Decisions made from desperation...

[Malagen]

She almost looked like a woman, but almost covered too broad of a specter for that phrase to serve as too much of a compliment. Despite the lack of light, Malagen managed to notice that her tomboy figure got lost in the crumpled dress, making her look like a rebellious daughter that crept into her mother’s wardrobe and decided to try some of the clothes. She was a gangly thing, lacking the feminine grace in every part of her demeanor despite her rather impressive height and lanky legs. But when he thought about it straight (and the fact that he actually thought about it was surprising enough), what else could he expect from a girl that got thrown into the slammer? Certainly not a ravishing exotic dancer that overcharged a noble for a lap-dance.

He led the way through the hallway and into the lounge rather precariously, saving himself the handful of stubbed toes that he would certainly earn by advancing at a faster rate. There was nothing discernible in the room that they could use for rest, so he led the way down the dusty carpet and beyond the heavy oaken door. He needed to rest, to take a breather at least for a short while despite his outsides no showing it prominently. He hasn’t had a proper meal for a week and most water that he got seemed like something that took out of a rain barrel. And as if that wasn’t enough, the coldness slowly defeated the warmth provided by the recent shower, enveloping him into its rough steely grasp once again.

The small study opened up before him, offering nothing but a handful of emptied cobwebbed bookshelves, a worn oaken desk, a dusty couch and what seemed like an armchair, all forgotten in time and set to decay soon. Malagen figured this was as good pace as he would find. The window behind the desk was small and boarded up completely and if anybody enters through the front door, they were bound to hear them with ample time to react. The brown-haired wench behind her asked another inane question.

“It’s a house. I thought it was obvious.” was the only response she got, his voice unintentionally patronizing and yet completely uninterested to pursue the topic any further. Once he got close enough to the sofa, he noticed that its surface was covered by a blanket, probably with an intention to preserve the original surface below or just forgotten by the previous owner. Either way, it was bound to serve as the only heat that they could afford tonight. He swiped it, shook it once with his right hand to get the dust off and then decided to sit down and wrap himself in it.

The clatter of her teeth stopped him in doing that. He didn’t know why they did so – he saw many a man dying from coldness in frozen land of Ferioh. It certainly wasn’t the miserable look on her freckled face because such sentiments were disallowed in his mind. But maybe he did owe her some small boon for her aid in the escape. Maybe she did deserve a tad more then just the usual. Or maybe it was just the weariness messing up with his reason.

“Here.” he pushed the blanket into her hands before taking a seat on the couch and allowing an audible sigh. The desire to sleep was overwhelming, obviously working in sync with the coldness that wanted to lull him into slumber for eternity. Mostly to fend it off and keep his mind focused on something, he started to speak in his usual, albeit a bit more raspy and weary, voice. “It’s set to be sold. The house. While I worked for the local slaver, I accompanied him as he surveyed the houses for sale. This one was one of those he didn’t pick, obviously.”

He paused, coughed in a weak, dry manner, before her tried to pull his shirt closer as if to draw all possible heat from it. “I’m Malagen.” the barbarian finally said, not looking towards the girl anymore, but rather just keeping his eyes at the window on the other side of the room and trying to fend of the chill that crept over him once again. Back in the day when he was the Dram Messiah – a man-god to the barbarian shamans – there was a specific training for these kinds of situations. They would strip you naked and send you into the woods during the spring time. If you returned, you were worthy. It didn’t sound like a bad thing to most people, but most people didn’t know that Ferioh springs were more or less similar to Salvar winters. Every man in the tribe had to endure this test once. Malagen did, and then proceeded to do it two more times. But back then, he wasn’t fatigued and broken like today.

[skyler manfield]

"You don't have to be an ass about it, I just didn't know why we were here," she muttered testily, rubbing her hands over her arms in an effort to stay warm. At least she wasn't wet anymore except for her hair, but even so she was still chilled to the bone. Her teeth chattered loudly, and she clenched her jaw trying to stop them.

