sucker-punchin' arsehole," she murmured, wobbling as she began to rise, though anything more than a seated position seemed nigh impossible for the time being, and so Minke satisfied herself with scrabbling upright, then leaning back against the bench of her table.


The words being exchanged seemed impossible to understand, though the ringing in her ears would account for that.


"Y'coulda jes' said no," the red-haired woman noted, pushing her knuckles into her temples again, not unlike she had just that morning.


"Annen ye woulda jes' punched 'im anyways," the enormous blurry mass replied in the same thick lowland accent that everyone in Bolos had, Alvar then.


"Well, certainly resilient," a flowery voice responded, not seeming to be particularly on-topic, obviously the lady.


"Ah fshtill fshupport da fshtabbing," another voice answered, muddled, but not by lowland accent, no, by broken jaw, really? What sort of namby-pamby five-forker couldn't take just one little punch without breaking something? That must've been the driver, the lilyliver had lost a couple of teeth, and was definitely none too pleased about it.


"Ah was jes' tellin' little lord Driskoll 'ere 'at yer jes' a lil diff'rent from most, innat right Mini?" Alvar asked, leaning close to Minke, offering her his hand to at least get her up into her seat. Her vision just barely clearing up, Minke couldn't see any further than the bare shoulder, winding tattoos stretching right up to her nose as they twirled around her partner's sausage-like fingers.


Taking the hand, Minke lurched up into the seat as she was hauled off the floor, and deposited on the bench with no particular tenderness, though it didn't bother her in the slightest.


"Why th' left Alvar? I knows yer righty, shield 'and somethin' somethin," Minke more mumbled than asked, tongue still feeling a bit like a lump of cotton was rolling around on it.


"Cuz' yer 'ead's like a bleedin' rock! Damned glad ye went down er thin's mighta gotten messy," the foothill tribesman answered, shaking out his right hand as he said so.


"With our; acquaintance, awake now, I suppose that we'd best be cementing our arrangements?" the lordling asked, hinting that he and Alvar must have talked whilst Minke had been under, and perhaps the driver as well.


"Nah, we gottit sorted, I'll jes' steer Minke 'ere straight come sunnup, and ye do th' same fer yers," the giant in question replied, taking a seat across from the crimson-tressed woman, finally relaxing.


"Wait wait wait," Minke said, making drastic hand gestures while she did so.


"So 'e jes' gottup too? Ah thought ah'd've been out longer'n 'im!" she laughed, so hard her sides ached, the driver on the other hand was not so enthused.


"Either way, no more talk o' business tenight, less jes' enjoy th' evenin," Alvar commented whilst he moved across to take a seat at the table with Minke, the lordling and his driver doing the same, claiming the bench on the far side of the table.


"Y'earat Odran? Bring us a round!" Minke shouted, waving the gentle barkeep over.


Once everyone had their drinks, the four drove tankards together proclaiming "Cheers!" and knocked back the drink, or as much of it as they could anyways.


The driver managed a good couple of swallows before he set the mug back to the table with a clatter, spluttering a little at the bitterness of lowland stout. Driskoll spewed his across the table, misting Alvar's bare chest, completely unable to handle the drink. Meanwhile those more accustomed were less bothered, Alvar taking back half the drink before he came back up for air, the foam clinging to his beard looking somewhat comical.


Minke on the other hand, chugged the entire drink, slamming her metal cup to the table while calling out for another, to which Odran returned with a second round for the group.


"By the Keepers, that brew is foul," the babyfaced lord whined, still hacking on what little he'd gotten down.


"Not like yer wines o' fruit 'n honey is it?" Minke mocked, taking a swig of her second drink now.


"But yer servant 'ere's 'oldin' 'is own, innat right?" she went on, still laughing at the poor man, who coughed into his drink, blowing foam over the other side where it slapped onto the table wetly.


The rest of the group's evening went by in much this manner, foreigners having great difficulty with their drinks while the locals drank them like water, Minke slowly bringing herself to a nice, fuzzy state of mind, while Alvar remained completely sober, not drinking nearly as much as his fellow locals.


At nearly midnight, Minke had passed unconscious into the table, and the travelers made their way to the room they'd rented for the evening, and even Alvar went home, leaving Odran to close up as he normally did, leaving Minke the only one locked into the tavern.


Late into the night however, nearing the witching hour, the red-haired woman's eyes snapped open, then promptly found themselves jabbed by the ends of her hair, to which she cursed quietly in a whispered voice, slipping her legs over the bench silently like she'd done a thousand times before. Practiced steps carried the small woman around the tables of the commonroom, avoiding every creaking plank by memory.


Over the bar, and into the kitchen she went, quiet as a church mouse, though before she pulled the deadbolt on the back door, she took a moment to fill the horn on her belt from a cask, sure to leave a few iron shims atop it in payment.


Opening the door into the chill night air, chillier than the day that was, Minke crept around the back of Odran's to where the foreign wagon was parked, the horses quietly nibbling at the grass, apparently unable to sleep. Reaching into her belt before she spooked the beasts, Minke produced a handful of oats, left over from her lunch, which she divided to share between the horses, familiarizing herself to them; she didn't want them making noise while she worked.


"Lessee whatcha brought 'en," the red-haired woman whispered, crawling into the back of the carriage with only a gentle creak, not nearly enough to wake anyone, and since the horses knew she was there, they let out nothing more than a single snort.


The evening was silent, not the chirp of an insect to be heard, so quiet it was that it was oppressive, making Minke's ears ring. Arms beginning to sprout gooseflesh, and nose already numbing at the tip, Minke wished that she'd bothered to prepare for the weather earlier in the day, though it was much too warm then, and Alvar would've spoiled her plot either way.


Thankfully the moon was full, casting a silver light across all beneath it, though while it made her snooping easier, it also meant that discovery was much more likely, and the thieving guardswoman really didn't need Tarmo hearing of these antics.


The kegs were first priority for Minke, and after uncovering one from beneath its tarp, she could see glyphs marked around the metal bands, highlighted in the moonlight, but too shallow to see in proper lighting. The writing was indecipherable, some foreign language perhaps, but Dylenor were never taken to symbolic displays like this, they preferred the much more overt, vibrant red colours and intricate banners. The letters weren't written in a language Minke recognized, and while she couldn't read, she at least recognized local letterings, and these weren't that. Thinking about it, Minke realized that Alvar may know about them, and searched through her pack for the sheet of vellum she'd been given. The vellum had proper arrest procedure written on it, a gift from Tarmo after the last time she'd detained a foreigner, a Sharian if she remembered right, though Tarmo didn't know she couldn't read, so the joke was on him.


Leaning out the back of the wagon, taking another look around for observers, Minke scooped up a handful of dirt, then rolled the barrel onto its side, laying the vellum against it, writing down, and scrubbed the handful of dirt roughly against the vellum, leaving impressions of the characters from the iron bands on it. Those, she cut out, carefully tracing the clean outlines with her knife, after all, the dirt would just fall away before she'd ever get the chance to show Alvar. After that, Minke rolled the guide up again, stowing it in the back of her belt, as Tarmo made certain she always did, then also sheathed her knife, back in its home beneath her vest of spun wool.


