How Did It Ever Come To This?

[Iriah Caitrak]

She couldn’t remember what she’d been dreaming of. Something that had to do with the valley of the dead, but the whole thing was slipping from her as she slowly began to feel consciousness washing it away. She fought against it though. She didn’t want to be awake. She wanted to return to the land of the blissfully numb and serene, where nothing could hurt her because in the end it wasn’t real. Consciousness be damned, she wanted sleep.

Ira didn’t always get what she wanted and this was one of those times.

“Ira, you have to wake up…”

“Iren?”

“Yes.”

“But why…I just want to sleep some more.”

“I know…but it’s time to wake up. Open your eyes…”

She did.

At first all she saw was a deep brown that reminded her of the forests in Concordia. Then definition seeped into her vision and the planks of wood each made themselves prominent. She could even make out the knots in them. It took her a moment but eventually she realized she was staring up at a ceiling. Bringing one of her hands up, Ira rubbed the sleep dust away from her eyes and attempted to snuggle more securely under her covers. Whatever blankets the Inn she was staying at used were cold and being a native to Fallien, Ira hated being cold. But the moment she moved pain tore through the area by her groin, leaving her breathless and eventually gasping for air.

It all came back to her then. The meeting she had with Malagen in the graveyard and the short battle that had ensued. Her wound and Purgatory and the promise he’d made to take her to a healer.

Running her hand across her stomach, Ira felt a tinge of unease run through her as she noted that beneath these thin sheets she was completely naked. Normally that would not be such a problem were she back in her own home or perhaps even in her room at the Inn, but she had no idea where she was and as such; unease. She hit a bandage. It wrapped around her thigh as well as her hip and covered the entire area that Malagen had cut with his sword. A small peckle of blood was beginning to form, dampening the central area. It would probably be a good idea if she didn't move much. Apparently, Malagen could be trusted more than her reason and logic dictated, because here was, in pain, but alive. It was a good thing she’d gone with her instincts too, if she hadn’t, they’d both be dead by now. It was at this time she noticed the familiar weight of her twin Irenian crystals no longer pressed against her chest.

Sitting up as quickly as she could without hurting herself, Ira began to look around the room. Her eyes roamed to the table beside her bed but there was nothing there other than a basin with some water and an oil lamp. No flame flickered within the glass, it was morning and light was streaming in through the windows. But she didn’t care about that, where were her crystals? When she turned to her right she froze for a moment. Malagen was lying in the bed next to her. She could see crisp white bandages circling around his one shoulder and peeking out from his back. Apparently the healer had taken care of the wounds the Fallen had inflicted upon him. The healer had also seen it necessary to tie Malagen to the bed and Ira had to admit the man looked quite good wearing only a pair of pants and with his wrists tied to opposite posts. That, plus the fact that he was sleeping made him look almost vulnerable, yet all that exposed muscle reminded her it was not so. Still she should not be thinking about that. The man—if one could really call him a man—had tried to kill her. His body should be the last thing she cared about at the moment. Her crystals were important, not that.

Hearing the door creaked open, Ira grabbed at the white sheets that had pooled into her lap and pulled them up to cover herself. Through the open door an old man slowly made his way into the room. His face wrinkled by so many years and covered in a rather ragged looking beard that tried to hide his mouth. He closed the door behind him before he realized that she was awake and moving.

A gentle smile crept onto his face, “Good to see you with the living…”

He had no idea how good it was.

“It was quite the struggle to keep you with us.”

“Svastyaksara siahd.”

The healer, or whom she assumed to be the healer gave a gentle raise of his brows and Ira quickly corrected herself.

“You have my thanks…”

Walking over to her bedside, he placed a tray on the table beside her.

“That is quite the accent you have, where is it you’re from?”

“Fallien.” Ira said with a smile as she tucked strands of her purple hair behind her ear.

“You’re a long way from home. And you don’t seem the type to get mixed up with the like of him. Funny how you did not inquire as to your companion’s well being after you awoke.”

“I know and I’m pretty sure that you know as well—seeing as how he’s tied up—that, that man is not my companion. Merely a mistake, I have better taste in companions than one such as him.”

“I thought as much. But it is not my business, you’re both alive, now that is my business.”

Ira smiled at him.

“Ahh, my manners. I am Gerrard.”

He extended his hand towards her and as Ira reached to accept it a bit of her sheet slipped down. Blushing, she quickly pulled it back up before taking his hand, “Ira Shinkara.”

“I am sorry about your dress, we had to remove it in order to help you.”

“We?”

“The man, he helped as well.”

“His name is Malagen…” Ira said to Gerrard as her eyes wandered over to Malagen himself. He helped save her life? Not only had he kept his word and taken her to a healer but he’d also assisted in healing her? She couldn’t imagine why. Maybe she’d ask him when he finally awoke.

Gerrard moved away from her bed, “There is food and water on the tray, you should eat and rest. It would also be wise not to get out of bed unless you absolutely have to as well.”

Ira nodded her head, “Oh wait!” He stopped and turned back to her, “My Ire—I had two blue crystals on…I need them back please.”

“Of course…”

He moved to some kind of wardrobe against the far wall and from within removed her rucksack. Walking back over to her he placed it on the edge of her bed.

“All of your belongings are in here…I’m afraid the clothes you were wearing were ripped so I threw them away.”

“That's fine, I have more.”

“If that’s all you need I shall leave you for now, try to rest.”

Ira nodded her head and reached for her rucksack just as Gerrard was closing the door behind him. Digging through the layers of cloth that comprised of her extra clothes, Ira eventually pulled out the crystals. Touching them to her chest she watched as a string of interlocking silver wove it’s way around her neck with the crystals at the centre. Feeling much better with them on, Ira reached over for the tray of food on her bedside table and placed it before her, taking a long drink of the cool water.

