In the Shadow of Oblivion (Closed)

[Sagequeen]

Erissa gazed to the south; she shook her head in awe at the ground Jensen had covered while she slept securely in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his jacket. The bulk of the mountains were behind them, with but a stone's throw left to surmount. The elf's face weighed with concern for her companion; his sleep was deep but troubled. Jensen groaned, his arms weakly twitching as if he were trying to fend off something only he could see. Erissa's own dreams had been strange: of night, of stars, and of a smiling dark-haired girl she had never met. A piercing cry pulled the high elf from her reflections, and she crawled on her knees toward the man. Ever so gently, she raised the immortal's head as she sat and rested it on her lap. Erissa began to softly sing his song, the Heartsong of Jensen Ambrose, as she stroked his hair, trying to calm him.

~------------------------------------------------------~

Barrum will roll the drum at the morrow's first light
Barrum will come the call, a thundering war to fight
So sleep weary soldier; rest weary knight
Barrum the call will come at the morrow's first light

Washed away is the blood from the edge of your blade
But to forget what was spilled, your noble heart forbade
If you find the sharp edge of your soul has decayed
Remember, my knight, all the helpless ones you aid

At the morrow's first light, like a lion you will rise,
Roaring with laughter and malice in your eyes
From you shall they flee, or shall meet their own demise
But now, worthy knight, rest before the grand reprise

Barrum will roll the drum at the morrow's first light
Barrum will come the call, a thundering war to fight
So sleep weary soldier; rest weary knight
Barrum the call will come at the morrow's first light

Come rest your head on your lover's offered breast
Reap the gentle peace you have sown in your gest
For a moment forget tomorrow's sure unrest
And remember what it means to be truly blessed

~------------------------------------------------------~

As the magic of her song caused Jensen's heartbeat to reverberate within her, she almost panicked at its frantic pace; Erissa had never heart his heart beat so quickly, even in battle. The elf continued her song, however, and within a few moments, the beating slowed. She brushed the hair from his brow; in spite of the frigid night, sweat dappled his face. Erissa wiped it away, smiling softly.

“Would it make a difference if I told you?” she whispered gently, stroking his hair. “Or would you complain that you would have to endure my scent for an eternity?” The elf smiled sadly, shaking her head. “You do not have to be alone; is that not what frightens you the most?”

With a sigh, she scanned the rocky terrain around them; the silence was so thick it felt as though her ears were plugged. The horses slept nose to tail, huddled for warmth and weary from their exertion. Erissa rummaged through Jensen's open bag and rested her hand against the small, perfectly round stone, filled with the essence of the corrupt ambrosia fruit. As the night wore on, Erissa thought of Akashima; she had never seen the wonder of the small empire, though she had seen the artwork of and produced by its people. The elf was intrigued by the oddness of it all, the clothing, the design, the ceremonious culture, and she understood why Oblivion would choose this, of all places, from which to operate - if indeed he did. Akashima was an extremely xenophobic nation, suspicious of outsiders, and it was no easy task to work across its borders. One had to be very resourceful, or very well connected, to do any sort of business in Akashima, and Erissa wondered how she and Jensen would manage.

Before the sun crept above the edge of the world, Jensen's eyes popped open, and he stared up at the distracted elf for a moment.

“Ummmm... is there any particular reason I'm in your lap?” he asked, a confused look on his face. Erissa's head snapped down, eyes wide and mouth agape. “And why is your hand there?” he asked, the confused visage giving way to a frown. Erissa recoiled her hand from his satchel and scooted away, leaving his head to plop down on the ground.

“Well,” Erissa said nervously, “you were having a nightmare. And I was not pilfering your things; I kept my hand on the essence in case I dozed off myself.”

“Mmmkay,” he said suspiciously, rising from the ground. He glanced down at his body, as if he were making sure it was still there, then back at Erissa as she fidgeted for a long moment, his eyes narrowed all the while. “Let's get moving,” the immortal finally said, laughing as he scratched the back of his head. “And I'll take my jacket back now. Too much longer and I won't be able to get the smell out.” She quickly nodded as she tossed him the jacket, and Erissa trotted over to rouse the horses. Within minutes, the Knights were on the trail again, navigating the last few rocky obstacles in the descent that would place them north of the Combe Mountains. Akashima was a little more than a day's ride away, and they would travel across the country, avoiding main roads.

“How are we actually going to get into Akashima?” Erissa asked Jensen as they cut twin swaths through the undergrowth beneath the forest that dressed the land north of the mountains to the border.

“We're Ixian Knights, remember? There's not many problems that name won't solve,” he said, shrugging, the typical grin stretched across his face.

“We shall see,” Erissa said, a smile-veiled warning in her voice.

The midday sun robbed the air of its morning chill, and the Knights continued on, comfortably making small talk between longer silences. By afternoon, Erissa began to feel the effects of another sleepless night; her body made known its contempt for the conditions under which she pressed it. Jensen's stomach rumbled like a bear, and she laughed at him before tossing him the last of the food in her bag.

“We can eat while we ride,” she said, smiling. “How much longer until we get there?” Jensen rasped at her.

“Don't you dare start that,” he said, taking a bite out of a hunk of bread.

“Start what?” she asked innocently, staring up into the canopy of branch and leaf, trying to discern the sun's position. “How much longer?”

“That,” he said, pointing at her, bread still in hand. Erissa frowned at him as he chewed contentedly.

“Well? Are you going to tell me?” she asked several minutes later, and the immortal tossed a crumpled paper wrapper at her, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I guess that is a 'no.'” Late afternoon gave way to cool evening, until the light of the sun could no longer be seen, and the pregnant moon was the only source to guide the Ixians. Erissa clapped her hands happily as she spied lights in the distance through the ever more sparse trees.

“Look! There it is: Akashima!” she said excitedly, her weariness temporarily forgotten. Jensen perked up in his saddle, straining to see what the elf did, but his eyes were not as sharp. “I suppose it is time to find out just how much influence the name of the Ixian Knights actually has.” Jensen smirked at her, still scanning the lands north of them, until finally, he, too, could see the tiny points of light that marked the border.

“<Here we are, gentlemen!> Jensen said to the horses. <“Well done!”> He patted Magnus' neck, and urged the horse forward; the group quickly covered the last bit of ground between them and their destination. Erissa and Jensen angled themselves to a road and followed it to the Akashima's more civilized entrance.

“Mmmmm, I cannot wait for a real bed and a warm bath!” Erissa said with palpable anticipation and an extravagant yawn.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen looked to the walls of Akashima with weary, tired eyes that held open out of stubborn resistance to collapse into a coma of sleep. He did relish the idea of a warm bath to sooth his aching muscles, and the promise of a fresh bed would send his spirits soaring. Yet even though they had arrived at their expected location, the immortal knew only half the battle was over.

The horses trotted forwards to the main gates, their wooden walls reaching to the heavens to keep would be aggressors out. A twinge of sea salt entered his nose as he took in the air of the city, the sound of many torches swirling in the breeze and soldiers working behind the walls. He found himself in line and showed his papers as one of Sei’s Ixian Knights. There was a moment of pause as the guardsman at the door barked in their silly language, but with a groan a wheel was cranked and the two were allowed passage within the confines of the outer city for the night to rest. They dismounted, stretching and groaning from their long trek, and allowed a small child to take the horses to the stables. Another servant boy showed them to their room, eyes flashing with concern as he stopped at a doorway, removing his sandals.

“It custom, please take off feet,” were the child’s words. Broken common... Jensen hated broken common. Instead he pushed the kid forwards, and kept walking with his boots on. Erissa had her back turned, removing her boots and carrying them with her as she trotted after them. The boy seemed very uncomfortable with what Jensen was doing, but the Knight frankly didn’t care.

He did not really care for Akashima or their silly customs, way of life, or morals for that matter as he thought back to Benjiro Taka, the Ronin general of Sei’s legion. It was too many years ago, when Jensen was new to the Ixian Knights and he was asked to help Taka train. Stephanie had it in for Jensen, because if Jensen hated Elves, she had hated Akashimans more. He supposed it could be because some so called honorable samurai warriors permitted a drunk bastard to rape her because she was not someone’s property. If not for the loudmouth immortal she would have lost more than her temper in Akashima.

When they reached the door the boy knelt and shifted it open, revealing one large roll-out futon with a rolled cylinder, silk pillow for the two to sleep. Jensen passed the kid, letting his coat flap in his face as he entered into the room; his bag was gently tossed to the right side of the bed. Erissa thanked the boy, paid him a gold coin, and walked in before she let out a little groan.

“Why,” she muttered. “Why does everyone assume we want only one bed…” Jensen passed her a glance and winked to her, her lips forming into a smile as she mouthed the word incorrigible.

The elf instinctively moved towards the bathing room, moving the wall panel and finding that a lion’s mouth was already pouring hot, steaming water into a large bath that could fit five people comfortably. She found a heady rose scented vial next to the bath, and she brought it to her nose, sniffing it like a bouquet before dropping it into the bath. Bubbles began to form under the fountain of water. Jensen walked forwards, removing his jacket and folding it neatly, placing it on the edge of the futon. He walked to the bath as he stripped his shirt off. Erissa turned from her joy at touching the bubbles, giggling until she let out a yelp of shock.

“Jensen!”

“What? You going to hog the bath too? Last time we shared a bed you and Osher got all freaky cuddly with me. Not to mention every time I go to sleep I wake up with you in some pretty awkward positions, elf.” Erissa’s face turned beet red, despite the efforts of the low lighting to hide out. He thumbed his pants, popped his belt, and gestured to his abs and chest. “Come on, you know you want some of this, leaf licker.”

“It is cute how you dream,” she sassed. Jensen looked to her as she eyed him, her gorgeous eyes lifting up and down in fluttering sparks. Jensen toyed with the idea of stripping fully, but he turned his back to her and sat down on the edge of the bath, giving her a grin as he thumbed the porcelain.

“Go ahead, you can go first.”

“With you in the room?” her tone lifted in confusion. Jensen shrugged.

“I won’t peak, scout's honor.”

“Do scouts have honor?”

“Not really, they run forwards, see the enemy, and run back. I’d imagine they are creepy pervs more than anything,” Jensen joked as he shrugged again. “Okay Ms. Prude, I promise on Azza’s cute little head not to peep. Not that you filthy elves got much going for you.”

“Not good enough,” Erissa smiled as she stepped to the door and held it in her hand, foot tapping. Jensen snapped his fingers and stood, walking out the door as she shut it behind him. However, the paper thin wall revealed her silhouette. He watched her shadowy form strip as he collapsed on the futon. He attempted to think about what they should do in Akashima next, but the immortal didn’t get far before his thoughts were interrupted.

“Thank you, Jensen,” the Elf said teasingly. He could hear her splash as she dipped in, the sound of running water over her head as she let out a long, loud sigh of pleasure. “This water is the perfect temperature.”