The proferred blanket was a suprise and a blessing, and she gratefully wrapped it around her, bestowing a rare genuine smile on the man, which she doubted he could see in the dark. He collapsed on the couch, and she could tell he must be at least as cold as she, and in his condition that was probably quite dangerous.

"You worked for a slaver?" Skyler questioned his late answer, her weariness still not as strong as her curiousity. "Were you a slave, or..."

The man was starting to shiver violently himself, and as he offered his name, it was more of a peace offering than just a moniker by which to call him. Almost hesitantly, because she still had the remnants of fear from all the things he'd said and done, especially the shower, she crossed to the couch and sat next to him.

"I'm Skyler," she told him, "Manfield. Here, don't freeze on my behalf, you won't make it to morning if you do."

She pulled the blanket over both of them, while trying to stay arms length away, which was not quite possible with the rather small coverlet. Leaning her head back against the couch, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Thank you," she finally said, her voice low and thick with drowsiness, "For not killing me back there once we were out."

Sleep overtook her, and she fell deep into its embrace, her body relaxing under the blanket with the dreadful weariness that she'd fought since they'd washed up out of the river of sewage. Her head lolled over onto his shoulder, and in her sleep she leaned against him lost to her dreams.

[Malagen]

The very fact that she even considered him as one of those pitiful slaves was preposterous, but he decided it was best to let it pass and blame it on her witlessness. They weren’t out of the woods yet and if the local law enforcers decide to be persistent in their search, he would need an ally at his side. And insults, even masked in a bland form of sarcasm, seldom managed to forge alliances. That was probably why he didn’t react, not even when she sat next to him and offered to share a blanket, throwing in her name in the process. Malagen didn’t care too much for any of it, not even the warmth that the blanket started to provide gradually. She wasn’t his friend and they weren’t going to buy each other drinks after this, that much was clear to him. Because there seemed to be a shield around both of them, a cold malevolent thing that neither could – or wanted, for that matter – to breach. And an uncanny status quo seemed to be the right flavor for the night.

She thanked him and her words seemed to crash and break against him. Because chances were that, if he was even remotely capable, he would’ve killed her back then. In fact, he would’ve done it the second she unlocked his shackles if he wasn’t feeling like a beaten drunkard that fell asleep in a wrong ditch. But then she fell asleep and her body somehow found its way to his own, first her head wearily slumping to his shoulder before the rest of her followed inadvertently, leaning completely on his side, and he wasn’t certain that he would’ve done it anymore. Despite her scrawny body, she felt so warm and soon simply curled up beneath the blanket and held to his side as if they were bedfellows caught in a rather ungrateful situation. Next to her, Malagen seemed as cold and as inhuman as a stiff.

A part of him – marauding and numb – wanted to push her away and go sleep on the chair, taking his chances with the cold. Or it could even do one better. It wanted to go to the kitchen, find a semi-sharp knife, kill the wench and have the blanket for himself. About two weeks ago that part would’ve probably prevailed. But something happened on that day, something... well, it didn’t exactly snap in him when he freed the slaves and fought the slavers. But it cracked at least, like a dam that couldn’t withstand the flood, and though at first it seemed the cleric girl he saved was the reason for this commotion within him, he seemed to be feeling the effects even now.

“Could it be? Is this what it’s like to feel?” Malagen’s mind tried to rationalize as he looked down on her tranquil face. Such an unremarkable face, freckly and almost unfeminine, and yet there was something about it that made him not want to kill her. And that was certainly a novelty when it came to him. He killed more then his share of women more beautiful and more important then this Skyler. But before he could mull on it any further, his thoughts started to wander, incoherent and choppy, until his consciousness slipped away to the world of dreams.

