Froxxes's Plummet

[Emperor of shadows]

Froxxe's Plummet

Ascendance.
The world was a wash of sounds, the soft crash and kiss of the tides on something softer; something even more delicate was all that composed the realms of reality. At first, only this could be heard, but as the feeling of ascendance grew, more was added to this primal brew of sensation, the tug of a force below and around, and finally that of an ocean. A salty tang in the air confirmed that, yes, it was an ocean.

Time drifted until something more substantial than ocean pressed against what seemed like the back side of soft form. The softness of what could be described as liquid pushed and pulled, continually, redundant. The form traveled no longer.
...
A sting of what seemed like water in lungs brought consciousness to the immediate present; the body erupted in a series of frame-wracking coughs, a natural defense of the foreign liquid to breach its equilibrium. His mind was struggling at the tugs of oxygen that surged into him, and eyes fluttered, and body shook; every natural alarm was set off. The tings of what seemed like glass around it screamed with the alarms, a natural confusion added.

But, the coughs began to recede and the eyes flickered open to grow more acquainted to the brightness of blooming being. The sound of waves became less of a roar and more of a voice, hushed, whispering, calm.
It was realized that there was something around, and blinking the first rays of light away, eyes studied it's landscape. The limbs were still weak, they flopped like fish as the body pushed back and out of the surf and into the sand-- yes, the grainy dots were sand.

A dim consciousness rose like dawn, slow, but brighter as the world spun. It felt as if the mind had been in dormancy for years, and now it was rebooting, going through the process of analysis. In an awkward twitch forward, the body that had been resting on the ground made an attempt to sit up. It failed, once, falling back to the soft earth, and in a second act of defiance rose through the bonds of gravity. Gravity was more troublesome than ever, it seemed.

That thought registered foreign, but the body jerked towards the surface of the water, limbs feeling surer by the second, palms slapping down on the malleable surface.

A quivering face reflected in the dull waves, the face of a boy, more grey than brown that originally colored flesh. Eyes with naught but a glimmer of teal and taupe stared back, like that of the waves below, profound and fluid.

This was the visage of a male, one whose hair licked around his face and over his eyes and down his neck. It's color was of the sky, a quiet shade of white; touched from the early reds of dawn.
This boy blinked his teal eyes and looked down at the rest of his body. He was thin, he was hungry, presumably, if the dull thud at his center was indeed hunger. His clothes were nothing but a loose wrap of faded violet cloth, a single piece of fabric, the boy presumed, that had begun to unravel and drape around his neck like a wet, unhappy scarf.

He took a deep breath--- still difficult as residual water remained in lung's base, caught in his throat-- he fought the urge to cough again, and stood. His legs were unsteady, the acclivity brought blood rushing; yet he felt more invigorated after the black dots swam away from his vision.

It was as if all of the world had materialized in those instances and this boy was there to uncover it.
The sea was a crescent stretch of white beach that veered off into a mountainous landscape to the right, and a greener area of trees to the left. He looked further out to the grey sea to gaze upon a solitary flock of gulls fly above the surf with no discernible path or intention, until one snatched something out of the water, flying up with it, a happy squawk emitting among the competitive group. A sun rose in the east, a half-orb of pale aureolin light to greet this boy. Directly ahead of the sun and far off, the boy could imagine a road stretching to meet these two directions. The boy felt sorely out of place. Among the waves, a scattering of random flotsam and jetsam came washed up with him, the variety of objects evident to their correlation (Or lack thereof).

/I/ am a piece of flotsam. He thought, scanning the ample quantity of objects around.

Full questions hadn't begun to form yet in the disarray of his still-waking mind, but as he took in more and more, they bloomed at the back of his mind and pressed in on him from every angle. But above the jetsam of inquiry, a single quandary presented itself most apparent.
"Who...where...am I?"
Well, two inquiries, that is.