“Then stop wasting the heat and hurry it up. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow and we have to get up early.” Erissa’s movements hastened, her bare skin making loud noises against the porcelain. “I want to get up an hour after dawn, let civilization wake up before us, but get in before the markets become too thick with people.” He could see Erissa’s head nodding as the form of her breasts popped out. He knew he was staring at her, and he found he couldn’t look away. So, Jensen did what he did best.

Oh damn, those are bigger than I thought… He watched as she fanned her hair out, the length of it making it look like a cape as she continued to pour the water on her. He watched her tilt and whirl as she began to brush her hair. She does look a little stalky though… how do I feel about that? Hmmm… Jensen looked down to the expert on the matter, judging everything to the companion who never intentionally steered him wrong when the blood ran in the other direction. I seem to have no strong feelings one way or another about this. He continued to watch her.

“I suppose that is a wise choice, but it does not leave us much time to sleep. I guess the fact we will actually have something comfortable to sleep on will make up for that. Oops!” She stood up in the water, bending over the edge of the bath, searching for the brush she had dropped.

Attention on deck! Jensen’s mind raced as he observed her. I swear to all the Thaynes I have found a new respect for her legs right now. And that blocky rump area isn’t too shabby in the shadows. “Just don’t get all bummed if it turns out the information won’t pull out in time.”

“What?” Erissa asked.

“Come up in time!” Jensen shouted. “Uh… Open your freaking ears, bush humper.” Nice save, Jensen, he thought.

“Well, that goes without saying, Jensen. It is difficult enough to find information on Oblivion, so whatever you are looking for will be no easy task. But I trust you have a plan.” Her hand glided up and out of the water, splashing the floor as she exited the bath and bent over to grab something. Her breasts hung in the image and Jensen actually clenched his fist as his mind went dumb.

“Taka!” Jensen said. Erissa’s body paused long enough for him to gauge their size. Much bigger, he smiled. “Taka is the one who gave me the tip. This place has some pretty old scrolls, and a lot of his power seems to be a form of magic that was once done during the dynasties in this empire. Worth a peek, and it’s also the best access point to get to where the Bastion of the Apocalypse is. Now hurry up already, I got things to play with in there.”

Erissa’s body stopped moving with the sound of something abruptly coming to a halt.

“Mind outta the gutter, Leaf Licker,” Jensen called back to her quickly.

“Right,” she giggled. “Let me lotion my legs and I’ll-"

“Fuck’s sake woman, I don’t need a play by play!” Erissa laughed to Jensen’s mockery as she extended one leg, her flexibility on display as she raised it, massaging her calf and thigh gently. Now he was curious who was putting on the show…

Several long moments passed, and he heard the Elf sigh as she continued grooming herself.

“I was wondering if,” Erissa said softly. “If perhaps you could tell me a story of you and Stephanie…” Jensen looked to her, awkwardly. “I know, it is like opening old wounds, but when you speak of her… I cannot explain it but it’s rather calming.” Jensen gave her body one last glance before he shrugged, kicking his boots off into the corner.

“Well, it’s not like I go into elaborate plans for dates and what not. She and I were always too busy, so I dunno what you want.”

“You have no fond moments with her?” Erissa asked, her tone skeptical. Jensen shrugged again, not considering that she couldn’t see him. He took in a deep breath, recalling one memory and he exhaled in a chuckle.

“Well, yeah, I do.” Jensen recalled the memory with vividness, smiling as he did so. “You see,” his tone getting softer.

“I had just had a really bad day back in the Knights, right? Well she came into our room, grabbed my hand, and ran me to the tallest tower in the building of the castle. We went up and up and up, giggling and laughing as she led me, and I would have followed her anywhere, Erissa, anywhere.” He felt his head ache a little, but he smiled broader. “It was a mage’s tower, the one they used to look up at the stars. The sun was just about to set, and the purple and orange sky looked like fire on the horizon. God it was gorgeous. She pulled out a blanket and pillow from behind a barrel of supplies; she probably stashed it there earlier in the day,” he chuckled, recalling her love. “We laid down and watched the stars come. We pointed out each one as I stroked her hair, her hand gripping my chest so tightly she tugged my shirt. I could feel our hearts beat as one…god that’s a great memory.”

Jensen felt his eyes water as he shook the memory away, lifting himself up. “Anyway, can’t live in the past and all that crap.” Erissa was at the door, and she opened it silently, her body wrapped in a towel. She looked to Jensen, preparing to offer him something, but he just walked past her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Jensen stopped, hesitating for a brief moment, then turning to the elf, smiling.

“It’s ok to remember the good times, I suppose,” Jensen said casually. Then, in typical Jensen fashion, he winked to her, and thumbed his pants off in one fluid motion, his body naked to the elf.

“Jensen!” Erissa shrieked, slamming the shutter. Jensen giggled as he jumped in the now luke warm water, diving under the water and coming up, giggling as he let his hair slap his back. He bathed quickly, taking a little pleasure in it before he stood and grabbed the towel. He dried hastily with thoughts of changing back into his clothes. Before he did, he looked to his garments and wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out. Erissa was already under the covers, and smiled at him as he emerged. He grabbed his jacket, turned back away from her and went to the water. He dunked it in and began to hand wash it as best he could, ringing it out and snapping it several times. The immortal hung his jacket on the lion’s mouth to dry overnight.

“Night guys,” Jensen muttered to his coat as he slipped into something more comfortable. He dived into the sheets on his side and turned to Erissa. “You freaking sleep on me, I’ll cut your ears off.” Jensen wagged a warning finger, to which the Elf grinned back, laying deeper onto the futon. Jensen grabbed his satchel and pulled the copy of his favorite book out, opening it the dog ear paged, though several of them looked like they were eared.

“What is this?” Erissa prepared to retort with several witty remarks about his intelligence and book reading, but Jensen lifted a hand to her lips, clamping them shut.

“This is my favorite book, given to me by a dear friend. Ruin it and I’ll ruin you.” He lowered his hand and growled as he heard her giggle. He was being serious!

“Night, Jensen,” she whispered, turning her back and softly falling into the bliss of sleep. Jensen looked to her still form with envy, going back to his book in an attempt to fight off the perils of the night once more.

“Night, elf,” Jensen whispered, long after he thought she was asleep. He turned another page.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa awoke, groggy; Jensen was mumbling in his sleep, his face touched by nightmare. He lay on his side, face to her, and a single tear slipped from his eye, trailing down the bridge of his nose, and dripping from the end of it onto the silken pillow, joining its fellows to darken the cloth.

The high elf gazed at the window on the wall near her, and the bottom half of the waning moon made a curved triangle at the top of the window. She sighed as she rolled to face her companion. The dog-eared book he clutched to his chest she coaxed gently from his hands, and rose from the mattress. She padded silently around the futon in the dark and placed it back into his satchel.

As Erissa gazed around the room, the subtle light of the moon glinted upon the gilded lion's head faucet in the restroom, where Jensen's jacket hung. She looked at it thoughtfully; a new purpose guided her steps to her own satchel, and she retrieved a needle and thread. With a final look at the man in his troubled sleep, she slipped quietly into the restroom and sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, using a match to light a candle, its flickering light softly touching the room.

The leather was still moist to the touch, and Erissa quietly held the jacket aloft, telekenetically removing the last molecules of water mixed with dirt, sweat, and blood, cleaning the material. The grime streamed down the drain, and the elf nodded with satisfaction. She gazed at the many cuts and wounds in the leather, an attestation to the life of endless battle the immortal had lived. As she gingerly brushed her fingers against the names stitched clumsily in the lining, she thought of the grief-stricken boy who had put them there, his fingers trembling. The high elf's heart broke for him; she wondered which fate awaited her. Would she be like the boy, or like his loved ones who would never again see the light of day?

She shook her head at the sad thought and turned her attention to the jacket once again. For being so old, Erissa could only surmise that the jacket had lasted so long because of Jensen's fierce will to remember those whose names were immortalized there. His determination had condensed and crystallized, forming a deep magic that preserved it across the eons. Still, the jacket showed wear, and while she could not make it new, she could, at least, restore it to good condition.

The master tailor threaded her needle and prepared to mend the wounds in the jacket, but realized she did not need her tools to do so; after all, what was leather but the flesh of a beast? If Erissa could knit together the flesh of her comrades, leather should prove to be an even easier task. She focused her attention, and to her delight, the rips and slashes in the leather closed seamlessly as the arcanist willed it. The high elf smiled brightly as she turned the jacket to and fro. After a moment of thought, she picked up the needle and re-threaded it with a lighter color from her small set.

**************************************

Light.

A brilliant shaft of it erupted from a slit in the dainty curtains that covered the single window in the room, unapologeticlly glaring across the immortal's face. Jensen groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly. He grasped a handful of nearby hair and draped it over his face to repel the bright assault on his vision; with his discomfort relieved, he wrapped his arm tightly around the warm body he spooned in his own and snuggled closely. He took a deep breath, and sighed contentedly.

The immortal paused; something was not right. He popped one eye open, and the light filtering through was not its normal fiery hue; sparkling silver and the smell of elf quickly reminded him exactly who it was he embraced. Not wanting to wake her, Jensen rolled away easily and lifted himself from the mattress. He stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and began readying his things.

The high elf thought it wise to continue feigning sleep for a few moments more; she had been stiff as a board since waking as dawn emerged from the edge of the world. There was no way Erissa would be blamed again for awkward positions; after all, she was on her side of the bed. But still, the warmth and smell of him lingered in her mind, and she closed her eyes tightly, savoring it, the medley of exotic woods and spiced fruits, with underlying notes of musky, luscious vanilla, crashing over her like waves of allure.

“What the fuck...” His angry yell exploded from the restroom. Jensen stormed through the doorway into the bedroom, glaring into Erissa's widened eyes, his jacket in hand. “Didn't your fairy parents teach you not to touch other people's stuff? Look what you did to it! You know how many years it took to give it that nice flair that says 'don't fuck with me?' And now,” he said holding it up by its shoulders, “you've...” The man closed his mouth and swallowed with difficulty. Slowly, he lay the jacket on the small, ornate table in the corner and opened the front of it where he'd seen a flash of new thread.

“Jensen, I am sorry,” Erissa said softly. “I thought...” The immortal's arm raised, palm to her, commanding silence; the elf's gaze dropped to the floor. He ran trembling fingers over a new name embroidered alongside the others in a beautiful and flowing script.

Stephanie Odara Ambrose

“I...” he cleared his throat, “I'll go get breakfast,” he said softly, lifting the jacket reverently before pulling it around himself. Without a word, he yanked his boots on and swept out the door. Erissa was left to herself, alone in the foreign room. She looked around her, the grandeur of Akashima prevalent in the clear, morning light that shone into the room; there were tomes in a bookcase, the intricate text preserving the memory of the struggling of an entire race of people, their titles upon spines stiff as stone. She rose from the mattress and dressed, her burgundy leathers a second skin. Erissa pulled on her heavy boots, carefully latching the many straps to her mid-calf.