Once she'd gotten the impression, Minke set about looking for anything else suspicious, but before she could make any progress, she could hear a door unlatching in the distance, someone leaving their home. In the split second she had before she could be seen, Minke lay flat in the back of the carriage, throwing the tarp over herself and the keg, staying very still lest she give away her presence.


Two pairs of feet crunched through the frosted grass, approaching the carriage, and the fact that the horses made no acknowledgement of it told Minke all she needed to know, it was the lady and his manservant.


"Ah could've fshworn..." one voice said, stumbling over his broken teeth, though the other voice only sighed for the moment.


"I told you that there's nothing here, every night that charm has trembled, and not once was anything here! I told you not to buy that inscription! Never trust a hooded man's sale," the second voice, obviously the lordling, replied far too loudly, probably rousing someone from their slumber, and even disturbing the horses somewhat, tramping their hooves in the dirt and snorting.


While the driver went around front and shushed the horses, calming them, Driskoll left, and just moments after, so did the driver.


Once she was sure they'd left, Minke peeked out from beneath the tarp, and with the pair nowhere to be seen, she puzzled over what exactly had been said before.


"Erry night?" she asked before a snarling sound cut her off. As the guardswoman was about to step down from the carriage to puzzle things out, a rough hand took hold of her forearm, hauling her over the side where she landed roughly on her back, looking up at the perpetrator, though they just looked like a shadow rimmed in silver from her perspective. What caught her attention though, was the bar of silver it held before it, which she instinctively knew was about to come her way very quickly.


With few options available to her, Minke rolled partway, and snapped her right foot out ahead of her, taking the shadow by their ankle, causing them to trip with a yelp. Landing roughly on its side, the shadow's hood fell off, though Minke wasn't paying attention to that, and took hold of their wrist which held the silver bar, which she could only assume was a sword, whilst she rolled atop them. The two struggled over the blade, and it was certainly that, one fiery haired Mjulnir straddled atop a grey-furred Sharian with feline features. Quickly, Minke established herself as the stronger of the pair, turning the point of the shortsword back on its owner, though the size of it made any sort of attack clumsy and awkward.


Still trying to figure out what to do with the sword, Minke didn't realize what the Sharian was up to until he'd done it, jaws clamping shut around her wrist, fangs digging deep into her flesh.


"Ye little tosser, what do ye think ah am, a shank o' lamb!?" she grunted in askance, to which the catman smiled around the mouthful of her arm.


Seeing no better option, Minke slammed the Sharian's hand into the ground, knocking the sword free, after which she bit into his arm, snarling at him savagely, much to his surprise. With her right hand now free, Minke began battering at the Sharian's head, clubbing him in the eye several times before a splitting noise occured, and blood jetted from the socket with a pained yowl struggling to make it past her wrist. Stopping with the pummeling, Minke grabbed hold of the Sharian's hood, hauling it down over his eyes while she spat out his hand, driving her forehead into the black nose tipping his muzzle, which also made an audible cracking noise, spewing blood across her face, and into her hair. Another yowl escaped the greyfur's throat as he released Minke's hand, tearing a chunk of flesh along with him. Keeping hold of his hood, which now entrapped his face, Minke also took hold of her opponent's belt, hauling him up to his feet while she also stood.


Desperately thrashing now, the Sharian's clawed hand tore a strip from Minke's vest, slashing at her ribs and drawing blood. Now on their feet, the Mjulnir woman hefted the Sharian man, easily a foot taller than her, airborne for a short time, and pulled down just as quickly as she dropped back onto one knee, leaving the catman to come crashing down across her opposite, whereupon a third crack sounded, like logs being split on a chill winter's night, and he fell limp.


Rolling the now deceased assassin off her lap, Minke rose shakily to her feet, still pumping full of adrenaline, and spat on the corpse.


"Fookin' bit me, what a child," she muttered before she thought to search the body.


Upon carefully searching the body, and taking a look at the sword laying some distance away, Minke realized that this man had been wearing many more of those nonsensical characters on both his cloak, and sword. He also carried a sheet of papyrus, rolled carefully and bound with a ribbon. No one used papyrus here, and even paper was rare, the stuff tore so easily it wasn't worth the effort, vellum was just so much more reliable. Why though, would a Sharian be running around with a sheet of papyrus, covered in crazy symbols?


Alvar may be able to make sense of all this, but she'd need to go and get him, which meant leaving the body here... or did it?
 
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Zevran slipped into her room and closed the door silently, trying not to draw more attention from her neighbors than she already had. She was sure that someone had heard the commotion and were growing curious. She just had to hope that no one knew her well enough to actually know her voice, but Sharian voices were always very distinct, and besides the jackal Sharian she had just confronted, she was the only Sharian in the inn. Her face was towards the door and she leaned her forehead against the door, letting out a sigh of relief as she heard his footsteps recede from her door, obviously not pursuing her. She let out a soft growl.


You just to conclusions far too much. You really should take time to look at your surroundings before you start barking at them.





Zevran had been on edge ever since they had come back from the healer's. There was something wrong with the fox pup, something that the healer of Kwovat could not diagnose, as it appeared to be something that only Sharian's could contract, so the healer, Robert, had never read up on it. Zevran had been quite...upset, to say the least. There were no Sharian healers in Kwovat as well, so if she wished to find out what was wrong with Jenesari, she would have to go to a Sharian city.


She heard rustling behind her and turned to find the fox pup looking up at her from where he sat on the ground. She smiled as she saw the beautiful black pants that he was wearing that were tight fitting at the thigh, then once they reached the knee they flared out, leaving a lot of movement. He also had a beautiful black vest that showed off his emancipated chest. She was hoping that very soon she would be able to fatten him up, and perhaps train him to protect and provide for himself should anything happen to her.


"Are you enjoying your new clothing?" She cooed at him, walking past him to sit in her desk chair. She kept her head turned towards him, waiting for his answer. She saw a small, hesitant smile come over his small face as he nodded.


"They are much nicer than what I used to have," he said. Zevran noted that his voice was still a slight bit on the Duendar side of things, instead of Sharian, indicating that he had not yet hit puberty, which would make things easier for Zevran. Adolescent Sharian boys were quite the mess, and she didn't want to deal with it at this point in time.


"How long had you had your previous clothing?" She turned away from him, pulling out a small box from her desk and looking within it. Her savings were within it, and they were meager. If they stayed in Kwovat, stayed at the inn, and ate like they had been, they would be able to stay in Kwovat for another moon cycle (month). It was times like these when she wished that she was better with her money than she was. Ever since she had stepped off of that boat and into Kwovat with what measly pay she could pickpocket out of those Sharian men she had traveled with all those years ago she had struggled financially. She didn't know where the money went since she tired to be smart with her spending.


She put the remains of what was within her coin purse into the box and closed it with a key. The key was on a string, and that string went around her neck as she put the box back into where she had hid it.