***

A rather distant rattle of carriage wheels running down the cobblestone road snapped him from slumber rapidly. His eyes opened up to the dim study, his ears already doing their job and trying to track down the sound of incoming footsteps. There were none to be noted. His eyes looked at the boarded window ahead, noticing the thin beam of light that his mind put in the calculations instantaneously. The answer that the sunlight gave was close to noon and the question was, what was the current time of day. Which was good. His perceptive mind managed to retrieve the uncanny focus.

Not fully though. Because only then he noticed the girl that still slept, clinging at his side. She was so motionless that the warmth of her body became so normal to his body it got used to it and stopped noticing it. But now it did and his simple predatory mind retrieved its edge as well. He snuck away from her precariously, laying her down on the couch before he slowly made his way out of the study and headed towards the kitchen. His bare feet were soundless as he walked down the carpet and onto the cold tiles of the kitchen and less then a minute after the awakening he found what he was looking for. He returned to the study, looming over her sleeping figure. In his hand, a slightly rusty butcher’s knife moved towards her neck.

Her freckly face was tranquil, her body unmoving. The only trace of life in her was the slow-paced breathing that he could almost hear. He had to kill her, it was in his program, it was just the way things were. His hand shook gently. His face was still adamant in its emotionless expression, and yet his hands shook. His damn mind replayed the events of the last night. “Thank you,” she said, “For not killing me...” Damn that stupid freckly face that looked at him then. Damn it for making his guts somehow usurped now, quivering with... Was it guilt? He couldn’t say. Emotions were hard to define in an emotionless mind. But whatever it was, it withdrew his hand and made him step away.

He walked out of the study at an uncertain gait, exploring the house in search for anything usable. In the pantry that seemed utterly empty yesterday in darkness he found a sealed jar of what seemed like pickled cabbage. There was some mold on the very top of it and it smelled... well, like it was pickled. But it was edible, as was what seemed like a dried sausage that, wrapped in what seemed thick paper, fell beside the cupboard and wound up overlooked by the previous owners. Not by vermin though, since half of it seemed to be eaten by rats. He chopped that part away, then made his way out of the pantry with the jar and the sausage beneath his hand. He didn’t return to the study yet though. His calculated mind found something else missing. He returned to the kitchen once again, took two forks and the first pot that didn’t have a hole in it, and went outside to fill it with snow. Luckily, the backdoor looked into nothing but a sturdy fence, so chances of being spotted were minimal.

With the makeshift breakfast, he doddered back to the study, his left shoulder still hurting like a bitch. He realized that he had only limited motor skills with it by now, but at least the damn thing was still attached. When that slaver shot him, it seemed he would loose it for good. Now at least he could hold the jar beneath it while he walked.

Skyler was still asleep when Malagen walked into the room, but when he set the pot and the jar down, he reckoned it was enough to snap her out of the slumber. He didn’t particularly care, but rather just took a seat in an armchair, split the sausage in half and set one half down, munching on the other slowly, uninterestedly. It was rather bland in taste, but it wasn’t spoiled yet.

[skyler manfield]

Malagen woke and left the assassin on the couch. She knew he thought she was asleep, but as soon as he'd moved she'd snapped to awareness. Skyler left her eyes closed though, listening and waiting.

He did what she expected, finding the only knife available and holding it to her throat. She stayed still though, keeping her face emotionless, her breath rhythmic and shallow, her eyes closed. What she didn't expect was for him to hesitate and then give up on it all together. As he left the room, Skyler let out a relieved sigh, opening her eyes briefly to watch the back of the man that could have been her murderer.

When he returned with what seemed to be a meager attempt at breakfast, and as he set the pot down nearby, Skyler opened her eyes and watched him. After a long while of watching him munch absently at the piece of sausage, she sat up, letting the blanket fall away.

"Why didn't you do it?" she asked quietly, staring at Malagen curiously, "I mean, if I'd have had the chance to kill me, I would have taken it."

