Talons, Treaties, and Termites (Closed)

[Mordelain]

Talons, Treaties, and Termites

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Closed to Rhaenar Talon.

Any countries on Althanas possessed myths and legends. Some were inherent to the cultures that lived there, part of blood and soul alike. Others came to dwell in the hearts and minds of the populous on winds of rumour and intrigue, settling and changing over time. Since Mordelain had arrived on the planet, she had always paid close attention to fable and flights of fancy. They were, after all, a potent weapon in the right hands.

Looking out across the desert and its seemingly infinite expanse to the south, the il’Jhain lost all hope. The day had started well, a hearty breakfast of sweet meats, pitta, and olives fat as her fist had given her all the sustenance she would need to make the journey back to Irrakam. She had brought new clothing, fine spices from Raiaera, and a new pendant freshly inscribed from the dense jungles of Dheathain. The Outlander’s Quarter offered her the world in one convenient place. Then everything started to go wrong.

“Where is he?” she enquired, to no one in particular. She slouched one hip and rested a delicate hand above her waistline. With her left hand, she tapped out an idle rhythm onto the hem of her blouse, which flapped delicately at the seam in the gentle, mid-morning breeze.

She tried to recall the events of the night before, but in her fog, she failed miserably. The details of her would be guide remained meagre offerings to her wine habit. There were horns, she was certain of that much, though she could not recall if they were his, or part of his attire. This part of Fallien, scorned by the natives, was home to a seething song of culture from all across this globe and many others. It would have been perfectly normal for her to be in the company of a half dragon, a demon, and a Saskatchewan all evening. They were all in their exile together.

With an about turn, she faced the sprawling metropolis of the Outlander’s Quarter, and traced the entirely irrational outline of the warren like structure. It dominated the horizon, engulfed the ocean’s waves beyond, and made the Zaileya Mountains to the far south look like windswept dunes. She took a deep breath out of respect, before turning her attentions to the great gatehouse from which she had emerged out onto the plains. There was a steady stream of people, even this early, into and out of the city. Bedouin in brightly coloured garb, guards, and merchants on the long travail north through the harpy eyrie's to sell their wares in a better economic climate all held their heads high as they crossed the threshold.

If she did not leave soon, she would miss her opportunity to recover her possessions and make it to Irrakam before nightfall. She bit her lip in chagrin, and folded her arms across her chest in a display of defiance. If, and when, he finally showed up, she was not going to let him be complacent. The myths of the desert swarmed like locusts of derangement in her mind as she began to panic. Imagines of worm, panther, and red-eyed fell beast began to torment her; slowly replacing the Outlander’s Quarter with a hellish landscape that would be her grave...should she fail.

She cursed needing a guide at all, and wished she had the strength left to walk through time and space in the blink of an eye.

Coradan, the Exile, and last of the Council of Suravani had seen to that…

[Rhaenar Talon]

The Outlander's Quarter of rolling hills of warrens seem to scar the near perfect harmony of the sun beating desert dunes, yet the beauty of the desert sand couldn't sate the hunger he felt in the deep depths of his body. The hunger of the outside could only be suppressed by the scar on the Fallien, the Outsider's Quarter. That is why every time he takes a hesitant step onto that ferry to cross into the scar, he turns and stares at the sand that seem to dance upon the breeze to remind himself that no matter how long he is gone the sands will always be his home.

That promise of him returning back to the sands would have to take longer for it to stand. "Where is she?" he inquired to no one. He bent his leg and propped himself against the sun warm gray slabs of stone that made up the worst taint on the sands of all of Outlander's Quarter. The mighty gatehouse that seem to always block the serene scene of his desert home. Waves of people seem to roll into the hungry maws of the gatehouse while only a few lucky ones stream out of the maws into the basking sun. In that stream he was to see his contractor.

Yet, to his embarrassment he couldn't seem to remember much of her or the night before. The enticing taste of the spiced wine seem to lure him into a morning filled with uncertainty. The same thing occurred today, The night was a blur of pictures that seem to settle down to only flutter away on the breeze of his subconscious. Then almost slipping through his fingers he caught onto one of those fleeing memories and stared at basking in all the details before it slipped through his grasp like water. Brown hair and Blue eyes. Brown hair and Blue eyes is what he was fishing for in the stream.

His net in the stream caught true in only a few moments when the brown hair and blue eyes came streaming out of the maws. He pushed himself off the stone and tore his way into the waves, pushing against the current until he came to his Brown hair and Blue eyes. "You are late?" he stated plainly to Brown hair and Blue eyes.

Taking in the sight of the contractor he couldn't help, but falter in his usual emotionless posture he had whenever he was working business. The fluttering memories on the breeze seem to turn around and come at him all at once. The night before streams out before him. His cheeks flustered to a slight pink when he realization of his mistake at the meeting came to play. He was the one that was wrong today. "Or maybe it was me, who was late?" he mumbled quietly towards Mordelain, Brown hair and Blue eyes.