[Malagen]

Despite being rather dreamless, Malagen’s slumber was far from eventless. The remorseless swordsman was caught in a limbo between consciousness and a complete blackout, dipped into abyss of nothingness within which he was supposed to find serenity. But instead there was this notion that haunted him, this feeling of insecurity and utter vulnerability that refused to evanesce. It was as if on some level of subconsciousness he realized that in the real world he was as defenseless as a lamb and his inner being reflexively rebelled against such a weakness. He felt like he was running away from something he couldn’t run away from, felt like climbing towards an obscure peak that he could never reach, felt like swimming in ink that was getting thicker by the second. He felt as if his mind was ringing the alarm bells and he was powerless to answer the summons.

Eventually, however, Malagen succeeded in clawing his way out of this prison of the mind. Once his body recovered enough to sustain his cognition at the very least, his consciousness came crawling back, appearing as a mere abstract idea in his clouded mind at first, but then surfacing fully soon afterwards. His eyes shot open, got blinded by the razor-sharp daylight, slammed shut, then tried to introduce the reality more gradually. And soon the dimly lit room with tan walls and rows of beds that he remembered from before fainting came into existence. This time, however, the day cast a completely new light on the place, making it look sterile and unblemished, almost perfect. The herbal scent of balms and ointments aided to that specific experience, hanging in the air like bar smoke, impossible to disregard.

Malagen’s first move was pure instinct; the fingers of his left squeezed around the scabbards that weren’t there and his right tried to feel the hilt of his saber, but never got there. It was then that the Dram noticed the bindings that kept his arms and legs fixated to the iron frame of the bed. Made out of layers and layers of neatly rolled bandages, these restraints kept Malagen’s extremities firmly bound to the cold metal, while providing minimal discomfort. Though never the brightest firefly in the swarm, it didn’t take long for Malagen to realize who was responsible for his constraints.

“I should’ve killed that old man,” the barbarian said in a dry, barely hearable whisper that scraped his throat and made him cough. His right gave the bandages a tug, but when his left tried to do the same, he felt as if somebody pushed a cold metal plate through his flesh. As a result, a minute speck of crimson appeared on the bandaging of his left shoulder. He tried again, this time using just his right, but to no avail. Not only was he too weak to free himself, but his back hurt more and more with every attempt. As much as he hated it – and he hated it from the bottom of what little soul he had left – he was left at the old man’s mercy.

And Ira’s apparently. Once Malagen realized that he wouldn’t be able to rid himself of the restraints, his eyes finally turned to the other side of the room to notice the awakened woman. Though she was significantly less nude then she was the last time he saw her, the Dram could see that her condition was improving. The pale face of a corpse that she had prior to his collapse was gone, replaced with the healthy one that once again had an exotic tanned hue. One could’ve gone so far to say that she once again looked as irritatingly beautiful as she was back in the heat of their Citadel battle if that one wasn’t one very annoyed barbarian that felt like he got the short end of the stick out of the entire deal.

“You made it,” Malagen stated, displaying neither gladness nor agitation by that fact. He wasn’t back to his usual cold self; such idiosyncrasy never truly left the dark man. But if somebody put a blade to his neck and forced him to choose between the two emotions, he would have to admit that a part of him was actually satisfied with the fact that Ira survived the ordeal. His mind rationalized the way it always did. It insisted that this emotion was simply satisfaction that he carried out his promise. It would’ve been a plausible claim if Malagen gave a damn about promises.

“So, what now?” he asked, turning his head away from her and resting his head back onto the pillow around which his long black hair lay scattered. “You’re going to turn me over to the authorities?” He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He would have to kill her eventually once he broke out of a prison, of course, but he wouldn’t blame her. After all, he did try to take her life. People seldom allowed for such transgressions to become the proverbial water under the bridge.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Though she doubted Gerrard would give her something inedible to eat, Ira couldn't help but be weary of the things on the plate. In particular one very large orange thing she would guess to be a fruit. The skin of it tasted horrible, but beneath that was some juicy centre that made a huge mess when she bit down into it. It tasted good, except there were some annoying seeds in it that she accidentally swallowed. Hopefully they wouldn’t give her a stomachache. That was the last thing she needed, the Calerian was already sore in too many places not to mention down right exhausted. She felt like she’d been doing nothing but training for ten days straight. She’d barely been awake for an hour and already she could go back to sleep. Guess she was getting her wish to go back to the blissfully numb and serene. Before that happened she should probably finish eating to help regain her strength though. This was not the first time she’d come close to dying—death seemed to follow her around like a thick shadow—and she knew from experience that rest and food were the best things to help her.

A cough broke through the silence in the room. Turning to her right, Ira watched as Malagen struggled with his bonds in vain. Not only did they look rather secure but he seemed in no better a state than she. He would not admit to it, she knew, but Ira was rather certain the barbarian of a man was just as weakened by what happened the other day. It took him a few minutes, and probably a lot of pain as well considering the small amount of blood appearing on his shoulder, but eventually Malagen gave up.

That was when he turned to her and blurted out that fact that ‘she’d made it’.

Ira didn’t know how to respond to that, other than secure her sheet more comfortably around her considering his eyes had been wandering for a moment. He didn’t exactly sound thrilled by the fact that she was alive, but not upset either. In fact, it was just a statement that seemed to have little meaning behind it, if it hadn’t come from someone else. The fact that he didn’t sneer it at her or say it in that annoyingly cold voice made her wonder, just what she was wondering she wasn’t too sure. She was probably reading too deeply into nothing. So she shook it off, it was the only thing she could do besides ask him a stupid question she would regret immediately.

He continued to speak to her, cutting through her thoughts, which was a good thing. It took her a few moments and mulling over the word ‘authorities’ to realize what he meant by it. Obviously they were something like the Irrakam Guard. Honestly, the idea of turning him in had never even passed her mind. Now that he mentioned it though, she wondered if it would be a better solution. If she turned him over to them for what he’d done she wouldn’t have to worry about him coming after her, but then again he'd fulfilled his promise and saved her life. He could have just let her die like he’d wanted to in the beginning.