As he spoke, the sound of his own voice was a new experience to him, it's tones were no older than a youth of 17, and in them echoed something grave, something persistent and demanding.
He shrugged, remembering what that body language meant the moment he choose to do it, and took his first steps down the shores, he began to walk south. The sight of greens seemed more appealing than any mountains could.
As his bare feet touched upon the cool, wet sands, the boy worked around the objects that had washed up; some he recognized, a dark green bottle, a waterlogged book, a scattering of buttons, a colorful ripped up cloak, and bones of all shapes and sizes, picked clean of their external counterparts. The boy gave a sympathetic shiver and continued walking whereupon a glittering in the sand marked the shape of a ring. He bent over to pick it up, and inspected the small golden thing closer. In it was a series of small blue crystals, perhaps of noteworthy value. Dubiously, he attempted to slip the band around his pinkie, and alas it was too small. Keeping it nonetheless, he tied it around his neck with an adjacent piece of thread. Later, after stepping over more pieces of useless objects, he discovered a brass compass-- he took this, staring down at the spinning dial with a sense of comfort. Well, that was one question answered. (On a sour note he added aloud: "Out of many, many more.")
A few things were found, however, that he did not recognize, metal wires that wrapped around mysterious leaking cubes, tubes of a waxy, flexible material, even further on he found a large metal orb, about the size of his chest, with even smaller circular holes in it's surface, but for-whatever it could have been used, the boy could ponder infinitely.

As the beach began to recede in distance, the objects also appeared in lesser quantities, yet not before he saw a pile of black, discovering it to be a weathered jacket. He realized at it's sight that it was rather cool out, the north-western winds from the shore blew chilled airs at him, and he picked up the coat in zeal. His hands were shaking as they gripped the thick, canvas material. It was slightly damp, slightly used, but in otherwise good condition. The coat also had many pockets. As he put it on, the coat fell to just over his knees, which was just as well, for he feared that the cloth wraps were soon to unravel in travel.
The boy smiled at this, for some reason this was a delight to him, and the smile upon his lips was a sensation that he believed had not been present for a very long while. He placed whatever useful objects he discovered into the pockets, including a thick and jagged piece of glass that he nearly sliced his foot on.

By the time he had reached the beach's end, he was feeling more awake, he had dried out and had a lighter step. He was busy studying all that he passed, birds, bright plants the transition of the sun and his compass-- and his strength had returned. (But where it had returned from exactly was a mystery.)
“So many mysteries,” sighed the boy, eyes astir for an answer. None came.

His trot along the shore became a trot along a grassy field, a series of knee high yellow stalks of plants brushing and whispering to him in a way that was similar to the sea.
Eventually, as he walked eastwards to where he believed a road to be, a few trees poked awkwardly out of the ground. The venture into the field brought him to the commencement of forest. They were gnarled and bent at odd angles, and the more he came across, the surer he believed to be coming upon his destination.
Hm. Destination wasn't the right word, he had no idea where he was going.

He continued to walk on, well into the sun hovering 10 'o clock of his brow. Suddenly, feet upon soft, black dirt met the hardness of road.
The road was less of a road and more of a path, but he could imagine a single wagon easing down it's flat surface. The ugly trees of the shore had even straightened out and developed more certainty, their tall trunks rising above him in a canopy of green leaves and saffron colored flowers.

...But by noon he was beginning to wonder if his decision was wise. He was beginning to feel thirsty, and the hallow ache at his center had began to talk to him, like the sea. A growl, a grumble.
"I know, tummy. I'll get you something soon." He spoke, and at the sound of his voice, his body seemed to respond, a second complaint in result.
He walked further on when the sound of horse-foot met his ears, a clop beginning at one end of the forest, and then closer. In the sounds, he could determine perhaps three riders came from behind him. He spun in surprise, hasting over to the side of the road, where the horses rounded the corner he had just passed.

