NOPE.

[Lady Knives]

A big smirk tugged at her pale lips, not only because of the fact that he went from 30 silver pieces to 1 gold for a dozen, but the pained facial expressions and the soft yeowls he would make at the removal of the splinters. He really was no match for the merchant duo. He needed them more than they needed him, and Ebosia found that he had realized this shortly after feeling enough pain from that gnarly wound.

"That's what I thought." She purred in his general direction. "Hey, and just for that amazing revelation you just had, I've got a present for you."

She searched through a few of the bags hanging on her hip and found the one she used for pain management, she had a knack for getting infections in cuts on her feet from not wearing shoes as often as she should, so to take away the pain she went to a man about pain management. With some soft coercion, she was able to get quite the supply of maximum strength Novocain from him.

From her pouch she pulled a small, glass-forged syringe that was capped. There were plenty of them in that little pouch, all were sterilized, capped, and unused. She decided that she felt merciful enough to administer some of this magical serum into his wound--and she wanted the whining and howling to stop. After uncapping the syringe, she didn't give him enough time to respond, so if he was indeed afraid of needles, he would have to take it like a man. She pushed the needle into his skin, very near the wound, and slowly pushed it into him.

"Now that is a dose of whine-be-gone. Enjoy."

She turned on her heel and leaned against a nearby pillar, lighting a raspberry flavored cigarette of her own and watching the grotesque process of cleaning his wound.

m yxxh e a r txxi sxxp h o s p h o r ,
s e axxr o l l sxxa n dxxd e a t hxxt o l l s .

b r e a kxxt h exxs u r f a c e - -
d o n ' txxb r e a kxxm yxxb o n e sxx!

[Zevran Arainai]

Amir Malik

Amir’s muscles tensed with the pain Mohini was so joyously providing him with. She had a smug smile on her face and a disjointed tune resonating from her throat. For an Oronian girl, she sure didn’t know how to carry a tune. Maybe she wouldn’t have been as valuable as he thought she would be. Maybe her beauty was all she had going for her. That Ebosia, though, she was mouthy. She was feisty and fiery, precisely the same reason that Amir wanted Liadan for himself in the first place. He liked a woman who could fight back, but at the same time, the ‘intimate’ interaction between he and the medicine girl was made rotten by her acidic presence. He couldn’t have captured the girl if he wanted to. When Ebosia insisted on sticking a needle into him, he flinched and gave her the nastiest look possible, but found it relaxing when the liquid passed into his shoulder, relaxing his muscles and numbing the throbbing pain away.

Wait a minute… How vulnerable had be made himself by entering a mysterious woman’s carriage, who had the power to poison him with her strange salves and liquids, who was friends with a woman who had a supply of needles and pain killers? At that moment, he felt that he was in the good ‘ol Dreywood again. Still, there was something about being surrounded by pretty girls that caused him to stay there. They could’ve destroyed him whenever they wanted to, but somehow, he relaxed. With another puff of his cigarette, he could’ve died at that moment. No, he couldn’t feel the salve burning, nor did he care that he might feel it when the pain killer wore off. He relished in the moment, and Sarafina wasn’t standing there to ruin it with her saltiness.

“You know,” He said, with a grin spread wide across his features, a far cry from how he looked when he first visited the two. What a difference some tobacco could make. He thought clearly, and the idea he'd been pondering at before was now a very convenient reality. He didn't need that Blue Caravan at all. “I’m leaving the city tonight. You both can tag along, if you’d like.” Now, if he had tried to negotiate with the tobacco girl after his horrible bout with pain, he would’ve really gotten somewhere. He gladly let Mohini touch him to wrap his bandages. “Think about it, we can protect each other. You’ll have my constant business, and you get to leave this hell-hole once and for all. You girls should know how much of a pain it is to travel through these sands. I’m experienced. I think we’d make a very good team.” Amir looked back and forth between green and blue. “Well, what do you say?”

[Unais]

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX╠ Ҏᾀηɏῑɴ Ѥ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX"What's in it?"

"Hmn." She's fine enough. Not to concerned with answering or being particularly explanatory.

Without too much worry, the alchemist notices an indiscretion in her words. Odd; she'd never met this girl and yet the child knew her name. And her real name. In the last thirty years, or so, she'd only gotten to tell one person her name, and that'd be Wilhelm; him being out of commission and while not around; highly unlikely he would have jumped groups already if he'd met with this one. Perhaps the, um... caravan leader, name still a lapse in he memory, told her... oh. No. He doesn't even know her name. He'd only heard of her general moniker and made even more after that. What a strange thing.

With that pause, she is slow on the uptake. "...Hm? Know where it is...? That's fine, that's..."

Nes-something is distracted by multiple conversations and apparently feeling the need to participate in them all, her attention veers from Panyin, who holds her blameless, and the woman takes the time to rub her eyes. She knows she needs to wake up but the will to do so is far and faint.

Addled with apathy and waking exhaustion, her lethargy has reached surmounting heights and her opinion has been reduced to the simplest form. Her disregard for anything not particularly concerning her has become a numb wall between her and reality. She lowers her hand and observes it; pathos removed.

Or farther than usual.

She sees. The conversation introduces 'Abel', and 'Lia', as well as a 'Krios' and another companion related to someone in some way or form; she doesn't note or put effort into figuring it.

Panyin lazily eyes the 'Abel' who takes off with some others and then looks at Nes-or-something
who's tugging at her, informing her it's time to bathe and then find 'Auschthler'. They begin to leave, and without thinking about it, she follows along slowly, still among them, but traveling like a zombie.

She knows what she needs. She needs a smell. Something fresh. Some sort of herb, any type of herb. At the moment she wished for basil, or sweet fern. Just thinking about it perked a bit of the light between her eyes.