Moving her tray back over to the side table, Ira wrapped the sheet around her like a strapless dress. Carefully, she slid over to the edge of the bed and brought her legs around. Even that simple motion made pain tear up through her hip and groin. She had to stop once her feet touched the ground and allow herself time to breathe. Grabbing her rucksack, which was still at the foot of her bed, Ira fished out one of her armguards. Slipping it on, she loosely tied the strings along the side as the light caught and reflected off a clear crystal embedded in the underside of the leather.

“You know, manners dictate that I thank you for saving me…” Ira said to him as she finished tying the strings.

Carefully she pushed herself up off the bed, keeping most of her weight on her good leg. As long as she was able to sustain her balance she should be all right.

“However, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have been nearly dead in the first place, so I guess that means you don’t deserve thanks.”

There was only a few feet between their beds, but that didn’t mean it would be any easier for her to traverse the distance. She took small steps, limping whenever she had to apply pressure to her left leg. It took her much longer than it normally would, but a minute or two later she was standing by the edge of Malagen’s bed. Looking down at him, Ira realized he truly could do nothing to defend himself in his state. No matter what she did to him, he couldn’t fight back. Oh, he could struggle some more in vain but that would only cause him pain.

“Turning you over to the authorities” she pronounced the word oddly, but she couldn’t help it, “sounds like an interesting idea but it was not what I had in mind…” Her face was impassive. One could even mistake it for being a little cold.

She formed a small dagger in her right hand. Bringing it up to the bonds tying his one wrist, she easily cut them away. Leaning over him, she cut away the ones binding his other hand and stepped back as the dagger disappeared from her hand.

“You can go. I never intended to hand you over to the authorities.” The cold look was replaced by a weak smirk.

Her leg was already beginning to bother her. Moving back to her bed, Ira sat down on the side of it, keeping her eyes on Malagen. She wasn’t afraid of him, for some reason he’d kept his promise and that alone told her she had nothing more to fear of this man.

“Before you go, tell me why you kept your promise…”

It was probably better if she didn’t ask him that, but she wanted to know. When all logic said that he would leave her for dead and yet he hadn’t, she wanted to know why. Whether or not he was going to tell her was something completely different though.

[Malagen]

When Ira voiced her intentions in a frosty tone and made it clear that she wouldn’t turn him over to the local constables, for just a second Malagen thought that the foreign woman would take justice in her own hands. True, she saved him from the dastardly Purgatory, but back then it was desperation and blood loss talking, and she could’ve been bargaining just as he did. Now that she was on a safe route to recovery, she had an opportunity to settle the score once and for all. Another one of her magically conjured blades found its way into her visibly weakened hands and though her wobbly feet could barely support her light weight, she made her way to his bedside. And once again, just like back in the Citadel, she had him on the ropes, defenseless and left to her mercy. Only this time she could strike down more then just his pride. This time she could claim his life.

But that dubious second of contemplation passed and before her true intent even unfolded, Malagen knew that Ira wasn’t about to murder him. As stoic as she struggled to be, there was softness in her eyes, the kind that answered the unasked questions, the kind that made them different as fire was different from ice. The kind that stated that, unlike him, she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. There was a different kind of hardness within the exotic woman, something that Malagen didn’t even know existed, which bound both battle rigor and clemency. He disregarded it as a weakness the first time he saw her, battle-ready and eager in that illusory arena of the Citadel, and yet it was this balance between the two extremes that made her victorious then just as it did now.

When Ira finally put her blade to use to cut his restraints, however, Malagen almost wished she cut him instead. “You can go,” she said, speaking of this liberation as her merciful gift to him, as if he was a slave that needed her permission. He probably would’ve retaliated right there and then against this demeaning way she addressed him, but Malagen was tired. Not just physically – that would’ve been the least obstacle in the path of his retribution – but rather he was tired of the thoughts that this woman inspired in him. He was tired of wrestling with the rage and the doubt and the irritation that Ira somehow managed to evoke. She unbalanced him for some unfathomable reason, shaking the beliefs that he thought were set in stone, and since he couldn’t force himself to kill her, the barbarian reckoned it would be best to distance himself from her.

With his arms unbound, the barbarian wasted not a second, leaning forward in order to untie his legs. It was simple work, but the pain in both his shoulder and his back made the entire process taxing for the Dram. He was done with his right foot and halfway to doing the same with his left when Ira’s question came. “Would you rather that I haven’t?” was Malagen’s reply, cold and uninterested as per usual, as he continued working on his bonds, sparing not a look on the woman that somehow succeeded in annoying and intriguing him at the same time. He wanted to leave it at that, but when he finally untied himself and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, her inquisitive eyes were on him, demanding answers in their own tranquil manner.

He didn’t have answers for her though. How could he explain that, even though it went against the merciless way he was taught to live his life, it felt right to fulfill his promise? How could he explain that, for some reason beyond comprehension, her presence made him ask himself questions that he always disregarded as irrelevant? How could he explain that the very fact that he couldn’t decide whether he hated her or liked her went against his nature that outlawed any and all emotions? He couldn’t and therefore he didn’t bother trying.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Malagen said, standing up and giving his body several seconds to stabilize. Once he felt his balance was sufficient, the shirtless barbarian proceeded towards the wardrobe in his usual calculated strides, doing his best to retrieve his rigorous posture. His shirt was gone, probably too torn and bloodied for patching, but his heavy overcoat was there, together with rips that corresponded those on his body. The ruthless swordsman donned the leather attire swiftly, allowing a minute painful cramp as his left arm found the sleeve. Picking up his sheathed sword, Malagen gave his weapon a glance before he went for the door. Ira’s eyes were still on him, and once again they managed to stop him, if only temporarily. He didn’t turn towards her when he spoke though.

“Some things are best left in the dark.”