"I've had these clothes for a very long time, about as long as I can remember," Jenesari said as he lifted up another piece of meat from his plate and began to chew on it, making a noise of gratefulness. "Thank you for getting me food. I was hungry." Zevran felt her shoulders tense up as he gave her the indication of just how long he had been in slavery. He was practically raised by slavers, then. She put her face in her large paws and rubbed it, letting out a small sigh. Her ears twitched towards the door as the clink of nails appeared right outside the door, then a knock came. Zevran sighed as she got up from the chair and went to the door, opening it to find the Jackal Sharian there.


She quickly stepped out, looking back in for a moment, "Stay here, Jenesari," the pup nodded to her and went back to eating. At the rate that he was eating she would be bankrupt within the week. She closed and locked the door, putting the key back into her pocket.


"Come with me, because I know you have questions, and I need a stiff drink," she growled at him. She took to the stairs. They creaked with her great weight, and she avoided the one that looked like it was rotted and could collapse at any point in time. She quickly went to the bar.


"May I have your biggest mug of fire-mead?" She asked roughly, putting down a coin. She had enough money for about four drinks, and she was going to get them. The female innkeeper nodded to her, worry in her eyes. She had been a long time resident to the inn, and they sometimes treated her like family, especially when she was in trouble, but she wasn't going to share anything with them this time around. This was something that she was going to deal with herself. When the drink came to her she pushed the coin towards the bartender and took it. She went the table that sat in the corner of the room and put her back to the wall, leaving the Jackal Sharian to have his back to the room.


"What do you want to know?"


(@LupusDeUmbra )
 
Kearg


Hjaltland, Sparring Grounds


------"Ptoo!" A spatter of spit and blood hit the now bloodied mud that made up the ground of the calm sparring grounds. Small silent steps of four legs carried Kearg's skins and meats over unconscious bodies to the center of the grounds. Kearg sat resting on a few moaning bodies stacked upon one another. Andur'mir stopped and looked up at his master with the rope in his mouth that towed the dead beasts.


------"Thank you." Kearg said with heavy breath as he took the rope from Andur'mir's mouth and slung it over his own shoulder."S'ppose we should be gettin' outta here before any one else shows up. I've had enough for today, what do you think?" Kearg asked the large fox that simply stared back at him. "Good point." Kearg pet the loyal companion before achingly standing to his feet. Kearg himself was covered in bruised and cuts, blood spatters and mud. Most of the blood wasn't his, a little might've been, but that didn't bother him nothing. Kearg took a moment to stretch his body a bit, you could hear the bones popping and shifting as he did. He rolled his neck and looked around a few onlookers simply stared blankly at him, some men, mostly women; the same women that were previously cheering on his opponents. Guess that didn't work so well. Kearg smirked knowing that now more than before he had no chance with these women. He brushed it off, not like he was a favorite before, it might have bothered him before that all the women around here weren't too keen on him, but he'd grown past that now. Really when he stopped to think about it here in Hjaltland he had so very little, there was Shun'pa and then there were--


------"Huh?" Kearg paused for a moment wiggling his tongue around in his mouth. He raised a free hand covered in blood and mud and spat into it a tooth. His expression confused for a moment taking time to count all the teeth in his mouth with his tongue. "That's not mine."


------"Yick-ack!" Andur'mir cried.


------"Right, sorry." Kearg tossed the tooth aside and began making his way out of the sparring grounds, but not before patting a certain someone's moaning body. "Better luck next time."


------"Thank you kindly!" Xhuma'an said to a customer who was just leaving. Just then almost knocking the customer over the door swung open. Kearg entering, slightly limping to the desk as the customer watched him.


------"Ya noo' Sharian? It be best if ya got rid a' ye tennant 'ere! Rjunlirs ain't a clean name." The custmore sneered.


------"Ooga booga!" Kearg shouted at the customer scaring her out through the door that he just tracked mud through.


------"What happened to you!?" Xhuma'an startledly shouted after seeing the drying blood and mud covering Kearg.


------"What? This is the new style. Don't you like it?" Kearg slyly replied. Xhuma'an simply stared at him not entertained. "All the cool kids are doing it..."


------ "You got into a fight again." Xhuma'an grabbed Kearg by the arm setting his killings down and taking him to a nearby table behind the counter.


------"It was an accident, I tripped into it." Kearg habitually making excuses, not very good ones, but they were more to lighten the mood rather than to excuse himself. He knew very well what he did.


------ "You pay too much attention to these swine." Xhuma'an observed as he began cleaning Kearg with a wet rag.


------ "I pay oh so very little attention to these people Shun'pa, but it's every single day! I've got atarget painted on my back! I just--" Kearg sighed finally.


------"These people will beat you because they know that it gets to you. Every Mjulnir has war in their veins and picking on you is the easy and fast way to get what they want." Xhuma'an had removed Kearg's upper equipment and cloak taking care of the small bruises that speckled Kearg's body.


------"I'm just tired...I'm tired of always getting the short end of the stick. I just want to once, just once feel like I've really won something." Kearg's voice lowered almost shamefully as if he felt bad for wanting a different life.


------ "Let me tell you something my boy." Xhuma'an paused for a moment to set his paw on Kearg's shoulder and look at him. "I've lived here for a long time, I've journeyed many lands and met many people, I know many types of many nations and you my boy....you are a different kind of breed. This world needs men like you, so don't become what these people want you to be." There was silence as Kearg thought for a moment taking in what Xhuma'an said as the old catman continued tending Kearg. Kearg in his foolish impulsiveness let the boy in the sparring grounds get the best of him. Now the people will see him more of a threat now that before and will only strengthen their resolve to beat him down. Kearg beat them all in combat, but the one who really lost was Kearg, he had become exactly what they thought he was. A threat, a villain, someone better off dead. He knew his name weighed on him, but this was his own fault which didn't make him feel better. Then came to mind a specific two people that always made his life better just by going and seeing them. They were here in Hjaltland and he could really use their depth and insight of life, but first there was something he had to do.


------"Shun'pa, I need a vacation from this place. I hear Shan'Manrir is beautiful this time of year. So pack your things." Kearg said standing up. Xhuma'an just smiled. Kearg then grabbed his cloak and made his way toward the door. "Come Andur!" He commanded the fox.


------"Where are you going?" Xhuma'an questioned.


------"I'm going to Tarlek's, I guess I should say goodye to the only people in this city that I'll miss."
 
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Just moments after the encounter with the Sharian guard, Zanna found he way to the blacksmith. He was no help, of course, so Zanna simply asked him to give her the materials she needed to craft a new spear. The blacksmith wondered why the woman wanted to make a new one, when she had several other fine weapons in her shoulder sack. The question appalled Zanna, and she simply scoffed at him. Spears were not one size fits all, at least, not to Zanna. Those spears had their own, unique use. It wouldn't be appropriate for her to simply substitute one for the other like it didn't matter. She left the blacksmith in his confusion, placed the materials he sold her onto the work bench, then began her work.


Carefully, she removed the small fighting knife from the leg of her boot, and started to carve away at the long, wooden pole to smooth any rough features.


"Careful with that," the blacksmith cautioned as he watched Zanna pull the knife from her shoe.


"What? Have you never seen a woman with a knife before?" Zanna spat back, then once the blacksmith had turned his head away to mind his own business, she resumed her task.


