How Did It Ever Come To This?

[Iriah Caitrak]

Perhaps she should have chosen a place less extravagant. Though Malagen would never outwardly say he was uncomfortable with something she could tell this was not the most common place he dined at and nor was it for her. It had looked rather interesting when she had passed by it on one of her aimless walks but it was just a little too stuck up. Perhaps the food was good and really she could care less what the siahds in this room thought of her and her choice of company. They could always leave but Ira was starving and she didn’t feel like finding another place to eat at. They were here; they might as well enjoy it as best they could.

Grabbing the menu from the table, Ira opened it and flipped through the pages quickly realizing she’d made another error in her choice of dining. Everything within the menu was written in Tradespeak and though Ira could speak the language to an extent she couldn’t read it if her life depended on it. The neat letters so wonderfully written were lost to her mind in a confusing swirl of circles and lines that interlocked together to create a language. The only thing she could read was Fallien and an extremely small amount of Common and by small she meant really small. This may as well have been written in some kind of ancient language, the decoder of which long since lost to the ages for all it’s worth to her. But that would be a rather embarrassing thing to admit to Malagen. He lived in this city and reading something as trivial as a menu would be so simple to him. She didn’t want to have to admit she couldn’t read this. So she let her pride get the best of her as she thoughtfully studied dishes she would never hope to understand.

“The sir has decided?”

The gentle and polite voice of the waiter broke through Ira’s mind, a thankful reprieve to the confusing swirl of letters dancing beyond her eyelids. Yet that also made her realize she would be expected to order as well. Malagen’s response made her blink and slowly look up from the menu. Never before had she heard him sound so unsure of himself, it was so out of character. He even looked uncomfortable. He was however giving the waiter a glare that would send most men scampering for their lives. She had to hand it to him, he didn’t back away, he actually offered the menu to Malagen again on the list of drinks trying to encourage him to order something. Silence was the only answer the waiter received for what seemed like minutes. Finally Malagen broke it by admitting he couldn’t read and further growling to the waiter to bring him ‘whatever’ and go away.

The man took the menu off the table, slightly off put by the tone in which Malagen had spoken to him and possibly by the fact that he couldn’t read. Ira on the other hand sat there rather surprised. She couldn’t believe he would admit to such a thing and he even seemed upset at the fact that he couldn’t understand the language.

When the waiter turned to walk away, Ira gently placed her hand on his arm as she smiled up at him, “I’m afraid I cannot read Tradespeak either.” The waiter seemed displeased by her sudden revelation and that slightly irritated her but she tried not to let it show. “Do you by any chance carry ayahpana?”

The waiter smiled, “We do. It happens to be one of my favourite drinks.”

Relief washed over her, finally something a little familiar from her area of the world, “Wonderful, two of those please.”

‘Iron drink’ was its direct translation. It was a form of alcohol from her native Fallien that was extremely strong and took a stronger stomach to handle. The drink had recently begun to grow popular among other nations including Corone, but Ira had learned early on in her stay that most Taverns did not carry it. Apparently the more high-class areas did.

“Now… as for our orders…” Ira began.

Ira hated ordering for other people but seeing as how stubborn Malagen was and how she did not wish to embarrass him, she decided to ask all the questions. When it was said and done she’d ordered a simple plate of meats, cheeses and bread as an appetizer. For her main course; some kind of rare foul with a light lemon, wine sauce and a side of pasta and salad. Malagen she’d ordered something with a little more red meat to it. She only hoped he would enjoy it.

The waiter picked up their menus and left them only to return moments later with two glasses of ayahpana. It was a clear blue liquid that looked harmless enough but Ira knew better. Good thing the Calerian knew how to handle her alcohol.

Taking a sip of her drink, Ira felt the burn and the warmth all the way down.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you saved my life after wishing to take it?” Ira asked Malagen rather bluntly. It wasn’t the best conversation starter but the Calerian had never been one for small talk, “I’m not stupid, Malagen. Evil you may not be, but nor are you good. You operate for your own needs and care little for those of others. I’d ask you why you’re such a bastard but I worry over the answer you’d give me.”