The high elf sighed as she sat at the table, eyes downcast and face saddened, and she chided herself for being so bold as to alter Jensen's jacket. She should have known better than to do such a thing, but it was too late to take it back, and Erissa knew she would simply have to deal with the consequences. The elf thumbed through the pamphlets on the table to pass the time, the language common, and read of how one should behave themselves in Akashima. Her stomach was in knots as she awaited Jensen's return.

The elf almost jumped out of her skin as the door banged open, the immortal's arms filled with bags. Erissa was beside him in an instant, relieving him of some of the load he carried. She was very intrigued by the many smells wafting from the goods, some foreign, some oddly familiar. The Knights unpacked the wares on the small table, filled it with a cornucopia of foods. Erissa shook her head, smiling and relieved her companion was again his normal, boisterous self, the jacket unmentioned.

“You really do have quite an appetite,” she said, gesturing at the overabundance. Jensen shrugged.

“I got some of everything. Didn't know what you'd like,” he said, chuckling to himself at first, then releasing a series of guffaws.

“What? Why are you laughing?” Erissa asked, grinning suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“Heh, I charged it all to Sei. Eat up!” Erissa dropped her head into her palm, laughing at Jensen as he mirthfully giggled. The two dined on rice, pastries, odd little dumplings dipped in all manner of sauces, various soups, and an array of egg preparations. Jensen leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach and grunting with gratification. A knock at the door summoned Erissa; as she opened it, a little servant boy looked disapprovingly at her boots.

“What you need now?” he asked. “I get you aminals to ride if ready.” Erissa nodded,

“Yes, please,” she said, and as the boy trotted away, she spun around to face Jensen, leaving the door wide open. “Time to go,” Erissa said, a curious smile on her face as she regarded her companion. Her eyes sparkled as she sauntered across the room to him, her boots tapping on the bamboo floor, mouth pulling into a grin as she licked the tip of her finger. Jensen eyed her uncertainly. The high elf's smile broadened as she smudged away a bit of sauce from Jensen's cheek with her wet finger.

“Hey!” he shouted slapping her hand away. “That's friggen gross!” Erissa could not restrain another smile as she once again wiped at the smear; Jensen jumped up from the table, his arms flailing, fending off her offending finger. “Stop that!” he yelled as he grabbed her arm; the elf nimbly spun away from him, laughing so hard she let loose an unintentional snort. Jensen wiped his face with his arm, giggling at the blushing elf. “Don't to that again,” he said, trying to be serious.

“And what if I do,” Erissa said mockingly, a sinister grin creeping across her face. “I will infect you with elf!” she threatened. She took a playful step forward, pointing at him.

“Oh no you won't,” he said; with incredible quickness he closed the gap and grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her in one fluid motion. When Erissa grappled him with her free hand, he snatched it as well, chuckling at her feeble attempts to free herself. He leaned in very close to her ear, close enough for her to catch another whiff of his intoxicating scent. “Don't bite off more than you can chew, Erissa.” Her flesh prickled in goosebumps and a tingle raced down her spine.

At the open door, the small servant boy's jaw dropped in shock as he saw the two of them. Jensen winked and waggled his eyebrows at the boy before releasing the elf's arms; Erissa cleared her throat and straightened her jacket.

“Hores,” he said, giving them both another disapproving glance as he pointed at their steeds. He refused the gold Erissa offered, instead running back to the main building of the inn. She shrugged, looking at Jensen as he gathered his things.

“Did you just put that towel in your...” Erissa began, but gave in before he said a word; Jensen happily swung his bag over his shoulder. The elf did the same, still shaking her head, smiling resignedly. The companions went out into the morning light; the faint tang of salty air was refreshing, and Erissa breathed it deeply.

Akashima, she thought as she gazed out across the land, delighted by the red, frilly triangles that topped the buildings; it was a wonderland of intricacy, golds and verdant greens, sunshine yellow and rich purple decorated lovely tapestries, dragons of every shape and size were honored in various mediums. Stone statues of odd, vicious creatures stood like guardians throughout the various districts, side by side with ornamental petal-leaf trees that pocked the streets.

Jensen ventured away from the inn atop Magnus, and Erissa followed closely behind upon Lucious; they struck out for the heart of the city, following the tip given them by Taka.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

By midday the activity in the streets had peaked. Venders, merchants, and all manner of Akashiman people were in a frenzy of motion as the two mounted individuals paced through the market. Thoughts of his little brother and sister, Arden Janelle and Lilith Kazumi, both Tantalus members that Duffy Bracken commanded, crossed his mind in a merry fashion. Needlessly they droned on and on about their culture they loved so much, harping on about the food, the sites, and the history that fell into legend.

Jensen never really put much into the joint of Corone. The people there were culturally way behind the times, but if given enough inspiration Coronians could give the Aleran Drow a run for their money when it came to technology. Probably the only thing that made this spot of earth worth coming to was that their artisans were master crafters of weapons. Jensen fingered the pocket that held his throwing glaives, knowing he had purchased them in Akashima long, long ago.

“So where will we go to find information?” Erissa’s voice entered his thoughts like a pleasant song, and he adjusted to look at her, feeling a tug in his coat that he hadn’t in a long time. The previous hole never gave him trouble, but now that it was repaired he had to get readjusted. The Elf, seeing his pause in his normally free flowing movements giggled silently to herself. Jensen managed to twist and turn himself to face her, a sly smile on his face.

“Yanbo Port,” the immortal replied casually. “A place of great significance…or something like that.” Jensen shrugged to emphasize how little he cared. “There’s a temple there that should have some records. Taka wasn’t sounding very helpful when he muttered it, and because of his stupid mask I couldn’t see his expression, but the guy is a stickler for his tainted honor. It is worth, if nothing else, a look.”

Erissa nodded to his reply as she guided her horse through the throng of peasants moving on in their lives. The two knights rode at a slow gait, the horses’ heads bobbing up and down as if they wished to move faster. The armored samurai of the city guard to the magistrate were dressed in full uniforms, twin blades holstered to their hips. One was supposedly a long blade, the katana. Jensen never got the hang of those blades, as they did require a certain elegance, but also a heavy handed brute force. A yin-yang mentality, he mused looking to those around him as he felt a familiar weight in his satchel strapped on his back.

The other was a smaller blade, the wakazashi. It was very rare for the blade to come out in battle. It held some holy significance to these warriors and while Jensen was more than positive he could take them in a fight, his confidence wasn’t so hot when they were grouped like they were. They eyed him as he passed, and he let his tongue stick out at them and sneered like a child. Erissa rode quickly to block the immortal’s vision, her face covered with a stern look.

“I know you hate elves, but also these people? Pray tell, is there a rational explanation for this one, or should I just assume, Jensen, you have a fine hate for all life?” The knight could tell she was serious, but the side of her lips twisted as if she withheld the grin she yearned to show. That was a bit odd, all things considered, but the immortal lifted his hand and scratched his head as he urged Magnus closer to the elf. She did likewise and soon they strode side by side.

“Yeah, this time I do,” Jensen spoke bitterly. “Long ago, back before I was in the Ixian Knights, I was in the Knights of Apocalypse doing a mission. Kill some Yakuza lord,” Jensen looked back to the samurai and fought back the urge to taunt them forwards. “Long story short, these people and their so called honorable ways were going to let Stephanie get raped by a Ronin merely based on the fact she wasn’t a lord’s property.”

“Oh my,” Erissa’s hand lifted to her mouth in shock. “I… I never heard that before,” she whispered, leaning forwards, her fingers grasping Lucious’ mane. Jensen shook his head with angst, snorting in a half laugh. As the crowd thickened, Jensen dismounted and grabbed both horses’ reigns and led them forwards towards Yanbo Port’s entrance.

“Yeah, some people can’t get enough of this place. But me?” Jensen asked coyly. “They can suck my-“

“Understood,” Erissa said quickly cutting him off. Jensen chuckled as he continued down the path, pulling the elf aside to avoid a cart whose driver wasn’t paying attention to the road. The people kept walking forwards in a dangerously close fashion, and the immortal did not mind if he rammed the horse into one of these xenophobic morons.

“For a society based solely on honor, you’ll learn quickly they lose the basic foundations of being a decent human being. People wed for property or sealing alliances, wealth or other reasons that don’t make much sense to me. Their cultural rules that contradict themselves so terribly their courts last for seasons, not days. Hell, you grow up a peasant in this place; you are doomed to always be one. A piece of property,” Jensen actually kicked a rock out of his way with much more anger than he thought he had building up within him. “These people don’t understand the tenants of freedom,” Jensen muttered sourly. “And if you were to give it to them, they’d cry you took away their slave collars.” Erissa’s eyes he could feel boring into his soul, and Jensen let the matter drop. The immortal felt another headache creep within his mind and he shook his head. It felt like a soft knife was gently gliding through his brain, separating the two halves of his thought process.

“Soko ni iku teishi?”

Jensen lifted his head to see three blue armored samurai approach him, their faces hiding behind leering masks. Erissa gave them a quizzical look as Jensen let out a snort of irritation.

“I am Jensen Ambrose,” the knight replied casually. The guards looked to him with confusion. One stepped forwards and held his hand near his weapon.

“I speak common in little,” the guard attempted. There was nothing that Jensen really despised more than broken common. Something about the way it made him have to think about his own language triggered a deep seed of hatred.

“Baka!” Jensen shouted with a giggle. “I speak common in little too!” The guards all seemed to stiffen at the word 'Baka,' but the man who stepped forwards called them down with one short command. They bowed to him, and held themselves back. The two looked to each other before Jensen stepped forwards. “Ixian Knights,” Jensen shouted to the man obnoxiously as he placed his hands on his chest, then pointed to Erissa. “Business in holy temple!”

“Not permitted,” the guard replied at once. “Temple sacred ground. Need more than Ixian Knight to get in.”

“What if I just kicked the crap out you three?” Jensen replied hotly, preparing to step forwards when he felt something tug on his jacket. The immortal whipped around to see Erissa's gentle eyes shining at him.

“I know you are angry, Jensen,” she said sagely. “But unlike in New Aurient, I will not have much sway to release you from prison…” Jensen could see the sensibility in her pleading. He nodded slowly and turned his back, ignoring the guards.

[Sagequeen]

“What now?” Jensen asked, smacking his lips as they advanced back into the influx of citizens. The elf shrugged distractedly. The people stirred around them with such order that Erissa could see the truth in her companion's earlier words. These people were broken, not in a readily visible way, but in spirit; they did not see, did not hear, and most certainly did not ask questions. They simply did as they were told, worshiping their captors as gods of men.

There was a marked difference of appearance that separated the classes; there were the poor, whose clothing was rough and homespun. These souls often had no shoes, and labored to bring their wares to sell to the markets, at what Erissa could only assume were cutthroat prices that barely kept them fed and sheltered. Their dirty faces never lifted from the burdens they bore.