The young assassin stood up and stretched, the hem of the dress rising well above her knees as she lifted her arms above her head. Quite stiffly, Skyler crossed over and grabbed up the last half of the sausage and the jar of cabbage. When she opened the jar, she gagged at the smell, setting it back down at arms length and just taking the sausage.

"I think that cabbage is bad," she said, curling her nose.

[Malagen]

Why didn’t he do it? It was a question he wasn’t ready for, a factor that didn’t fit into his clever little calculations that were supposed to prepare him from every imaginable outcome. One of the reasons it blindsided him was that he didn’t expect for Skyler to even be aware of his failed attempt, because that was supposed to be his little secret that nobody needed to know about. It marred his cloak of stolidity and he didn’t like that cloak to be touched. Or did he? His guts still seemed to be pondering on that little question. At first he thought it was just the stomach acid negotiating with the food, but he knew better. He felt better, because even as she got up and stretched, his eyes looked at her and saw a woman, not some knave that wasn’t worth to touch his boots. He thickened his frown, cursing at himself for this. It was a deviation in his demeanor and he had to isolate it and kill it before it dulled his edge.

“You should be glad then that I’m not you.” Malagen spoke after a short pause, calm in the armchair like a corpse, his dull faded-blue eyes looking at her own. The he added, as if to clarify at least a fragment of his reasoning: “We still need to get out of the town and there is strength in numbers... even if the number is two.”

It was more like one-and-a-half given their current state, but that didn’t change the fact that his explanation was a pile of cow dung. Sure, she could still be a worthy ally. Sure, he needed one at this time. But that wasn’t what stayed his hand minutes before. In search for what did, Malagen’s mind came up blank, but once he looked at her, he was pretty certain that it had something to do with her being so warm last night. So welcome at his side. And he realized that, though that warmth was breaking the calm that he maintained for years, it felt right. It felt good. And good and right was something that the Dram didn’t feel for a while now. His teachings told him to kill that warmth, his gut spoke otherwise. He opted for the gut this time around.

When she discarded the jar of cabbage, he picked it up with his right and used one of the forks to cast out the mouldy greenish covering that stood on the very top. Once that was out of the way, the murky contents still smelled awfully acrid, but not bad, so he took two mouthfuls before placing it down again. “It’s not good, but it’s not bad either. You should eat, we’ll need our strength.”

He pushed himself up with his decrepit left hand, uttered a muffled groan once his shoulder sent a painful jolt, and proceeded out of the study, leaving Skyler to her breakfast. Or rather lunch, given the time of day. He started inspecting the numerous cabinets and wardrobes that the previous owners left behind, but mostly he found cobwebs and pieces of trash. Here and there he would find something more, a discarded item here, a forgotten one there, but nothing terribly useful to them. They needed clothing. They needed footwear. Because right now they were shoeless and looking like beggars and he doubted they would get out of the city in such a state. And even if they did, what were they to do in the frozen wasteland in their current state? Die sooner or later, no doubt.

He proceeded to the second floor of the house, but his prospecting kept producing crummy results. He found a tattered gray cape in one of the bedroom wardrobes filled with trash and a pair of shoes that had several holes at their sides and were too small for him. With these poor finds he made his way down the creaky wooden stairs and back to Skyler. He dropped both items on the couch, set himself back in the armchair, them proceeded to drink some water from the pot. The snow was still far from fully defrosted, but enough of it melted to provide water for a couple of deep draughts that seemed to have a tendency to freeze his brains.

“We’re going to need some fresh clothes if we want to get out of the town. Maybe some weapons as well.” Malagen spoke, but his voice was still just more of the same; dull and indifferent. “You got some thievery skills?”

[skyler manfield]

The assassin glared at Malagen, and stood up, looking around for something she could wrap around her bare feet. There were some ragged curtains at the window in the study they'd slept in, and although threadbare and quite dusty, they would do more for her feet than they were doing to keep light out - the grime that clung to the persistent frost on the window was doing an admirable job of that.