That was definitely not the most eloquent thing she could have said to him. But she wasn’t here to woe him or play nice to him, not to mention his kind didn’t play nice. He probably preferred the straight forward approach same as she did. Taking another sip of the ayahpana to help wash down the words and his answer, Ira waited.

[Malagen]

He shouldn’t have felt relief when Ira came to the rescue – he shouldn’t have been feeling anything – and yet when his companion admitted she couldn’t read either, Malagen’s unease was palliated to a degree. It was another one of those strange sensations that he hadn’t felt before, that he couldn’t understand, another fraction of him thawing in Ira’s presence. Socializing was something that the barbarian alienated himself from, all for the sake of upholding his equilibrium. He deemed that part of everyday life redundant – why coax people into doing something when you can coerce them and achieve the same result? So now that he was thrown into the murky waters of human interaction, he began to realize that he couldn’t swim.

If Ira was put off by this oddity of his, however, she did a good job keeping it concealed. She put up that intriguing smile of hers and proceeded to order with polite words, and soon enough there was a pair of eerily named drinks standing before them. And with them came the inevitable question, the same one Malagen deflected back in the infirmary. The Dram had the answer, but it wasn’t the answer that bothered him. It was the fact that Ira wanted to know the answer. Why was she trying to find out more about him? He brought her nothing but woe and pain. All things considered, she should be frowning and spitting the words at him, not trying to gently scrape the surface of his mentality in order to see what dwells beneath. Was it simply curiosity talking or was there a deeper reason, Malagen couldn’t tell.

Picking up the glass with the translucent azure drink, the ruthless swordsman took a deep swallow, leaving the silence to linger for a moment longer. The beverage was strong, stronger then he initially expected, spreading like molten lava through his insides and bringing a heat wave in its wake. But then again, Ira was a strong woman – he couldn’t really see her ordering some watery wine.

“Why should I care for others?” he finally spoke, placing his drink back on the table and firing a glance over its surface. Once his eyes seemed to grab her attention he leaned forward and continued in a lower voice that seemed more menacing somehow. “Look around you,” he nodded his head, gesturing in a random direction towards the patrons of the tavern. “Men puffed up with vanity like women, women puffed up with self-esteem like queens, drunkards that can barely stand, unclean whores that sell their flesh, sleazy merchants with greedy eyes. There isn’t a person worth killing in this room. Sure, they would all fight back once pushed into a corner, but so would dogs. They all abandoned true strength and pride themselves with their vices. Why should I care for them when they don’t care for themselves?”

Though Malagen couldn’t quite decipher the expression on Ira’s face, it was rather clear that the heavy words he spoken struck a cord within her. He let the words settle a little bit before he took another sip and continued. “You were different. You fought back even when you didn’t have to – especially when you didn’t have to. Such strength is rare in a woman. You ask why I saved your life? Nay, I didn’t save it. You saved it yourself. If you were more like these people, I would’ve left you for the crows.”

Seconds after the barbarian was done with his pertinent answer, the waiter came with his hands full of plates, bringing both the food and the much needed reprieve from the subject at hand. The large oval plate was laden with neatly arranged strips of various dry meat, decorated with leaves of basil and parsley, with small squares of cheese forming a pyramid in the center. Two empty plates were set before Malagen and Ira, together with a set of silverware that seemed to have too many utensils. With a cultured bow and a conservative “Enjoy,” the waiter made himself scarce.

“That’s simply the way of the nature,” he continued, his voice somewhat less ominous as he forked several pieces of meat into his plate and picked up a warm bun of bread. “It’s the way I was taught. The weak perish and the strong prevail. There are no feelings involved, no more then when a wolf kills a doe.” This was probably not what Ira wanted to hear. Even though communication – verbal or otherwise – wasn’t his area of expertise, Malagen reckoned that Ira expected some sort of a confession that would rationalize his action, some soppy story that would explain it all. But Malagen was no storyteller, and even if he were, his story wasn’t a soppy one, not to him anyways. It was more of the same really, just strong prevailing over the weak. The way it was supposed to be.

