Tavern Archive #2

Sitting on the southeastern coast of Raytha is a small port town called Soara. The town is only about a decade old, and is growing quickly, fuelled by trade from the nations in Gardann across the sea and the islands to the south. One of the first buildings in the town was built by a Yanthian; a little man named Jak Skyler. A man of small stature but great in appetites, he had an insatiable love for good wine, good food, and good music, and proceeded to built a tavern that featureed all of these. He made his original living as a travelling bard, and is a man of broad experience. He almost always carries a smile, a joke, and a tale to tell.

With Jak is his bouncer; called Garus. Garus is a Derian from northern Gardann, and a massive man. He stands seven feet tall and is made of over 250 pounds of iron muscle. Garus doesn't say much; but he eats a massive volume of food, can drink almost any patron under the table, and keeps an axe that's heavier than Jak. Nobody is really sure why, but Garus has stayed with Jak as his bodyguard for many years, follows him wherever he goes, and obeys his every order. Funnily enough, Garus also acts as part-time cleaner and housekeeper, keeping the Lute's rooms clean and furnished.

Jak decided when he built the place that he needed the largest fireplace of any tavern anywhere. And so it was. The ceiling in the common room is ten feet tall, and the hearth stretches almost to it. Every night, and on cold, rainy days, a large fire is stoked, warming and lighting the tavern. When everybody decides they're done ordering drinks (and often before this event), Jak will withdraw his lute and sit near the fire, singing in his soft but powerful voice.

The tavern is the place where characters hang out and interact between quests. You are free to control Jak and Garus, as long as you keep them in-character, as described above. I'll be using them fairly regularly myself.

As to rules: just leave the tavern standing. I'd prefer if we could keep fights to a relative minimum if possible.

Have fun, everyone!

- - -

"I think I may have just spotted some bad news."

Astrid, absorbed as she was in analysing the book before her, took a few moments to register Dane's words. When she did she jerked her head upwards to look at him concernedly. He didn't seem alarmed as such but whatever he had seen, more inconvenienced, if anything, and resigned.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm back," Sara said with a sigh, dropping herself into their midst and immediately airing her grievances. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm mad at him one second and then its like nothing even happened. For some reason I can't stay mad at him.... I'm sure your evening was pleasant."

"You assume I care," Bastian said lightly. "That's cute."

Arwyn frowned upon the man's response to Sara's arrival. But any less of a man probably would have said much worse; she couldn't be angry with him. The hatted man was a gentleman, but even his fine manners had their limits. "My evening has been very pleasant indeed," Arwyn said to Sara. "And I am sure yours has been nothing short of lovely... but we will discuss that later, dear."

"Odd how this friend didn't stop to say hello," the man said, still preparing to leave. "And while I'm sure you have nothing but the purest intentions, I doubt he appreciates your staring."

"But he would appreciate my caring," she said. Would he, really? "Anyhow, I see you are on your way, sir, and I don't want to delay you any further. But I would like to know your name before you leave us. I go by Arwyn and this young lady here is Sara. It has been a pleasure conversing with you this evening."

"What do you mean?"

Dane nodded his head toward the bar.

"There's a Knight there. He's looking for me. I don't know exactly why, but I know it means I'll be leaving again soon." He reached out and touched her hand where it lay over the book.

"I've very much enjoyed our time together, Astrid. As soon as I can; I wish to see you again."

Always, he had been wandering. Never settling in one place. There was always a drive to move, and to see or do something new. Reluctance to leave any one place was never strong. Certainly never as strong as his reluctance to leave her.

Astrid followed the direction of Dane's gaze towards the bar. The huge Derian wasn't hard to miss, and the blue cloak and armour of his profession marked him out further. She wondered how Dane knew instantly that the Knight was here for him, and could only presume that either the two men knew each other or that some signal had been given that she hadn't seen.

"Oh, I see."

The warm pressure of Dane's hand over hers distracted her, and she looked back round into his eyes.

"I've very much enjoyed our time together, Astrid. As soon as I can; I wish to see you again."