Ripping the tattered cloth to shreds, she wrapped it around her feet, hoping it would be enough to prevent frostbite, at least until she could steal shoes and warmer clothes. She'd never really stolen anything but information before, but it couldn't be too hard, as long as she kept from being noticed.

Skyler wanted to snag the blanket from the sofa, but she knew that would only draw attention to her, and she was already strangely attired. With a silent nod to her companion, she slipped out the door they'd entered through and quietly walked through the outer edge of the town, watching people from the shadows until she was certain they didn't notice her. Besides the clothes on her back, the only thing she carried was a large burlap sack that had held a few rusty tools.

It didn't take her long to find a merchant's stall closer to the center of the city, one with clothing hanging from wooden pegs on every side. On tables in front of his cart were various types of shoes, but Skyler saw a couple of pairs of boots that looked warm enough to make the very long trip out of Salvar.

With a deep breath, and a slow circle around the shop, Skyler watched as the merchant went about his business, talking shop to a young mother carrying a baby in her arms, turning and smiling to a farmer who was glancing at a leather jerkin, and completely oblivious to the slender shadow that was creeping around.

A pair of fur-lined leather pants disappeared first, and she waited for a moment to be sure no one noticed. Next, another pair of pants, these a thick grey wool that was sure to be water-proof and warm (albeit itchy, she thought to herself with a grin - they were the perfect size for Malagen). Two woolen sweaters and a couple of linen undertunics slipped from their pegs, followed by a matched set of fur-lined woolen cloaks, and finally, most challenging, two pair of furred boots. Skyler hoped they were the right size as she slipped away, the bag bulging at her side as she slipped back into the shadows.

The town was maze-like, as though it had been built in stages, with little planning. Nothing like the perfect gridlike map of Radasanth, where nothing happened without reason. The assassin began to worry she'd taken a wrong street and was lost, when the ramshackle house rose up before her.

Slamming through the back door, Skyler tossed the bag on the floor and started pulling things out of it, not even caring where Malagen was. Here were warm dry clothes and shoes, and that meant her chance to finish her escape - she didn't really care anymore if it was with him or without him.

Her modesty was gone this time, no worry about the sharp-tongued man finding her unclothed - all she wanted was to get into something warm and get the hell outta dodge. Stripping down, she found the leather pants and unlaced the front so she could start pulling them on.

[Malagen]

Malagen wasn’t a pessimist. To be a pessimist, one had to have sentiments about certain situations, and sentiments and emotions weren’t the currency that the barbarian worked with. Instead there were facts and odds that, when put in a rather simple calculation, could predict the outcome of a certain event. It was the way that he was taught, an automaton kind of rationalization that formulated every aspect of life, giving it value and coming up with a realistic conclusion. It worked for battles, it worked for the weather and ultimately it worked for people. And what odds and facts were telling him right now was that Skyler wouldn’t come back.

Malagen sat in the armchair, a haggard weary apparition that pulled the edge of the rusty butcher’s knife over the rim of the pot. It seemed like a redundant procedure, but he knew well that in lieu of a sharpening stone, metal can sharpen metal just as well. And while this monotonous process went on, his mind mulled on the mistake that he made by letting her go alive. Because the facts couldn’t be wrong. Fact: She hated his guts. Fact: She was in better physical shape then he was at the moment. Fact: She risked a lot less by stealing just one attire then she did by stealing two. Fact: She was no do-gooder. Fact: She would have an easier time slipping through the net of guards alone.

Fact: He was hung out to dry.

His finger passed over the edge of the knife, testing the sharpness by allowing the metal to pierce his skin just deep enough to cut the first couple of layers of skin, but not deep enough to draw blood. It wasn’t even a shadow of Ferioh steel, but it was better then the bludgeon damage of his fists. And he would surely need to do some damage now that he was on his own. Skyler was gone and he made peace with that. Skyler was gone because the odds said so, because it would’ve been the smartest thing to do. Because it was what he would’ve done.