Nes' nearest to her smells mostly like sweat. All of them do, really, and it's unappetizing but she's known worse. An exuberant smell of masculinity seems to be emanating from Abel there, and the prickly rather irritating smell of fancy soaps faintly crosses her lips when the Lia character. She'd must have the most recent wash out of all of them. Panyin herself wagering the smell of dirt to be prevalent throughout her hair, and by now, her skin would smell like general nature dirt still settled.

Another name. A man of the group lays a hand on her and states his full name and intentions as if cautious of startling a wild animal. 'Magnus, healer, wishes to help'. A sudden feeling of clear energy bleeds from her shoulder into the rest of her body, but odd, she blinks; she hadn't known she needed any assistance. It was something that would go away; sickness didn't strike her, and what was hampering her was mere waking sleep and apathy. Either way, that left the mental part in need of some other catharsis to balance it with the body lest both tumble back into the trancelike state, and, already, the body were following the mind nonetheless.

She blinks a few more times, glancing at the bag she's dragging at her side. Even the bottles are too far away, and what's in them still isn't fresh; as fresh as they could be.

A scent, an aroma infatuating the desert pulls Panyin's attention aside. A plant in a window, in some pottery. Fully in bloom, taunting desert bees and sending trails to find it. Panyin's found it first.

She nears it, picks it, brings a bloom to her nose. Not closely; the smell is intoxicating enough at a distance. She looks at it again, however pristine and perfectly flawed, bug bites nipped away at the edges of the white and yellowed out petals, she slices in with her nail and tears the flower into roughly two halves. The smell of dying plant rises in her nostrils, joining it, the scent of the pollen. It blooms up into the pure, mere death and the fragrance is morbid, but lovely. It's work. A signal of her trade.

A hand threads one half into a pouch on her belt. There're stones of Myanmar settled at the bottom of that bag. The other hand brings the open belly of the plant to be examined again by scent, and again she holds it as if it were a flower once more and not a desecrated partial.

She sighs in the scent. Breathes it. Vague sense of healing agents, and an excessive breath of it bids one to vomit.

Lips part; her teeth drive gently into the petal's flesh and with a turn of the head she takes a piece.

Only then does Panyin looks up and see the woman newly in the window. Her tongue takes the fleck and moves it down her mouth. The woman says 'what are you doing', but only with her eyes. The rest of her is still and stunned.

Chewing the petal in her jaw, Panyin turns and heads back toward the group.

They have moved on somewhat without her, but otherwise seem to not be doing anything in particular.

___________________________________
¤ "You... don't want to know."

[Lady Knives]

Ohhhh he was playing partially on her ego. Good move. The smirk that was formerly tugging at her lips widened, allowing her pearly whites to glisten as her eyes shined with excitement. 'Out of this place? YESSSSSSSSS!' She squealed inside of her mind, nearly purring with pleasure as she sunk down to his level and took a drag from her raspberry cigarette. With a smile that only the cheshire cat could manage, she smiled at him, blowing the fruity smoke from her drag out to billow jovially around his face.

"You betcha!" She piped, "I am quite tired of this place. It smells of desert-people and their curry. I have heard of so many things better than this place. Yes, yes, YES!" She bounced in her crouch, all the way back up, and hugged Mohini with excited arms.

With just as much sporadicness as her excitement came, it waned just as quickly. Though her smile lessened, it was still there, and her voice lowered to a more serious, but easy-to-tell-she-was-wayyy-too-excited-to-hide-the-excitement tone and gazed down at him with eyes blazing full of joy.

"What are your terms? Policies? Restrictions, rules?" She mused, twiddling the cigarette in her fingers between drags. Ebosia was basically jittery with happiness, and she knew Mo would be just as happy to leave. She looked over at Mohini with eyes sparkling, and then back to Eli as a thought popped into her head:

"Oh, and how much time do I have to pack!?"

m yxxh e a r txxi sxxp h o s p h o r ,
s e axxr o l l sxxa n dxxd e a t hxxt o l l s .

b r e a kxxt h exxs u r f a c e - -
d o n ' txxb r e a kxxm yxxb o n e sxx!

[Argentine.the.Tangerine]

x
x
x

ABEL'S FABLES
Volume One Chapter Twenty One
Where Abel's childhood education is put to good use .

The water felt good against his skin, washing away the dirt and grime. Exposing the skin of his hands, golden brown from all the sun tanning his skin. He dropped his jacket to the ground and tugged his shirt off. His body was lean and well muscled, not jacked, but toned. A body used to the hard labor of a farm and the innocent boyish revelries of exploration and adventure. He soaked the shirt with water and rung it out before washing himself. He made sure to get under his arms, his neck, even removing his beloved helmet to wash his hair. Anything that could smell that didn't require him taking off his pants. That would be improper in front of young ladies. Especially nice young ladies. Avaya would have been down, but she had flounced off across the desert taking her legs with her. She would have probably stripped down too, and then it'd be all that crea--

Abel swallowed hard and went back to washing himself, his eyes roaming across the marketplace again. What were they looking for? A blue caravan? He wasn't quite sure about all of the specifics that made a caravan. It was probably big, and had a lot of ...other things..in a big chain..of things. But he knew all about blue. His brother had blue eyes, and he was told his dad did too. Blue was the color of the sky. Blue was the color of water.

"Ah'll be sa clean, ya won' even know m'here." Since Abel was only noticed because he smelled so terrible. Sure, the odor wouldn't be entirely conquered, but it was better than nothing. He slung his wet shirt around his shoulders, feeling drops of water trickle down his spine. Arching his back, he stretched and gazed idly about the marketplace once more, hunting for a hot girl or a shiny something or --

-- that was a big blue thing. A wagonish type thing. Could it be? An excited grin spread across his face as he turned to the others, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb,
"Ya said it was blue, righ? Like, the color? Well...there's a big blue thing righ' ova there...." Abel was pretty pleased with himself. Not only was he cleaner, but he had found the caravan. All by himself. His mom would be so proud.