[Mordelain]

“I am sorry,” she said, though she was not quite sure why. She had been in his company only a few moments, and already she liked him. The planes walker admired little in life save for authority, determination, and honour. “The city was busier than I expected this morning.”

Time was difficult to keep accurately on an island where so many cultures clashed. She had woven her way through the bazaar and boulevard haphazard, entirely in a daze. The sun was already brow beating her into halcyon days. She would have to remember to drink more than she normally would, and not a drop of it would be fig wine. She sighed.

“We are here now, and I am ready.” She nodded. Her heart skipped a beat. She had been putting off this journey for so long she thought she had gotten out of having to make it. The desert always had a way of catching up on you, it forced responsibilities wherever you wanted them or not.

On the horizon, the sky shimmered. Dunes became mountains, and mountains receded into salt flats and illusory plains. Mordelain fell into silence and turned to stare out across the expanse. In the back of her mind, she tried to picture the map she saw the day before. Its spidery script told her where to go. Such was the importance of the parchment; her employer had refused to let her take it with her.

“As promised,” she began, turning back to her guide, “I will give you some small promissory payment now,” she rummaged in her bandoleer and produced a leather pouch, “and the rest upon safe arrival at our destination.” She held the pouch out at arm’s length, inviting him to take it. “Assuming you have not come here to back down?” she asked, eyebrow risen, hair bellowing.

[Rhaenar Talon]

Rhaenar slightly turns his head at the mention of the hustle and bustle of the warrens that make up the Outlander's Quarter, and watches the chaos slowly stirs up to awaken fully under the vibrant rays of light radiate off from the sun, cloaking the city in a swirl of oranges, reds, and yellows. This slight turn of his head was truly more of a facade to reestablish the blank mask he usually had composed during his stay in the Quarter; however, the young Fallien had to agree that under that swirling chaos of cultures clashing against each other was a strange sense of compatibility, like pieces of a puzzle that just seem to fall into place, creating the most stunning scene that your heart has ever behold. Yet, he could never admit this out loud; he was a Fallien and this monstrosity was a scar on his beautiful desert home.

Rhaenar slightly turns his head at the mention of the hustle and bustle of the warrens that make up the Outlander's Quarter, and watches the chaos slowly stirs up to awaken fully under the vibrant rays of light radiate off from the sun, cloaking the city in a swirl of oranges, reds, and yellows. This slight turn of his head was truly more of a facade to reestablish the blank mask he usually had composed during his stay in the Quarter; however, the young Fallien had to agree that under that swirling chaos of cultures clashing against each other was a strange sense of compatibility, like pieces of a puzzle that just seem to fall into place, creating the most stunning scene that your heart has ever behold. Yet, he could never admit this out loud; he was a Fallien and this monstrosity was a scar on his beautiful desert home.

This was no time to face his strange addiction with the Quarter, now it was time for business and his conflicting opinions on the strange Quarter had to be pushes aside for a more important thought, his contractor. He swiveled his had back to her, his mask seem to crack again as a slight smile slip through as he spoke, "Ma'am you must know something about me. Never in my life have I ever backed down from a contract a promised to fulfill. My promise is like the sands of Fallien, never faltering under the basking heat of the globe of fire above." Still having that slight smile on his lips he moves his right middle and ring finger to his lips a let out two short whistles and one long one. Instantly a force pushed against the waves of people that were cascading into the hungry maws of the grey gatehouse and was headed for them. It left shouts of confusion and frustration in its wreck as it plowed through the lines of people like a knife through butter.

Glares of anger stabbed into the back of Rhaenar's neck as the break finally reached them in the form of two horses, the mercenary simply shrug off the stares, too occupied by current business. He strolls over to larger of the two, the beast nudges its heads under the waiting head of Rhaenar as the horse affectionately snorts under the soft stroking of his hand. "These are our steeds for the journey. This one is named Breezes; he was given to me by loyalty to the Deklan Tribe." He mentioned the Deklan Tribe just to ensure that anyway doubt of his skills and authenticity were stricken away, and also to ensure his safety in case she planned anything shady. He then nods to smaller of the pair, "That one is named Mudprint, she is what the Outsiders call a mare. Her past owner promised me that she will be fine enough out in the desert heat. You will be riding Mudprint. Now may I see our prom-"

He cheeks blushed to a rosy pink again as she pulled out the small pouch that jingled in the gentle breezes of the mighty Attireyi river that slithered its way across the harsh desert. He collected the pouch from her extended hand and pours its content into his left hand. After confirming that the agreed twenty-five coins were all accounted for he secured the coins back into the leather pouch and clasped it onto his belt.