Once the entire length of the staff had been tended to, she placed it back onto the bench, and traded it for a large blanket of leather. With both arms she carried the heavy skin to the tanning rack, and once it had been properly laid over the appliance, she started to slice the leather into thinner strips. She collected the thin ribbons together, and brought them back to where her other materials waited. The last piece to configure was the small, metal shard. She held the disfigured ignot in her hand, then brought it to the farrier.


"You think you can make a head like this one?" she asked, and pulled another, shorter spear from her sac to demonstrate what she desired.


"Sure thing," the smith happily replied, then took the piece of metal from Zanna and started to mold it. Zanna remained in her place, and watched the man as he slowly heated the ignot, then flattened it out to resemble the spear head with a large hammer. Once the shape had been finished, he took it over to a round, metal wheel and carefully sharpened the tip and edges. When he believe the product was finished, he brought it back to Zanna and carefully handed it back to her.


"Not bad."





The rest was easy. Zanna took the shard back to the workbench, then grabbed two long pieces of leather and wrapped them around the staff. She took another strip of leather, and long enough to enforce the shard on one end of stick. And the spear had been complete.
 
One step after another, Raicus trudged on through the wall of mist, following the road he knew so well. Dragging behind him was the prize of the hunt, its weight bore down on his mind and shoulders, evident in the traces of blood on his clothes or ragged bite marks that tingled everytime he moved. The frosted ground threatened to trip him, the howling wind tried to blind him, but still Raicus walked on, ignoring the burning sensation on his arm and the chill that invaded his spine, making him shuddered violently everytime a breeze blew past. It was near unbearable, but at the same time had a calming effect on his nerve. It was a familiar sensation, the feeling of exhaustion, of his trembling limbs seemingly able to give out at any time, of sensing ounce by ounce of his strength leeched away by the storm. As waning as his body felt, it was far from the worse he had had, far from the darkest times of his life. And besides, he knew he was getting close to the village even if he could not see it. Close to home, to the warm embrace of his solitude shelter, and to the haunting memories of a time he had been robbed of. Still, it was home, and it was all he had left.


Through the rushing whiteness, a dark shape began to take form. Indistinguishable at first, the shape began to grow, until the fog retreated enough to reveal a frosted wall of rock and ice, winding to the sides and disappearing into the distance. The wall surrounding his village. Following the wall eventually led to an opening under an arching roof, weathered to near collapsation. Roads began to appear, shown as recently trampled patches of snow, leading straight into the heart of the wall of rocks. The town of Lerwar inhabited the space, rings of bare wood and rocks structures built on the smoother patches of ground, leaning on each other for support. It was far from beautiful, but people had lived there for thousands of years, to the point the concept of beauty itself was eroded away over time.


The snowstorm was wrecking havoc on the valley outside, but inside the protective walls, only cool breezes and occasional bursts of falling snow landed near the cottages. Raicus pulled his prizes into town, and the whole place turned into a festival. From every corners and alleys, children poured out and rushed him, throwing themselves at him and clanged to his fur coat, climbing onto his shoulder, poking at the fur-covered bundle of meat he dragged behind him and busted into excited and astonished cries. "Raicus, Raicus, did you have an adventure to tell us?" "Look at the size of that thing. There is enough meat for half of the village for a whole winter!" "Is that a bear? Raicus, did you hunt down a bear? What was it like? Was it big and fearsome? Tell us!" Raicus smiled indulgently, ruffling the kids' hair and throwing them into the air. The children laughed and giggled, all tried to squirm into his hands to be raised into the air. Parents smiled at him and started gossiping, and in no time everyone knew he had come back. People waved and pointed, oo-ing at the size of the bear fur he used to wrap the meat, trying to convince him to trade the white fur of the snow hound for something else. He just smiled back and waved them off with polite conversation and small talk before moving on.


His small cottage was the only one of its kind, set up alone and separated high above the others on top of a hill overlooking the whole town. His father had built it himself, choosing the spot where the wind would be weakest, working to carry wood from a mile away. designing it to be resilient and lasting. He had built a perfect home for his little family, their nest of warmth and love. Now the place was cold and damp, the silence palpable, almost oppressing, the emptiness echoed through the rough hillside like a wail of anguish and loneliness that was never answered. Raicus pushed open the door, making a creaking noise that rang through the empty house like a pebble dropped into the ocean, hollow and quick-fading. He had half-expected to walk in to find his parents sitting in their favorite spots next to the crackling fire, smiling at him with their heart-warming smiles. Then they would tell him that everything was just a horrible nightmare, that they were always going to be there for him. They would pull him into their infinitely loving embrace, and he would cry and tell them how he felt, how much he had missed them, how hopeless and agonizing his life was without them. He would tell them how much he had missed them, how happy he was to find them alive, and they would tell him soothing words and reassuring promises. He would be that boy again, carefree and loved. What greeted him instead was an empty space, devoid of life and hope. His pain burned anew, watching his foolish hope once more snuffed out under the cruel hand of fate.


Raicus entered slowly, letting the fur and meat dropped to the floor at the entrance. He pulled the balric over his head and carefully, ritualistically set the sword on its rack over a small shelve. On the shelve was everything that had belonged to his father and mother, his father's travel sack and all of his old equipments, his badge of Royal guard and uniform, his mother's bow and quiver, her leather satchel and hunting knife. Raicus reached out and carefully lifted a small object from the middle of them all, holding it by the cord. He slowly traced his fingers across the symbol of his father's family, his family, the symbol of a sword stabbing through the sun, across the raised letters of his name, Cypher. On either side of the pendant hung two locks of hair, one blond and one raven black. His parents’ hair. A pained smile slowly spreaded on his mouth, his lips quivering slightly, his eyes wet and shinning.


"Hello, Father. Hello, Mother. I have finally returned. It was another successful hunt. I brought down the largest beast I have seen in years. It was a little tough afterward, following it through the storm, but of course it was nothing compared to your hunt for the swarm of snow cats, Mother. I nearly fell when some scavengers follow its blood trail, but they were nothing against that move you taught me, Father. See, I told you that your techniques would also be effective in hunts too, but you never believed me. I'm sure you'd be so proud of me, Father, if you had been there to see it. The fall was bad though, I almost roll into a snow covered ditch. You'd have a good laugh I'm sure. I....miss you guys...so...much."


His voice cracked, a lump forced itself into his throat. Tear started streaming down his face, bitter and painful. Raicus fell to his knees and buried his face in his hand, the other clutching the pendant to his heart. He wept into the silence, into the emptiness, tears of loss and grieve that was as fresh as the day he had lost everything. He wept for his loneliness, for the future that he could never had, and he wept for the unbearable memories, memories of happiness that did nothing but cutting his heart open a new every day. He wept far into the night until he passed out from exhaustion.
 

~ Nir'Amen, Mara Ro'khle ~

​



There was only one thing, and one thing only, that Mara hated with going to the library. Her father. It is as if the man had not come to terms with the fact that his daughter has grown up, and that it is not her first trip to the Library of Infinity, nor the first day she spent in the city of Nir'Amen. And so, with years and years of memorizing the same speech he gave every time they came, Mara nodded here and there, mumbled a yes and bid him goodbye.