And in that somber tone, the murderous barbarian left the infirmary and the woman that was the cause of his upheaval.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The cold was back. Perhaps it had never left him at all. Perhaps the words he had spoken earlier were induced into some kind of emotion through only the weakness and whatever lingered from his dreaming mind. She didn’t know and would probably never know. His answers, all three of them if one could even call them answers, brushed it aside as inconsequential. She knew he was avoiding the truth of why he saved her though part of her wondered if he even knew the answer to that himself. Had his impulses taken over? Did his instincts say to do it or had some small amount of emotion crept into the forefront of his mind and whittled away at his conscious with guilt until he’d responded and done as he’d promised?

She wanted to press him for further answers. She wanted to get up and back him into a corner in the room where he couldn’t get away from her. But it would be futile. She couldn’t keep him here, especially as weakened as she was now. Perhaps it would have been better if she’d left him tied to the bed as she asked her questions. Then he couldn’t get away. He could still avoid giving answers but when you’re tied to a bed and it looks like your only chance of freedom is responding sincerely to a few questions he might have just given her the answers she sought. Or he might have found a way to lash out at her until she freed him. Either way, there was nothing she could do about it now. He was already gone and without him the large room just seemed kind of empty. There was no relief that the murdering psychopath was finally away from her and no hateful curses hoping a runaway herd of horses ran him over. Just a kind of lonely feeling that she couldn’t quite explain.

Some things are best left in the dark.

There was a good chance he was right. Perhaps she should just leave it in the dark. Stop analyzing the emotions and stop looking too deeply into everything. It had been a chance encounter between the two of them that had nearly cost her, her life and now it was over. She should be relieved, but she wasn’t. Ira only hoped she wouldn’t start missing the barbarian, then she knew she’d be in trouble.

Sliding back onto the bed, Ira looked over at the tray of food half eaten on the bedside table. She should probably finish it but she didn’t feel up to it anymore. Perhaps she should just go back to sleep. The door to the room creaked open and Gerrard poked his head inside, quickly followed by the rest of his body.

“I thought I heard somebody leave…”

He looked from her to the empty bed that had moments before held Malagen.

Uh oh. “He managed to get out of his bonds and left.”

The old man looked from the rope, which he knew he’d tied rather securely to Ira. She carried no weapons on her either now nor when that man Malagen had brought her in, but the ropes were cleanly cut. Gerrard knew the man could not have freed himself; she’d done it for him but why he could only fathom. Women truly were odd creatures and foreign ones even more so. They operated in ways he would never understand.

Shaking his head, the old man gave her a knowing smile, “You should get some more rest.”

That was exactly what she’d been thinking of doing. Trying not to smile herself, Ira slid back down onto the bed and snuggled herself into a tight ball, wincing every time she moved her leg the wrong way or too fast. It didn’t take long for the exhaustion to claim her.

----------------------------

Ira took a deep, unsteady breath as she stood upon the threshold of The Citadel. Two weeks had gone by, four days of which had been spent at the healers and then the rest of the time in her room at the Inn. In a fortnight she’d healed miraculously fast, knowing that it was the balms the healer had been covering her wound with that made it so much easier. But in that same fortnight she hadn’t been able to do much of anything except lay in a bed and think and thinking could get her into a lot of trouble. And now that she was recovered she found herself in the one place she thought she wouldn’t come back to. Just what she was doing here evaded even her own logic. Her first visit had left her with a visible scar she could add to the growing amount she seemed to be accumulating.

Uncertainty warred within her mind. She turned to go, but stopped herself. As she stood there a rather bulky man wearing chain mail armour bumped into her and sent her stumbling down to the next step. Why people always had to be so rude was beyond her, perhaps they just needed someone to teach them some manners. Her foot shot out as he passed by and tripped him. The man fell face first onto the stone steps and quickly pushed himself up, cursing her and all her family along with it.

Maybe I shouldn’t take out my frustration on random people…

She glanced towards the man from the corner of her eye, his words still flying through the air though her ears ignored them.

Or maybe he deserved it.

He grabbed her shoulder, his fingers digging through the thin white material covering her and into flesh. Her instincts took over. Ira wrapped her fingers around his wrist pulled him forward against her back, leaned forward and then threw him onto the stone steps once more.

“It’s not nice to touch a lady without her permission.”

Before he could get up and retaliate Ira quickly stepped over him and began heading towards the massive wooden doors of The Citadel. She didn’t want to start a battle in the middle of the street. It seemed the man behind her didn’t care about that though. Once the air had returned to his lungs he launched himself onto his feet and chased her inside.

“ ‘ey, em talkin’ to ya!”

Wondering if what she’d done had been such a good idea, the Calerian continued to ignore him and remind herself why she came here, which was…well, she didn’t really know. Saying she came here to train and fight some more would be a lie but saying she came here to see Malagen would be too much for her to admit. So just why was she here? Her mind rationalized that it just wanted answers from Malagen, after all he had sidestepped her question and there was more she wanted to ask him than that. If only she could completely believe what her mind rationalized.

Ira meandered through the crowds noting that The Citadel was relatively the same as she’d last been here. The boasting continued, the fight continued and like last time, few real warriors graced the halls of this place. The halls were filled with people and their voices bounced off the high ceilings and the undecorated walls. The man behind her was still shouting curses she could barely understand and didn’t show any sign of giving up. He must have something against women, or a woman hurting his pride. When she wandered into a small clearing with three different paths for her to choose from, the man finally caught up. By now his shouts had drawn a little attention towards him and unfortunately her as well.

“I ken we should settle this in a match.”

The Calerian sighed and turned around. The man already had his hand lightly resting on his sheathed sword. His face may have been handsome but it was twisted with the smirk he currently portrayed and his nose looked like it had been broken and reset improperly. He reminded her of someone someone who enjoyed hurting others.

“I think that would be a waste of my time, you wouldn’t even last long enough for me to break a sweat.”

His face turned into a mask of rage. Men like him hated being talked back to and it didn’t take much to push him in the wrong way.

“Little whore!”

There were only a few feet between them and he tried to cross it quickly, but it didn’t work. Instead of unsheathing his sword he charged her with a rigid fist, but she stepped out of the way, grabbed his wrist and pulled the same move on him she had on the stairs, flipping him over her back.