On the other side, there was a class that dressed in the finest of silk and design, who were carried upon intricate carts instead of walking themselves, and who dined on the finest wares that could be procured. These people either coldly ignored the suffering of their fellow beings, or showed outright hostility toward those that ventured too close. The high elf's fascination for Akashima ebbed; she had viewed the charming country scenes as 'quaint,' being a child of wealth herself, but upon actually seeing it, Erissa was quickly disillusioned. The grandeur of Akashima was little more than a mask, much like those it produced in bulk.

“I could have taken them, you know,” Jensen said, elbowing her and laughing. Erissa felt a bubbling anger well from her throat as she shoved him away.

“You know, that would be just like you. Hot-headed Jensen Ambrose, always making enemies: you cannot help it, can you?” the high elf seethed, her face twisted into a mask of loathing. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, if you made friends instead enemies, the friends you already have would not be moving targets?” The high elf frowned, shaking her head. What am I saying? she asked herself silently, and yet, she could not help but continue.

“Erissa?” Jensen asked, the stunned hurt in his eyes apparent.

“No! Do not! Some 'blessed immortal' you are,” she ranted, her words dripping with venom, one hand balled into a fist and the other poking her companion in the chest. “You are nothing but a damned eternal parasite, sucking the life from everything and everyone around you!” Pure anger stirred in the immortal's eyes then, yet he restrained himself; something was not right. His jaw clenched as he rooted himself in place; this was not the Erissa Caedron he knew currently taunting him. “You know what, Jensen? I am finished. Done! I want nothing to do with you, ever again!” she yelled before rearing back and slapping his face. She turned to leave.

The next few seconds were a blur as Jensen growled in anger, a giggle escaping; he leaped forward and caught her arm, whipping her back around to face him. The weaker elf could not free herself as she flailed against him, and he pinned her arms behind her back. With one of his own he held both of her hands in place, and with the other he pressed Erissa's head against his chest. He held her as still as possible, not wanting to attract the attention of the Akashiman authorities.

“This is not you, Erissa,” he whispered fiercely. She arched her back, thrusting her stomach and chest against him, trying to free herself, but the man did not relent. “Remember what Troyas said! Remember!” he commanded, and for a split second she calmed, long enough to consider his words. Everything she thought she knew whirred around her, but there was one source of strength in the storm that was adamantly unwavering.

Thump-thum... thump-thum... thump-thum...

Erissa crumpled against Jensen, sobbing as she regained control of herself.

“I am so sorry!” she cried. “Those words were not my own! I did not mean...”

“Shhhhh,” he said gently, releasing her arms. She threw them around him, burying her face in his chest. “I know,” he said as he circled his arms around her protectively, scanning the crowds warily for the only one with the power to do what he had just witnessed. All the heads were down; there were no gawkers. In fact, the scene that had just played out appeared to have never happened, except a foreigner eyed them from some ten yards away. Jensen's gaze fell upon him and the immortal scowled; he released Erissa and begin pacing toward the pudgy, well-dressed man, who was taken aback for a brief moment before speaking.

“You... you are the legendary Jensen Ambrose, are you not?” he asked, the excitement in his eyes growing. “I know of you – the Ixian Knights! Personal bodyguard to Sei Orlouge!” Jensen's stride did not waver, and the man looked nervously to his greasy little scribe boy who was as pale as the ghost he might have just seen. Erissa wiped her eyes and started forward across the thoroughfare; focusing her will she read the stranger's memories.

“Jensen, it is not him,” she called. “He only recently saw me crying, and he was concerned since we are foreigners here as well. In fact, he is a diplomat, and knows you from previous Radasanth engagements.”

“Astounding!” the man said. “I can only assume you are also an Ixian Knight, my good elf,” the man called, mopping a bit of sweat from his brow. His eyes darted nervously between the two of them. Jensen checked his forward gait, halfway between the elf and the man, and looked back at Erissa. He could not risk a confrontation; to leave her alone was asking for trouble.

He regarded the elf with softening eyes, but she plainly saw he was not convinced. Erissa could only guess at what was going through his mind, but she assumed that Jensen thought the man had something to do with her outburst. If there were one thing she had learned, it was that she could trust Jensen Ambrose, unbelievable as it may have seemed to her less than a year ago. She turned to the horses, taking their reigns in hand.

<”Be alert,”> she breathed, wiping the remainder of her tears from her eyes; Lucious nickered and Magnus pawed the ground. Erissa led them behind her, and she smiled at the large man as the two approached him.

“So what are two members of the vaunted Ixian Knights doing in Akashima? Looking for someone, I assume?” he asked as they approached. “Ah, but perhaps I shouldn't ask that.”

“You're a diplomat?” Jensen asked, a veil of relaxation permeating his appearance as he brushed off the man's question.

“Yes!” the man blurted too cheerily. “In fact I am!” His scribe's color was returning, and the boy began busying himself, fiddling with the man's many bags and satchels he bore.

“Think you can get us in there?” Jensen retorted, gesturing to the temple behind him.

“Well,” the man replied, his pasty jowls wobbling, “it just so happens I have business in Yanbo Port today, with the Benjiro family, no less. My nephew is in the Ixian army under General Dracosius, so anything I can do to help is my honor! The name's Clauson, Clauson Granger.” He extended a hand to Jensen; the immortal chuckled as he turned on his heel, walking away from the man. The diplomat cleared his throat nervously, his extended hand unmet and hanging in the air.

“That's convenient,” Jensen said, his mind whirring as he sauntered toward the men guarding Yanbo Port.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Granger,” Erissa said, stepping into the void Jensen had left. She shook the man's hand firmly, her other closing over the union of the two. Clauson visibly relaxed, and as he followed Jensen, he shrugged half-heartedly to his bumbling scribe. Jensen waited for them near the guards, and Erissa padded to his side, her hand brushing his as she shifted to watch the diplomat. She grabbed it and squeezed, her eyes meeting his. The elf's lips formed a silent 'sorry,' then she quickly released his hand again. The immortal smirked at her and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Jensen said, waving her off and crossing his arms, though the thought had entered his mind to instead wrap one of them around her, a thought he pushed aside. He looked down at her intently focused face; she watched the diplomat and listened to the conversation among the man and the guards. Clauson's scribed shuffled papers and presented a number of them to the Port officials.

Erissa warily peeked up at Jensen, feeling the weight of his stare. When their eyes met, she quickly dropped her gaze, immediately finding her boots very interesting as she toed a small pebble on the flagstone. The elf's glinting silver hair hung free, and it hid her shy, blushing smile from the man at her side, or at least she hoped it did. Erissa ventured another glance at him, and her heart clenched when Jensen smiled at her.

It was not a smirk; no sarcasm tinged the edges of it, but an honest, radiant smile as refreshing as a cool, mountain stream. His smile left her without words, without place, without time, and Erissa could have stood in the light of it for lifetimes. There was no will she possessed to look away from him at that moment, until he himself looked away, his attention drawn to the diplomat and his scribe.

Clauson, glistening strangely like a dollup of whipped cream in his white silk, turned to them, smiling victoriously. He waved them forward.

“Come, friends!” he called. “You are my personal guests for the day in Yanbo Port!” Pulled from her stupor, Erissa looked worriedly at the horses that stood a few yards away. She had her doubts the steeds would be allowed in Yanbo Port.

<"Lucious, Magnus, come,"> she called, and the pair clip-clopped to her. She took their muzzles in her hands and stroked their cheekbones. <"Take to the forest! Be safe, and await us there. At any sign of trouble, flee back to your home!"> The horses chuffed and galloped through the populated streets; Erissa hoped they would make it out of Akashima without incident. The elf sighed and followed Jensen as he strode forward into the rarely seen center of livelihood of Akashima.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen let the elf do the talking for him as they entered Yanbo Port, doing his best to drown out the words of the dignitary that helped them in. He rambled on and on about the Ixian Knights and his full support of the private army that had helped in numerous, boring ways the immortal had no care to learn. Instead, he kept his focus upon the people around him as he searched for Oblivion. Erissa had actually slapped him, and swore.

Though with a grin he rubbed his jaw pondering how much he liked that…

Jensen’s eyes flashed with red as he shook the thought out of his mind. There he was thinking about some smelly, bush humping elf when his wife died not weeks before. Jensen shook his head again as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight as he fought the headache that had been plaguing him since last night. He knew he was tired, knew he wasn’t sleeping, and his judgment was getting worse for the wear as he continued to refuse rest. The immortal also noted he was getting shorter tempered as of late, and grouchy.

He yawned just as the Diplomat of Radansath finished another long winded story, and the scribe and the fat pig looked to Jensen with hesitant eyes. Erissa even turned her head to look to him. She cast her eyes out to the two, making sure they couldn’t see her, and grinned from the side of her mouth and winked. Jensen looked behind him to see who she was winking to, his jacket whipping the air as he made a show of trying to find out who she was looking at. She giggled into the salty tang of the sea air.

He grinned back to her as she resumed her diplomatic role for the sake of Jensen’s troubled mind, and his eyes rested on her back side as they hit a set of wooden planks and networks. The wet wood was scored from several years of boots and cargo dragged over it. The immortal looked to the riggings of the Akashiman ships that loaded trade goods and spotted a few ferrys that would lead out. He mentally made a note to find one that would head to the north.

“It just so happens I have a bit of trade heading out to Salvar, and I am here to finish the details of if,” the pudgy man laughed, as if this was, by some sick twisted trickery of the gods, a great joke of happenstance. How, Jensen didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care. But it was enough to grab his attention; he noticed a large group of rough looking Akashimans heading in their direction. Jensen stepped forwards, almost brushing against Erissa as he kept a hand near the bloodstained dagger in his left pocket. His right hand instinctively went to her hip; a warning sign of danger he used to give to Stephanie when they were on missions together. The elf’s breath inhaled sharply at the touch, and she leaned back in shock, hitting Jensen in the chest. Quickly she regained herself, looking to see if the two companions who led them in noticed anything, but to their luck the man was still rambling about what he was getting for this deal.

“Sorry,” Jensen whispered in her ear lightly so only her elven heritage could detect. “I see-“ Jensen looked to find her hand near her own dagger she had hidden well in her leather garments. “You already noticed them as well,” he chuckled.

“Traveling with you,” she teased lightly, looking back to him again with soft eyes that made him melt. “One gets used to danger.”

“Rule number one…” Jensen teased back, both giving a light laugh of the time they were in the Red Forest. Jensen watched the group of warriors head towards them in a direct line, and just as they crossed the imaginary line Jensen’s hand was already three-quarters of the way completed drawing his weapon when the diplomat lifted a hand.

“Ah, boys, good to see you are as prompt as you claimed to be.” Jensen gave the man a confused look as the leader of the group, a heavily tattooed man with a sailor’s vest and shorts stepped forwards.

“We are not like the other mercenaries,” he said respectively, bowing to the man. “When we are assigned a mission, we do it with all haste to complete it. It’s just…good business.” His accent was thick, though flawless for an Akashiman and Jensen figured the man was probably somebody who broke the mold that was forced upon his life, along with his rag tag group of friends.