"And Mara?" He would bellow, just before he left with Aylar and his own mount in hand, "Stay safe."


Sometimes she wondered how he didn't notice the fact that he had said that very sentence, in that very position, for more than a decade... But it did not matter, as she opened the big doors of the library, greeted by the lovely silence that roamed the halls except for the occasional murmur here and there. Mara recognized a few faces, a librarian, the old shop-keeper from downtown, scholars, a few kids and her good old friend Uryan.


He was an old man, with thin gray hair, soft brown eyes and a past filled with adventure. He was a man that served Syrae well, just like her and the man that introduced her to the wonders of the library. She still remembers how he would babysit her here while her father went away to his meetings regarding the Emberwell and its protection. As one of the oldest librarians in Nir'Amen, he has access to books that most do not have, books of the arts of Flesh Melding, that he shared with Mara at times.


"Uryan..." She mumbled out, nearly catching all of the folks attention. They recognized her, the widow that lost her child, the woman that still refuses every proposal sent her way. As many as they were, due to her position as Irwan Ro'khle's daughter, she never sent a glance their way. The old man did not hesitate took embrace her, and she did not hesitate to return it as she smiled towards him. "It has been far too long, my child. I hope that the world has been good to you during that time."


His voice, dark and hoarse, was like the sound of a river to Mara, comforting like a mother's arms. "The world rarely treats one good, but my time away from here has been spent... Thinking. Either way, I've been slacking off on my duties and my studies... And you, Uryan?"


"Me? Ah, life has been treating me as well as it always has. I got something for you, letters from Hjatland." A smile blossomed on her face, and with excitement radiating off her eyes, she followed her friend to his desk. Uryan took out a key, opened one of his drawers and took out bright, white envelopes. They were marked by Tarlek's seal.


She did not read them, as she would not read them in front of anyone. No, she would read them at her room in the inn, like she always did. And so, she and Uryan talked for awhile, sharing stories of Syrae, talking about her nieces and Tarlek who she called her brother-in-law even if her sister has yet to marry the man. She did not care, she knew they loved each other and that was enough.

~ ~ ~ Half an hour later ~ ~ ~

​



The books were heavy, but she kept on adding another to her stack, like always. For Mara, slacking off on her studies was a big offense, as she took pride in being of the Flesh Melding and Pyoniscim scholars. But it was also a foolish mistake, as she tripped over her own feet, a rare thing for Mara. Her books clattered down onto the floor, a few of them sliding sideways. It was while she was collecting her books from that very floor, that she overheard the conversation of the two people in the next row of books.


Mara wasn't one to care for others conversations but she found it weird that this lady wanted to develop as a sorcerer... Abroad. Nir'Amen was THE perfect place for any sorcerer-wanna-be, and the Library of Infinity was a haven for anyone that wanted to study the arts of magic. She shrugged it off but while going through her stack, she noticed that one book was gone. 'The Hidden Runes of Nature; Volume Eleven by Rolayka Arnamen', the very book she came for.


Her gaze searched the whole row, and with a glance towards the two across her, she noticed the book laying right next to them, angled so it was out of sight. With her arms holding the stacks of books, Mara sighed and walked over. "Would you two mind giving me that book to your right? Just put it on top of the stack, if you can."




~~~~~~~~ Elera, Aerredil Ro'khle ~~~~~~~~~

​





The roads from Elera to the sea-side was perhaps one of the main roads to Shan'Manrir, the crossing between lands easier than anything but for a pregnant woman... It was hell. Aerredil knew the horrors of being with child and travelling at the same time but for her defense, she did not plan to get pregnant. Aye, the fair woman did not plan it at all, and neither did she hide that fact as she cursed the child's father every time she gasped for air before emptying her stomach yet again.


A woman sat a bit to her left, watching men and women on horses and carriages pass by, their glances met with an amused smile. She was a beautiful blonde, long silky hair and bright blue eyes, freckles on her cheek and a bosom that made married men take a second look. Or perhaps it was her clothes, that were barely there. A proud Mjulnir woman, she was.


"And here I thought you took to the oath of never getting pregnant again... Guess Tarlek is just irresistible, eh?" The blonde followed her statement with a soft chuckle, and Aerredil responded with a grunt and a curse. Something along Tarlek being the end of her...

​



"One night! It was one fucking night and now I'm stuck with the duty of emptying my stomach every fourth hour! You and your brother can go to the greatest depths of hell!"


Yep. Aerredil was loving the pregnant life.


​


~~~~~~~ Hjatland, Tarlek, Esra and Reva Khelmir ~~~~~~~~

​





Kids. You love them, you hate them, you wish you never had them but you also know that you can't live without them. For Tarlek, the times of doubt were... Frequent. Well, every morning was a time of doubt, as he would be forced to wake up Esra. Reva would already be done with all her morning chores by the time Esra got off her bed. His voice would bellow throughout the whole house, Tarlek would try anything, cold water, her favourite breakfast, snakes! But Esra only woke up when she wanted to wake up.


But a trick he knew would work, was Kearg. At the mention of their 'uncle', the girls would fly out of their rooms, take on their clothes and be ready to watch their father train the hooligan. They would laugh and applaud when Kearg won and boo at their father when he lost. Sometimes Tarlek wondered if they loved Kearg more than they loved him.


Either way, today was not one of those days and so Tarlek had to use every other trick in the book to wake up the sleeping beast of a daughter that he had.

​
 
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Kearg


Hjaltland, Lower Market Place


-----The Lower Market Place was one of the few places Kearg could actually spend time in. With the amount of people it was easy for him to get lost there and simply browse many of the curious objects and foods they had for sale there. It was also a place where Kearg could easily disappear in had he the need. Andur’mir loved the smells of all the different foods and would quiet often leave Kearg’s side only to spend time begging for scraps around the vendors, he even knew which of the vendor’s weren’t local. They always gave Andur’mir more because they either didn’t know or didn’t care about that the beast belonged to the resident Rjunlir. Kearg didn’t mind the absence of his companion. It often comforted him knowing that he wasn’t trying to follow Kearg around in the crowd of people where he’d more than likely be kicked around despite his hound like size. Kearg would enjoy imagining at times that Andur’mir would go out and have his own adventures throughout the city, hunting birs, saving children, and even at times prevent some evil uprising from the local rodents. Kearg had an active imagination. Today though Kearg wasn’t imagining adventures of a dire fox, he was imagining how Tarlek and the girls would react to him leaving. Especially after when Tarlek’s wife left, no Kearg would at least say goodbye.