“You’d think you’d have learned your lesson the first time. Most people don’t fall for the same move twice.”

Now she was just taunting him but she couldn’t help it. A small crowd had gathered around Ira and the stranger, including one or two monks. She got the distinct feeling they would not intervene in the fight until one of them drew a weapon though. Perhaps squabbles like this happened often within The Citadel.

The man charged her again, clumsy in his moves. They were easy to read and easy to counter. He came in fists swinging and she deftly ducked and stepped away from each one. But while she wasn’t looking he slipped a small dagger into his freehand and lunged at her. Bringing her arms up in an X in front of her, Ira stopped his blow and his strength met hers. Grabbing his wrist, she twisted it to the side until he was forced to drop the dagger then quickly twisted it behind his back and kicked out his knees at the same time, leaving him kneeling before her. She felt like breaking his arm and knew she could if she wanted to but controlled the impulse. Instead she let him go and turned to walk away, ignoring the fact that a crowd of eyes were upon her.

[Malagen]

Despite being renowned for being the congregation place of Althanas’ greatest warriors, Citadel was becoming more and more of a disappointment for Malagen the longer he lingered within its enchanted walls. Those that he desired to meet in combat – the so called ‘legends’ whose records still hung on the walls for all to see – were nothing but faceless names nowadays. Names like Thoracis, Damon Kaosi, Ashiakin, they were all spoken with great respect, they all had their neat little place on the tapestries next to their win-loss record, and yet they were nothing more then dead letters on a piece of cloth. They moved on – in one way or the other – and what they left in their wake was scarcely impressive. Aspirers that talked big but walked with mediocrity stamped on their forehead, weaklings with dream-filled eyes that were confident that they would win ‘the next time’, overzealous quasi-heroes that beat their chest like apes during mating season, the list went on. On occasion somebody worth fighting – worth killing – would appear, but the ratio of the worthy and the worthless was such that it threatened to give Malagen a migraine.

And yet for the past two weeks, this same monotonous Citadel whole visitors he detested most of the time was where he spent most of his days. The vast lobby with ridiculously high ceiling that always seemed to echo with racket of feet and boastful claims and metal scraping against the whetstone wasn’t much better then a tavern common room, but Malagen preferred it for a number of reasons. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself. He insisted that he was merely there to train, that he could kill people here without the usual legal consequences hanging over his head, that there was no other place that could cater to his homicidal needs. But behind this curtain weaved with explanations and rationalizations the truth was concealed, hidden even from his own perception. He wanted to see her again.

Contrary to his desire, contrary to the years of rigorous training that left him as callous as the metal of his blade, whenever Malagen’s mind wasn’t set on a specific task, it wandered to Ira. The thoughts of her were like a disease of the brain, like a virus, attacking the equilibrium and taking over the basic functions, forcing him to remember. To fantasize. Regardless of his mental struggle, he would catch himself doing odious things such as reminiscing, imagining, feeling, all of the things that were classified as a distraction, as a weakness. He tried getting away, but wound up walking in circles. He tried sleeping, but then his mind went rampant. He tried battling, but even the victories lost their flavor. He spent countless hours dwelling on this anomaly, trying to explain it, but to no avail. Was it because she defeated him that his calm was broken? Was that moment of weakness the crucial chink in the dam that kept the irrationality of emotions at bay? Malagen didn’t know. Feelings were a novelty to him, something he didn’t comprehend, something that, maybe for the first time in his life, struck a dose of fear into him. Because, if there was no way back to the balance that he’d been building for so many years now, what would he be left with?

These questions that went about his mind like outlaws on the run failed to find answers today - as he sat serenely in the middle of this anthill of warriors - just as they did two weeks ago in Gerrard’s infirmary. In fact, today his quest for the calm was to be pushed another several steps backwards.

It wasn’t hard to spot her; her rambunctious entrance made her even less inconspicuous then the last time he saw her waltz into the Citadel. Ira Shinkara, the accursed woman that haunted Malagen’s thoughts, returned to the far-famed arena and unlike the last time, her awestricken approach was replaced by a belligerent one. Caught in a brawl with a man that moved with delicacy of a woodcutter, the woman managed to gather quite a crowd in the center of the lobby. And once again, Ira displayed the cocky coolness with which she dealt with Malagen, moving as smoothly as a cat and striking like a hammer. By the time Malagen managed to push his way through the circle of bodies, the brawler was on his knees, muttering curses and holding his wrist, as Ira proceeded deeper into the Citadel.

“Nothing to see here, folks. Come on, go about your business,” an aged monk that looked as dry as a twig beneath his robes said, offering a wrinkly hand to the fallen ruffian only to have it swatted away. By then Malagen was making his way after Ira, ‘accidentally’ stepping on the man’s fingers and eliciting a loud yawp before entering the same hallway Ira did. She must’ve heard him coming after her, the sound of his boots bouncing of the cold, lifeless walls and echoing through the hall, and yet she kept her course and her pace steady. Not even when he got close enough to reach for her did she make a move. But when he reached for her, she did.

His hand landed on her shoulder and her reaction was fierce, her instincts razor-sharp. Unfortunately, her move was predictable, the same one she sold twice to the same nitwit that tried to teach her a lesson back in the lobby. One of her hands caught his wrist, but when her other tried to do the same before throwing him over her back, his own trapped it and gave it a powerful tug. The force of the pull was more then enough to make the woman swirl, but with the swirl came the knee as well. The knee Malagen should’ve predicted. The knee that Malagen would’ve predicted if his mind was focused on fighting instead of the way her skin felt beneath his fingers. The knee that connected with his stomach and forced him to release her hand and take a step back.

“Nice move.” It was really nothing special, but there was nothing smarter that the barbarian could come up with that would explain why he fell for it. “So, you come looking for a rematch or do you greet everybody this way?”

[Iriah Caitrak]

She’d thought the footsteps following after her were from the same man. She’d thought he was trying to piece together his broken pride. She’d thought he was a glutton for punishment and wanted more. She’d thought wrong.