[Iriah Caitrak]

To say she didn’t expect the words would be lying. An explanation from Malagen would be nothing like one from another and she knew that asking the question. He would give no soft, sugarcoated excuse for what he did. Instead he gave her his intentions and justified to her his way of looking at the world. A sad way of looking at it but one that was very true. The Calerian had seen it many times in the desert. The strong always prevailed over the weak. Humans were one of the only species the nurtured the weak and sustained them. In the wild, animals that were different and could not operate under the norm were discarded and quickly killed, keeping the strong, strong and the weak from passing on their seed to others. What worried her slightly was that she understood most of what he was saying. There was barely an argument in her mind and throw at him.

“I understand…”

She looked away from him and down at the liquid in her glass, swirling the contents around before taking another sip and enjoying the warmth as it seeped into her.

“It is the way nature operates and if humans did as dictated by everything around them they would no longer nurture those who could not defend themselves. Yet, true strength does not come with the knowledge that you can kill someone weaker than you, it comes from knowing that you can protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

She looked up at him as she said the last.

He was raised differently than she was and she could not fault him for that. His philosophy on life was not wrong, perhaps a little immoral or skewed, but it could not be wrong. Not everyone could look at the world with eyes that see the same thing. Ira herself may see someone in need, while Malagen only sees a diseased old man better left for dead.

Placing some of the dried meat and a warm bun on her plate, Ira glanced over to the napkin laden with too many pieces of silverware that looked like miniature swords and spears to her.

“Corone is a long way from my home and it’s people very different than what I know. I find myself surrounded by those who care little for anyone but themselves instead of working together as a community. In Astaka we are a group. Not everyone is born with the ability to see the dead and travel to Purgatory, but those who cannot are given purpose. Without them we would not have our crops, nor the meat we eat for they hunt it.” She didn’t really know how to describe her home to someone who operated on his own and for his own needs, “It’s dis…dis…” Ira couldn’t remember the word, “it saddens me to know that communities like that do not exist beyond my home. People are discarded so easily in Radasanth…in the worst areas they are treated like…nothing.”

She wanted to say garbage but she couldn’t think of the word in Common.

The Calerian leaned back against the soft cushion of her chair looking out at the patrons in the establishment. Conversation was abound but the place was rather quiet compared to most of the taverns she had been in. No one laughed raucously and no one shouted. There was a constant swirl of words in the air kept to a minimum and the serving staff was light on their feet and soft-spoken. They were barely around and moved from table to table like ghosts in a way. It was strange and just as Malagen had said. Pompous men with women hanging off their arms giving them empty smiles that never reached their eyes. Their dresses flowed around them in the most extravagant ways and Ira wished she could look as beautiful as they did but they were empty on the inside. Never truly themselves, they pushed aside their personality to operate in a way that their status demanded of them.

“I do not understand the ways this region commands its citizens act…”

She didn’t turn back to Malagen as she said the softly spoken words. Instead she watched for a moment as two women flirted with a rather handsome young man who’d clearly had one too many. Were they the whores who sold their flesh? Was he puffed up with vanity like the women who floated across the floor around him? She didn’t know.

Sighing, the Calerian turned back to Malagen, her expression sombre and no longer with that bright smile to fill her eyes. But she shook it off and took a deep breath.

“Now, before I ask you what has made you so cold and distant to those around you, I need to know something almost as important.” She kept her face as stern as possible as she picked up one of the miniature spears and held it before her, “Just what am I supposed to do with this?”

She couldn’t help but break into a smile as she asked the question.

[Malagen]

She didn’t understand. She said that she did, but there was no way for Ira to fully comprehend the meaning of his words, not unless she had suffered the rigor of the Dram upbringing. It was more of an expression of sympathy, this admission of hers, something that people used when they found out more then they initially wanted. Or at least that’s what Malagen thought of it. But then, instead of changing the subject the people usually did, the exotic woman offered a retort. She spoke of her home, some obviously faraway place called Astaka, where the strong looked over the weak and the weak returned the favor by doing peasant work. It sounded a bit like slavery to the barbarian - a concept widely spread through Ferioh as well - but there was too much compassion in Ira’s voice towards these weaklings of her home for it to be slavery. It seemed that she believed that there was strength to be found in aegis just as he believed that there was strength in ruthlessness.