Blue never looked so good.

[Zevran Arainai]

Amir Malik

Ebosia's burst of apparent happiness at Amir's proposal was so overwhelmingly contagious that the slaver himself couldn't help but smile as well. He took a drag from his cigarette and laughed heartily at the green girl's display of affection towards her friend, who had by then tied his bandages and allowed him to slip back into his clothing. Suddenly, tensions between the three were nonexistent and he actually thought about enjoying the company of the two lovely ladies, even if it meant having them as allies and not as slaves, as he really wanted.

Buttoning up his vest, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth, smoke wafting from it as he held the cigarette between his lips. "All you have to do is meet me at the northern gate at sunset. That gives you a few hours to pack up, and we'll set off together, us three." Then, he flicked open one of the pouches at his hip and took out a meager-looking bag, complete with discolored patch where it had been repaired, as if he couldn't just buy a new one. Amir stuck in a couple of fingers and pulled out something unexpected - paper money.

In Albrind, the currency was like so: Copper coins, used for meager things. Peasants scrambled for them at the bottom of the barrel. Silver coins, more valuable at about one hundred copper pieces each. Gold coins are considered the most favorable form of currency among middle class working citizens, valued at approximately one hundred silver coins. For anyone pretentious, who worked in even higher denominations that didn't feel like carrying around a heavy sack of coins, there was paper currency. Paper currency in Albrind ranged from worth twenty gold pieces and higher: Twenty, Fifty, and Hundred. It wasn't likely that a common citizen would flash such money.

Amir Malik preferred to carry paper money when he could. It was less bulky and easier to hide. He pulled from his pouch a bill of fifty, grabbed the gentle hand of Mohini, and placed it into it with his own hand. He was surely in a wonderful mood to do such a thing for the woman, but no one was complaining. "All you have to do is supply me when I need you," He gave another look toward the green lady. "And don't look into or question the contents of my wagons. Got it?" For a little while, seriousness flashed in his eyes. "In return, I will see to it that you're both taken care of." Before putting the pouch of money away, he picked up a few gold coins and handed them to the green girl.

With that, Amir adjusted his clothing back to where it was before and stepped out of Mohini's carriage. "Remember, the northern gate at sunset. See you there, ladies." He left them with a smile, sauntered over to Ebosia's stand and picked up the equivalent of matches and cigarettes to the amount of coins he gave her, waved them at her to make sure she knew, and went back to the slave wagons. It was time to replenish the other supplies. It would be nightfall by then. Amir couldn't help but dream what it would be like to have those two girls in his wagons, as helpless as Aria and Thanh. All of the excitement caused him to forget to feed them and give them water. Sarafina was off doing something, but she knew where to meet them. For now, he would enjoy his time without her.

[Zevran Arainai]

___________________________________________________________
_____________________________
_______




Currently on...
Chapter Four: On The Road Again

Traveling through the desert is always a daunting task. Thankfully, the desert oasis, Shahrazad was able to serve as a temporary rest for the Blue Caravan, providing shelter from the harsh heat, the scorching sands, and the blistering sun. The Caravan, although just recovering from a terrifying bout with bandits from the mountains, was able to return to its former glory, thanks to its fearless leader, Auschthler Rathegaun. Its members were scattered across the city, fated to find those who would act as both saviors and villains. The saviors would come in the form of Artemists and alchemists. The villains would come in the form of slavers and aristocrats. Those who were stuck in the middle were yet to suffer a fate unknowable to anyone but the Mother (or the Light, depending on your tastes,) some bound and left in silence, and some led blindly by those who intended to do them harm.

The city itself was not spared. When all seemed calm, the Red Moon Tavern, a landmark within the city, that stood for over a hundred years, was burnt down by the black souls of the reunited slave traders. The Tavern itself had served as a meeting ground for the righteous souls of the city, and the Inn was protection for the ill-fated children and their rescuer. They were all forced to leave, and some were even left behind to die, but the tragic event proved to bind those fated souls together. It gave them all a common goal: To Auschthler and his caravan, for there was nothing left in the city for them, hungering for adventure and a safe place to call home.

The slavers were able to avoid persecution for their heinous crimes, snatching the Oronian child which was so rightfully theirs and adding yet another unfortunate soul to their deadly agenda: the seer, Aria, as punishment for daring to utter the slave master's true name. After an attempt by the Artemists to rescue the woman, which resulted in them leaving with nothing but dread in their hearts, the Slavers managed to ally themselves with a peculiar couple of merchants who, unknowingly, jumped into a situation they may soon regret. As for the caravan leader himself, he was reunited with the Princess Liadan, who escaped the clutches of her bandit kidnapper.
When the sun set, and the long day was almost at an end, tensions still would remain high.

The Blue Caravan found former members, lost members, and even gained many more members and would become busier than ever, a testament of what was left in the Phronwood before the bandit attack. Demons secretly haunt its ranks, in the arms of those who feel they are in control, and those who have not yet revealed their malice. Nevertheless, it is thought that the whimsical Auschthler casts his watchful eye on them all, as a beacon of hope and safety for all of them. The slavers, although they have scheduled meetings with the Artemists and the merchants, arrive late.

At the current moment, the Blue Caravan and the merchant girls stand ready, at the mouth of the Thahbufir desert, just outside of Shahrazad. The setting sun casts a brilliant display of fading light over them and the heat of the day begins to wane. The wind is fairly low and the sands seem calm. They are all ready to leave, but the Blue Caravan and the Slave Caravan have a score to settle, and it is unknown as to whether the latter will even show up. Either way, the Blue Caravan and its allies face a journey across a long stretch of desert, with the threat of bandits and legends of monsters in their path. Their next destination is the mysterious mountain town of Belorner, which is renowned as a religious centre for all believers.