When the hand landed upon her shoulder, every muscle in her body tensed and begged for her and turn around and give this man the kind of beating he deserved. Ira might have just done it too, if it wasn’t for the fact that her move didn’t work. It wasn’t surprising, perhaps the third time was the charm and he was actually beginning to learn something. So she tried another one that was sure to surprise and it was only after her knee connected that she noticed whom she’d just attacked. She’d been aiming to hit him in the crotch too, good thing she’d missed.

“Zapathiya ast abhizasti bhizap kruz anuzap dikkr!”

They were curses. Whether or not she was muttering them to herself or to Malagen she didn’t know. Why the idiot had snuck up on her after she’d just been accosted by a man who’d attempted the same thing—and failed in his attempts—she had no idea. But then again, the male mind worked in many strange and mysterious ways. Perhaps he thought…well, really she had no idea what he’d thought. She only wished she’d realized it was Malagen before she kicked him in the stomach. Then of course she realized she wasn’t all that sorry she’d just injured him. He deserved it and so much more. It was just that now he was standing right in front of her and she didn’t really know what to do with him. Though he did commend her on a nice move Ira was actually surprised her knee connected. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to attack. Maybe his guard had been down. Whatever it was it didn’t matter in the end.

“Serves you right for sneaking up on me!” Her words were somewhere between angry, frustrated and apologetic all at the same time. She hoped he had fun sifting through those emotions.

The rest of what he said eventually sunk into her head. He wanted a rematch?

“A rematch…I…”

She felt her face flush with heat and knew without a doubt that she was blushing. She needed to say something back to him, she was supposed to but no matter how much she tried all the words in her head receded into a dark little corner and wouldn’t come out no matter how much she coaxed them. Why had this suddenly become so hard? All she’d wanted to do was…was what? Even her inner mind didn’t know! Retreat was the only conclusion her mind could come up with. It was a logical battle strategy. When one was faced with a foe they couldn’t handle it was, of course, proper to retreat. Or in other words turn tail and run away from the source of the discomfort. The only problem was her source of discomfort was Malagen, who, even though she would argue this in her head, was her reason for coming here in the first place.

Clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, Ira steadied her thoughts, wondering why she was so nervous around Malagen now when before had been fine.

“I didn’t come here for a rematch, as tempting as that would be…”

Okay, so now what did she say to him. Damn it all to The Abyss, where was the sand dune she could burry her head in when she needed it? Saying nothing was worse than anything she could blurt out at the moment, so it would probably be best if she just closed her eyes and jumped in headfirst. After all, the only thing he could do was say no and then what, nothing, that’s what. If he said no there would be nothing if he said yes well, then she might be in a bit of trouble. Truth be told she expected him to say no to her no matter what she was about to ask. So, why not just get it over with, go back to her room at the Inn and soak herself in a tub filled with extremely hot water?

Nibbling on her lower lip, Ira nervous swirled the white material of her shawl between her fingers. The sheer material was as soft a silk but did little to ease the uproar within the pit of her stomach.

“I was…” another deep breath, she had to get this over with all at once, “I wanted to know if you would like to join me for dinner?”

There she said it!

Wait…dinner? That wasn’t what she’d been intending on coming here for. No, answers were what she wanted from Malagen, real answers, not just ‘some things were best left in the dark’ kind of answers. Shit, shit, shit! Now that she’d said it she couldn’t take it back. Now that she’d said it, did she want to take it back? Of course she did! There was no way she wanted to spend an entire evening across the table from that infuriating man, but part of her argued that she did want him to accept. That part she ignored. He wouldn’t accept anyway. He would just laugh at he and say something cold and belittling like he always did then turn and walk away. So she had nothing to worry about…right?

[Malagen]

((Ira’s response written by Ira herself. Credit where credit is due.))

No, not a rematch. It would’ve been too easy of a solution if they engaged each other in battle again. They would fight, he would his infallible focus this time, emerge victorious and regain the coveted balance, thus ending the disruption. That was, at least, what he wanted to believe, not that it mattered a whole lot. Because even though it was rather evident that Ira still held a grudge against him – and probably had every right to hold one – she didn’t with violent intentions. In fact, given her rather affable expression and the sudden wave of discomfort that swept over her face - leaving a tinge of ruddiness in its wake - Malagen was rather certain that she came with an intention to reconcile. He expected the usual speech, the ‘live and let live’ agreement that would designate them as neither friends nor foes. He didn’t expect for her to drop a stick of dynamite into his lap.

A dinner? She wanted him to join her for dinner? As hard as he tried to defend against any and all emotions Ira managed to evoke, dubiety conquered his iron will and crept into the features of his visage, raising his brows ever so slightly. His eyes sought deception in her own, scanning them for anything that would explain this sudden benevolence, demanding evidence of a ruse. Because this kind of benevolence simply didn’t fit into the distinct rules that Malagen had set in his mind. When you tried to kill people, they were supposed to come seeking retribution, they were supposed to hate your guts and come after you like hounds after a bloody trail. Malagen knew that as a fact; every single man, woman and child that had somehow survived his onslaughts always came after him and they always wanted his blood. Always. No exceptions. That was the way the world worked.

Ira’s obviously operated on a different concept. Instead of the expected hostility, the woman presented an olive branch as a solution to their rivalry - instead of another bloody encounter, an amicable meal. No arenas, no weapons, no keen glances that sliced through the air like through a watermelon, no pain and anguish. Just dinner. Regardless of how much of a callous bastard Malagen was, this deviation from what he considered normal was an overwhelming sensation. Nobody ever took that route with him, nobody took that chance with him. And because of that, the ruthless barbarian found her offering hard to believe.

“You want to have dinner?” he asked, his tone losing just a fraction of that cold coloration in favor of doubtfulness, accentuated by a skeptical smirk. “As in eating?”