The sun then hit its highest point in the sky and signaled Rhaenar to finish up here and start their journey, "The day is almost half of over and that means we should leave for the boats. By nightfall we should be on the other banks of the Attireyi river. And after that are real journey can begin." Rhaenar then pats Breezes' back before grabbing the reins and gently leading them to the riverboats. Away from this strange, yet wonderful place for the embrace of danger and adventure.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain greatly appreciated her guide’s candour. His honest, forthright nature calmed her growing anxiety over the days ahead. She had plotted the route based on rough estimations and old, decaying maps long abandoned. If they made good headway whilst energy and sunlight was still on their side, then perhaps, just perhaps, they would preserve good time.

“That sounds like a good plan,” she said, absent minded. She cantered behind Rhaenar, uneasy on an unfamiliar horse. Had she known this is how they were to travel, she would have brought Kesta. She pictured the white mare, snowy and crystalline, and sighed wistful.

“Is something the matter?” he asked. He rode much more comfortably than she did. He exuded a professional that spoke of a thousand journeys.

Mordelain chuckled. “Oh, no, it is just this part of the city always brings back good memories.” She gestured wide over the sandstone walls as they descended a slow incline that wound through the busy streets of Irrakam. It crested a ridge before dropping steeply, so much so the road narrowed and the angle of their descent levelled out with a half-road, half bridge chain of rickety and rotting wood.

The planes walker half expected the whole thing to cave in beneath them. Each of her horses heavy feet trod with such noise over the structures her teeth practically chattered.

“I guess this part of the city was more glamorous back then!” she chuckled. It had been six hundred years or so since, she had seen Coradan here, and she was certain there were palm streets and marble lined gardens on the Cliffside. That was all before the Vhadya. That was all before the war.

Rhaenar, not quite as old as she, struggled to picture anything but slums. The Outlanders had slowly but surely gained advantage in Irrakam and this area around the docks was their home from home. It was nothing compared to the Outlander’s Post far to the north, but here and there, he caught signs of elves and dwarves and stranger things still.
“I hope you take to water better than to horse!” he shouted, pointing ahead after they broke out onto ground level.

Mordelain peered in the direction he was pointing and smiled. There, on the waters of the Attireyi, was a flotilla of junks and barges. One of them, she guessed, would be for them to set sail on. From the distant banks, they could set out.

“Oh, I daresay I can manage,” she grumbled. “But tell me something, Rhaenar, since we are to travel together for quite some time.” She would have inferred she might have to save his life at some point, but she did not want to scare him off whilst he still had an easy retreat, “where do you come from?”

[Rhaenar Talon]

Silence. Silence is what he tried to stay as he canter along down the windy trail, the towering sandstone walls that disrupted the peaceful tranquility of the rolling sea of sands shrunk in size into it gave away to a rickety blend of chains, ropes, and rotting planks that seem to give away to any sudden movement. The rickety monstrosity that the pair trotted across gave the mercenary no worry though. Desert Breeze pranced across the rotting planks with such graceful strides that it almost seem like a dance, mesmerizing most that cautiously passed by. This stallion had intelligence unknown to most breeds except for the legendary breed that hail from the herds of horses that the tribes of the Oasis breed, and Desert Breeze was of the finest of the breed.

Instead, Rhaenar let his silver orbs stay on his partner as he soaked in the words that she spoke trying to discern any information on the job or on her that he could. Years spent taking contract after contract has caused him to become suspicious, especially since a few of those contracts ended with some trying to double cross him. Yet, no matter what Rhaenar had always ended up with what he was promised just with more blood being shed than was expected; however, if he could find out about this possible deception before it was too late and prevent any unneeded bloodshed well that was more preferable way to go.

As they leveled out onto the dock he finally ended both his information seeking and silence, "Ah, finally away from the horrible smell of outsiders. Don't you just think the smell of desert sands is just transcendental?" To emphasize his point he takes a long deep breathe and lets out a long sigh enjoying the sweet scent of home.

The pair both unsaddle from their steeds; Rhaenar leading they walk down the docks with their steeds reins in hands passing. As they walk down the length of the dock they leave behind the cheaper vessels, which seem to be just thrown together with whatever float able object the owners could scavenge, for the more stable, expensive barges made of wood. Yes, it cost more for one of these barges, but you had insurance that half way across the waters of the Attireyi the vessel would not collapse under you and sink to the watery depths.

He turns to the side as his companion as he remembers her inquiry into his past, a slight frown slips across his lips as the thoughts of the last years of life with his father come to mind. His past life was a difficulty for him to speak of and usually he made up a story in order to satisfy a noisy contractor; however, this woman and him were going to spend some time together during this contract so eventually the truth would reveal itself in one form or another.