In such thoughts - that would surely depress the mentally weak which Malagen wasn’t – the Dram got up from the dusty armchair and decided to do one final sweep of the house. There was still a basement that he didn’t inspect and there might be something useful there. However, by the time he found the entrance – hidden below the tattered carpet in the pantry – he heard the backdoor crashing against the wall, followed by the soft pitter-patter of feet. His first thought was that the local law enforcers finally decided to check out the house, but there was only one pair of feet and there was no metallic clinking that would signify the presence of armor. Still, Malagen moved from the pantry deliberately, following the damp trace of footsteps that led to the study. There was a voice in his mind, meek and broken, that reminded him that there was always an exception that confirmed the rule, but he hushed it efficiently as he prowled down the hall and to the doorway. Once he was there though, he had to admit that the quelled voice was right.

Sklyer stood in nothing but her skin, her hands hurried to put on a pair of tawny leather pants. The bulk of her acquisition stood on the couch, a pair of attires fresh from the stalls. A pair of attires. Not one, not one and a half, but a pair. What were the odds of that? He returned his eyes on the girl, peering at her bare back that looked feminine, inviting even, despite the freckles that seemed to cover her skin. And once again he had to set aside such thoughts.

“You came back.” Malagen finally said, his voice failing to reveal the surprise that those words should’ve signified. He couldn’t say with absolute certainty whether or not he startled her, but she put the dressing on pause abruptly to snatch her head back at him. He took a step forwards, then another, and then xhe once again stood within arm’s reach, his lifeless azure eyes looking at her from above. “Interesting. I wouldn’t.”

He spoke no more, only leant sideways to pick up the clothes she procured before moving away from her and placing them on the desk. And while he put them on, he thought about the truthfulness of what he said to her. Was that a fact? After not killing her this morning, was that really what he would do if the roles were reversed? And if not, then why, for gods sakes? He didn’t come up with an answer by the time his clothes were on and he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to do so if he wasted an entire day on pondering. So he just let it slide. He made peace with the fact that he felt some actual fondness – or rather lack of hostility – towards the tomboyish wench.

“They’ll be looking for us.” Malagen begun once he put the sharpened knife into the inner pocket of his cloak. “They’ll set up checkpoints on every town exit. We need to find a disguise.”

His voice left little to be discussed about; he wasn’t asking for her opinion, but merely stating what his next step would be. If she wanted to tag along, then she could, which was a lot more then a lot of people had a chance to. If she didn’t want to follow him, he was more then ready to give her good riddance. With the cold words spoken, he led the way out the back door that she left open.

The air outside was crisp, a harsh polar opposite of the stuffy dustiness that he breathed while inside the house. The sun was somewhere behind the constant white of the clouds above, a lackluster outline that appeared sporadically. Around them the day revolved as per usual, with the usual bunch that strode through the chill with their minds set on the warmth of whatever destination they were heading to. In such an environment, where most were miserable and wishing they were somewhere warm, nobody paid heed to a pair of strangers that walked hurriedly down the cobblestone road. Malagen stuck to the narrow alleyways, avoiding the wide streets that the guards usually liked to patrol and the chintzy taverns where they stopped for a drink and the daily fat chewing.

In one such alley, hidden from inquisitive eyes, was the disguise he was looking for. One of the merchants was loading a wagon with the goods, a pair of workers carrying crates and sacks through the backdoor of his store and arranging them neatly in the carriage. It was perfect. He would kill the merchant and his lackeys and ride right out of the town with the nitwitted law enforcers thinking he was a merchant.

“We need to dispose of these men. I’ll take care of his workers, you kill the merchant.” Malagen spoke to Skyler as if it was the simplest thing to do, as if it had nothing to do with taking three lives. His hand reached for the knife, pulled it out, then spun it in a smooth effortless motion before pushing it towards the girl, butt first.