----- “TOYS! DUENDER, MJULNIR, SHARIAN, AND DYLENOR! TOYS FROM NEAR AND FAR! GET THEM FOR YOUR CHILDREN AND THEY’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER!” The shouts of a merchant called out. It wasn’t often that toymakers would set up shop here in Hjaltland. Most of the children here grow up fighting with sticks, so toys weren’t a real interest to them, however Kearg knew a mischievous two children that weren’t quite like the rest. So he made his way over to the stand and began to look. Kearg found and purchased two toys that the he thought the girls might enjoy; though he was never good with this sort of thing. For Reva he knew he had to get something a little more rambunctious, so he got her a small wooden sword patterned after the Mjulnir weapons. On the imitation blade was carved the old runic symbols meaning “Honor and Freeman” a mantra held up by the Mjulnir army. At a young age Kearg’s father would explain this mantra to him in way that would carry with him for his life. For Kearg they were not nouns as many take them for, they were verbs; to him it read, “To Honor and Free Man.” It was something Kearg would like to pass on and he knew Tarlek would be pleased. Then for Esra he got a small doll made after the image of Syrae, it was part clothe and part wood. The design was simple yet elegant, the doll would remind Esra of the keeper that stood for peace and love. Something that this world was so swift to take away he would hope to give Esra an edge on remembering the important things…Syrae. Kearg stared at the doll remembering his own sobering encounter with the keeper and their strange relationship. He didn’t hate her no, but his feelings towards the Keeper were--


----- “HEY YOO!”


----- “RJULNIR BEANSPROUT!” Kearg snapped out of his trance for a moment turning to find out who he had offended this time by simply existing.


----- “Yoo!” Three large men approached Kearg in anger. The foremost a high captain in the army, one could tell by the crest he wore on his cloak and the beard knots that so many had. Also he was ugly. “Yoo’re the one who broke me poor boy’s nose earlier todae at the sparring grounds!” The other men with him had to also have been fathers of the boys from earlier, Kearg thought. This was not going to be fun today. Kearg did not want to deal with this right now and also did not want to disappoint Xhuma’an once more. So Kearg did the smart thing and simply walked away tucking the doll and sword away.


----- “What!? Yoo goin’ runaway boy now that the real men ‘ave shown up?”


It took all Kearg had within him to keep walking away, he heard the disapproving echoes and whispers of the crowd around them. Their thoughts were obvious, ‘He’s no Mjulnir.’ He had to drown them out with his own just to keep going as his fist clenched tighter and tighter, ‘Turn the other cheek, turn the other cheek, turn the other—‘


----- “I knew it! Rjunlir’s are all cowards, nothin’ but a bunch a swine cowards! Your father and ‘is father, Rjunlir Curds!”


-----Kearg froze.


They got him…again. He turned slowly to the large men. The crowd now had made space for them and watched in silence. Kearg walked up to the man and stared him in the eyes defiantly.


----- “My father is a stronger more courageous man than you or any of your halfwit maids here could ever hope of dreaming to become. He has done more for people than your sword or ANY OF YOUR SWORDS could ever hope to accomplish in your entire lives! Do not speak ill of my father.” Kearg sternly spoke nearing the point of rage.


----- “AAAGH-PTOO!” Spit from the large High Captain slid down Kearg’s face, large and chunky Kearg swiped it off his face and chuckled to himself.


----- “Funny that’s exactly what yer boy said. You know what I told him?”


----- “What di—“ CRACK!


-----Kearg’s skull found another victim today as it pushed its way past the man’s nose forcing blood out. This may end up being Kearg’s special move by the end of the day. But this time it was going to be quick, Kearg had to be ruthless so as not to incur another large brawl and with the size of these men vicorty would be more painful in that case. However this time he did not wait for gravity to pull down the man before moving to the second man and efficiently swinging behind him and moving the man’s arm back and upward successfully dislocating it. The third man managed to get a start in after Kearg with a fist, but thanks countless hours and days training under the mighty Tarlek, Kearg quickly wove himself under the arm bringing his own back elbow around to the face of the soldier knocking him clean out. Snapping back up he saw that he was successful in creating a scene fearsome enough to inspire any other challengers to wait until next time…or the time after. Kearg walked over to the High Captain who had taken the beating better than his son did, only falling to his knees instead all the way down in pain, and kicked him over and walked away. Quickly a very peculiar spectator with red fur joined the victor in trotting away to which Kearg looked at spoke.


----- “Andur…I really do need a vacation.”


Kearg


Hjaltland, Tarlek's home


-----It wasn’t long before Kearg and Andur’mir made it there. Tarlek was a former soldier so he lived very comfortably, or at least what Kearg thought was very comfortable, which very well could just mean he had a bed and some pillows, but that wasn’t why Kearg spent his time here at their home. It was to see the girls.


----- “ESRA! REVA!” He shouted with excitement rather than knocking. He has so far had a really rough day and didn’t care much for manners at this point. “Esra I really hope you’re not sleeping in again! I would really hate to have to give two presents to Reva!” Then suddenly a drop of blood dripped onto his hand. It had seemed that he did not get out of that fight as unscathed as he had thought.


----- “Damn…”


@The Empress of Ice
 
Minke, leaving the town of Bolos

​



"Ugh, ye fatarse," a rough woman's voice cut through the silence of night, only a whisper, but so intrusive that it seemed to tear the evening's quiet asunder.


With the moon hiding behind a cloud, the night air was like ink, blocking out what little light existed in the lowland village, leaving the red-haired woman, carrying an enormous, bipedal, grey-furred cat over her shoulder. Despite having slung the corpse over her arm, the cat's feet dragged in the dirt, simply too tall to be carried by someone so small, but Keepers be damned, she'd drag him around the world if she needed to.


"Y'ne'er thoughta cuttin' back on dem sweets did ye tubby?" she asked, knowing full well that her would-have-been assassin couldn't respond, or even hear her for that matter. The cursing helped her focus, or more accurately she supposed, from dropping the body in a ditch somewhere to kick around a little longer, but it had to be in decent condition for Alvar to work his magicks.


Thanking the Keepers for the shortness of the trip, obviously the damnable things saw fit to leave a rake in the grass, leaving Minke to step on the end. As logic would dictate, the handle of the farming tool swung up out of the blackness, cracking Minke in the eye, drawing some interesting profanity from the guardswoman as she stumbled around in circles, trying to keep the body perched upon her shoulder while she harshly whispered every offensive word in her vocabulary, which happened to compose the vast majority of it.


"Ello?" a deep voice called out, not terribly distant, as though it were only feet away. As Minke turned toward the voice, she heard a padded footfall against the hard dirt, then an audible whoosh which followed. Following that noise however was another sound, slightly more familiar, the sound of steel striking flesh, then bone, then more flesh, then dirt. After that came the sound of a sack being dropped to the ground, and Minke felt much lighter, and oddly wet, but unharmed.


"Oly snappin' arseholes!" Minke screamed, tossing the half a Sharian still resting on her shoulder into the air, hearing it fall to the ground as well immediately after.


When both halves of the dead Sharian were again united, the moon once again peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the pair of living Mjulnir on opposite sides of the dead catman, and the small townhouse behind the larger of them.


"Minke? What're ye doin' up 'n around attis hour?" Alvar asked sluggishly, bringing his left hand to rub some of the sleep from his eyes, his right still holding the woodsplitting axe, head buried in the dirt. As was typical of most when they slept, at least around here, Alvar was entirely naked, and for the first time, Minke got to find out how far exactly his tattoos went, at which she would have been quite surprised had the circumstances been different.


"What th' fook!?" she replied, shouting again, both hands up and out to her sides, completely soaked through in cat's blood.