Three riders, indeed, rode in traveler’s regalia, cloaks, hats and leather, at a measured pace. They appeared as if they would continue on their merry way, when one of the riders had released a note of surprise when he saw the boy, and turned to address to his comrades. This first man was stockier than the other two, he had a healthy childhood, the boy deduced. He wore clothes of a noble, but the style was unlike anything the boy had seen. It was all layers and metal grommets-- the man chimed like one large bell. His face was oval and not unpleasing, if not bland and shaven. The woman riding behind the two had the tanned skin of the ocean, with black hair and relaxed demeanor. Her clothes reflected a humble upbringing of tan, soft fabrics, but along the way she came to acquire significant magical possessions, a ruby collar studded her neck and bangles bright ringed around her gloved wrists. The third male, riding far right of the two wore the heaviest of regalia, thick, dark leathers, with copper mail in accordance with all essential regions. An unbuttoned tunic gave him a more relaxed appearance , exposing a muscled chest below a square face, with facial hair that gave him the appearance of a wolf. Upon a leather belt was a series of useful travel gear, daggers of all sorts and a short-sword to complete his prospective.

The first man had spoke in some strange dialect, and the boy struggled at trying to discern his words. They spun out in circles, the letters at the beginning of each word sounding similar to the end. The only thing that he could manage to hear was the words 'Froxxe's plummet.' Whatever that meant.
He played with the word 'Froxxe' on his tongue like candy and spoke it like song. A smile rose, but at the sight of the alien identities, his hand went instinctively to the large glass shard in his pocket, a preemptive method of defense. But it appeared they were friendly, the first man stopped and got off his horse.

"Hey, you." The boy understood this, but replied with a grunt, at least confirming that he heard it.
The woman stopped as well, her brown eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity.
"We just want to know where you're from."
The boy looked at them long and hard. They had strange looks in their eyes, no doubt, as if of shock, or surprise. After another moment of silence, the woman spoke again. "Are you from the ocean?” the question was asked deliberately, “There's been tales of people washing up there."
More mysteries.
This time the boy did speak, he was as shocked as they were. "Yes, well...no, ah...I don't know." A sound of exasperation escaped his lips. "Look-- I woke up there. That's all I know."
The second man in leather gave a nod with a smile, the boy did not know whether or not this was a smile of benevolence or otherwise. He took a step back.
All members registered this subtle action by intensifying their expressions of interest.
"We're heading to the town just south of here." Said the first man, a hint of his dialect still creeping through the friendly tones.
The second man chimed, his voice heavy with tones of the north. "Aye, there is a town by the name of New Diallerin where you may claim respite. You seem as if you've traveled far."

At that note, the boy gave a suspicious and desperate look at them all. Something about the group seemed deeply unsettling, and he could not determine whether or not it was from their friendliness, their willingness to provide information, or something else entirely.
"Thank you, but I don't even know who you are." He replied, curt and codial. “Or what you want from me, at that.” He wasn't ready to accept any handouts from strangers just yet, especially not in his weakened state.
The woman gave a short chuckle that sounded like regret, "Apologies! My name is Rairyn.” She spoke with her hands, as if trying to convey information to a child. The boy felt as if it was almost condescending. Perhaps it was his nerves.
The fellow in leather spoke: “The man before you is Andeon.” He gave an acknowledging nod of his head and looked at the boy with hazel, almost orange eyes, intrigued.
“The gentleman who saw you first is good Caerith. We want to know if you want perhaps a guide to the city, considering your assumed identity?" said good Caetrith himself, lifting a top hat in respect.
The boy had to admit, a guide sounded very appealing.
They all seemed nice enough; still, the boy had some measure of defense set up. His had drifted away from the glass shard, and he took a few tentative steps out of the road-side brush.
"And may we ask of your name, one from the sea?" Caerith asked, bowing, a coy smile upon him.
"I am...uh..." His mind flipped in search of the answer to that essential question, when at last he remembered what the man had said earlier, summoning a name from an affinity:
"Froxxe. I am Froxxe." He bowed in return.