[skyler manfield]

The assasin-turned-thief finished pulling on the pants and picked up the wool shirt as she turned to face Malagen with a raised eyebrow. There was something missing in the man's brain, she decided, something that was key to interacting with those around him without a snide remark or a murderous glare.

"Of course I came back," her voice was muffled through the shirt as she pulled it over her head, "I don't know about you, but I like to finish what I start."

Skyler was infinitely warmer now, and she sighed like a happy kitten as she pulled the immensely warm boots onto half frost-bitten feet, the silky fur inside cradling her feet like the boots were made just for her. She quickly laced them up, and got to her feet, pulling the cloak off the table and swirled it around her shoulders where it settled warmly.

"Well if I'd thought about disguises I'd have found different clothes for us," Skyler sniped at him, but she was only half kidding with him, "But you're right, we have to do something."

If this whole "we" thing was half as awkward for him as it was for her, Skyler figured he must be pretty damn uncomfortable. Maybe she should just go without him, and be glad he hadn't killed her already. It was an attractive option. But she'd just said moments before that she always finished what she started.

She followed him through the alleys, carefully skirting iced over puddles, and trying not to run into the merchants and farmers who hurried past them to and from their various activities. There was a grimy skim of ice over the bricks of the buildings they walked between, and the sky was lowering threateningly - it would likely start snowing soon.

As they came upon the merchant and his men, Malagen was obviously thinking the same thing as the young assassin - it showed on his face. But his idea to kill the men, although tempting and probably the easier way to go about things, suddenly seemed like a bad idea.

"It's not a bad idea," Skyler said, taking the knife from the barbarian and spinning it one hand to find its balance, "And the easiest idea by far. But maybe it isn't the safest. We want to get away, and leaving bodies behind is gonna get attention. I'm an assassin, the first thing I think of is how NOT to get caught. Can we do this my way?"

The assassin nodded her head toward the wagon that was filled with bags of turnips and beets, and ran the edge of the knife across her thumb, deep in thought.

"I think the quickest and most discreet way to get out of town, and maybe even out of this godforsaken country, would be to hide in that wagon and get off at the next stop. We just have to be really well hidden - they'll probably check the wagon on the way out of town."

Skyler paused and looked Malagen, the corner of her mouth upturning in an almost playful smile that twinkled in eyes the same grey as the snow-laden clouds above them. Handing the knife back to him, she raised her chin and waited a moment before speaking.

"So, do you trust me?"

[Malagen]

Apparently the wench – that was allegedly some kind of an assassin according to her own words – didn’t understand that Malagen wasn’t making a proposal when he spoke of what should be done. Because as soon as he concluded and handed her the only weapon they currently had, she decided to make a rebuttal, advising a different course of action. And even though she did it with relative subtleness, trying to sugarcoat it to some degree and slip it under his unyielding radar, he still felt it as a threat and a slap to the face. So far they followed the plan he charted and his way brought them this far. Bending to her will was bound to disrupt the ultimate control that he had so far. In many ways, though he was unaware of it, Malagen was like a spoiled brat that always had it his way or highway. Granted, his childhood was everything but dreamy and cozy, but it produced the same inbred stubbornness that refused to accept outer influence.

Trust was a completely different issue. Of course he didn’t trust her and he reckoned the feeling was mutual. They just broke out of prison, and whether they were rightfully there or not didn’t matter because it was rather clear they weren’t the good people. No, they were the living, breathing scum of Althanas that thrived most when they operated on the dark side. And usually one couldn’t trust such people further then one could throw them. However, Sklyer was the only ally he currently had and regardless of her rather quotidian looks, she did seem like somebody who was rather deft in such artifices. So Malagen decided to do something that went against his predatory nature, something that he hasn’t done ever since he left Ferioh. He listened to something other then his instincts.