Rhaenar politely smiles and tells her, "I was born in the Nirrakal region or The Blight which it is commonly nicknamed. My mother was a shaman of the Mi’sheteri. A very strong, yet strange woman. Rye was her name. She would tell me a story about a story about 'The Children' and how they came to be. One night she left though and I have never seen her since. My father was a foreigner, a Skavian is what they call them I believe. He came to seek knowledge unlike most of his brethren who were mindless brutes. The day after my mother left we left the tribe to follow her; however, we never found her. We became mercenaries my father and I for the Oasis tribes. One day we were ambushed and he died. Now its only Desert Breeze and me. That's my story."

At the end of the dock they came upon a medium-sized barge compared to the rest of the ones on the dock. Sitting on the railings that go along the entire length of the deck of the vessel was a stout Fallien native with a pipe in his mouth. After blowing a circular smoke from the pipe he placed it on the railing and leaped off of it onto the deck.

He looked the pair up and down seriously with intense dark brown eyes; after he finished a smile cracked across his face and he shouted, "Oi, Rhaenar your presence brings joy to my old soul, and who is this lovely lass you have with ya?"

Rhaenar hugs the man before spinning around wrapping his arm around the man's shoulders, "Its nice to see you again to Faran. This here is my contractor Mordelain, and we need passage on your fine vessel here."

"Twenty coins should be good enough for passage for the two of you and your steeds."

"Ah come on Faran. How long have I been coming to you for passage across the Attireyi? Five years I believe, so can't you give me a discount. How about fifteen coins and I will buy you an ale once I come back."

Two of his fingers rub the length of his long wispy beard as he ponders on the idea. Another large smile appears on his lips before he claps Rhaenar on the back, "Fifteen coins it is, and I want two mugs of ale. And not any of horseshit stuff. Only the good strong Fallien Wine will do."

Smiling Rhaenar rummages through the leather pouch that Mordelain gave to him earlier and drops the agreed fifteen coins into the oustretched hand of Faran, "A deal it is then."

He then walks back to Desert Breeze and grabs his reins pulling him towards the barge with Mordelain following, their adventure about to finally begin.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain admired Rhaenar’s plucky guile. She admired few things in the world, but guts were definitely one of them. She made a mental note to try whatever ‘horseshit stuff’ referred to, as a matter of principle, and broadening her horizons, and whipped the reins of her horse. It took only one err to get Kales to move onto the boat, and her snowy white mane danced in the sunlight, resplendent next to Desert Breeze’s more oaken tone.

“It is an admirable story, my friend.” Her voice was soft, earnest, and truthful. Her assumption about him became incorrect. He was far from incorrigible. He was not an obnoxious noble. He was every bit the bread and butter representation of Fallien’s indigenous people.

“Haul anchor you junta!” the ship’s stern mater roared. Mordelain flinched at the harsh pronunciation of her favourite curse word. It was only acceptable to hear it from her lips. She glanced sourly over her shoulder and glared.

“It does, however, raise more questions than it answers about you.”

“It does?” Rhaenar enquired quizzically.

The horses crossed the deck of the boat and stopped at the prow. They remained in their saddles, knowing the journey to be too short to dismount and retackle, and they stared idly out across the bobbing waves of the Attireyi. Though it was something they lived by, and from, its expansive waters were still awe inspiring to the natives of Irrakam.

Mordelain nodded. “I have travelled much of the desert’s western shores. I have wandered the ruins of Kesta, and all the shattered cities of the north. I have danced in the spice fields, and taken yak piss with the Bedouin of the oasis…” She pursed her lips at the thought. That hangover had ben particularly painful. “Everywhere I went, I was welcomed, and apart from harpies and brigands, never did I feel threatened.”

There was a natural tension in the air due to the bustling nature of the ship, Mordelain’s account thickened it, and goose bumps bristled on both their necks.

“But…?” Rhaenar asked.

“The Blight…as you called it seems so unlike a place anyone could call home.”

The troubadour had seen the Bedouin that lived there. They were the most unwelcoming of all the roaming tribes. She had been able to wander the multi-coloured plains of Nirakkal on the merit of her station amongst the il’Jhain. She had no doubt in her mind that she would have been dead had she not been wearing her belt and tokens.

The swordsman broke into a smile as the boat pushed away from the shore with a lurch. It was an all knowing, ‘I expected you to ask’ expression. Mordelain looked at him, rolled her eyes, and realised her mistake. The story told was just a snippet. She had fallen for it, completely. With a nod, she did what he expected from her.

“How does one live where life itself has come undone?”

Though the adventure was now under way, there was much to learn of one another, before she could trust him, and he could trust her. Soon enough, they would guide one another through the unknown, and they had to form a treatise of trust if they hoped to survive the termites and tuatara birds of the far eastern ruins.