*~*~*~*
 

[Emperor of shadows]

There was a sound of boots upon the ground, where Froxxe had just been walking. When he turned to the sound, a woman dressed in leathers and tight armor came into his gaze. He held the sight in his mind as she got closer-- close enough for him to see her expression, one of displeasure. He felt slightly offended.
When she spoke, however, and threatened to lop off Froxxe's poor head, a laugh escaped him-- from somewhere deep down in him.
It was at once refreshing and surprising to hear his own laugh, and at the irony at that.
“Lop off my head...?” He repeated, incredulous, chuckling afterward. “We'll, you're certainly the most real thing I've seen come across my sight in a while.” He returned evenly. Froxxe didn't mind the abrasion. It was welcome after the overtly forward friendliness of Caerith and Rairyn.
He did move aside, but not after catching and holding her gaze. He was intrigued. There was something so refreshingly different from her than his new-found companions. She smelled different. Like magic and spices and fire. He wondered if she was better at magic than Rairyn.
The group moved over without a word, and stared at the actions of Froxxe. They appeared shocked that he'd speak so openly to an angry stranger.
“Kind traveler, please pass.” He added, giving a bow, feeling reactive, wanting to show more kindness than she did.
Shortly following his introduction, the group was more than happy to accompany Froxxe in his travels.
Rairyn offered Froxxe to ride on the back of her horse,as there was more than enough space. Froxxe had been gazing at her skeptically, but after a moment of internal divergence, agreed. If he was going to understand what exactly happened to him, it was in his best interest to travel at a reasonable pace. Walking simply would not cut it.
 

[Emperor of shadows]