“I don’t.” he replied flatly, seemingly uninterested in whatever she spoke of. His left hand snatched the knife from her hand, but his shoulder sent another piercing jolt of pain through the nerves of his arm and he fumbled it. The stone-cold face cringed only for a fraction of a second before his right hand picked up the chintzy weapon, returning it to the interior of his cloak. “But it might be worth the effort.”

It was a risk, but the payoff seemed too attractive to pass on. If they managed to mouse out of the town without being spotted, chances were that by the time they would be on the Salvar/Raiaera border, the local lawmen would still be looking for them within the city walls. But if they were caught, there was little the two of them would be able to do with a single rusty knife against maybe a dozen armed guards. And again, the odds were against them. But given the uncanny way the things were occurring lately, spiting the odds on numerous occasions, Malagen reckoned they should ride their streak right out of this shithole.

They waited for their cue like a pair of stalking raptors, monitoring the workers loading the wagon with what now seemed like bagged spices, and once the shipment seemed complete they made a run for it. Sklyer took care of the timing, leading in decisive, nearly soundless strides, making use of the short window of opportunity that opened once the loading was done and the merchant was making his way out of the shop and into the street. And by the time the scrawny looking trader was out and ready to drive away with his goods, the two of them were safely nestled behind a pair of crates filled with turnips, lying next to one another like canned sardines. Pressing down on them were sacks of what to Malagen smelled like a mixture of cinnamon and menthol – a dreadful combination that tickled his nose to the point where he sneezed once and cursed at himself for displaying such weakness. Luckily, by that time, the independent merchant was making his way down the stone-paved streets at a steady pace and the sound of the steel-covered wooden wheels of the carriage rolling down the shabby uneven path was more then enough to cover any noises that the two might make, intentionally or otherwise.

After about five minutes of steady rolling and three sharp turns – “Left, right, left” Malagen kept track, calculating that the man was taking the westwards road – they started slowing down rapidly. A stern voice uttered a harsh HALT! and the Dram knew this was the moment of truth. Either they would slip through their net or get caught in it.

((So I was thinking. Since we’re going to keep it all in one thread, it would be fun if they noticed us in your post. Skyler could kick the inspecting guard in the nuts and then in my post I would make Malagen kill the merchant and hijack the wagon. And then they would chase us or something. ))

[skyler manfield]

"I need your export papers sir," the guard barked huskily. Skyler held her breath, making herself as unnoticeable as possible. The only problem was that she couldn't do the same for Malagen. Even if she was completely invisible to the guards, they still might see him, and then she might as well be seen too. Of course, they may still not notice her if he didn't say she was there.

There was a rustling of papers, and then they heard the crunching of snow beneath boots as the guard circled the wagon, then paused at the back. With a dull creak, the gate lowered and the guard began shuffling bags around.

"Mr. Demera, I think you have some rats," the guard said, grabbing Skyler's foot with a grin. "I'll help you with a little pest control, eh?"

But in his effort to be funny, the guard made what might just be a fatal mistake. Skyler jerked her foot free and at the same time blindly rocketed her other foot at what she hoped was his groin. A grunt followed by a sick sounding groan affirmed her aim, and Skyler sat up quickly, throwing herself at the guard who was half bent over, holding his crotch protectively.

Fists flying, the assassin slammed into the heavily armored man, knocking them both to the snow-covered ground with a loud thud. A haymaker to his jaw stunned the guard, and she followed it up with a solid jab to the solar plexus which left him gasping as she climbed off of him. Almost as an afterthought she kicked him soundly in the ribs before glancing around to assess the situation further.

There didn't seem to be any other guards, and the merchant hadn't moved from his seat atop the wagon - he sat staring over his shoulder at the scene unraveling below him. Crouching down behind the wagon, Skyler waited, hoping Malagen was ready to grab the merchant and slit his throat, so they could get out of town with the wagon before anyone sounded the alarm.