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Aksel, however, was not helping those inside the burning building, but instead had to look around in confusion as Rick had shouted to him in a most (un)valiant manner, wondeirng what the fuss was about. The man's armor creaked, and a passerby found himself struck by the flat of the warrior's axe as the man turned with the head of the massive weapon stuck out far behind him with the shaft on his shoulder.

Of course, Aksel apologized, though the man who was struck would probably have a fairly large welt from the blow.

Now, Aksel was, at this point, slightly aware that something was amiss, but what was amiss was completely lost on him. As a matter of fact, his eyes swept past the burning building quite a few times as he looked about (perhaps it was a fire factory?), wondering what was going on, why people were running and screaming.

However, upon the realization that a building was on fire, people were dying, and in need of aid, Aksel was the first to get there.

As a matter of fact, for all he knew, he could've trampled poor, smaller-than-Aksel Rick under his plated boots as he ran towards the burning building.

However, Rick was probably running towards the burning building, and not, as Aksel was, towards a nearby well, which was, helpfully enough, near the burning tavern.

Aksel produced a bucket of water from the well (heaving it up rather quickly by hand and losing half of the bucket), ran forward, and threw the bucket into the burning mass, leaving Aksel blinking, wondering when the water would take effect.

It was quite obvious, now, to anyone watching, why Aksel was not famous for saving lives, but instead either unwittingly taking them or aiding in the taking of them, or simply doing something ridiculous or not even noticing people were in danger or dying.

Of course she had to miss the ferry.

No, no... That's fine, Luck. I'll just deal with the misfortunes quietly, mistress. Yes mistress, no mistress... by the Mother, must a woman's life be so governed?

Yes, Luck. Royce's arch-rival, so to speak. The poor little pixie--that's what she was, a pixie, but I'll come around to that later--the poor little pixie had been plagued by a recent spell of misfortunes, up to including coming late to the ferry she'd have to take to get to the library. It wasn't as if the series of unfortunate coincidences had been entirely unexpected; Royce had come to regard such things with little more than an annoyed passivity. After all, she was used to it: it had all begun when she had lost the birth lottery and been cursed with her race, then with education, then with the enlightenment of knowledge. With those so-called gifts, the middle-aged woman had been forced into finding a role in a world that wasn't exactly built to scale.

So, it only fit that a nearby building had been chosen as the new toy of some crazed pyromaniac zombie man. People running and screaming... but what was there to do? It wasn't as if she could physically drag someone out, or that she had any desire to: why risk her life for a stranger's?

Sitting inconspicuously at the foot of a stone well, legs hugged loosely to her body, Royce watched the scene with apathetic eyes. Her entire appearance could be described as jaded in nearly every sense: her eyes were a pale, guarded green, and the blas� espession on her dark, sophisticated face could have been chiselled from the stone. Carved tattoos of an oddly lighter hue than her skin tone, those of runes in a foreign language, ran vertically down over each of her eyes and down to her jawline in perfect symmetry. Light, fawny-brown hair spilled down past her waist and nearly touched the ground. An elegant, feminine figure was wrapped in elegant silks to match, and she wore much jewelry of her own creation.

If she didn't stand at six and one-quarter inches tall at full height, and if two razor-edged crystal wings didn't sprout from between her bare shoulderblades, she would have made one hell of a human.

Of course, most of the detail and effort put into how she looked--how meticulous she was with her hair or her clothing--was lost to anyone over six inches tall (and, considering the nature of most pixies, anyone under six inches tall as well). Still, the control she had over her appearance at least gave Royce some form of mental shelter. Take that, luck. Yeah, up yours.

Suddenly, Royce was stunned out of her cool stupor by a pair of ankes she didn't recognize. Reflex guided her as she darted out of the way, making a flight-aided dive out of path of what appeared to be either a very large man or a very small fishing village. Before the stunned pixie even had time to look up at her ignorant "attacker", he was off again... and she was soaked, with the contents of about half a bucket's worth of well-water.

Royce shook her wings off as she flew upwards into the air, eyes searching angrily for whoever had the nerve to nearly trample her then subsequently ruin her perfectionist's appearance (as opposed to pyro zombie guy, whose intention was slaughtering innocents). She pinpointed Aksel quickly--nobody else even came close to how big this guy was. Oh, he'd get a tongue-lashing (and possibly a few years' worth of hexes) once this was over and done with...

As fat drops of water began to tumble from the air on to her already-wet person, Royce couldn't help but roll her eyes and growl, with sarcasm directed at nobody in particular: "Well... at least it's raining."

"Hey! Watch where you're going, you simpleton!" Royce shouted at Aksel after nearly being crushed... again. Apparantly, the obvious difference in their sizes had little effect on how she responded: the woman was absolutely fearless.

Of course, that wasn't to say she wasn't startled, at the very least, when an axe swung inches over her head and the well's support practically exploded behind her. She was nearly impaled on some of the shrapnel, but managed to react fast enough that she was unharmed.

"Argh... halfwit!"

Three times. It was the first time she had ever seen the man, but within the course of two minutes, he had nearly killed her three times. It was at times like this when she hated being a pixie, along with just about every member of humanity.

She wasn't sure whether she wanted to voice her thoughts now, when anger was at its hottest, or to take cover and shout at him later. The flaming building seemed to be subsiding on its own with the aid of the rain, and bringing the zombie down with it, so she had no qualms with distracting the imbecile. Sure, she may have been mean, but she wasn't heartless--she didn't want to kill the guy. Just maybe... yell at him a little.