The group had set off towards the city, at a relaxed pace. They declared that they were in no hurry, only that when they got there, they would be glad to get some food. For now, they would continue on and camp out for the night.
The group was cheerful. They exchanged many laughs, many that Froxxe was not yet a part of, and passed around a once full flagon of red wine, then, once it had made it's rounds, half remained. Froxxe hadn't touched it. As the sun fell behind the horizon, they set up a camp in a hallow area of the woods to just off the path, and the woman, Rairyn, said she protected the area with magic. There seemed to be a hum to the air that Froxxe could not place as any natural act.
The thought of magic made Froxxe ponder. He wasn't sure where he came from, but did he ever use magic? If so, what kind of magic? If not, what did he do?
More mysteries. He suddenly wanted a taste of that crimson beverage.
When it became time to sleep, he fell asleep quickly, tired, but did not rest well. He had fallen asleep on a single spare blanket, and dreamed of the ocean, a wild entity, something that was fierce and consuming. It swallowed him again and again against his will and forced him underneath, deep below the surface, where the storm was far away and his breath out of reach.
He woke with a start at the crack of dawn. Only one was up: A similarly restless Andeon, working to put out the final embers of the fire. He gave Froxxe a mysterious look of silence and turned about his business, going to get more wood.
The others woke, and in a moment, they packed their things and were set to travel the final way to the city.
On the way, they came out of the forest and met the southern hills. Already in the distance, Froxxe could see the end of the continent, the southern shores a brighter, greener place than that of his rising.
The wind picked up more as they went, but it was warmer, from the south east, as his compass answered.
and with every moment the edge of the land came closer.
After a while of ceaseless journey, Caerith spoke. “We're nearly there. It'll be just an hour's half from now.” He sounded brimming.
Froxxe was sure that he had never encountered someone so happy to help. As the city came upon the horizon, however, he was feeling the urge to smile, to dance. The travel had gone over fine. There had been no double cross, as a cautious mind may have suggested, no night-time flight that he had to make, or a battle of magics, swords or bootleg glass daggers.
He gave an outward chuckle at his last thought and thanked the others profusely when they came upon the first district of the city-- the agricultural district, a ring of fields and farms to provide residents with essential foods. The air was alive-- the sounds of a city buzzed ever closer. Soon, they rode into the town's perimeter, where the initial trade district greeted them, providing all hearty traveler’s with anything they could possibly think of or need.
But, Froxxe had to admit, he had never seen a city like this. It seemed larger than what he presumed, it was captured together with all sorts of contraptions and ,machinery that made life easier, certainly, but alien in form. He was beginning to think he had washed up in some continent that he had never seen before. But what had he seen before?
The town was a series of two story houses that doubled as shops and homes, economical, especially for a port, made of light woods and in a medieval style touched with color, perhaps a bit femininity.
“So, where would we begin in this city, good guides?” Asked Froxxe after taking it all in. Once they reached the market district, they walked on foot and stabled the horses.
Caerith seemed to have the answer. “Well, since you're from the Plummet, I would think that you would come with me to the Establishment office. They can help you get settled in, get some money, and work, and get you to where you want to be going.”
The group walked together, and they lapsed into a silence which Froxxe couldn't say seemed natural, but perhaps that was custom.
That wasn't right, however, the rest of the city was alive, it was loud, there was action around every corner.
This diminished, though, when they drew closer to what Froxxe would imagine being the political district.
Caerith's good mood seemed to almost bubbling now. He walked with a skip in his step. “See that building up there?” He pointed at a tall, darkly stained building that had a sign over it, reading: The Establishment's Communications Committee.
“Yes. Why, thank you for pointing this out to me.” Froxxe remarked, finding it infinitely convenient that the city held such humanitarian services.
When the group entered the building, it was dark inside. The midday sun had not perforated the interior as well as he would have imagined. Inside, there was a single, wide desk facing the entryway, and a larger door behind that.
Two people sat at this desk, scribbling away at some form of paperwork. One looked up, a woman. “Hello. How can we help you?” Her tone was not the most enthralled.
Rairyn stepped forward with Caerith. “We've helped a refugee of the Plummet get to your services,” Said a friendly Rairyn. At this, the woman at the desk brightened up a bit. “Well, we haven't seen these folk in a while.” She nudged at her companion, who, at this point was already in tune to the conversation. He was grinning as well.
So many smiles. Froxxe felt uneasy, but he could not place why. When he looked around the dim room, it was Andeon who was not smiling. The man stood up and came over to Froxxe.
“Good day. Young sir. What's your name?”
Froxxe stared at the smiling face for a second, sizing him up. He was unkempt, he had a wild look in his eyes, perhaps he was tired.
“My name is Froxxe.” He replied, trying to summon up some past dignity.
“Froxxe, eh?” He turned back to the woman who covered a mouth with a gloved hand. “Come with me, if you will.”
Froxxe nodded and turned back to the transient companions. “Thank you. I don't think I could have known how easy it was to get help, t'were it not for you.” He gave a half-bow, catching eye contact, and followed the man to the door that stood behind the desk.
He was led down a narrow hallway to a second room. When he walked into the room, it was even darker than the room before it. After a moment of eyes adjusting, a single chair sat in the center of the room, and the man was behind him, locking the door behind.
Something wasn't right.
The man grinned further, a grimace that Froxxe found immediately revolting. He could hear laughter in the front of the shop-- “So your name is Froxxe.” The guard laughed at him, a sound that sounded like a dog. “Convenient for you to have that name,” He began, an ugly smile the crown of his besmirched face. “Considering you came from 'Froxxe's Plummet'”. The guard placed a palm on the hilt of the short-sword at his waist.
“What do you want from me?” Asked the boy, feeling tense, feeling betrayed. He had been led to a trap, played upon his naivety. “I don't want any trouble with you.” Added, Froxxe, the terseness in his voice evident in the trembling edge.
Another laugh. “Oh, that's rich. You Plummet boys always have the most guile. Why don't you take your guile, along with those flimsy wraps, and throw it to the floor. He held the sword at his gut, and used the tip to push off the first layers of cloth.
Froxxe backed up and swore. “Get the hell away from me.”
“And if I don't?” He stepped closer. Froxxe had no legitimate answer. The man stepped ever-near, to where Froxxe could smell the morning's alcohol on his breath, the smell of sweat and meat staining deeper than cloth, deeper than skin and into soul.
 

[Emperor of shadows]