[No Eul]

Why do I [t i r e] of counting shҽҽp
(Please take me away from here)
When I'm far too [t i r e d] to fall a s l e e p
┏ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ┓
The grainy sand of the desert was spread all about him with the borders of his vision being lined with bulrush. He could smell the salty ocean, yet strangely enough he could not feel it upon his skin. Looking to the left, he found that the bulrush would only line his vision, as though they had sprouted up within his eyes. The desert sands stretched on forever, but that familiar smell agitated him, causing the him to strain his ears for the sounds of the ocean as well. "Thanh!" That voice... That accent... It seemed familiar. Who was it? The name was just out of his grasp. "Thanh!" The voice was calling out to him and yet he felt no fear. Neither did he feel any hostility. Instead, there was this warm feeling. A calmness that had eluded him for many weeks. Ah, that was it. This voice belonged to--

"Thanh!" Orange flickered across his field of vision and he had been so certain that it would be Wilhelm. He was wrong. This orange packed heat and licked the wooden floors. Wait... Wooden floors? He felt himself quickly spin around. The desert had been replaced with the interior of the room that he had been in... and it was on fire. The usual sensation of panic and fear began to creep up once again and his vision switched from one place to another as the bulrush burned all around him until they were naught but ash. He could hardly breathe and any smells that had previously pleasured his nose were filled with the smells of burning wood and flesh. "Thanh!" "I'm over here!" he wanted to call out, but his voice refused to leave his throat.

Somehow or another, he had managed to move through the room to the window, which had long since shattered from the heat of the flames. Down below. Everyone was down below. Panyin and... "Thanh! We're free!" Will called up to him as though the building were not on fire. He had the usual smile on his face-- that soothing smile that told him that everything would be okay... but everything was not okay. Without his words, how could he yell out this fact? "Thanh! [...]" Will was still speaking, but the words did not reach his ears. It was becoming hotter and the room was beginning to spin. There was a barrier between himself and the person he wanted to be next to. He had to get out of this burning building. The door... where was the door? His vision once again melded strangely as he searched for the door, only stopping once he had found it. He forced his sluggish body forward-- Crack! The sound popped loudly and quickly, his vision moved to the floor. No... there was nothing wrong with the... Slowly, his vision moved upwards, just long enough to see a flaming beam straight down to him...

With a painful gasp, Thanh's body bolted upright and the darkness around him seemed to swirl in places it should not have, each pant more painful than the last. The clinking sounds of chains jingled as the child tried to move about, nervously trying to make heads or tails about where he was. 'Oh... That's right...' he thought despairingly as his mind started to clear, hyperventilation slowing to that of normal breathing. Indeed, he was not free... but in the same token, neither was he dead. He had been caught once more and the master had shoved him into this wagon... alone. He must have fallen asleep within the darkness, allowing nightmares to once more bloom within his mind.

He was not certain how long he had been asleep (the darkness gave no clues), but suddenly it did not matter. His throat was parched and felt as though it were in dire need of water. Just breathing reminded him that he needed water and almost immediately, Thanh began to paw about blindly in the darkness, searching for any signs of water. It did not take long before he had reached his boundaries, which were as dry as his throat. Finding water where there was none... It, as with many other things, brought despair into his heart. Without any more of a fight, the child laid upon his side, panting silently. Water... Water... He needed water. It was this single word that continually echoed within his mind. Being a slave was nothing to this urge. Being able to differentiate his skin, which had paled considerably since waking, was unimportant. Will, Panyin, even the cruel master meant nothing to him. He was thirsty, his throat and his mouth parched dry. The only thing that was even halfway acknowledged alongside his need for water was that without the water, his life would be in peril. For a person who had believed there was nothing to live for, he had such a strong will to stay alive, which could only be done with water.
┗ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ┛
I'd rather stay awake when I'm aslȩȩp
'Cause everything is never as it seems
When I fall a s l e e p

[BriarRose]

xxxxxxxs t e r l i n g . s u m m e r s o n gxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

♪♪♪♪

xxxxxxxxxxS O N Gxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "Even with evidence to the contrary, they continue to underestimate me.
I think I prefer it that way." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had finally met up with a caravan.

In the wee hours of the morning, Song, after a long final night of mingling with the colorful locals, met up with her partner of many years to discuss the terms in which they planned their grand exit from the city. Well, perhaps no so grand, because exiting a desert city into a sea of sand took work and planning, and grand exits were almost always spur of the moment. Krios wanted out, and Song wanted him to stay happy; and she knew that her journey was not yet over, so they searched. Then the name came to them: Blue Caravan. It came with a young man with a soul that called out to the Artemists, and all before noon.

Then the day went to hell.

Fire, slavery, and lost children. A deal with a demon.

Song was having second thoughts. It was more than having to spend an afternoon with a wall of silence between herself and one of her heart's true friends. The members of the caravan knew something was up, but neither Song nor Krios was willing to speak of their deal, so they spent the afternoon forcing smiles, avoiding each other, and helping the caravan get ready to leave, urging them to be at the north gate at sunset without any real explanation. They met new people and gravitated into their own little groups; they bought supplies; they worried about Aria.

There was something about the way the caravan members worked together that made the priestess feel like she was on the outside, looking in. A feeling of detachment was growing in her belly, swelling to block out the true glimmer of joy that made her smiles so genuine; and every time sunset was mentioned, it grew ever larger. Every time she looked at Krios, or Magnus, or even Abel, she wanted to cry like a small child and refuse to take another step forward. The thing about being brave and selfless is that one can't have time to think on it. Bravery is bred from impulse, and cowardice from pondering. The priestess was scared--scared of slavery and scared of being hated.

She'd also had time to think.