Smoke meant fire, fire meant trouble, trouble inevitably meant a fight, and a fight meant an opportunity to bust some heads and establish his reputation--so of course Tahkroi was interested in the smoke. Unfortunately it was much too far upstream, and weighted down with his gear the fighter was no swimmer--so he rapidly refocused on the task at hand: Namely, making Crev's life hell. Oh, sure, he was interested in hiring a sorcerer on, but it was much more interesting to see the nature of this magician's temper. His soul, belike, though Tahkroi was not wont to use such poetic niceities as "soul". Leastways, not in common conversation, and the language of the skalds was not for outsider ears.

Attention back to the fore. "Ah?" The man's laugh was ugly. "So you wouldn't be the sort t'toss it out like a whore with her wares? There's a surprise. I'm supposin' that it's always right on the tip of your tongue--you know, just for the occasion of clumsy wenches trippin' over you." He folded his hands behind his back, gray eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"Or maybe that'd be overestimatin' you. After all, I'm just some," he cleared his throat, the accent abruptly disappearing from his speech, "ignorant peasant," pop! Back came the accent, "interferin' in your affairs. How'm I to know that all your talk of great and powerful forces wouldn't be all pissing into the wind? All smoke and mirrors for you're just some poor clod who found a book he can't use?" There was calculation behind these words, cold, serpentine, and deliberate--not that Tahkroi gave much sign of such outwardly.

You try to taunt me, now. His eyes fell into a state of unforgiveness as he listened to the words of the other man. Bits and pieces seperated themselves upon passing through his ears, the sentences analyzed to their smallest components; word choice, subtle (and not so subtle) changes in inflection and poise, it all gathered together to one singular purpose. The idiot was trying to upset him- perhaps hoping to goad him into a waste of his magic, trying to outmanuver him into giving the demonstration Crev had already denied.

An unusual temptation tickled the back of his ear. Give the man the taste he so desires, then, it giggled, running fingers along the nape of his neck. He wants to see your power so badly he'd risk angering you for it. Let him have what he wants, and teach him the consequences such a fool must face.

Crev had never considered himself to be a tempermental sort. Quite the opposite; his patience had outlasted endless ordeals, even though it went unrewarded and unacknowledged. Somewhere, that weary philosophy still spoke to him, appealing to his sense of spite that giving in to anger would only gift Tahkroi with what he wanted to see. But for once, it was not the loudest voice to suggest a course of action; it became merely the afterthought.

"... If you are so lustful to see my spellcasting," Crev murmured, hist fingers wrapped tightly around the bookcover, "then I will make an exception. When we reach town, that is, so that I might take my work someplace considerably more private than this." He did not force a smile or feign any other form of politeness; impassively, he settled his weight slightly into his right foot, mind still fumbling to understand what had convinced him to agree to such a path.

"... Nobody. Nobody did." Royce responded to his question with some restraint. She didn't like people pointing out how she was different from the majority the the society in which she chose to take residence. Then again... a pixie in territory such as this was not a common sight, and there were many who had not seen one of her race before. The untravelled hoi-polloi was generally annoying. Stares, questions... one person had ever gone so far as nearly grabbing Royce by her wings. The unwelcome memory had been pushed far back into the dark recesses of the woman's mind until now, and another attempt to do so once more only made it bouce back harder. Royce sighed.

"Look. I was born this way, I'm a pixie, I've always been this... size. It's nothing worth talking about. Now, if you wouldn't mind," Royce said curtly, "I think you had better go back to... 'bashing' the zombie."

The pixie, eager to get away from the unintentionally homicidal Aksel, moved towards the less dangerous, intentionally homicidal flaming skeleton. She wasn't sure, exactly, how much of that 'flaming' was left, though, so she didn't let her guard down. She may not have looked it, but Royce could take care of herself well enough.

s**t.

Last time Arilei thought to close her eyes for 'a few more moments' when she knew the ferry would be coming by anytime soon. How long has she been lying there? Oh well, no matter. She better think up something and think of it fast.

Too bad the only thing she could think of was how good a nice an onion garnished grilled cheese would be dipped with mustard.

Focus, woman! FOCUS!

Wait.

What kind of person asked some one if they were dead?

FOCUS!

Bracing herself for a moment, she gathered any and all energy within her being while seemingly unresponsive to Crev's call. When complete and total focus had been attained, she coiled herself, much like a snake in preparation of strike, and lept with admittedly, amazing strength and grace to the river shore, hastily disappearing into the wooden thicket beyond it. All of this had happened within the time span of less than the time it took for one to blink, and all that was left was a bloodied boulder in the middle of the river and the last of the crimson tinge amongst the otherwise pristine waters.

As Arilei continued racing through the thicket at higher than normal speeds, it was probably due to her fear of being discovered as what she was that fuelled her, carried her, upon winged wings back to the village that she resided in. The village down stream of Ibyna, somewhat at the base of the Tamasea river.

The village of Kaeless.

Hurtling through the woods and stopping, just at the outskirts of her home town, Arilei stopped for just long enough to regain her breath. And perhaps her composure.

A good few minutes more, when her dizziness had worn off and her lightheadedness had vanished, she walked, slowly at first, then perhaps a bit more suredly, home.

She would have to change from her sopping wet clothes (which had incidentally, dried some from her mad dash) and into more appropriate attire since she had only an hour or so before she had to go to work.