"Now ah'm covered in 'im! Yer cleanin 'at up!" Minke exclaimed, silence forgotten as she tried in vain to shake some of the crimson from her hands and clothes.


"Ah coulda jes' killed ye!" Alvar exclaimed, looking from his watchpartner to the dead man on his lawn.


"Ah s'pose ah already killed yer friend 'en?" he asked, not quite putting the pieces together in his sleep-addled state. Minke put the knuckles of both hands to her temples, trying to scrub the frustration from her mind.


"Y'know what, git yerself dressed, ah can't take ye seriously like 'is. Ah'll light yer lantern, annen we'll 'ave a look over 'is dead sod," she said, feeling like Alvar was the alcoholic right about now.


A short time later, after the night had quieted again, Alvar had retrieved some trousers, and some more light could be shed on their situation, the pair moved both halves of the rapidly cooling corpse inside, rolling it in a tarp lest the blood and other ichors seep into the floor.


"So yer sayin' 'e jes' attacked ye out o' th' blue outside o' Odran's?" Alvar asked, still somewhat groggy, but growing more perceptive by the moment.


"Ya, dassit," the blood-soaked woman replied, dripping corpse fluids all over the floor, regardless of the tarp they'd brought out for that exact purpose.


"An' what was it ye were doin' outside 'is late at night?" he queried, looking over Minke one more time before fetching another tarp from the shelf on his left to pass her way, brushing his right hand over his head as he did so, another superstition.


"Ah was takin' a shite, what do it matter?" she answered angrily, though she bent to set the tarp beneath her feet, not looking to damage his wooden floors, a luxury few had for their homes around here.


"Oh, right, whaddya figure 'ese mean?" Minke asked, producing the slashed note she'd taken of the keg's runes. After a minute's observation, and ever-furrowing brows, Alvar conceded defeat, admitting he knew little of them.


"Whatever 'ey say, it's not in Mjulnir, Dylenor, or Sharian. While ah can't read Duender, 'ey don't look like 'eir letters, somethin' different 'en," he said, more or less meaning they were total gibberish.


"Iss though," he continued on in little more than a mumble, "Ah can't read, soaked through wit' blood it is."


As he said the last, Alvar flapped the Sharian's cloak about a little, though he pulled the sword from its sheathe afterward.


"Ah wonder whose fault 'at was..." Minke muttered under her breath, crossing arms over her chest, though the movement irritated her ribs, making her flinch slightly, and let her arms fall to her sides again, though she kept her left over the cut.


As the blade slowly rasped clear of its scabbard, Alvar gasped reverently, then slammed the shortsword back into its home with a clack.


"Whassat? Whatsit say?" Minke asked, suddenly excited, as she always was when Alvar was impressed by something; half the time it meant that it was of interest to her as well.


"Either dissun went to a mighty innerestin' fence, or 'e's wit' de Sharian Shadowguard," Alvar replied, playing with one of the braids in his beard with his left hand. Minke still hadn't figured out what all those bloody braids meant, but she knew that they were all story-knots that had different words written in them.


"Ah guess ah should recognize 'at shouldn't ah?" the short woman, red from head to toe asked, a genuinely puzzled expression on her face with only the slightest twinge of pain tainting it.


"If ye'd payed any attention in lessons, ye woulda. Dem Shadowguard're s'posed te be pretty amazin, like shadows or somethin' like 'at," he replied, failing quite exquisitely at explaining the concept to his partner.


"Ey're s'posed te be impossible te catch," he continued, coming closer to the mark, though Minke scoffed at the notion.


"Yer tellin' me 'at 'e's s'posed te be uncatchable, amazin' an' allat, but 'e couldn't kill an unarmed woman 'alf 'is size, wit' th' element o' surprise an' errythin?" Minke laughed, though the action made crimson spurt from her side, fresh, and her own.


"Well, ah s'pose 'e did bite 'n scratch me, better'n nothin, eh?" she continued, laugh shrinking to a small chuckle, then a gentle cough as the cold of the night finally began to catch up with her, leaving her with pale skin, covered in gooseflesh.


"Shite, ye didn't even cover 'at?" Alvar asked, already seeking out his hook and gut to stitch Minke up, as well as the basin of water he kept for mornings so that he wouldn't need to fetch more first thing every day.


It took Alvar nearly an hour to stitch Minke shut again, the claws had dug quite deep, and may have killed many other folk, but Minke seemed to bounce back quite easily, and by the next morning, it was impossible to tell that she'd nearly had two majour arteries torn wide open the night before. Puzzle pieced together, Minke and Alvar finally had dirt on their new companions, apparently they had some Sharian enemies, which may have explained why they came from the South, and also why they had a Shadowguard on their heels. It seemed quite likely that the Sharian was more the reason these two were coming to Hjatland, they weren't really looking for trade, they were looking for a favour, and a pretty big one based on the mounting evidence.


While the Dylenor weren't overly fond of the concept of traveling with Minke, they were unperturbed by Alvar, who was certainly the more threatening to the pair, physically, and politically speaking, though both were content with what their search had uncovered thus far.


Their first day on the road, the four from Bolos made excellent progress on an uneventful journey, seeing naught but grass and the occasional rock on anything but the horizon, though as the sun began to set, it illuminated their first majour stop, Uskortai, where Minke and Alvar had finished their training just one year prior. While they remembered the place for the training grounds, they took up a very small portion of the port-city, fishing capital of Valdmaar. While Alvar could continue on for a couple more miles, his traveling companions less so, the Dylenor unable to continue from their limited vitality, and Minke finding difficulty with keeping up to her normal pace in her anemic condition.


While they were bedding down for the night on the roadside, there may have been nothing wrong all day, and there was nothing terrible on the horizon, all four, or at least the guards, could tell that something dreadful was coming, after all, a calm always came before the storm.
 
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Sheut followed the woman down the stairs. He sat at the bar and just drank a glass of water. He sipped it before turning to the woman, a stern, yet kind look on his face. He wanted answers, but he would not pry too far. He also figured that leaving Apophis and his weapons in the room would help him seem less menacing.


"I am Sheut, I am here on a cargo transport from Shan'Manrir. I head back on the ship tomorrow at sunrise. The two men are dead, but I want to know why they were looking for you."





He gave her a curious gaze, waiting for her response. He already had suspicions, but he needed her to confirm them before he brought too much up. He did not want to make a fool of himself


----------------------


@The Lady Kitsunerisu


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Algos turned to her and flicked a finger at Arch who immediately flapped over to the case and snagged in his claws after a moment of heaving the small dragon got it into the air and deposited it on the girls stack. The small drake then did something unexpected and settled down onto the girls shoulder giving her ear a nibble that Algos knew as a gesture of friendship. "Thats friendly of you Arch" The Duender said with a small smile, 'What she feed you?" Arch snorted at him and flicked his tail pointedly.


'Suit yourself." Algos replied, "I hoe he's not a problem ms.?"
 