For the early part of the day, Song promised herself again and again that she needed to think about this or that. She needed to think about almost losing Krios to the fire, and about Wilhelm's mysterious burst of power, and she needed to think about giving herself to the slavers. In the end, she did, and Song came to an odd realization.

There was something about the pattern of her life that led to Sterling Summersong not learning things about herself easily. As a child, she had one lesson after another drilled into her, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, so while she had a spectacular memory for facts and faces, she didn't do so well with introspection. When she became interested in boys, it had taken her several days to understand why she felt the need to vomit every time she saw the groomsman, Perry Kaultan, and that it was a good thing rather than a bad one. After a month of nameless depression, it took an afternoon in a Helios to figure out that she hated her profession. Two weeks of nostalgia after that told her that she was missing the routine of caring for her young royal charge. After six months of involvement with Krios, there appeared a nameless dread that accompanied his face, all from a belated acknowledgment that she was not helping him become a priest by pulling him from his studies every half hour. Life changing decisions came quickly with Song, and they tended to stick. So was the case on this day.

Selfishness was something that she'd denied to herself since she took her final vows to become a priestess. It was why she'd refused the title of high priestess five years before, and it was why she never turned down a sick person, no matter how evil he or she was. But her vows did not require her to forget her own wants. Artemism was not a religion that denied worldly things to its priesthood--they were encouraged to join with the world as an example of what one should be. Priests of the Mother were role models. In her ponderings, it struck Song that she was acting as a priestess of the Light (which made her feel inexplicably dirty) by denying herself all of the good things in the world of human interaction. She was meant to be a part of the world, not apart from it.

So when she thought that her companion had met his end in the flames of the Red Moon, Song was angry. A dozen other emotions mixed in with the anger, but she hadn't recognized them for what they were. She was angry that he'd been taken from her, because surely she would lose her mind without Krios there to hold it in place. She felt justified in thinking that it was wrong that his goodness was gone from the world, but that was so overshadowed by the fear, and wrath, and regret, that she didn't care. She felt sorrow, emptiness, because he was gone. Then there was fear that she'd be alone, and finally regret, for breaking the promise made many years before that they could resume what they once had. The last one was a shocker, because she'd all but forgotten the promise--it had been made as an afterthought--and it drove her to more adamantly avoid her friend that afternoon, as if her remembering it would prompt him to call it in.

Selfishness is also what drove her to put herself forward with the slaver. That and something that was very much against her vows. Song wanted to hurt them. She wanted the white woman and her scarlet partner to suffer and writhe, but she hadn't taken the time to consider other ways to do it. She could have maneuvered him out of his stock and his money--that would have made him pained--or she could have delayed him for more than an afternoon while spreading his name about town (Eli or Amir, she was no longer sure) in warning. But no, she had promised herself in an attempt to put a knife in his back. And not a figurative one, like the one she'd planted in Krios's.

In the end, it took several hours of thinking and sweating for Song to turn around and do what she dreaded. She found Krios, extricated him from his company, and apologized.

"I'm sorry," she said simply, meeting his eyes squarely. The hurt was still there, but now she was doing her best to rectify it. "I know you wanted to keep me from harm, and I fought that--I didn't want to feel coddled. I wanted...well, I still want to take that man and throw him into a burning building with a blade buried in his spine, and that's the only thing I was really thinking. At that point, it wasn't even about Aria, though I told myself it was. And I was cruel to you, and I shouldn't have been. And I really don't want to be a slave, especially to that man, though it's probably too late for that. And I'm sorry--I'm so sorry. You were obviously thinking better than I was, and I attacked you for it."

Song took a deep breath and found, to her horror, tears making muddy tracks down her cheeks. She didn't look away, though. "I thought you had died, you know. I couldn't see how you escaped that fire, and...I don't know, it changed me, feeling that kind of fear. I haven't been able to think of any way to get Aria back, aside from violence, so I wanted to tell you this. You know, before I do the whole self-sacrifice spiel," here she attempted a crooked smile, "and I would...really appreciate it if you helped me out of this hole I dug for myself; though to be of any help, I'd need to be at least partially intact." And she looked away.

She wanted to go on with the apologies, but Song knew that it would start a flood of words that he might find useless, and there was no time for that, as the slavers were due shortly. The setting sun was acting as a count-down, and only half of its giant red mass was still visible above the ocean of sand to the west.

There was always that selfish hope that the slavers were having second thoughts. Perhaps Song was too old.

[Ocoo]

…rethink this case
was it worth the try?
all those summers past
so here comes your time
happieness required…

Desdemona had spoken little all day. She only talked when she was addressed, save for a snide comment here and there. If someone attempted to have a conversation, she would talk in circles that said nothing at all. This was all for the sake of the pious man’s interest in her. Whatever curiosities had compelled him to make her his charge were ones she did not intend to satisfy.

Not only was this for the purpose of being difficult, but also to preserve the air of mystery. Not only was it to her advantage to keep her captors in the dark, but she also rather liked it. To them she was unpredictable, perhaps even insane. They did not know her thoughts nor her reasoning, for they did not know enough to see a pattern. However, should any of them begin to pry, they just might reveal something they shouldn’t.

In a way, her enigmatic shroud was her greatest asset, and therefore, was not something she could give up.

It was through a combination of smoking and sneaking the small vials of liquid she kept in her belt that she had managed to stay calm and relaxed, despite the annoyances of people and the dimming prospect of escaping. And now that they were on the fringe of the city, it seemed as if she would be accompanying them out of the desert. She was more than fine with leaving such a dump of a city, but in her present company, she had her doubts she would make it out alive.

She was a captive. A captive that served no purpose. A captive that was in no ways necessary. She was of no consequence, and neither would have death be. If something went wrong, or there was a shortage of food or water, she would be the first to die.