She was wrong, of course, but Malagen remained silent during her exposition, not so much out of politeness but because, despite the obvious difference between them, there were several points on which they actually agreed. Communities like Radasanth evoked something within them both, only with him it wasn’t sadness like in Ira’s case. They were both distant from their homes, only in Astaka the weak were nurtured and in Ferioh they were either killed or forced into slavery. It seemed like they were standing on an opposite side of the same spectrum, seeing the other side through this translucent prism that distorted their vision.

All this talk about the points of view and opinions and homes brought back memories of Ferioh for some reason. Perhaps it was due to the second glass of liquor that Malagen ingested – though quite impressive constitution-wise, the barbarian never consumed alcohol because of the negative effect it had on one’s perception. Or perhaps these recollections were the consequence of this turmoil that Ira had a knack of waking inside of him. Either way, some of the mental pictures and sequences that were neatly cataloged in his mind were starting to fall out of their respectable shelves. And to Malagen’s surprise, it were those that he deemed irrelevant that stood out the most. Not the cruel tutoring of his instructors or the do-or-die winter training in the Ferioh steppes or even one of the numerous whipping sessions, but instead moments like the murder of Dharnia and people like Taneth, a boy with ten winters under his belt who never returned from what their instructors called the ‘steeling’.

This moment of reverie came to what Malagen hoped to be a definite end when Ira spoke again. This time she was more subtle, wrapping up her real question in the coat of a jest, probably in an attempt to lighten up the atmosphere that suddenly grew as grim as if there were clouds brooding over their heads. The Dram didn’t smile – he understood the jape, but like many things, it too was deemed irrelevant. However, there was something in Ira’s smile that almost wheedled him to pick up the utensil in question and skim over it. His fingers spun it once deftly so that the point tip wound up between his forefinger and his middle finger.

“Its balance is lousy, but I reckon with some skill you can hit a waiter from the other side of the room. Just in case he’s being too slow,” Malagen finally said, finishing up with a grin instead of a smile. His other hand found its way to the glass again, bringing it in for another deep swallow. Even though he refused to admit it, he was feeling uncomfortable, and this ahaya-something that Ira ordered seemed like a cure for that particular ailment. Not that he needed a cure for it. Discomfort and tension were good; they kept you on your toes, kept you focused. Or so Malagen’s mind kept saying while its owner took another sip.

“It’s for show,” he finally gave a definite answer, dropping the utensil. “Just like most of the things here. Why else would there be nine tools to do the job that you can do with three or less?”

It was all a distraction though, this talk about the trite etiquette and the usage of the right eating instruments for the right course. Her real question was still standing between them, lingering in the silence and waiting to be answered. Even though Malagen had no intention to reply to it, the question clawed at his psyche, lurking for that moment when the alcohol would assuage his tension just enough to lure the answer out. It bombarded his thoughts with images related to it until one of them managed to break through the barricade. And in this oddest turn of events, the barbarian spoke again.

“Closeness is a weakness, just as your caring for the weak is, just like all emotions are,” he spoke, his fingers oddly restless, playing with one of the tiny forks, his eyes starting at a breadcrumb on the table. He tried to maintain his cool, but the more he spoke, the more color manifested in his tone, making it almost human. “They are a leverage that your enemies can use against you, a needless risk. So if you kill that part of yourself, they can’t harm you anymore. You become... invincible.”

That was what he was, invincible, dependant only on his own prowess. When you were invincible, death couldn’t touch you. It became just an inevitable event farther down the road, a moment when somebody stronger triumphed over you. There was no sorrow, no regrets; it was simply the way things were. Your paths crossed with somebody stronger, better, and you became an obstacle. There were many of such moments in Malagen’s life, and though he always disposed of all obstacles, one in particular returned to him now. The first one. And for some reason, he felt inclined to vocalize that thought.