Although he was wishing her farewell, he seemed reluctant to go. Certainly she didn't particularly wish to see the first proper friend she had ever had disappear again, but then she had no right to stop him and wouldn't feel right if she did.

"Yes, so have I. I hope to see you again soon as well."

"You assume I care," Bastian said lightly. "That's cute."

Sara gave a small glare, "and you assume that I was talking to you," she a tone of sarcasm in her voice, "that's histarical."

"And I am sure yours has been nothing short of lovely... but we will discuss that later, dear."

"Yes I'm sure we will, I don't want to interupt your time with your friend here," she smiled, "we'll have time to talk, and I can wait for it."

She closed her eyes, she hadn't realized how tired she really was in the first place, she just slowly drowned out the sounds around her.

He smiled, holding her gaze for another reluctant moment. He stood and bowed to her slowly, and then turned.

The Raythian knight had turned to him almost immediately as he stood. And as Dane walked to him, the man himself stood. He was a little more aged than Dane remembered. Slightly taller than Dane himself with brown eyes and long black hair laced with gray. The lines around his eyes were deep with the cares of the past, and a few scars lined his face.

Dane stopped, shocked, as the Knight stood, and then kneeled before him.

"Hail, my lord." Quinn said. Dane looked down at him a moment, wondering briefly if the man had acquired some bit of insanity.

"Get up, Knight. I am no ruler." Quinn obeyed, and stood to look Dane in the eyes.

"You may be." Dane's face paled slightly.

"Explain yourself." The Knight shifted uncomfortably.

"Your father is dying. He lays deathly ill, and his physicians are not giving him the rest of the week. And your half-brother was murdered three days ago." Dane's mouth hung slightly open as he took a step back. He knew well enough what this meant.

He would be the last.

"No...I can't go back. I rejected that long ago, just as he rejected me."

"You must go back. You are the last heir. The only one in Raytha who has a right to your father's throne. The Council is in chaos, the people tremble with fear. News and rumors of activity in Gelgreth has everyone on edge. They need a leader."

"No bastard son has ever taken the throne." Dane countered. He had spent his life running from this. He didn't want it. To be a king was to lie and steal and cheat under a veil of royalty and legitimacy. For that was all he saw there.

Quinn paused, assessing him for a long moment.

"I know. And the Council will fight any claim you make. But if you do not step forth, I and many others believe that Raytha will crumble."

Dane let out a long breath. Everything within him, except for one small voice, fought against it. But even as he fought, the voice within him grew in power, knowing that what it said was right. But still he fought on. Twice he opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it.

"May I have time to consider?" He said at last. The Knight was silent for a moment.

"You may take as long as you need." He said. "But know that every hour you spend will not be returned." He bowed, and Dane nodded in return.

After Quinn had turned away, Dane's hand groped absently for an empty chair, which he fell lightly into.

Zachariah smiled at the take charge woman with child. She gave a detailed account of their standings. As she gestured towards Fayte, his eyes lit up a bit until she mentioned the woman's courtship with her brother. He might have to separate Fayte and change her mind.

Azoola, as she was called, had a naivete that screamed for Zach to take advantage. The news of her father being a man of the king turned him off of her slightly, seeing how he's keeping a low profile these days.

He gave another look at Fayte, just to get it out of his system, then he faced the woman he was talking to.

"It wasn't my intention to bother you all, my brother and I are seeking employment and I was just hoping I could be of assistance to three angels rather than... anything else. Please forgive the intrusion, ladies."

He kissed Azoola's hand and left the table to find more business prospects.

"Bastian," he said, bowing with a flourish, "and the pleasure has been entirely mine."

If she was bent on wasting her time pining after the Derian, that was her business. He knew from long experience that such people tended to be self reliant and seldom liked having help thrust upon them. There was always an exception though, he supposed, stopping on the point of leaving.

"If James should happen to wander back here, could you kindly tell him that his bongos are under that table there."

He gestured to the table where Dane was rising from his seat. The knight was rising too. This had the makings of an interesting conversation.

"I'd consider it a personal favour. Arwyn, Sara."