“Yes,” Ira responded, looking just as uncertain and lost as he was. She had a cryptic look on her face, the kind that made her look antsy to get as far as humanly possible, and yet the kind that also expected his response with uncertainty. The kind that stated she herself didn’t know which answer she desired.

“With me?”

Ira responded with what looked like a nod. The next question was to be expected.

“Why?”

Why? Well, that was a very good question. How was she supposed to answer that without embarrassing herself? Not to mention she wasn't even sure if she could answer that. It hadn't been what she'd come here to say, answers were what she wanted from him and now she was asking him out to dinner and he wanted to know why! By the love of Suravani, what had she gotten herself into this time?

“Well, I mean I just... I thought it would be nice. You have to eat, I have to eat, we could eat together and, but... well, just don't bring any weapons. It could be nice, you know... I erm...” She was rambling and she knew she was rambling but she couldn't really help it. She was also not really looking at him anymore. In fact her head was tilted down and every now and then she stole a glance at him, but no more.

Malagen couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Ira was asking him out and she acted all anxious and embarrassed, like a teenager that wanted to steal a kiss before scampering back home. Some less callous people would’ve found this approach sweet, but sweetness wasn’t the reason why the barbarian got interested in Ira in the first place. It was her audacity that irritated him, her audacity that attracted him, that drew him towards her like a bug towards a camp fire. This new Ira was all mellow and soggy, too much like all the other women. But then again, all of the other women that ever knew him were just a passing attraction, playthings that meant nothing more then a night worth of sweat and pleasure. And none of those women ever did what Ira was doing right now.

“I see,” Malagen said, his sheathed saber tapping against his left shoulder. He knew that he should say no just as Ira knew she shouldn’t be here in the first place. But with so many things deviating from the ordinary in their encounter so far, what difference another one made? When the Dram spoke, his voice was stern, but not entirely lifeless. “Very well. I accept your offer, but I’m not leaving my sword behind. There are evil people out there. You never know when you might run into one. Now, we can leave whenever you stop acting like a coy little girl.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

C-coy little girl!?

Ira’s eyes shot to Malagen’s face, her eyes narrowing into what could only be interpreted as a glare. Before she could think better of it or even talk herself out of it Ira clenched her hand into a tight fist and sent it sailing through the air hoping to hit Malagen right in the face and maybe break his nose. His skull was so thick she’d probably break a few of her fingers knocking against it but she didn’t really care. He had no right calling her a coy little girl! She was far from that and so what if she’d been a little nervous and embarrassed asking him out to dinner, it hadn’t been her plan and had taken even her by surprise. If he hadn’t of asked why she wouldn’t have fumbled around for so many words. Besides he was supposed to say no, not yes! Svatgham! He had said yes! Now what was she supposed to do? She’d just condemned herself to a night stuck with him.

It seemed that when Malagen’s cold nature returned so did his reflexes and his guard. He dodged her sloppy attack as if it was nothing then caught her wrist in his hand. Twisting her arm around and her body with it, Ira ended up with her hand shoved up against her back and her back pressed against Malagen’s front before she even realized what was going on. It irritated her so much that he was a better fighter than she. He was the first person she’d met that could best her in a battle so easily. The only other one to come close to it was Revor and even then the two of them were equally matched. Sometimes he would win and sometimes she would win though more often or not it was a draw as they continued to wear each other out until they were left exhausted and unable to fight anymore.

She still had her other hand free but Ira didn’t want to ensue a battle between them by trying to elbow him in the stomach, not to mention it was a predictable move in this position. She was pretty sure she’d tried that same one on him during their match anyway.

This wasn’t that bad of a position to be in but it was not what Ira wanted, “Release me.”

It was a command if she’d ever given him one and he didn’t seem too keen on obeying. In fact his free hand was wondering down her body starting from her side and circling around to her behind.

Reaching behind her, Ira grabbed his wrist and twisted her head to the side so she could just see him, “Let me go…”

Whether it was the way she said it this time or something else, Malagen listened to her and released her wrist and she in turn let go of him and stepped away. She couldn’t help but feel relieved and disappointed at the same time, the second emotion she shook off. Ira did not get close to people like that, she never had and she never would and if Malagen were looking for that he would have to look elsewhere. What had happened back in the arena was an anomaly not to be repeated.

“I saw this adorable little place a few days ago and I’ve been meaning to try it out…”

Turning her back on him, Ira began leading the way out of The Citadel and into the bustling streets of Radasanth.

Twenty minutes later and one wrong turn, Ira had finally led the two of them to the place she’d been talking about. It was called The Black Forest Inn but it was not an Inn at all, which made the Calerian wonder why they would call it such a thing in the first place. It was a large building with a set of huge glass windows on the front of it. Inside candles lit every table and patrons were already beginning their meals within. Almost everything was made from wood instead of stone and it gave the place a comfortable feel.

“I really wish you would have left your toys behind… the only evil person I’m worried about running into is walking right beside me. And what would you need it for when I can form a weapon for you should we run into trouble?”

She didn’t see that happening since her walk had led them into some of the nicer areas of Radasanth. Thieves did not lurk in every darkened alleyway here. Men wore weapons around their hips more for show than any kind of actual defence and the number of guards walking the streets had doubled compared to the others areas Ira had been in. She found it odd that they would post more guards in a place with less crime than some place with more. Perhaps it was like the Outlander’s Quarters. Shove those of less repute into one area and let them kill themselves while the wealthy and better off continue to live in their lap of luxury. It all made her realize how unique her home of Astaka was and how much she was beginning to miss it.

Grabbing the ornate handle of the door—it looked like a vine or a branch—Ira went inside knowing Malagen would be right behind her. Most of the places Ira had been to in Radasanth were rather normal, she sat herself and waited for the serving staff to ask her order. This place was definitely of a different class. Instead of finding her own place there was someone at a small desk once she walked in who waited to seat her. It was a little over the top for her but nice at the same time.