Lucien Ashford


~ ~ ~ The Great Woods outside of Kwovat ~ ~ ~




​



The Great Road leading to the port city of Kwovat has many paths and trails that splinter from it as the branches of a tree. These paths can lead from bustling towns to isolated hamlets that dot the outer reaches of the great city. However, unlike the Great Road these paths are inadequately patrolled by the guardsmen of Kwovat, leaving the peoples that travel and live along these paths vulnerable to bandits and wild warbands that pillage the country side. This has left the responsibility to defend these paths to those who dwell in the wild; huntsmen well versed in combat who make up the Ranger patrols of the Grey Company. They scour the countryside hunting down bandits and criminals alike, their arrows herald nothing short of death.


The light clatter of footsteps on worn cobblestone echoes softly through the wind as the five Rangers, shrouded in grey cloaks, make their way along the path. The elder Ranger softly raises his hand, the patrol behind him halting, nearby a shrouded Ranger steps out from behind a tree beckoning to the patrol. “With haste, to me!” The patrol quickly moving into the tree line as the elder Ranger speaks with the lone sentry: “What news?” The sentry pulls a small roll of parchment from his pocket, handing it to the elder Ranger, “I only received this a brief moment before you happened upon me, there is a small warband moving along this path.” The Ranger quickly reads through the report, turning to his patrol and motioning them to gather around. “Assume positions in the trees, a warband is moving along the path towards the Great Road.” The elder Ranger turned his attention toward the younger Ranger. “Lucien, send word to the guardsmen.” Lucien quickly bowed his head, then placed his hand in his mouth whistling for his raven.


Soaring down towards him the dark bird perches on his forearm as Lucien tucks a small roll of parchment tightly to the bird’s claw. He lifts his arm the bird spreads its wings and taks flight towards the city of Kwovat, turning back towards the path he quickly scales up into a tree arcing over the path below. Silence overtakes the woods as the Rangers wait, shrouded in the trees looking over the path. Soon voices hushed by distance begin to whisper through the trees, the voices loudened as they came towards the concealed Rangers. “We ou’right fucked tha lot of ‘em, tha’s for sure!” “Aye, we did lad, but we got ‘em by surprise.” The warband's chieftan boomed over the chatter: “Right lads, cut the damn chatter! There’s work ahead that needs a doin’.” The warband’s banter fell to hushed whispers as they passed below the Rangers.


Concurrently the six concealed Rangers each notched an arrow on their bows and drew their strings back, poised to loose their deadly volley. Finally the elder Ranger’s roar broke the strained calm: “LOOSE!” As the command beckoned, a symphony of the snap of bows followed shortly by shrieks of pain below. “AMBUSH!” In the mass confusion below Lucien notched his second arrow, drawing back his string and finding his mark: the warband’s chieftan and loosed his arrow which found its mark in the right shoulder blade. The Rangers broke out of their concealed positions like hell’s fury; roaring, blades drawn and poised to end those before them.


(Note: Lucien's dialogue is always bold black, friends/neutral are green and blue, foes/evil are well... red-ish.)
 
Soph could not believe what was happening here. She had been asking this Algos for assistance, but it seemed as if he had ignored her to help another, presumedly more attractive woman. Soph realized that she herself was not a fully developed woman, but she had expected her charms to have at least captured his attention for long enough to ply his aid and get on her way as soon as possible.


Her previous poise and bearing devolved into a childish tantrum, and Soph stamped her foot in an infantile fashion. "I'm sorry, miss!," she said sharply, leering at the intruder, trying to convey her fury without losing her guide's alliance as well, "This gentleman was assisting me in traveling to..." She paused here, realizing he hadn't mentioned anywhere specifically. She quickly wrenched a tome labeled Continental Atlas of Iossoss: International Travel Compositorium from the stack of books the other woman was carrying, leafing through the few intro pages until she came to the overlooking map that spanned all of the recorded world. She searched for a large-looking city, preferably some distance from Tor'Valen, and her finger came to rest on Shan'Manrir's impressive indicator in the lower left corner of the map. "Here!" She announced triumphantly, slamming the atlas closed and tucking it under her arm. "Shan'Manrir, I need information on how to get to Shan'Manrir!" Her bravado returned, she stood taller and her stance took on confidence and a lofty air came over her attitude again.


@theunderwolf @The Empress of Ice
 
It didn't take long for the Dylenor farmer to carry Miderenm to his small cottage with a hay roof. As they were at door, Duender lend his healthy hand to open the door, hoping it wouldn't make a sound which would wake up his wife. He didn't consider his wife as the most pleasant woman: too many old Duender ladies were in her circle of acquaintances to gossip about Területs. "Can you take my carriage more nearby, Grefs?", he muttered before pressing a tissue against his mouth to prevent his lost tooth's gum to bleed all over the place. "Yes, I guess you were going to feed him?" Miderenm nodded a bit, before muffling behind the tissue: "Mha will survive without food this night.. Oh, please bring me a fabric and a piece of wood for the arm also." It was obvious that the incident woke up the Dylenor who had his pyjamas on, so he didn't want to bother him any longer than necessary. "It wouldn't be a big problem but you'd be more embarrassed if I do that...", he pointed out as he helped him to sit on a chair, then walking out to lead his carriage to safe.


Miderenm held the tissue against his mouth still for a while and then he laid it down, starting to lower his toga a bit to take a look at his right hand. The sight wasn't the prettiest: takes couple of weeks to heal.. , he thought. It was really unfortunate thing to him as he was right-handed but he didn't have a feeling of vengeance, as violence wasn't an option to him. It was to Grefs, though: Miderenm was sure that the first sentences which comes out of his mouth have something to do with rotting in hell and vengeance plans, but the mix of panic and darkness didn't allow him to recognize faces or races, so it was impossible to find them. All he knew was that they were young.


"If I ever meet those bastards..", Grefs cursed as he came back. "No need of thinking something like that. They were just kids and I didn't even see their faces", Miderenm pointed out. "Oh, yes.. It's the not-violence-thing, huh?", he muttered as he approached him, receiving a small dry smile and a shrug with one shoulder. "Wouldn't make difference, I have no idea who they were. Now can you please..?", he asked as he pointed a bit his right hand. The movement made Grefs frown slightly. "So I just..?", he asked in a way that he was bracing himself to do it than asking for an instruction. "Just pull it towards you and it should be okay", he answered with a nod, waiting Grefs to approach him.


Soon Grefs pulled a chair in front of Miderenm, leaving fabric and piece of wood on the table next to them and taking a soft grip from his right. He raised the tissue to be between his teeth to prevent too loud whimper which would alert his wife. Then he gritted his teeth against the tissue and staring downwards, letting out a few quiet grunts as the arm was placed right. "Your pain threshold is incredible", he pointed out as the work was almost done. "Yeah.. How are you and your wife?", he asked as Dylenor was tying the fabric around his shoulder. "Ah, good! We got a contract with local shopkeeper so we're in a bit of a hurry to harvest the wheat", He explained eagerly with a smile upon his lips. "And how is your business?", he asked back. "I manage, though it's hard to sell any natural treatments in Tor'Valen", he sneered slightly but raised his short brow casually. "I will head to Shan'Manrir soon after I've done my business in Nir'Amen", he added.


"Indeed, magic treatments does thrive here.. You will stay here over night, right?" It was really late already and denying his retorical question would've been rude, so he had no choice.


 
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