“I see you hired mercenaries,” Jensen spoke loudly. “I would assume, considering how great you claim to have respect for the Ixian Knights that you would take them up to hire mercenaries from Taka’s company.” The leader of the mercenaries gave out a shrill chuckle, knowing the name of Benjiro Taka well. The dignitary’s puffy face began to sweat.

“Not all mercenaries are comfortable doing some things,” the leader replied. “I know Taka is one of them. He’s all work,” With a flick of his wrist two weapons were in his hands rotating with ease and speed. He stopped spinning them, locking the curved weapons of the Kunai together, “and no play.”

“I agree to that,” Jensen muttered. “But despite how much a stale fish he is,” he turned his attention to the diplomat. “His rates are pretty cheap.” Jensen scratched his chin, and grinned as if in deep thought. “So naturally, you must be trading something you don’t want Sei Orlouge to know about.”

“Now, let’s not be too hasty.” He rubbed a pocket handkerchief to his forehead, removing the beads of sweat as the grouping stood off. Erissa took a few cautious steps to stand next to Jensen.

“Fifteen gold coins,” Jensen said to the leader, fishing the money out. He let each one clink into the other as they fell for him to see. “What’s the goods?”

“Drugs,” the leader said with no compassion to the secrecy of his charge. The coins flew up in the air and landed at the man’s feet. With a snap of his fingers one of his minions retrieved the gold. If the sweat was beady before, now it was flowing from Mr. Granger’s head. Jensen laughed out loud to put pressure on the man as he stepped forwards.

“Drugs? Oh my,” Jensen looked back to Erissa, and winked to her. Her face flushed, but she still looked too confused at what exactly Jensen was doing. He gave her a confidant look, and in the span of a second she nodded to him, her trust absolute in him. Jensen felt his heart take a twinge of pain, seeing a shadowy form of Stephanie mirror her as he turned quickly back to the man he was roasting alive. “I do think that is one of Sei’s big no-no’s, Mr. Granger,” Jensen clucked his tongue, wagging a finger.

“Please, you are taking this all wrong,” he exclaimed. “He can’t speak perfect common, he’s Akashiman, you know these people confuse words!” Jensen had to admit that when this man dug his own grave, he spared no expense on the depth. The leader growled to him, making him wince away in terror. His scribe, who Jensen had ignored through all of it, was a lighter shade of pale than before and shaking at the confrontation. “Medical drugs!”

“Oh,” the leader said hotly. “Is that what Absinthe is! I thought it was a hallucinogen. Huh, forgive my confused words.” Jensen chuckled loudly as he waltzed forwards. However, despite how mad the mercenary leader was, he had known his meal ticket was dangerously close to backing out of the deal. He stepped forwards in line with Jensen, blocking him. He was a head smaller, so Jensen enjoyed looking down on him. “Regardless, it’s our deal, little Knight. You aren’t pulling the plug on this.”

“Hmm,” Jensen thought loudly as he twisted his wrist up in the air in a flourish. In one moment, there was nothing, and when the leader blinked and opened them he saw a dagger pointed at his right eye and heard a lot of gasps from the assembly. “I think this is the part where you realize how shit deep this is over your head. Shut up, and let me do my thing.” Jensen gave him a friendly look, still filled with hostility, but the leader mirrored his lunatic grin. There was an understanding going on between the two, and with a show of tough guy attitude, he gestured for Jensen to walk forwards, stepping aside.

He knew that Jensen wasn’t going to screw him.

“I’m a practical man,” Jensen said, the knife vanishing in the blink of an eye. “I live in practical times,” he continued. “I have practical ideas,” he gestured to the heavens. “And a practical family and a practical predicament. So I suppose you could say with all that’s going on, you practically owe me, and big,” Jensen mused with a lingering smile.

“Are… are you blackmailing me?” The words flowed from Clauson’s lips like they were poison.

“Catch on quick, don’t ya Clouse.”

“Clauson,” he corrected angrily, but still in a defeated tone. “I suppose you already had an idea what you wanted.”

“Indeed. Rule number one of being a good dirty dealer is never let your friends see you sweat. Rule number two, well…shit I thought this was basic, but…” Jensen looked to the mercenary leader, who grinned.

“Never bring you allies to the deals you’re pulling over them,” the mercenary finished, his crew chuckling.

“Yeah… that’s pretty basic… well, business if you ask me. Still, I can tell you what Mr. Ganger. I don’t care what you do, or how you do it. At least, that’s what I’ll say when Sei is asking how you’ve been. It won’t bother me at all to rat you out, but why bother? It’s nothing harmful as I see it. In fact, you are creating jobs for underprivileged workmen.” The mercenaries all chuckled at that as Erissa stepped behind Jensen, staying close to him.

“<And Sei said you have no skills in diplomacy,>” Erissa whispered in elven, giggling.

“Here’s the deal. For my silence, I want two all expense paid First Class Ferry tickets to Horogen Island and one thousand gold coins to go to Azza Ambrose’s piggy bank. You do that,” Jensen shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll forget a few things in the first class drinking lounge.”

“But, but,” his four chins all rolled as one tide, much like the sea behind him. “That’s going to cost me more than this deal!”

“Sure it will,” Jensen said. “But then again, how much it will it cost you squelch a trade deal, and be raided by the Ixian Knights. Hell, to make it interesting I’ll toss your nephew in the assault group so he can bag you himself!” Jensen and the mercenaries laughed as the man squirmed. He finally nodded and turned to his scribe.

“Get it done!” he snapped impatiently as he rubbed his eyes and moaned like he drank too much. Jensen patted him on the back and walked with him towards the temple. “You are not an average Ixian Knight,” he muttered angrily. “Usually I can appease you folks with a few donations to the orphans and your cause.”

“Yeah, I know…” Jensen winked to him, patting him on the back. The diplomat and the mercenaries began to waltz forwards as one toward the crates on the salt crusted pier, and Jensen looked back to see Erissa smiling to him. Jensen gave her a weak smile, waving his fingers awkwardly.

“That was masterfully done,” she said softly, one graceful foot moving in a sauntering way in front of the other as she approached. It was painfully seductive, Jensen noticed, but he shook his head and looked again. No, it was just a normal gait. He tapped his head with his palm to get the thoughts out before he looked back to Erissa and smiled. “How did you know your plan would work?” she asked.

“You think I planned that?” Jensen gave her a straight look. When he saw her face softly contort to confusion he let out a riotous laugh, his hand lifting to her chin and holding it up, snapping his fingers under her in a teasing manner. As she shook her head at the immortal, he turned around and laughed harder.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa watched the men haggle over innocently marked crates further out on the pier, the cries of gulls obscuring their words. The elf rested against a tall support pole plunged deep into the shore and tapped her graceful fingers on the weathered wooden railing that was secured to it.

“So,” Jensen said, leaning on the rail near her, the sunlight spilling down over his shoulders and casting a shadow directly beneath him on the sea-eroded wood.

“So?” Erissa asked, watching her companion eye her with interest, the gentle lapping of water marking the moments as they passed.

"So what about you?" he asked, and the elf looked at him with confusion. "Tell me a memory you have with that guy. Hell, I told you the best one I had with Steph." Erissa was very careful not to betray her calm demeanor with a look of shock; instead, she glanced out to the sea. She knew better than to tease Jensen for asking a personal question.

"Well, it is nothing so special as what you shared..." she mumbled, pulling a splinter from the railing and casting it away. "But," she said through a smile, looking up at him, "Virlas and I were having dinner with my parents. At my father's table, he...” she began, the sparkle of mirth in her eye giving an edge to her subdued laughter. “He told a joke. I don't remember the first part, but," Erissa closed her eyes as she shook her head, "the punch line was 'and then he realized, the dwarf wasn't wearing pants.'" The high elf's laugh burst forth like sunlight at the break of day. "At my father's table he said that! He was so... wonderfully rough around the edges. Not like the others." Her eyes met Jensen's and she laughed again, blushing. "I told you, nothing so special as what you had."

"Wait a minute..." Jensen said, scratching his stubble. "The others?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Erissa said, giggling. "Father paraded a cadre of Raiaera's finest before me; so many stuffy sons of nobles who were prettier than me!" Jensen's eyes widened. "And sooooo proper," she added, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear, her eyes shyly stealing a glance at the man beside her as he bent down to grab an empty shell. He looked at it intently as he thought.

"Fucker still turned tail and ran though," he said, chucking it far across the water. Erissa sighed and nodded as she watched the mother of pearl glimmer against a blue backdrop and disappear in a distant splash, her smile fading. “Shows how much he cared.”

“No need to rub it in,” Erissa said quietly. “I know I am not exactly-” Jensen grabbed her shoulder with one hand and lay a finger across her lips with the other, shaking his head.

“He was stupid for doing that,” he said, his hand moving softly to her cheek. No other words were forthcoming, and the immortal blinked a few times before backing away quickly and turning to face the sea. “Grade A fuck up,” he said with an odd laugh Erissa could not discern. She cleared her throat.

“Back to business,” she said, attempting to fill the uncomfortable silence between them. “What should we look for in the temple?”

“Hell if I know,” Jensen said, a smirk on his handsome face. He leaned against the rail, either arm stretched back, gripping it. The immortal crossed one booted foot over the other and stared up at the sky. “I guess we'll just look for what's not there.” Erissa squinted at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“Well, it's not like we're gonna find the guy's life and times laid out nicely for us,” he said, chuckling. “But I've got a hunch that the events he's involved with will all have a general lack of information.”

“Ah,” Erissa said, curiously watching money change hands between the diplomat and the leader of mercenaries. The diplomat shot Jensen a brief, yet dark, glare, to which the immortal gave an exaggerated wave and thumb's up gesture.

“But it doesn't really matter anyway,” Jensen said, laughing light-heartedly, much to Erissa's confusion; her head snapped back to him.

“How does it not matter?” the elf asked.

“Oblivion knows we're here; how else do you explain your little outburst? And we have what he wants – the corrupted ambrosia essence. He'll come to us, just like we planned before we left the forest. It'd be nice to have some information, but like I said... it doesn't matter. He's just biding his time right now, sizing us up, and probably toying with us.” Jensen rasped his lips impatiently as they waited for the diplomat to finish his business; a few moments later the rough Akashimans boarded their vessel, crates in hand, presumably on their way to Salvar. Clausen and his scribe approached the Knights once again, the diplomat mopping his brow with a kerchief.

“Shall we?” Clausen asked as he neared them. “Daylight is burning, and I've got my meeting to make.”

“Waiting on you, Clouse,” Jensen said with a sneering laugh and an exaggerated yawn. The diplomat's beady eyes flashed at the comment, but his demeanor remained the same as he led the trio to the doors of the beautiful temple.

“What you are about to experience is rarely allowed to outsiders, so you should feel honored,” Clausen said reverently.