Bowing to them once more, he straightened and began to cross the room. Much of the words were lost in the bubble of the common room, but he saw the knight kneel to Dane, and heard something about the King being on his deathbed. He tried to make out more, but all he heard was that Raytha might crumble and that Dane wanted time to consider.

No bad thing.

Raytha had grown fat and decadent in the peaceful years. A little war here and there to shake things up would do it good, not to mention being good for business. But if he was talking to Dane about this, that meant Dane was higher up than he'd believed. Something the knight said... Bastard son? That was very interesting.

"Bastian," the gentleman said with a bow, "and the pleasure has been entirely mine. If James should happen to wander back here, could you kindly tell him that his bongos are under that table there. I'd consider it a personal favour. Arwyn, Sara." And with that, he departed.

Arwyn's farewell was little more than a warm smile and a slight nod of agreement at his request to look after James's bongos. There was a subtle vacancy left in his wake, as if the absence of his charisma and charm had left a palpable void. She turned to Sara, that they might speak. "And that," she said, with a gesture toward Bastian, who was now at the other end of the room, "is how a true gentleman conducts himself. Now, would you like to speak with me of your time spent with Van? Mr. Bastian has set quite a high mark; how far short of it did Van fall this evening, if you don't mind me asking?"

She was completely oblivious to the passing of the kingship and the knight's display. Completely oblivious to events that might be shaping the entire country -- the entire world.

* * * *

Van sat brooding over an empty bowl, which had been filled with hearty stew only a minute ago. He washed it down with a mug of beer before turning his attention to Arwyn, who was still locked in conversation with the same man she'd been speaking to since he entered. Who's the prettyboy with the feather hat? he wondered. They'd been talking for longer than he liked and she was smiling more than he liked.

But he didn't really care. He snatched another waiter and demanded a drink, just as the knight stood and began his 'show.' Van, sitting only a few tables away, caught every word of it. Death of the royals... last heir... new king... Raytha may crumble... He looked right past all that nonsense and saw only one thing: War... war means work... work means money.

He was rarely motivated by money, but he knew escorting their new king to the throne would pay well. After all, drinks wouldn't be free forever. Would they trust a filthy, obscene, foul-mouthed merc to escort their new king? Van wasn't even from Raytha... then again, he wasn't from an enemy nation either. He had no flag to call his own, but Raytha's seemed as good as any.

He grinned as his next tankard of ale arrived. He sipped it lightly, rather than down it in one gulp. Gotta stay sharp, he thought. The fun's about to start.

Reede stepped in and kicked his boots off, smiling and shaking his head. They just couldn't stay away from here, could they? And of course, it was now getting into the afternoon. He and Nadala would have to stay the night. And all for one piece of forgotten baggage. He nodded at the familiar faces who eyed him with surprise, and then went and took a seat beside his wife, who was talking with a Shadow elf.

* * *

The serving girl was rather thoroughly distracted from Ferion's attention, and as such, he left the hope of finding a suitable mate for the night. Instead he continued throughout the afternoon, steadily drinking. Not guzzling as he saw many of the others doing, but simply tasting regularly every few minutes. It took him some time to get drunk, and he was only dimly aware of the conversation between the knight and...whoever it was he was talking to.

Something about kings and such. Ferion thought this should be somehow significant. But he poured himself another drink.

* * *

Silas entered the tavern once again, leaning on his staff. He had walked up and down the length of the beach, ignoring the pain and thinking. About his next destination, about what he may need for the journey ahead, and about...

He cursed himself.

He tried to cast his image from his mind, and an instant later it filled his eyes. He caught Sunouva's gaze, and held it for a moment before coming to himself and turning away. He passed the server on his way to the table, and again requested hot water.

* * *

Dane leaned into the chair and sat unmoving for hours, thinking to himself. Even as the tavern around him continued on, with patrons drinking, with music and song in the air, and the buzz of conversation, he sat alone. Struggling.

Even as the afternoon drew into evening, he sat. And even as the music died and the patrons began to file upstairs to their rooms, he sat. He was one of the last to leave the common room. When he did, he stood slowly, walked decisively to the stairs with a heaviness in his manner, ascended, and didn't emerge until morning.