Her only hope of leaving these people, or at least gaining some sort of value, was to involve herself in the coming negotiations. Her captors had not spoken much about the situation, but she was not oblivious. She had already gathered it was slavers that had taken the Aria girl,and now they were waiting. Waiting on the slavers, so they could begin some sort of negotiations. Negotiations that could be her key to get away from these people, or a least gaining some status among them.

And with the appearance of the pious woman, who was prattling on about something she had promised to the slavers, now was her perfect opportunity.

“Perhaps,” she said, directing her words towards the pious woman, “being that everyone is so convinced that I am a slaver, I could be of assistance with the negotiations. As a supposed slaver, I would know best how they think, would I not? There is no doubt some motive behind taking someone as old as you in exchange for someone I understand to be youthful and has good features, the most obvious being to bring suffering to your companion.

"This would mean said slaver is viewing the negotiations with sadism rather than logic, and that makes it all the harder to default on your words. If you do not have someone that knows how they think, then it will likely end in violence, and for all you know, he could simply kill the girl if things turn sour. At least, that is what I would do, if I were a slaver.”

†Desdemona Patunaude†

…it's more or less the other way
it's more or less the other way
this job is almost over
re-think this case…

[artfreek]

~~~~Nesa Comec~~~~



Nesa found it to be a stroke of dumb luck that Abel found the caravan so easily. Not that she was complaining. Luck was nice to have around no matter how dumb it is. The fact the lucky man had a fun personality was a plus too.

Nesa had spent her last few hours in Shahrazad with the members of the Blue Caravan, minus Aria. She really didn't want to leave without her. If they didn't get her back now Nesa would never see her again. She didn't like thinking that way, but it was the truth. The world was a big place and the Slavers could go to any part of it.

She mingle with everyone trying to get and had changed out of her performing dress. She was back in her shorts and loose shirt that looked three sizes to big. She hadn't bothered to put on her vest. It was to hot for it.

Now the girl sat in the entrance to one of the wagons staring out at the city, but not really seeing it. She was tired, exhausted from the events of the day and her depressing thoughts. Her shirt billowed in a breeze she created. She had to feel the wind wrap around her limbs. It felt like the hugs she got from her parents when she was young. Those were something she hadn't got in a long time and she missed them. She missed her parents, but she had lived without her parents and their hugs for a few years now. She had gotten used to there absence, but the wind gave her gentle reminders of them and she welcomed them with open arms. It brought her memories and put a smile on her face. She closed her eyes and smiled feeling the wind in her hair and it's gentle caress across her skin.

[Teddy Molotov]

=Ω Krios MalsuveaΩ=

=ΦTraveling Priest Φ=xx

xxxxxThe rest of the day begun, and continued to the welcoming of night. In that time, Krios found himself shocked at the assumptions that others had (particularly Abel's), found himself entering a holy place with a presumably insane woman in his care, found himself speaking with former strangers and finding potential friends, and Krios found himself constantly worrying about a girl in a wagon.

Earlier that day, Abel had called Song Krios' "wife." Under normal circumstances, Krios would have furrowed his brows and promptly snapped two rigid fingers on the boy's forehead and call him a foolish boy that shouldn't jump to conclusions. But when a person has just recently fought through proper anger, frustration and humiliation, they often find it easier to forgive and dismiss a simple misunderstanding.
So, as he took the the mad woman from the Abel boy (was he really a boy, and not an adult, now that Krios was getting a better look at him?) and started redoing the binding that she was placed in. He shared friendly but cautionary words with the young man, explaining that most marriages began with and maintained intimate love.

The woman's bindings were changed from a leash to a simple but strong wrist binding. The woman could be easily tended to with her unable to use her hands. An hour before, the Priest would have been content to leave her tied to a post somewhere and left to the mercy of the Mother. However, after dealing with people that could very well also be described as monsters, he found a re-emergence of mercy. Krios wanted to be a good man. That meant being good to those who did not deserve it.
He shared parting words with Nesa, Abel and Liadan, saying that he was just going to be a moment and that he will find them at the Caravan shortly. The mysterious girl named Panyin received a courteous smile and nod, but no formal greeting, as he had no time to truly know the woman. He was a friend, and that was all they needed to establish with each other at the moment.
Song was left with intentional avoidance, as those wounds still ached in his heart and on his ego.

There was another reason for Krios to visit the Helios, you see. He had no money, and all he could trade was a knife of questionable origins and a set of lockpicks (which, after some inspection, Krios found were of superb quality. When Song decides to sin, she seems to try and make it worth it as much as possible). He felt he needed a weapon, and a new set of vestments.
The modest Helios was happy to accommodate, if only to get Krios out quickly. Granted, it did look suspicious to see a holy man drag a beautiful young woman about by the wrists, bound by leather. However, Desdemona would learn that the other priests and cleric had a specific and old disdain for Krios, which he received with a gracious if perhaps too confident smile.
"Still," one of the friendlier Artemists joked, "it is good to someone like you embrace a Faith so passionately. You were wise to serve the Mother. Do not take this the wrong way, but the Light would have condemned you to the Underworld and be done with it." The older fellow laughed, as he handed Krios a new robe, folded neatly, and a Pilgrim's staff, ornately carved with designs telling the story of the Mother and her Brothers. His old staff used to look like this, but had ben worn down from so much use.
Krios winced at his comment, believingthat too much had been revealed, and humbly said that bringing up such things revived memories best not dwelled upon.
Not needing anything else, or willing to endure the judgmental stares of the older priests, Krios weft with the sinister woman in tow.

Any conversation with her was brief and could perhaps be described as idle. The first thing he asked the woman was her name, and where she hailed. Whether she would answer or not, Krios could not rightly predict, but he willing to make the effort to try and connect with her on a human level.