Froxxe's Plummet

The alleged interrogator was upon Froxxe in an instant, his nostrils filled with the scent hatred. Froxxe's bodty responded to this negative response with a promptness-- his hand flashed to the glass dagger in his pocket. He was ready to draw the weapon and slash at his offender's throat when, in the rooms behind, came a crash. This was a familiar sound: The organic thud of flesh on wood.
The man paused, his hands still fastened around Froxxe's collar and his breath in closer proximity than what he could have ever wanted. Like Froxxe, his ears were a-p***k for any further sound.
The pause came as fast as what happened next-- a flash of red came into the room, and in a flurry of movement and cacophony. Instantly, the man's neck was pinned by the axe of this apparition.
Froxxe's mind could only summon a flashed reply: “You!” His word was a bundle of surprise.
In those short seconds, Froxxe's tension was broken by the sight of his savior, the woman on the road, at that.
(He felt that in her farewell, a moment of humility passed between the two. There was something in her eyes that spoke of this same notion. Perhaps her actions were an extension of this humility.)
He straightened up and rushed to over to stand in the precipice of the door, quite instantly catching onto the full compunction of the situation.
“We have to get out of here. Come on!” Froxxe was abound towards an egress-- any egress-- flying past dim corridors and through portal after portal to a suitable back entrance. He did not want to meet any unhappy guards in the fore of the building. After turning down a hall directly out of the first door, a shaft of light beneath the entryway signaled the sun-lit exit.
As he pushed open the door, the hall exploded with light, and he was cast into the naked noon.
The first clamors of chaos ensued in the distance, as signals of what recently occurred.
He scanned the area around him. The back entrance was in an alley, an open passageway that gave acess to doors of other buildings He noted this as a possible feature of escape.
But Froxxe did not leave just yet. He could not leave without the woman who helped him. As time slipped into naught, the boy felt the situational pressure quickening his breath, and pumping him full of adrenaline.
It was wild. One moment he was betrayed, the next, freed. Greed and compassion.
There was simply too many mysteries for one day.  

[Emperor of shadows]

Froxxe's Plummet

It was not long before the pitter-patter of boots on floor met Froxxe's ears-- he could see the woman spiriting down the hall that he came from. He began to sprint away even before she arrived at him, but with a bit of /encouragement/ he was running faster, down the narrow alley, through a kicked in door and into a veiled building. The room was dark, but his eyes, not fully adjusted to sun, welcomed the darkness. It appeared to be a warehouse. Eyes revealed that stacks of wooden crates were piled high to ceiling, creating a corridor of it's own, to the other end of the room. The scent of a warehouse surrounded: a damp, cool smell.

His nerves were screaming, his heart a pounding form in his chest. He felt as if it could be seen drumming from beneath his jacket.
But there it was again. Spices & magic, the woman was beside him; together they huddled in repose, ready to negotiate their next move.
She raised a demand, one that Froxxe found as shocking as the betrayal behind him.

"What I've gotten myself into," Began the boy, between gulps of breath, "Is accepting kindnesses from a stranger." He was looking intensely at the stranger to whom this applied, he didn't know her, or whether or not this was betrayal of more elaborate nature. She could kill me herself, spoke paranoia.
Yet that was more doubtful. Something deeper within him told him that it was nigh whim. but this 'deeper voice' had not been provider of all the answers of late. After that, he could only imagine the question of /why/ being next on his list, but such a question did not seem to hold much worth. Froxxe pondered even for a moment if she knew herself.
"Who are you?" Came his careful response, justifiable to seek the identify of such assistance.

"I'm not going anywhere with you until I know." Even as he added this, his eyes were scanning the room, his mind searching, measuring, and calculating for escape.  

[Emperor of shadows]

Froxxe's Plummet

“Oh yes,” replied Froxxe, perhaps too easily. “Only a fool would.” He paused, a notion of drama, “I could've handled him myself, though. One more moment of that guard, and I would have had his throat cut to ribbons.” His statement ended with better drama than the pause: Irony. Odds.
He spoke with a certain level of conviction, as he was quite prepared to do as he said, yet still considered was the possibility of being overcome. Overcome, and then what? Froxxe shivered. Who knew what the man wanted with him.

He drew the green glass dagger from his pocket to show the woman-- true it had sharp /aspects/ but it was not nearly as sharp or threatening as he needed. He stowed the dagger back away quickly, almost regretting that he showed it to the woman. To confront his embarrassments, he continued to scan the room for a new weapon?
His eyes fell upon the form of the axe that the woman used. She advised that they stay till night, so a weapon would be soon essential.