Sara who had lazily crept off into dreamland, was awoken by Arwyn's soft voice. She was mentioning something about that man before she asked her a question.

"Now, would you like to speak with me of your time spent with Van? Mr. Bastian has set quite a high mark; how far short of it did Van fall this evening, if you don't mind me asking?"

She blinked open her eyes, letting the light fill in, she gave a small yawn before speaking,

"Well," she gave a bit of thought, "things were working out okay in the beginning, then we, I mean I met the street performer, Van already knew of him. Then we talked about me wanting to cheer him up and he just exploded, I really don't know if it was directed towards me, but even if it wasn't I got a front row seat to it."

She frowned a bit lowering her head,

"I was upset with him for his anger, but... I don't know, I guess I just forgave him or something, because I'm not angry with him," she looked over her shoulder, "just a bit disappointed with his current state."

Adali had been enjoying himself trading dirty limericks with the men of the town. He had managed to ingratiate himself with the locals, his tattoos, lack of ears and clothes all forgotten. He loved this part, when people changed their minds simply because of a smile and a story. He was in the middle of laughing loudly over a jest that was almost completely lacking in wit when his magic heard a mention of his homeland. Always on the lookout out for news of home, he began to listen to the rest of the conversation. What he heard robbed him of all mirth. A war was brewing. Adali didn't care about bastard sons or the political ambitions of nobles but war meant trouble for his people. The nomadic Yanthians were tolerated in times of pieces but in the stress of war old prejudices had a tendency to be born again. His people were different from the bandits and goblins that preyed on small towns but the farmers were often not aware of it. The soldiers were worse though, they knew, but didn't care. His people were free game to any army that happened to pass by.

Adali had lost his smile. He order a beer at his first chance and when it was brought over drained it and asked for another. His companions tried to draw him back into the conversation but he ignored them, his thoughts focused solely on the horror to come. Even if he told the men, they wouldn't understand. None of them had lived through a real war, none of them had seen the aftermath of a battle. Nothing could match the feeling of coming upon a slaughtered village, of seeing a stream turn red with blood, of walking through entrails, of watching ravens eating the eyes of five year old girls. Adali kept his silence, drinking beer after beer until he could no longer lift his cup. He passed out at in his seat, his mind still haunted with the visions of men dying.

Arwyn listened as Sara gave a vague synopsis of what had taken place. It was clear the girl was unsure of her own feelings and Arwyn began to feel a little guilty for sending them out together. I was naive to think a man and woman could go someplace together and not have it develop into more than what it is, she thought. These humans... they are creatures of impulse, utterly incapable of resisting their natural urges. She sighed. I suppose it's up to me to rectify this situation, or at least see to it she doesn't get herself hurt. He doesn't realize how hurtful he can be and some women just aren't cut out for it.

She leaned forward contemplatively, with her hand on her chin, as if she were deep in thought. "Disappointed with his current state?" she asked, looking into Sara's eyes. "I ask you this: What is his current state? Because I have this sinking feeling that you do not know. You are trying to fix him, yet you do not know what is broken." She sat back again, totally calm and relaxed. "Consider that for a moment."

"Disappointed with his current state?" she asked, looking into Sara's eyes. "I ask you this: What is his current state? Because I have this sinking feeling that you do not know. You are trying to fix him, yet you do not know what is broken."

Sara looked at Arwyn kind of funny like, "You can't be serious Arwyn?" she gave a slight sigh, "if you want me to say then yes I will, he's an asshole. I don't know what in Gods' name makes a man be such a bastard, but he's a bastard, that's about it."

"You can't be serious Arwyn?" she gave a slight sigh, "if you want me to say then yes I will, he's an asshole. I don't know what in Gods' name makes a man be such a bastard, but he's a bastard, that's about it."

Arwyn raised an eyebrow at Sara's response. "True... He's an asshole. But is that the disease or the symptom? As a healer, you should be mindful to differentiate between the two." A waitress came by and delivered the tea she had ordered nearly an hour ago. "Thank you," she said, accepting the warm cup and saucer. "Service is a little slow tonight," she remarked after the server had departed, "but such things do not bother me any. I am well-adjusted to dealing with circumstances that would anger most people. A little calmness goes a long way, you know." She took a sip of the tea and smiled at Sara.