What did they call it? Redemption of the evil spirit? Perhaps he could help this woman find redemption. Maybe doing so would help him.

The Caravan, of course, became relatively easy to find, given enough time and questions. The clairvoyance could have made finding it easier, but Krios' head was starting to pound. From using his gift, from the angry sun, and from the emotional fatigue that was starting to catch up with him. Knee still a bit tender, ashes still in his lungs, and worry still on his mind.

Aria was never far from his thoughts.

The rest of the day was spent with the Caravan, getting to know the people there, the workers whom all answer to that big man. His name? Auschtchler, he had said.
Krios could not find him, and not without a lack of trying. The big man must still be trying to save Aria. Perhaps he had a plan? Well, of course he did! He had the responsibility to the Caravan, didn't he? Krios felt a sharp pang of guilt, which for a moment was visible on his face. He felt he had to be the hero. Nesa had called him "savior." How arrogant of him to think that Aria's safety rested entirely on his shoulders.
Auschtchler was supposed to protect her, to tend to the Caravan. Logic and courtesy said that the big man would have to be good at his job, in order to be the leader of such a legend as the Blue Caravan. Krios should have trusted the big man from the beginning.
When he returns, Krios will have to apologize.

The day continued on, and Krios tried his very best to reacquaint himself with the members of the Caravan. Dressed in vestments again, Krios felt more comfortable, and more focused. His spirit had once again calmed in the time that passed, and he felt cleaner after going through that proverbial ring of fire. It had certainly burned.
To Abel, he expressed his gratitude and intrigue. The boy had expressed particular talent, like an uncut diamond. In regards to his potential, however, Krios kept those thoughts to himself. For now, he was just friendly to the boy, coming to realize that they were cler in age than Krios thought, and still being a fairly young man, started growing attatched to the kinship of being around someone within his age group.
Nesa was a more difficult affair, as Krios felt that he had failed her. But, he was not willing to give up just yet, and promised her that Aria will be retrieved. She must have faith, whether it be to the Mother or the Light, it did not matter. Faith was crucially important now.
Liadan was, to all appearances, safe. Krios noticed her, wandering abut the Caravan and taking care of menial duties. He would nod in greeting, whenever they crossed paths, with a gentle smile on his face.
Song, however, stalked him. Krios could feel her looking from afar, and she made no real attempt to hide herself. This was not like her, but then, Song had been off all day. And Krios could use the time away from her, until she got things sorted out. Until they both sorted out what was going on inside themselves.

As the sun started to set, the Caravan started to move. Krios was confused, yet pleased as he realized that they were headed towards the north gate. How they knew to go that way, Krios did not know for he didn't share the terms of the meeting with anyone, as he was planning on going by his lonesome or with Song. Maybe Song told them? Or she told Auschtchler? Or the big man spied on their exchange with the Slavers? Maybe it was just a matter of coincidence?
If the Slaver's were to keep their word, then this will all be settled. Desdemona still in his control, he walked with the Caravan up to the north gate, his grip tightening around his staff.

And they waited. Stopped just outside the city, the Caravan started to wait, as well as prepare for the long journey though the desert. It was too cast and too harsh to take lightly.
As they waited, Krios spent time either on his own, or with Abel.
"I' have seen that you have strength." Krios said to the now clean adventurer. "If you wish, I could teach you to harness that power, and unlock some of that potential."
Krios did not get an answer, however, as he was approached by Song

She pulled him away, and Krios felt himself compelled to listen what she had to say. After all, he didn't hate her. It was immensely difficult to hate Song Desdemona was left in Abel's care, though Song did not bother to pull Krios far enough away for them to have a private conversation. They spoke quietly, and away from the light coming from the setting sun.
And she apologized. She exploded, really, with a flood of words that Krios did not expect, or properly fathom.
But he was touched. Touched, and guilty, and in a odd way amused. He sighed heavily in response, behind a small smile that seemed to want to grow larger but was too tried to make the effort. His brown eyes conveyed nothing but relieved resignation. In truth, Krios had forgiven her hours before. Song was just being Song, and she was an awfully fantastic person.
What could he say to her in response? For a long while, he could think of nothing. So he embraced her with his arms and pulled the older woman close. Her age, truly, did not matter for those who knew Song like Krios did. It was constantly on her mind, but Krios knew better. She was just Song, and she was a lovely example of a human being.
Krios allowed to pull himself away just enough for him to get another look at her. The tears ran down her cheeks, which Krios wiped away with a thumb. His ugly, calloused, sinner's hands cradled her angel's face. He longed for days past where they were in love, but here, now, he found himself more at peace than he's been all day. It's not that she apologized, or even that she understood where he was coming from. Those were things that Song would always end up doing anyways.
He didn't want to be her protector. He didn't even want to be her lover, in the sense of "want." His head bowed down and gently pressed itself against Song's. They didn't need to kiss, no explosions of uncontrollable passion. They merely shared the moment of inatmacy for what it was.
"You are the anchor of my Faith, and the keystone of my rebirth. But also, I believe that the world needs you. Without you, this land will be left with a grumpy, arrogant, pessimistic drunk of a holy man." Krios' smile grew, one of the few boyish grins the Priest would allow himself, and for that moment looked infinitely younger. He raised his head and landed a small kiss on Song's forehead, and allowed himself another look at her face.
"So don't count on me to just let them take you. It would be a crime to the Mother to do so."

Still, despite the smile on Krios' face, he still had no plan, and neither did Song. Hopefully Auschtchler did, and his one-eyed lackey, but they have so far been out of Krios' range of perception.

Then, unexpectedly, Desdemona decided to share some of her insight.
Krios did not attempt to hide at his surprise, upon hearing the woman's offer to help. This was the second time today she acted in this fashion. But when did he insinuate that this woman was a slaver? Perhaps it was Abel and that group.