His search had evolved into a downright hunt, and before long he had produced two daggers that sat crude in a near-empty storage container. It would have to suffice.
He returned back to the woman, who was sitting slaked and speaking.
She introduced herself with a name, a courtesy that Froxxe wasn't sure he could extend. He liked her name, though. Black. It was forward and frank-- all aspects of Froxxe's life that seemed to be lacking of late.

“I'm, well, Froxxe.” But that wasn't right, it wasn't his name. At least he didn't /think/ it was his name.
A furrowed brow revealed his displeasure in his lack of memory, but when he heard her mention her race-- a succubus, he was re-intrigued. A succubus, a demon to steal the souls of the lustful away! It was wild, sensationalist, but Froxxe could respect it.
Yet through respect, Froxxe looked at her sullenly. He felt that while he wasn't going to fall into womanly traps, there resided a pit in his chest ,(not blithe hunger) ,that desired for even a drop of companionship. This thirst was not yet attended to; he remembered not to trust strangers.
A blow to his decision-making skills: here he was, aside a dangerous being. But where was he before this?

Noir spoke of 'The Stories'-- of course as proprietor of these tales, he had in fact never heard one. He was more interested than ever, but in her silent state, he would ask of the details in the morrow.
His stomach grumbled again, responding to neglect The last he ate was a tough piece of bread that that girl gave him, he could hardly remember he name at this point, Rairyn, that witch.
But he also remembered the ring that he fastened around his neck. He figured he could barter it for some food when he came to civilization. He gave a twitch of delight and thrust a hand down his jacket to pull the string up--
--Empty.
There was nothing on the end of it.
“Oh.” He gave a hopeless laugh and sighed. Impossibly cheerful, he decided to turn the loss of the ring into an ability that he was beginning to perfect: More reliance on strangers, and an ability to be swindled; all aspects that were improving.

To wait for the evening, Froxxe decided to get at least a wink of rest.
He had settled on a stack of crates like a bed, curling up in the thick coat fabric as much as possible.
It was in the semi-silence of the room did he find sleep. Sleep was a loose definition, this was a reprieve pervaded by the skittering of mice on floor searching for a morsel of food, the drip of water though loose pipes, and the creak of old woods in the dusk wind.
The sounds of the city died away in the wee hours of the night, hours that Froxxe fitfully fought for sleep in. His mind was bobbling between a sea of fretful dreams and fretful consciousness.
Of consciousness, he thought of where he was going, and what to do next?
Of dreams, he plunged into vague scenarios of betrayal.
These dreams flashed from the twisted form of Caerith, toned-- looking more handsome and with a booming deeper voice.
In fact, it wasn't Caerith at all, but a man merely in his clothes. This man had to have stood at least seven feet tall, imposing, impressive, impossibly good looking. This was a god.
The God looked at Froxxe with hunger like a rat, boundless avarice, and ensnared the child in ice, magics that Froxxe himself felt familiar to.
Froxxe screamed above the roar of the ocean. He was then suddenly, falling into it, a coldness that was once all over his body, then going away-into-nowhere, he into nothing, into darkness, in descent.
He woke with the image of a smiling God casting him to oblivion.

The sound of movement brought him fully awake, Froxxe sitting up and looking upon her with a start. She was preparing to leave, withdrawing the axe and taking off her cloak.
She gave him an order, he strecthed his weary bones before obeying, walking over to her with sleep in his eyes.
It was when the cloak of the woman was donned on him did he feel more complete. He felt cozy, even, and the promise came as a faint surprise to Froxxe. Noir had given her his word, and this was complimented by the fact that her tone was sincere.
Maybe the idea of companionship wasn't so distant.
He followed her without word, into the night.