"True... He's an asshole. But is that the disease or the symptom? As a healer, you should be mindful to differentiate between the two."

Sara wanted to say something, anything, but whenever she opened her mouth nothing came out. She finally sighed in defeat to Arwyn's knowledge and slumped in the chair. Arwyn then received a saucer of some tea and thanked the waitress,

"Service is a little slow tonight," she remarked after the server had departed, "but such things do not bother me any. I am well-adjusted to dealing with circumstances that would anger most people. A little calmness goes a long way, you know."

"You're right," she gave a small sigh, "I've been very stressed lately, what with the Nandoki, my brother, him," she pointed to Van, turning to see him, he was eating which she hadn't expected him to do, she looked back to Arwyn, "thank you Arwyn, you knowledge knows no bounds, but I don't know what to do."

"You're right," Sara said. "I've been very stressed lately, what with the Nandoki, my brother, him. Thank you Arwyn, your knowledge knows no bounds, but I don't know what to do."

"Stress? I know nothing of stress. That is a foreign notion to me," Arwyn said with a hint of sarcasm, before taking another sip of tea. "Do not fret over the things you cannot change, my dear. The Nandoki is dead and gone, your brother is beyond your reach, and Van is... well, let us not dwell on that matter."

As she sipped her tea, she kept an eye on him. Van rose from his table and approached the bar. "Some people must be left alone to their own devices... and vices," she said to Sara as he spoke with Garus for a moment, before handing the man a few gold coins. Look at him, she thought, buying more drinks at this hour. He's probably ordering some kind of expensive beverage. "He will drink himself into a coma," she said, noticing that Sara was watching as well, "but there is no sense trying to stop him. He will learn in due time."

Garus handed Van something and he departed the bar. Arwyn was slightly puzzled when he didn't have a bottle in his hand. He came toward them and she looked away, hoping he hadn't caught them watching his actions. "Take it," he said, dropping something in her lap. She glanced down; it was a room key. "I'm done for the night," he grumbled. "I'm goin' to my[i] room and there's the key for [i]yours. Don't bother me 'til morning." He noticed Sara in the seat across from Arwyn and narrowed his eyes at her. "And quit talkin' about me behind my back," he muttered to the two of them before walking away.

He disappeared down the hall and into one of the rooms, shutting the door behind himself. "Well, that was most interesting," Arwyn said as she slipped the key into her blouse and returned to drinking tea. "Right when you think you know a person...."

"Stress? I know nothing of stress. That is a foreign notion to me," Arwyn said with a hint of sarcasm, before taking another sip of tea. "Do not fret over the things you cannot change, my dear. The Nandoki is dead and gone, your brother is beyond your reach, and Van is... well, let us not dwell on that matter."

"Yes Arwyn," ignoring the sarcastic tone in her voice, "you're right, I shouldn't let things dwell on me." Then Van came over holding something in his hand,

"I'm done for the night," he grumbled. "I'm goin' to my[i] room and there's the key for [i]yours. Don't bother me 'til morning." He noticed Sara in the seat across from Arwyn and narrowed his eyes at her. "And quit talkin' about me behind my back,"

Sara blinked, her mouth slightly gaped open a bit,

"Well, that was most interesting, right when you think you know a person...."

Its like she read her exact thoughts, "Yeah I know," she yawned again, "thanks for that talk Arwyn, you have yourself a good night."

Sara then got up and proceeded to buying a simple room for herself, she went upstairs and entered the room she had, it was small and cozy like with a wooden table and feather bed. She locked the door and undid the band holding her hair up, she let it down and took off her healing robes and chainmail. All that was left on her was cotton shirt and pants.

She put the clothing on the table and quickly slipped into the warm bed, listening to the sounds outside she listed off into pleasant dreams.