Cameron raised his head from the seating map as he heard the front door open. The first person to catch his eye was a rather beautiful and exotic looking woman. She was dressed completely in white and it made the deep tan of her skin stand out all the more. Her leggings flowed around her with her every step and her shirt was short cut both in sleeve and bottom. A sheer white material he could only guess to be some kind of shawl was wrapped around her one shoulder and stomach but he could still see through it. Her hair was even a light purple and he knew that she must dye it, for that was no natural colour. She looked simple, but elegant. It was not the normal dress of the clientele that walked through those doors but he supposed wherever she hailed from it was of the norm. The man trailing by her side though was not the kind of person Cameron ever saw in this establishment. He was another one of those warriors and he even brought his weapons in. How distasteful.

“How may I help you?” He asked as politely as he could to her, completely ignoring the man.

“This is my first time in a place like this, do I ask for a table?”

He smiled and nodded his head, she had quite the unique accent. “Yes, for how many?”

“Two, abhiruc.”

Though he was unsure what the second word meant, Cameron nodded his head anyway, “Right this way.” Shame that she was mixing with one such as him. Her choice though. Moving away from behind the desk, Cameron led the two of them through the establishment and to a nice table by the front window. Placing two menus on the table he politely inclined his head and left the two of them to their meal.

[Malagen]

It was so easy for her to classify him as evil. It was a commonplace prejudice, a sign that most people eagerly stamped on everything that they didn’t comprehend, that didn’t fit in their set of rules. Malagen didn’t mind much; that was the way human mind worked. If a pack of wolves devoured someone’s horse, then the wolves were evil. If that same horse ran over a child, then the horse was evil. If a pair of people robbed graves, then they were evil. And if somebody robbed those same two robbers of their lives, then that somebody was evil too. Evil was such a trite concept nowadays that it lost its power, so it didn’t unnerve Malagen that Ira described him as such. If she was comfortable with it, so was he. Being evil usually minimized the chit-chat and the number of questions anyways.

“I prefer weapons that aren’t a part of magician’s trick,” was the only response that the ruthless barbarian offered, walking alongside the foreign woman in his specific manner that seemed to make each step look exactly the same as the one before. Yes, chances were that he wouldn’t actually need a weapon given the fancy neighborhood riddled with guard patrols, but Malagen wasn’t a gambler and thus didn’t play dice. Having a weapon at his side wasn’t optional – not with the training he received – it was his creed, the way he was taught to live. It made him so accustomed to the cold metal in his fingers that he felt vulnerable without it.

The Black Forest Inn was situated on one of the main streets that sliced the Government District in neatly urbanized blocks of pompous, lofty buildings and Malagen couldn’t say that he appreciated the environment. Beauty and quaintness and grandeur, they were all concepts that were lost on the Dram, disregarded by his efficient mind. There was little difference between a shack in the Slums and a palace as long as they both got the job done. However, he had to admit that he didn’t expect for Ira to choose such a highfalutin place for their dinner. Perhaps she felt safer here, where the guards came a dime a dozen and where everybody looked at him as if he was her bodyguard instead of her companion. Not that the barbarian cared much about the looks he received. Most of the people here were fat clotheshorses that probably didn’t know which end of their ornate sword they should use in case of emergency. Women were even worse, with their multi-layered dresses that swept the cobbles, pale, powdered faces and perfumes that made entire avenues smell like the interiors of their purses. Malagen couldn’t quite decipher the emotion that all of this evoked, but he was pretty certain it was disgust.

The interior of the inn was expectedly similar to the grandiose outsides. Carpets soft enough to be bedrolls paved the floors, the polished furniture that glistened as if somebody covered it with a fine film of grease was meticulously arranged, making the entire place look like a battlefield where the troops were already deployed and ready for action. The people were more of the same too, sitting with sticks so far up their behinds that they barely managed to turn their heads in order to acknowledge the newest pair of customers. Malagen eyes moved over the interior and saw it all; the contempt in the eyes of the steward that greeted them, the whispering lips of the lady with a wafter that obviously didn’t like the look of that dark fellow, the measuring eyes of an elderly gent that sat with three lasses that looked far too intimate with him to be his daughters. Such a welcome would’ve made a less callous man uncomfortable, but Malagen took it in stride and merely followed Ira and the waiter to the table.

Once seated and presented with the menu, the dark swordsman didn’t spend too much time flipping through the pages. The handwriting was neat enough to belong in some encyclopedia, but that didn’t help with the fact that Malagen couldn’t understand what it said. He could pick up a letter here, a word there, but for his illiterate mind it was like trying to decipher a lost language. And though he deemed himself immune to trivial emotions, once he looked over at the other side of the table where Ira studied her own menu closely, Malagen almost felt embarrassed for his inadequacy. He tried to cover it up with the usual straight face, but for some reason there was this concern inside of him that made him anxious about what she would think once she knew that he couldn’t read. And suddenly he didn’t feel that hungry anymore.

The waiter in charge of the pair’s table – a lean young man with greased brown hair and a three-piece suit – interpreted the fact that Malagen put his menu down as a sign that the customer decided what he wanted to dine, so he was fleet to approach. “The sir has decided?” he asked with politeness that almost sounded genuine.

“I...uh... I’m not hungry,” the Dram responded, the uncertainty so alien in his voice. He looked the lad in the eyes with the go-away type of glare, but soon his eyes went to Ira to check for her reaction. It seemed that the waiter didn’t get the message though, because he picked up Malagen’s menu, flipped a couple of pages, and then spoke again.

“I see. Perhaps sir would like something to drink? We have a fine selection of beverages, as you can see here,” he said, placing the open menu before the barbarian. Malagen looked at the pages again, but nothing changed since the last time he beheld the menu. Compared to the barbaric runes which he was familiar, these letters were undecipherable in their simplicity. And there were so many. After a moment of silence that seemed to hang in the air like an axe of an executioner, time came to come clean.

“I can’t read,” Malagen spoke, holding on to his dignity, but breaking by the seams and allowing a tinge of humanity into his voice. He flipped the menu closed, pushing it away almost in anger. “So just bring me whatever and go away.”