“Now that you mention it, I do feel something,” Jensen said with faux sincerity, “deep down.” The man placed his hand over his chest as he bowed his head, then released a rank, noisome burp. “Nope, it was just the eggs,” he said, giggling wildly, much to Erissa's chagrin.

“Jensen!” she said sharply before dropping her head into her hand. With a sigh, she turned to the diplomat. “My apologies, Mr. Granger, and we are most honored.” The diplomat simply nodded, wondering why in the world he had decided not only to help the two Knights, but also to bring them to an illicit deal on the docks.

“...just not myself today...” Clausen mumbled as he led them through the gilded doors of the temple. The diplomat turned to his scribe. “Stay with them and help them in any way they need. And,” he dropped his volume, “don't let that one out of your sight.” He motioned to Jensen who was already making his presence known, clashing against the serenity and elegance of the holy site. The immortal stuck his finger into the mouth of a golden dragon statue, testing the sharpness of the finger-long teeth. A crimson bead of blood welled forth from the tip of his index finger, and Jensen whimpered, sticking it in his mouth and sucking on it. Erissa rolled her eyes at him, her boots clacking against the marble floor as she walked to him. The elf yanked his hand out of his mouth.

“Baby,” she said pertly, a smirk of her own playing across her features, and Erissa healed the tiny puncture. “That is what you get for sticking your hand in a dragon's mouth.” Jensen shrugged, smiling mirthfully at her.

“Can't help it,” he said playfully.

“What?” the elf asked, laughing softly. “Always managing to stick your hand right in the middle of trouble? You are a bad influence, Jensen Ambrose.” The immortal found her comment hilarious and barked with laughter, the temple keepers obviously annoyed.

“Admit it, elf,” he said, his dark eyes smoldering, giving her butterflies. “You love it.”

“And so what if I do,” Erissa replied, her lips pursed. Her own tinkling laughter decorated the stuffy air of the temple. She batted her eyes at Jensen.

“E-excuse m-m-me,” the scribe said, his stutter troublesome. “M-mr. Granger said I sh-sh-should stay and help. I speak f-f-f-fluent Akashiman, a-and the stuff here i-i-is alll...”

“Fuck's sakes, spit it out, man!” Jensen said, slapping his forehead with his palm. The squirrely boy squirmed under the Knight's glare.

“It's n-n-not in cuh-cuh... c-common,” the boys said, his stutter worse under Jensen's scrutiny. Quick to set the boy at ease, Erissa stepped between him and her companion.

“What is your name?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“P-P-Percy,” he said shyly.

“Percy,” Erissa repeated, “we need to look at the major events in Akashiman history.” He nodded quickly, leading them through the ornate cases filled with scrolls neatly stacked on their shelves. Several hours passed, and the three poured through parchment after parchment. Erissa rubbed her eyes, sitting back tiredly in the chair. On the other sides of the table piled with what they had studied, Jensen and Percy did likewise.

“Well that was a grand waste of time,” Jensen complained, kicking his legs up and crossing them on the desktop.

“Nothing,” Erissa agreed. “But if you ask me, I think this history is doctored. Everything lines up entirely too neatly.”

“Let's get out of here,” Jensen said, bored out of his mind.

“W-w-wait,” Percy said, a nervous look on his face. “You're supposed t-t-to stay here until-” His gaze went to the large man in the white silk who approached them, considerably more jolly than when he had left the trio. “Mr. Granger!”

“I trust the boy was helpful?” the diplomat asked, his cheeks blushed and the smell of alcohol heavy on him.

“Yes,” Erissa said, rising from the table to greet him. Jensen grated his chair back, pushing with his legs against the side of the desk.

“Well, I do hate to cut short the pleasure of your company, but I must be off. I will happily escort you back to the port gate,” Clausen said, obviously ready to be rid of the Knights.

“No need,” Erissa said, we have business elsewhere as well and can see ourselves to the gate. Thank you for your help,” she added, shaking his hand. As the four weaved their way through the temple, Erissa noticed Jensen's eyes darting around and his posture wary. Worried, she touched his arm and asked with her eyes why he was on alert. He returned her gesture with a serious nod, and they passed through the gilded doors into the afternoon light.

“It has been a pleasure,” the diplomat said quickly, offering no handshake. “If you will excuse me, duty calls!”

“Sure,” Jensen retorted sarcastically. “The pleasure was all yours.” The diplomat's face twisted momentarily, but he sighed and turned to leave, motioning for the scribe to follow. Erissa and Jensen were left on the massive stairway that cascaded down from the elevated temple down to the road below.

“You still do not trust the diplomat. What is on your mind?” Erissa asked softly.

“Can't shake a bad feeling,” Jensen said shrugging as he scanned the cityscape. “Come on,” he commanded, and the elf obliged, following him down the stairs. She stayed very close to him as they made for the gate that separated Yanbo Port from Akashima proper. The sun crept ever lower as they walked, and Erissa regretted sending the horses away. The elf nursed an uneasy feeling as Jensen glanced constantly behind them; her heart sank when she saw him stiffen mid-gait and whirl to face the group of about ten men that emerged from the lengthening shadows. Jensen stepped protectively in front of her as his hands went to his weapons.

“Looks like our new friend isn't so diplomatic,” Jensen said, his laugh humorless. The leader of the mercenaries grinned wickedly as he brandished his curved blades. His crew donned their own various weapons as they slowly strode toward the Knights. “You wouldn't mind pointing us to where a guy can get a decent drink in this town, would you?” Jensen called. His giggles echoed through the empty street just as the sun slipped beyond the rim of the horizon.

“That is the least of your worries, little Knight,” the leader called back.

“So how much is he paying you?” Jensen asked, his blood boiling as the leader laughed mysteriously.

“A small bit of property,” the leader said, “to do with what I please.” The elf drew her dagger.

“What do you think you're going to do with that little thing?” the sailor to the leader's right asked, and the group laughed. Erissa's gaze hardened, her determination steely. The little dagger left her hand, and quick as a bullet, sailed through the air into the man's thigh, her telekenesis guiding it. Her aim had been poor; the elf was aiming for the leader, but the wound was a perfect distraction for Jensen to spring into action.

The immortal's strike was that of a coiled wire as the sailor reeled in shock. His jacket whipping in the flurry of his movements, Jensen spun in a feint attack, directly at the leader at the center of the group. As the Knight expected, the other sailors moved from their rough line to collapse in on him. With a word of wind, the Knight leaped and corkscrewed over the men to his right, aided by a gust, and like a leather-winged bird of prey, swooped down on the wounded sailor who had stumbled to the back. His blades like wicked talons, Jensen gutted the man while bringing his other blade just beside the nape of his neck. The sailor fell to the ground without a scream before the rest of his fellows could discern what was happening.

Erissa, despite her elven heritage, lacked the quickness of her companion, but she grasped the momentary advantage they had, however slight. She raised her voice, and her song gripped them like a terror, demanded their immediate attention, and their confusion was only increased when they saw the diminutive source of such a wicked song of death and destruction.

Jensen, having landed on his feet, was on the next of them in a flash as they stood stupefied by the spell-singer's song. His lightening-quick blade etched a dripping, red line into the man's throat, awakening the rest of the crew from their entrancement. Their angry yells echoed in the darkening, empty thoroughfare as they turned to face the greatest and closest threat, his giggles piercing the muddiness of their cries.

Weapons drawn, they advanced on Jensen; Erissa would have levitated him above the chaos, but it would have made him an easy, suspended target for thrown weapons, and also suppressing his formidable prowess. Instead, she focused on their feet; two of the men tripped, knocking three of their comrades to the ground.

However valiant the man who spun like a dervish among them, or the elf who cast into them bolts of crackling energy and tossed them about with her will, the Knights were still outnumbered eight to two. An opening and a flash of steel further evened the odds and another of the sailors fell to the ground.

“Get the elf! You heard the boss... keep her alive!” the leader called, parrying a blow of the battle-lusting Knight before him. Two of the men broke away from the spiked circle surrounding Jensen and advanced on Erissa, the rest readjusting like grains of sand. She backpedaled, taken unawares as she focused on deflecting the blows Jensen could not. As her concentration was broken, her stream of energy and telekenesis was halted, and a cruel sword found its way through Jensen's hamstring, crippling him.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

It was a fast growing concern with Jensen Ambrose exactly how much the universe hated him at the moment. His arms, fingers, and fists flew outwards in a methodical beat that kept several of the bastards away. Normally not one to worry about the consequences of an exposed side, he had left his mind far too distracted with thoughts of protecting the elf. When she broke away from him he took a quick glance he shouldn’t have, and he had paid.

Now with five men remaining on him and his greatest strength removed, the immortal had very little in offense to summon to his side. He lashed out with a fist, and felt a blade cut along his rib cage, pain slithering around his exposed flesh as he snarled and cut another arm that came for his life. He knew in mere seconds he was going to die again.

With a splatter of blood, a blade burst through the face of one of the people surrounding the immortal. His mouth had been distended, jaw clearly snapped as his stained red teeth cracked and chipped. With a muffled cry the blade was pulled out to the side and down, felling the warrior and cleaving half his skull open as his jaw hung loosely to one side.

A body dressed in heavy leather, black as a raven’s feather and studded with crimson, stepped into the fray, half turning with long sword in hand and bringing it down on the next closest aggressor. The blade cut along the enemies neck, a mist like spray sending freckles of blood into the air. The follow up attack was a shove with the boot into the enemy hitting a third.

Jensen took no time to loose a throwing glaive forwards, the triangular bladed weapon catching along another warrior’s cheek shredding it as it rolled upwards, piercing into his eye and leaving a bloody trail. The remaining two mercenaries were upon the warrior that had joined the immortal, his blade lifting in swift strikes to repel and parry blade after blade. Jensen hobbled over, leg on fire with pain as he seethed, lifting out another throwing glaive and preparing to loose it.

“Uragirimono!” both warriors shouted over and over, matching the foreign cries of their enemies, eyes filled with hate and malice. The leather clad warrior stepped in and shoved his blade upwards, cleanly passing through the ribs and exploding the heart of yet another of the sailors. With a heave he pressed the blade deeper, twisting so the dead body became a shield as he went to attack.

“Don’t just stand there, kill him!” the voice of Jensen’s savior was gruff and full of agitation, and with little thought the throwing weapon was impaled deep into the temple of the final foe. He twisted his arms to pop the tension, looking as the man with the longsword tilted his wrists and let the body fall off his blade. He stomped the body off turning to the immortal and saluting him in a familiar manner.

“Hey, you’re a Kni-“ The warrior was off before Jenen could finish, chasing after the two who went for Erissa. The immortal hobbled after him, leaning to grab his weapons and letting out a yelp of shock as his hamstring made every nerve in his leg be aware it was injured, dropping to one knee.