* * *

James finally entered into the tavern, a medium sized, jingling sack over his shoulder, he looked about, searching for Van, which he thanked must of been upstairs. He then decided to get a little something to eat, after that he would go to bed. He proceeded over to the bar,

"a shot of firewater, and some stew please," the Derian man nodded and walked into the back to retrieve his meal.

Tristan left and Nadala rolled her eyes shaking her head. Fayte left the table to buy a round of drinks and Nadala’s gaze fell upon Sunouva. The young woman’s hand dropped onto Nadala’s. Nadala turned to Reede, he smiled at her in encouragement and Nadala sighed. She brushed Sunouva’s hand off. And wiped the blood from her nose.

“Don‘t do that…your magic is unstable and it hurts me,” Nadala said irritated.

“I‘m…I‘m sorry,” Sunouva said. “Do you remember the yearling skirmish?” she asked.

Nadala nodded, “two lords created a large battle over cattle passing over land. It was foolish, fights over land rights should never get that large…”

“Lords often bicker, I suppose blood of such prestige can make ones head flutter above the clouds.”

Nadala laughed, she was right royal blood bore men with their noses turned upwards at birth.

“They brought in a summoner, because one of the opposing lords had a very strong mage. Her name was Fairchild. In battle you seemed very familiar with her. You spoke as if you‘d known each other a long time. I wanted to speak with Fairchild myself but I wasn‘t allowed near the soldiers.”

Nadala nodded, Detquix had always been very protective of his only offspring. “I know Fairchild well, she taught me a few small tricks. We‘ve worked together several times, her guild specialises in magic users and red century is closely interlinked with them. Why do you seek Fairchild?”

Sunouva sighed, “I‘ve been studying books on summoning for many years now, I‘ve found that I myself am capable of summoning. However I don‘t fair well at it, it‘s disappointing. I just know with practice I could truly make something of it I could be something wonderful. I get such a wondrous feeling from summoning.”

Nadala cringed so she was power hungry and she didn’t even recognise it. Perhaps it was a good idea to call in fair child before the woman became lethal.

“I can get her for you…but you promise me no more magic until then. Let me become your ward and I will make sure you get what you need from those who know.”

“Would you? Would you teach me the bow? father says your marksmanship is like no other. He says you’re the only woman he knows that can be trusted to do well in battle would you show me?”

Nadala looked her over and shook her head, “I hear you‘ve been practicing the blade since you were a young lass, it would do you no good to pick up a bow now.” she smiled at her. “I think you know enough of the blade to best even the finest of men of sword.”

Silas lifted the mug to his mouth and then recoiled sharply as the pain within him suddenly intensified. The stab of pain this time had a source that was external. The potent herbal brew splashed a little on his robes, and with an effort and a shaking hand, he set it down.

A bit of blood trickled from his nose as he glared across the room, looking into a pair or red eyes. He glared, his lip drawing back slightly into a snarl.

"Fey." He said. His voice didn't penetrate the din, but the thought was strong enough that it pushed through the Spectral fabric. And he knew he had the woman's attention.

"Fey." A voice slammed into Nadala’s mind from nowhere. The pain that sliced through her with it, slammed her back in her chair. Her back involuntarily arched upwards and she gasped in agony. Where was it coming from, the pain kept her from moving she couldn’t search the source of the voice. She was unable to use spectra to form voices to speak with others. She wasn’t that well trained.

Tears sprung to her eyes and her arm flailed as she tried to seek out Reede for support. She suppressed the Fey tried to shove it into the depths of her mind. She could feel the warmth of blood on her shoulder and her body began to calm. Her head throbbed but she maintained the slim line of control she had managed to find. Sunouva had shoved her chair back and cried out in shock. It seemed half the tavern had stopped to see her shame. She was going to get the bastard who had done this. She heart was leaping with realisation, what if every time this sort of thing happened it hurt her child, gods.

Maybe they should have left the luggage and stayed away. It had been her fault she insisted they go back.