The priest released his friend, and the smile faded, as he approached the potion making girl, and looked into her eyes with a suspicious, but contemplative expression.
Eventually, Krios answered, "...You make a good point." He took her by the wrist bonds, and relieved Abel of the responsibility. However, Krios was not exactly gentle, as he pulled the woman closer towards him and calmly, but sternly, added, "But if you decide to try anything to make matters worse, than I will take it as a personal attack and react accordingly. Are we clear?" He was taking a risk, and there was no time for softness.

It was almost time, Krios realized, as he looked towards the setting sun. Looking back to Desdemona for a moment, he then turned started walking back to face the Northern Gate leading back into the city, guiding Desdemona along with him with one hand. the other held his staff, and tucked under his palm was the shred of Aria's dress. If the Slaver's decided not to show, Krios would find her.

Passing Nesa on the way to the meeting spot, he gently brushed past her to get her attention and smiled. "Best get inside your wagon, Nesa my Dear. We will get Aria back tonight, I promise, so get yourself away from where we may find any flying swords, alright?"

This place was ideal, the open desert. In the city, Krios was cramped, lacking space to move properly, and fewer places for the enemy to hide. This way, if he's surrounded by many of Amir's goons, he can act accordingly.
He once again looked to Song, and gave a reassuring nod. Krios was ready. Where was Leroy? Another sword hand would be helpful.
And where was Auschtchler? It was his duty to be here. Hopefully, that crafty giant has something up his sleeve which will guarantee victory for the Blue Caravan...

[Zevran Arainai]

Amir Malik

It was dusk and the sun was disappearing. Amir Malik was the type to be fashionably late, to the annoyance of his clients. The truth was, he just liked to see them squirm. He'd spent the remainder of the day time haggling for supplies, which was a lengthy process that any normal human being would have tried to avoid, and received them for only a fraction of their original prices. He now had food to sustain himself, Sarafina, his horses, and the rats in the back of his wagons. Water, herbs with varying purposes, just in case the medicine girl didn't show, and replacement parts in any case that his wagons were damaged. There were countless other things, always replenished when the day was up, and he was more than ready to leave. Was he looking forward to confronting the old dog and his fiery mistress? No, he wasn't.

He reflected on the day. What other man could go from captured to captor in the span of a mere twelve hours? It was a marvelous feat and how he had to deal with mangy do-gooders? They should have appreciated his achievement. In his opinion, they should have been honored to hand themselves over! Now, the slave wagons were sitting at the northwest gate, just five minutes past the northern gate, waiting to ride over and cause a stir. Sarafina had still not appeared, but Amir had faith that she would. After all they had been through and how they depended on each other, to some degree, it was maddening to him that he wouldn't be able to truly leave on his route until she was with him. Without her, his slaves wouldn't have escaped in the first place. Then again, without her, his wagons would have still been lost to the Phronwood. He should have been appreciative, and maybe he was. He would never admit it.

Speaking of slaves, Amir had almost forgotten about them in the exciting span of the day. They hadn't been fed and they hadn't been given any water. Not even his precious Oronian child, who thrived on water, had gotten even a drop of it. Nevertheless, they were all human and could withstand a few hours without drinking water. He didn't want to spoil them. That would have made them feel privileged. They weren't. They were slaves. Still, he took a second or two to visit the child, simply to inform him, "Your friend Wilhelm is dead. I'll come back later to see if you're willing to tell me who freed you." He gave nothing but pain to the boy until he was willing to speak. It would have tugged on the hardest man's heartstrings. He could feel the rear wagon's guard's gaze burning into him. What did those men think was going to happen when they took a job from a slaver?

The very next thing he did was unlock the doors to the back of his main slave wagon. He held a lamp, shedding light on his captured. They were quiet, one still quietly sobbing. "Shut up, won't you?" He muttered. "You're annoying the others." Hanging the lamp from a hook suspended from the roof of the wagon, he knelt down to pat the girls cheek, resulting in a terrible, sudden flinch from her. Amir smiled. He enjoyed it greatly when those showed fear towards him, and so soon in her imprisonment. He was pleased. He turned to the Seer at the very corner, the last in the line. Her head drooped. He lifted her chin and brushed sweat-dampened hair from her face. Her mouth and eyes were tied as he requested, but Amir took the liberty of lifting the blindfold from her eyes. Putting a finger to his lips, signaling for her to keep quiet, assuming she could see from the dominating darkness of the wagon (even though her explanation of blindness was ridiculous to him in the first place), and pulled the cloth down that kept her from speaking. If the girl insisted on screaming, he would have promptly silenced her with a fist to the teeth, no questions asked.

His tone was devious, mocking her situation like he was the one in control of whether she lived or died, which, technically, he was. Amir leaned over her, his arm resting on the wall of the wagon, like he were Death itself casting its shadow over her. "It appears that you have a savior, Miss Aria. An old dog. A holy man, it seems. Let me tell you how this is supposed to work. A most beautiful woman - much more valuable than you will ever be - has volunteered to take your place in exchange for your freedom. Me, being the smart one, accepted her offer. Now, that's good news for you, but you see.. I'm not expecting everything to go as planned. I'm expecting her dog to try and slay me. If that happens, you'll stay and have a new friend in here, got it?" While he spoke, a filthy, wandering hand began to creep up onto the Seer's thigh. "Your role in all of this is to prevent that from happening. I will release you from your bindings and you will stay alongside my guards. If any of my blood is shed by the priest or any of his little friends, you will be killed. It's as simple as that!"

The slaver let out a bit of a chuckle at his own disjointed wit. It seemed that as he spoke to the seer, he had been getting himself closer to the girl, an uninvited hand gently pulling up the fabric of her dress to get a feel of her skin. "Either way, it would be an awful shame if I let you go without taking the opportunity to enjoy you first."