In a split second the warrior was upon the two who chased the elf, blade glittering in an arc of shed blood, tiny remains floating off to the temple wall as the weapon was parried by the leader’s kunai. The two tussled with one another, the two weapons of the mercenary keeping the new comer at bay as his partner made to stab him in the back. Jensen fought with all his mental capability to toss the throwing glaive in his hand, hitting the arm of the sneaking mercenary. The weapon traveled up and was caught in his neck; the man twirled in a dramatic fashion, cursing in Akashiman as he looked for the source of his pain.

In moments the elf slammed her shielded body into him, tossing him to the ground in a sprawl and Jensen let out a gurgling cry of boiling laughter that he had stomached all battle, eyes alight with a sudden frenzy. His mind felt a sharp pain from the wound in his leg, yet in the blink of an eye the knife in Jensen’s hand was tossed, slamming to the hilt into the warrior’s cranium.

A similar cry of pain was silenced with a quick slash, the sound of leather creaking as the mercenary flipped over the hip of the warrior onto the ground, followed by a two handed thrust of the sword into his chest. There was a silence that prevailed over the three, save for heavy breathing and the occasional chuckle, before Jensen stood on one leg, leaning against the wall.

“You’re half past dead with a wound like that,” the knight murmured. Jensen narrowed his eyes and lifted a hand to one of his throwing knives, but the Knight lowered his blade and adopted a more open stance. “I could have killed you earlier, or left you for dead.”

“Or waiting for another opportunity to strike. Two birds with one stone.”

“Theoretical,” the knight blurted angrily. “Why bother hitting you both later when in the swarm of battle your lives could have easily ended and none here the wiser to think I had done it?”

“Practical,” Jensen replied hotly. “Swoop in to make the kills, assess the fighting strength of the foe, then handle as deemed necessary by the Tome of War.” The two glared at one another while Erissa looked to each one carefully, her hands in front of her defensively. “If you truly say you are no foe, drop the weapon.”

“No can do,” the man said earnestly, wiping a hand through his black hair and shaking it. “And you know damn well why I won’t.” Another starring contest ensued as the warriors fought with their eyes, both making no subtle movements until at last the knight turned to look at Erissa. “En Passe, two knights meet in the middle of a hostile situation, and either one unsure of the other. Theoretical states that the most senior officer who commands them has the priority to dictate negotiation.”

“So then, who is your superior?” Jensen grinned. The knight shook his head.

“You know as well as I do why I won’t answer that.”

“Because it’s a trick question,” Jensen replied. “We take our orders from the Council, we have no other superiors. Alright, so you confirmed you’re a member of the Apocalypse, but I still don’t trust you. Theoretical dictates one of us needs to show the other our truest intent.”

“Very well,” the man sighed heavily and looked to Erissa before nodding politely. “Go to him, that gives you both a two to one advantage. I also have only assessed one warrior’s skills, not the other's. So you still have an unknown variable, in this scenario, all the cards are stacked against me. Thus it’s only fair I keep a weapon in hand while satisfying your need to calm me down. Do you accept this practical?”

Jensen stroked his chin, deep in thought as he felt the stubble of his unshaven skin, a desire within him to strike the man now, but a small nagging doubt hit his mind, and with a shot of pain in his leg where he was wounded, he shook his head clear of any thoughts and made a quick decision.

“Practical situation, terms agreed.” Jensen held his hand out to Erissa. The elf took it, and swooped behind him quickly looking to Jensen’s leg. She leaned into him, her scent awfully familiar now as she whispered in elvish.

<“I can heal your leg, but do you want me to? I have no idea what you two are even saying. It sounds like gibberish.”> Erissa looked to the knight who grinned to her before he spoke, in perfect elven, a reply for Jensen.

<“Oh, go ahead. If anything it will help the practical of the situation. And no need to use such hoity-toity language my dear. Common was created so none of us had to think so hard about the words they are saying.”>

Jensen let out a giggle as Erissa’s cheeks turned a light shade of red; she nodded and dropped to one knee, concentrating on his wound. Jensen kept his hands ready to throw more weapons, but spoke in a causal manner back to the elf.

“It’s the lingo of the Knights of Apocalypse. We’ve got a lot of security in our system to prevent infiltrators. Some of it is stuff we’re taught since we were born, to really weed out those who would want to prevent the End Times. So in short,” Jensen paused for a breath and the knight spoke up.

“We were just feeling the other out. No Knight would ever let go of a weapon. Not even in the direst of circumstances. Also, a Knight wouldn’t ask more than one trick question,”

“It’s a dodge meant to confuse the opponent, which isn’t the point of what we were doing,” Jensen continued. “All we were doing was assessing the practicality of the situation, the practical. The theories involved in our situation had to be eliminated until a proper course of action could be taken. Now we are there.”

“I think I understand,” Erissa said. She stood up and gently tapped Jensen’s shoulders twice. He winked back to her and touched his wounded foot to the ground. Now that he had a vertical base he could assault from, he stepped forwards.

“So the question becomes now…what are you doing here?” The knight gave Jensen a passive stare before he shrugged and answered.

“I was dispatched by the council about four years ago to hunt down and kill the man known as Oblivion, the Fallen One. I have come close, about two times now, to finding him and killing him. But each time the worm escaped my grasp. Mind games leading me to a false shadow and throwing me off the trail when I was too near. My hunt was put on hold when Vladimir Sigma, the End Bringer, came to our order and trashed it for his own selfish desires. By the time I had received the recall notice, it was far too late. The Bastion of the Apocalypse was already broken and thousands lay dead. The Council was killed, and I was devastated.” He looked to his sword like it was an old friend, and lifted it up to his shoulder, a finger tapping the pommel as he shook a bad vision away. “It’s not easy, living your life the way we have, warrior, and then finding out it has been uprooted and destroyed. You can’t recreate what has been made before…no, our time has finally come. The End Bringer’s prophecy manifested. I had never thought it would be in my time. So…so I did what any sane man who lost everything would do in my boots. I will finish my mission.” Jensen nodded to him as he gestured to the walls around him.

“So why are you in Akashima then?”

“A tip. I was told that there would be scrolls of dark magic, or soul spells and that sort of nonsense. An archive of the most powerful arcane arts, but that wasn’t why I came. It was the archives of who studied them. It would have the name of the man who would have studied the manipulations of the mind using the power of magic. Magic specifically unique to one man, Oblivion.” Jensen and Erissa passed each other a knowing glance, the elf maiden nodding in agreement as Jensen spoke softly.

“Then our mission is one and the same, knight. We were dispatched by the Ixian Knights to find and kill Oblivion ourselves. My last standing orders from the Knights of Apocalypse were to serve Sei Orlouge until further notice. You can imagine how long that is going to be.” The two laughed at the morbid joke as the knight stepped forwards, hand extended.

“Geoffry Hullihan,” he said softly.

“Jensen Ambrose,” the immortal replied. The two clasped hands with a loud clap before breaking it off. “And our search brings us to you. Did you find a name?”

“No,” Geoffry shook his head bitterly. “But I've been dealing with misdirection from day one, so it's no surprise. It's also no surprise I spent several days here trying to remember what I was looking for, which means-”

“He’s following us. We had a few mental run-ins with him; been screwing with our brains. I think a third party member would really benefit at this stage. Someone with the same mental conditioning I have been through.”

“My sentiments exactly,” the knight sighed heavily. “More than once I was led astray by his machinations. I’d feel more comfortable with another member of the Knights to keep me on track. Which brings me to the topic at hand. Why did you want his name?”

“Hmm,” Jensen looked to him with a grimace. “Well…I think I have a way to track him, but it involves a device only the Knights of Apocalypse could use.” Geoffry looked to Jensen with confusion, before he suddenly widened his eyes.

“Of course!” the knight said slapping his forehead. His boots creaked the wood floor beneath him as he walked around in the blood of the fallen. “Of course, how could I have not thought of it sooner!” he turned back to Jensen with a new vigor. “The Chamber of Fate! Concentrate on the name of the one you seek and it will show you where they are! I had thought by finding his name I could somehow communicate it to a sage for the same purposes, but the Chamber is far less likely to be wrong! So do you have it?”

“Have what?” Jensen blurted, and Erissa's hand went to her mouth as she cast her gaze downward, deep in thought at the Knight's words.

“His name!” Geoffry said in a rush as he stepped up to Jensen, looking down on him with excitement. “The name of Oblivion!” Jensen gave him a serious look of expectancy. “Oh, no, no don’t say it, of course. Don’t want anyone’s brain to go fuzzy. But do you know it?” Jensen looked back to Erissa, then to Geoffry.

“No,” Jensen replied. “That’s why we came here.” The two men let out a defeated sigh. Geoffry shook his head and slammed his sword back into its scabbard.

“That was why?” Erissa said loudly as she stepped forwards. Her hands touched Jensen’s shoulder, and he felt a tingle of excitement as she looked to him with gorgeous eyes. “Jensen, was that why we came here? For Oblivion’s name?”

“Yeah…that was the whole part of the plan.” Erissa lips parted into an abashed smile as she quietly chuckled. “Why are you laughing?” Jensen said with a sly smile returning to his face.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa smiled again, sheepishly, taking a moment to clear her throat and formulate her next words carefully.

Everything happens for a reason, she reassured herself. And now we have a third to help us. She absently hoped Jensen would not be too hard on her as she studied his face and the way his stubble appealed to her.

“I have known his name all along,” she finally admitted. Geoffry's mouth was agape, and the edges of Jensen's smile twitched as he processed the information.

“But... what? How?” her companion demanded, throwing his hands in the air. “You're not even old enough-” Jensen began, but fell silent as Erissa held her hand up, nodding.

“Troyas,” the elf said matter-of-factly. “Jensen, I told you in Sei's office before we ever left for the forest that he knew Oblivion's name,” she began, and Jensen nodded sarcastically, making a winding motion for her to hurry with her tale, knowing she was prone to long-winded speeches. “What you did not know is that in addition to reading memories, he can also share them, by way of touch. When we went to him for the horses, just before we left, he shared the memory of when he learned the Memory Eater's name, neither speaking nor writing it. That is the only way it could be done. But you never told me how the Chamber of Fate actually worked!”

Erissa left out the part about how Troyas would not share the name with Jensen, because he was convinced the immortal would use it in most devious and naughty ways.

The silence was thick as muck as Erissa waited for the backlash, which never came. Instead, when she looked back up at him, a pensive smile on her face, she was met with Jensen's laughter. He slapped his forehead.

“Fucking figures,” he giggled, poking the elf in her ticklish ribs. She swatted him away. “Fairy magic.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Geoffry roared, his excitement renewed with his goal so close at hand. Spinning on his heel, he clapped Jensen on the back as one brother would another, and led the walking charge back to Yanbo Port.

The clear night was bespeckled with stars whose vigil was only slightly more constant than the guards Jensen and Erissa had encountered earlier in the day. They bowed respectfully to Geoffry, questioning neither him nor his companions as they breezed through into Yanbo proper. With a wily grin, he looked back at the Ixians.