Finally Nadala managed to find her felt rising she knocked the chair over. She could feel the malice coursing through her, making her feel like some kind of monster in need of harming someone. Her eyes locked onto a sickly looking man. He couldn’t have done this…he looked almost pathetic yet magic swirled all around him. Nadala didn’t have to see it she could feel it. Lacing in tight lines, reaching out probing. She wanted to move forwards but it would hurt and the concern of more pain almost turned her away. But her raging temper edged her on. Sunouva had seen her enough times to know what Nadala was capable of.

“No, don‘t let her at him,” she was saying. Nadala knew the comments were directed at Reede. She ignored them and cautiously moved towards the man. The onlookers backed away from her, harsh whispers rose up around her. He watched her as she approached a cold look on his face.

“You touched upon my mind?” Nadala asked her voice low and chilling. “If you don‘t want to lose your ability to breath air I suggest you keep your magic to yourself.”

Reede had flinched in alarm at Nadala's sudden attack. She had convulsed violently, again bleeding from her nose and ears. Reede reached out and held her against him, wondering what had cuased this. It had been weeks since the Fey had torn her like this. When finally she had calmed slightly, her gaze was adamant. She rose, and Sunouva called to him to keep her back. But she had already moved from his grasp.

* * *

She came, and he felt every step she took within himself. The pain was a beacon within him, giving undeniable proof of her existence and of her approaching presence. He couldn't help being a little fascinated by it.

The woman was, he considered, much like any other on the outside. Beauty, attractiveness; none of the physical had any bearing on what he saw. It was all so much more useless flesh. A vessel of pain to house the soul...or souls...within.

“You touched upon my mind?”

"Your arrogant Other intruded its presence."

“If you don‘t want to lose your ability to breath air I suggest you keep your magic to yourself.”

Silas spat the trickle of blood that had flowed into his mouth onto the floor.

"Don't presume to threaten me, wench. Your kind was created to serve mine. I can stand your presence no more than you can stand mine. Leave me. And quiet your other lest I quiet both of you."

"Don't presume to threaten me, wench. Your kind was created to serve mine. I can stand your presence no more than you can stand mine. Leave me. And quiet your other lest I quiet both of you."


Nadala’s gaze became deadly, the fey seemed to wake with the words swirling within her swatting at him with spectra, prying at him for it’s own gain.

“I see…” she said her voice dry. “You think you‘re special…” Nadala laughed at him. “Shitty little man. Your spectra‘s no different from my own. All pain based, you think you’re the only person that hurts right? I use to think like that…The only way I‘d serve your kind is by doing they all a favour and taking you out. It wouldn‘t be to hard…”

She grabbed him by the collar of his robes and hauled him up. She assessed him not quite certain of his abilities she didn’t doubt he was stronger then her, however her persistence had paid off before.

“So you want to try? I‘m all yours…Why don‘t we take this outside….”

More pain blossomed within him as she touched him to haul him to his feet. Rage built itself up to accompany it. He spat blood again. This time in her face.

"I gave you a chance to leave me. You strike because you're a coward. And you would kill that which threatens you because you do not understand it."

He reached his hands up and ceased her wrists as they held his collar, focusing his mind and drawing in Spectra from around him. He focused it through his body and into his hands. A hiss emerged; the searing of flesh. His hands became hot irons over her wrists and she cried out, both from the physical pain he caused, and the reaction to his manipulation of Spectra. She released him and he released her.

And then there was a naked blade pointed at his throat. Held by a massive man who now stood between them. His blue-eyed gaze was adamant, his blond hair draping just slightly into them.

"Let it lie." Reede said.

"Let it lie." Reede said.

Nadala ignored him her own hands lighting up to flame. She cursed at the sting of her burns. No one touched her like that and lived.

“flame base magic, that‘s cliché I‘m probably the most simple spectra user there is and I know that trick. Please…you have to do better then that to scare me…”

“Nadala,” Sunouva wailed from behind her. “You‘re going to get yourself hurt. What about Fairchild?”

“Never you mind Fairchild…I‘d rather die defending myself then walk away from this idiot.”

“He‘s not an idiot, he‘s Silas. I know you‘re a lot like Da but can‘t you let it lay? You two should be friends you could learn so much from each other. I can‘t believe you‘d be the type who cares more about valour then a human life.”