*~*~*~*
((Debating on adding more. Should I? biggrin ))

 

[Emperor of shadows]

Frying meats, the acrid smells of fish, and bitter brews scents' illuminated Diallerin's world of aroma, noise and life.
Froxxe walked quickly though the experience, keeping his head bowed, and his eyes trained at the ground to stare at feet forward, incessant. With what he did spy from beneath the hood, the evening's end was a various mixture of drunkards and revelers alike to travel the streets alongside the unlikely pair.
Then, he could feel something in the air change. His head tilted up to greet the bodies of two large men, making a beeline from their repose of the near tavern to the duo.
The grip that Noir had been applying in Froxxe's hand tightened, and he could see-- no-- feel her eyes cutting through the two men. “Don't say anything. Understand?”
Froxxe responded with a pulse of pressure between the clasping extremities, in silence to watch the unfolding.
The event horizon approached, ten seconds of anticipated walking interposed the gentlemen and Noir.
The succubus smiled, an upward lip movement that Froxxe saw as bending wires.
Froxxe heard Noir whisper a bitter, “God's...” Before the first man spoke, a voice heavy and displeased: “Lookie at who it is. Athella. Or, maybe, Serabeth.”
The second man, smaller but as angry as the first spoke, drawing closer and cracking his knuckles in a manner evident to dissuade any violent discourse. Or perhaps encourage it.
“Maybe it's Heaven. Or whatever the hell you've told us.” Growled the first.
Either manner of intention, Noir was not affected; she continued walking forward with affable valor that Froxxe found at once admirable.
“Boys, boys! It's been a while huh?” Froxxe realized at once, as she spoke, her voice was a quavering alto, with some type of magic laden in it. He could almost feel the magic, shifting and spinning, and taking form around the two young, and angry men. Noir wrapped a scarlet lock of hair around a finger and looked to the men with doe, I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about eyes.

These men, however stood with their previous conviction, the first resting a hand on a series of daggers at his hips. More intimidation?
“Cut the act, woman. You took something and we want it back.”
The larger man ended his statement with something like a growl and a huff, Froxxe could not tell which, but Noir stood unmoved, only slightly annoyed.
Her smiled curled upward further, if it were possible. It's metal was simply creaking with delight.
“Me? Steal anything? How rude of you to accuse me of such things.” Her voice was sweet and absent. Froxxe could tell that her mind was busy away at the puzzle of their situation, working out whether or not it would disintegrate, and perhaps-- as he increasingly felt-- was putting concentration into the dripping words.
This time as she spoke, Froxxe heard speech echo, quivering sounds bubbling with magic. He could feel this vibrating magical form course though his body, up his spine to a tongue which pondered if such magics could be sent though him.
Then, he could see the magic on the gentlemen, literally, it was a glow that overtook them, into their eyes losing some of the forward aggression to look ahead, rather than at Noir.
Froxxe saw this, silent, stunned. The words and that scent he remembered earlier had begun to spin into the chaps. They looked to one another uncertainly, losing some charge.
“You sure it was me, boys?” Her walking had stopped before them, where scent was the strongest, an enchanting succubus musk that Froxxe hadn't understood earlier. Froxxe saw her smile, a real one, something dark and triumphant. The two were naught but clay, and the woman's words shaped them with expert skill.

Now the boy was too entranced by her words, not because he had fallen captive, bu because of how easily they had. He watched in a mixture of horror and wonder as they spoke again, their wills driven completely out. “M-maybe, it /was/ some other woman, Milo.”
The first man quickly agreed with his counterpart, a curt nod, and they began to saunter off, the two with mirrored expressions of puzzlement; their faces speaking: “Who is that woman we were talking to?”
The second man's did as well: “I have no idea what we were doing.”
Froxxe did everything he could to keep his mouth from falling open. He was at once rediscovering what magic was, and how it worked. Noir continued walking down street, threat averted, leaving Froxxe to mull in thoughts of the previous wonder.
He stared closer at the two, and with that same resonance upon his own tongue spoke:
“Incredible.”
The men, close enough to hear Froxxe's word suddenly stopped, as if the metaphorical bucket of cold water exploded over their heads. With a shiver and a jump they turned back around.
When they faced the exiting duo, their faces were more furious than before, and of the vibrating word of magic to bound them-- it was Froxxe's that touched them, a frequency of teals that cut through Noir's work.
What was this?
Froxxe gasped and turned to look at Noir. “Noir, we have a problem.” His voice shook, adrenaline was back in all ardor.
The men were returning, at a walk first, then a jog, then as Froxxe noted, the daggers that had been in at their sides were in their hands: Collision imminent.