“Sometimes it's all about knowing which palm to grease,” he chuckled, “but other times, it's knowing which hand to bite.” Geoffry smiled winningly, pearl-white teeth behind a face of mildly aged experience. He nimbly side-stepped, offered the crook of his elbow to Erissa. She took it hesitantly, eyes flashing worriedly to Jensen as she left him Jensen alone in tow. “An unmarried lady shouldn't walk the streets of Akashima without an escort,” he said.

“She has one,” Jensen asserted, an uneasy sensation in his tightening chest. The immortal quickened his pace, coming easily abreast with them, to the elf's left. In minutes the trio were clacking boot heels on the wooden docks, and Geoffry led them to the only ferry that made a late night run north.

"There's the boat that travels north," Geoffry said matter-of-factly.

“You have been here a while, I take it?” Erissa asked suggestively. “You seem to know quite a lot.” Geoffry laughed and patted the delicate hand that was intertwined in his arm and answered with a grunt.

“Longer than the two of you, I'd guess,” he said finally, shrugging. “I just make it a point to know things like this.” He gestured at the enormous, multi-decked ferry moored near the center of the collection of piers, not far from where Jensen and Erissa had followed the diplomat. “They'll depart in about an hour, so we need to make arrangements.

“Already done,” Jensen said with a challenging grin. “For the el– for Erissa and me,” he corrected himself. “You know the ploy,” he continued. “Blackmail a rich bastard,” he said, giggling. Geoffry laughed with a knowing nod. “Erissa,” Jensen said, offering his hand to her, “let's go make sure ol' Clouse made good on his promise.” Erissa quickly set her hand in his, the other slipping easily from Geoffry's arm as Jensen pulled her toward him. The immortal grinned as he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders. Geoffry smirked, shaking his head.

The Ixians hurried to the office on the docks that handled scheduling and charters, Geoffry following a distance behind them. The area boasted a smattering of people, mostly foreigners who were departing for their homes, and a few Akashimans slipping away in the dead of the night. Jensen and Erissa found that they were, indeed, on the boarding list for the vessel of their choice. And what was more, a small deposit slip had been left for them, which Erissa assumed was the other part of the bargain. Blackmail, she corrected herself mentally, rolling her eyes. As the two walked away, Geoffry stepped up and made his own arrangements.

A welcome change, the clearing of her senses brought on by the brisk, ocean wind, lightened the elf as she boarded the vessel. Jensen studied the key set in his hand, deciphering the Akashiman etching upon the wooden plaque attached to it by a fine chain. Nodding, he took Erissa's satchel from her and led the elf into their quarters. Jensen's eyes widened, and he blew out a long, soft whistle.

“Boy, ol' Clouse spared no expense,” he said. Erissa smiled broadly as she rushed into the room, twirling as she took in the rich, dark woods and fine furniture, but her smile faltered when she noticed the sleeping arrangements.

“Oh, well,” she said with an almost imperceptible twinge of disappointment. “At least we have two beds this time.” She shrugged and glanced at Jensen, her smile unreadable. “You will not have to worry about waking up with me in an odd position again, I suppose.” Jensen smirked and scratched the back of his head, looking as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he tossed their luggage in the corner of the room and changed the subject.

“Hear that?” he asked.

“What?” Erissa replied, curious.

“Music,” Jensen said suggestively, and Erissa nodded, a curious smile on her face. “Where there's music like that, there's dancing, and where there's dancing, there's alcohol. C'mon!” He strode to the doorway, and whirled around when the elf did not follow. “What?”

“Do you really think we should be-” Erissa began, and Jensen rasped at her before she had a chance to finish.

“Seriously, can you stop being a goodie-two-shoes for even an hour?” he said, his voice full of annoyance.

“I did not think people were allowed to drink and dance in Akashima.”

“Well this isn't Akashima. Their laws don't apply to open water ferries. Captain's law trumps it. Come on and stop worrying!” he said. “It'll be fun!”

“Well, at least let me freshen up a bit,” Erissa said with a weary smile, knowing full well she should not go, but not really caring.

“Fine. I'll meet you there,” Jensen said, rolling his eyes and turning into the hallway. Erissa heard him greet Geoffry, and the two of them headed for the source of the music together.

“Wish I had a change of clothes,” Erissa mumbled, but her eyes brightened with hope as she caught sight of a massive, hand-carved armoire. The elf stepped quickly across the polished wooden floor and yanked the doors of it open; to her great pleasure, there was a selection of evening wear in all sizes, with a ludicrous collection of shoes to match.

Clausen Granger certainly knew how to travel in style. Biting the hand had not worked for him, and now as a fail-safe, he must have hoped greasing the palm would make amends with the Knights he had tried to assassinate.

After an hour, Jensen was well into his third drink and recollecting his times with the Knights of Apocalypse with Geoffry when Erissa finally arrived. The master tailor was feeling like herself again, luxurious in a floor-length purple satin gown, although the slit went clear to her hip and the top was little more than a halter that boasted a plunging neckline and bare back. She had pulled her hair up into an elegant, twirled bun, and the elf nervously brushed the freshly curled strands of hair away from her cheekbone as she drew stares from those near her.

From across the wide, private deck, filled with people who could afford such luxury, Erissa recognized Jensen's jacket and unmistakable black, red-tipped hair, and she weaved through the gathering of people to join him.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

To say she looked beautiful was an insult. To say she looked gorgeous was a falsehood. To say she looked like the radiance of the sun was a polite comment. To think she was the spitting image of perfection, personified in the form of a slender elf maiden, was starting to scratch the surface.

Needless to say, Jensen couldn’t find the words to say about how Erissa looked. His mind felt foggy as Geoffry kept touching his arm and lifting a finger to the woman, muttering drunken slurs that he couldn’t comprehend because he was in another place.

Jensen gawked at Erissa as Geoffry leaned onto him, placing his arm around the immortal and pointing to her. “That’s a bonafide keeper,” he whispered into his ear with a drunken chuckle. “Perhaps, if I am lucky and you’re too stupid to see that, maybe tonight I won’t be alone.” Both adults fell into the other and laughed as they watched Erissa looking to them with a curious eye. The immortal laughed louder as he clapped, before ushering her over to them. She took a seat next to Jensen and smiled politely as she lifted her dress to get more comfortable.

“Looking good, Elf, but I can still smell your musk!” Jensen teased as he lifted up his drink and took a large gulp, feeling the burning sensation deep within his chest as he giggled some more.

“If you call that musk, then let her stink away! Roses would have fist fights just to smell as heavenly as you, fair Erissa,” Geoff leaned forwards to take her hand, planting a gentlemanly kiss.

“Ass sucker,” Jensen whispered rudely to the knight. “I told you, she’s taken.” Geoff leaned to him with a flowery, if not drunken induced, motion and planted his palm firmly beneath his chin.

“That so, Jensen?” He lifted his hand and gestured to her. “Then as a gentleman, you have all rights to go first.” The immortal nodded to him, twisting in his chair to look at Erissa.

“You got dressed up nice just to sit,” Jensen commented as he tipped his glass back and let the liquid drain down his gullet.

“To sit?” Erissa replied, confused. She looked at her attire. “I picked this out so I could dance tonight, but...” She fearfully looked to the floor, seeing the rather vulgar displays the people did with one another. Steeling her nerves, however, she nodded and spoke, slowly turning back to the immortal. “Besides, it’s not like you could actually dance.”

“Oh is that so?” Jensen stood up and dusted himself off. “I bet you don’t even have the guts to step out on that floor, let alone dance with anybody. This isn’t some fancy ball room elf dance.” With that said Jensen drained the last of his drink, patted Geoff on the back to move him aside and went towards the floor. “I’ll show you, leaf licker, how this works,” Jensen chuckled again. Geoffry shook his head and stood up, dismissing himself with a yawn and a flattering remark to Erissa before he stalked drunkenly to his bedroom. The elf waved goodnight; she turned back to find the immortal heading towards the center of the dance floor, and watched with curious eyes.

Jensen spotted a nice group of young women, dancing together with a klutz and looking like they needed a better partner. Without even asking Jensen moved forwards, feeling the drums beat in time with his heart, feeling his blood run with the rhythm of the music, becoming a slave to the beat that entranced him. In seconds he began to twirl and lucidly move, as if in his favored fighting stance of caeiporiea, but instead of thrashing out violent kicks, he moved with a grace that made many on the floor stop to watch. The ladies who were less than thrilled with their dance partner flocked over to him, joining the immortal’s enslaving dance as he guided them with his body to move around him like an idol of worship.

He snapped a quick peek to the elf and noticed she was gone, which made him rather confused, until he noticed another group of dancers moving to someone’s whim. Jensen happened to take notice they were all men, and in the center was…

“That fucking leaf licker,” Jensen curled his lips into a grin and pondered the situation as he found Erissa moving the men around her body like obedient slaves, her chest brushing against their backs as she bent at the knee to go lower, her hands shadowing their bodies as she crawled back up.

Not to be outdone, Jensen snapped his fingers once and pointed to the enemy, his harem of dancing harlots obeying as they moved with him. He let one hand out, as if to hold someone’s hand, and his entourage moved with him. He kept each girl moving around his body in an artful display, pushing their limits to match his insane design of dance. One girl longingly brushed against his back, another grinding into him as the other two pulled down his arms, turned, and ran their backs along his body, winking to the men in the other group.

Erissa’s face turned red, but she lifted one hand up and felt two men move against her, and her body draped across them as she cupped faces, sculpted her hand around their chest and abs, and slowly, painfully, drifted herself lower and lower to her knees where she left her hand gripping two of the men’s belts. One moved behind her, ghosting her movements as she enticed her men into a frenzy.

Jensen let out a laugh and moved forwards, the two groups at last mixing as Jensen approached the elf. Both sides stood aloft as the ones who ran the music held their break to create a nice tension, before artfully hitting the next stage of the dance. The men and women mixed as one, each moving their bodies in ways that were lustful, but also sinfully engaging to onlookers. Jensen and Erissa, however, stole the show, their bodies moving against the other in a dance routine the gods themselves would be envious of.

Erissa felt Jensen’s body glide against hers, her chest moving against his while her arms wrapped around his back. She dipped back and Jensen held her as she wrapped one foot around his waist line. Jensen carried her a bit in a twirl as she released herself, spinning to her knee and coming back up with her back against his chest, feeling his hands move up and down the sides of her body. She tilted her head against his, nuzzling his stubble with her cheek. He pushed her away and caught her, twirling himself into her and holding her hand up, pushing down. She caught his intent, grinned mischievously and knelt down before him, looking up into his eyes with her brilliant orbs. Jensen cupped her face and brought her back up.

As he felt the beat in his soul start to violently crash around, he noticed the band was getting more into it, preparing for a climax. Jensen grabbed Erissa, tripped her so she fell into his arm, and he dipped her deeply, just as the song hit the final notes, lasting extra long for the people on the dance floor.

Jensen felt Erissa’s hand grip his neck, the other grab the back of his head and she leaned forwards, both noses touching as they looked to the other. Then, without any warning, both at the same exact moment pressed into the other and kissed.