“That is one of the most important lessons I learned. Back in Ferioh, they paired the strongest with the weakest and took us to a frozen river...” he said, interrupted only by a pause long enough for him to take another sip. The alcohol seemed to sit better on his stomach then food at this point, but it also brought the unwanted images to the forefront. Combined with a pair of silvery eyes that gazed at his, it made Malagen more uncertain and anxious then ever in his life. It made him wrestle with emotions that he didn’t want to deal with, it called them back from those moments in his past that he kept locked away. And soon he realized that he had only two options; yield to this disturbance or get away from the source of it. And Malagen never yielded.

“I... I have to go. This was a mistake,” he spoke just as hastily as he picked up his sword and got to his feet. He walked away from the table resolutely, intercepted only by the steward that tried to politely ask him if something was wrong. Malagen pushed him away wordlessly, sending the man toppling over his small table and attracting the attention of the customers. It was so stupid of him to accept her invitation, to let her live. She was the deadweight he had to cut off.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Whether it was the drink or just the way Malagen said it, Ira could not be sure. But when he explained how she could hit one of the waiters were they to move too slowly the Calerian could do no less but burst into laughter. She had to cover her mouth with her hand and try her damnedest to hold it inside because the last thing she wanted to do was draw any kind of unwanted attention. But she couldn’t help it. She kept picturing Malagen with his scowling face and glaring eyes throwing that little spear towards one of the poor serving staff. It would probably not kill the man, it did not appear to be that well crafted, but it would certainly hurt. As he finally explain the utensil was for show, like most everything else on the table, Ira quieted herself and took a few more sips of her ayahpana. The more she drank of it the more comfortable she felt and the more tension that left her muscles. It was a dangerous combination as she knew she shouldn’t be drinking that much in order to keep her wits about her, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself.

With the laughter that had come to her eyes she’d almost completely forgotten about the other question she’d asked him. The one left hanging in the air that she hadn’t actually expected an answer to. He was too distant to tell someone he barely knew anything about himself, but already he had revealed so much without even meaning to. So when he began speaking once more, Ira had to remind herself of it. His less than pleasant opening for his explanation almost left her to choke on her drink. If she could choose between knowing the truth and sending japes at him all night she would gladly choose the latter, just to see him smile a real smile and perhaps even laugh. The Calerian doubted Malagen had ever truly laughed before and what a shame it was. Laughter could heal a soul with a thousands wounds, if even for a moment. It was the burdens of the world washed away in a simple motion made easier by that which brought the laughter forth. Still, his words ended that and brought the seriousness back into their conversation.

Quietly she listened to him speak, absorbing the words the best way she could. They struck her from within to think that he lived his life without any kind of emotion. But the more he spoke the more his guards fell away and the more she could hear that which he tried to abandon creep into his very voice. Emotions were not weakness. They gave you the strength to continue when all else left the body to weakness. They were drove a true warrior forward. The emotions within them, the love they felt, the need to protect those they cared about and even sometimes the feelings of hate and anger. Without emotions you are not invincible…you are the weakest in the very core of yourself, forever missing something and not knowing what to fill the hole with.

Ira wanted to explain that to him, but as she drew the fortifying breath into her lungs he continued to speak. But when he paused long enough to take another drink, Ira too sipping from her glass, his eyes became haunted. He was no longer just looking at her, he was staring into his past and it seemed too much for him to handle. When he announced his departure she was so surprised she didn’t even act immediately. Not until she witnessed him push over one of the waiters did Ira finally realize what was going on.

“Abhisagga!”

Hissing the word, Ira quickly pushed up from her chair. Reaching into her purse she dumped what looked like fifty gold coins on the table before she quickly went after Malagen. It was so stupid of her to ask such a question, but she hadn’t seen the harm in it. Apparently he had more to his past than what met the eyes and not all of it he was willing to deal with.

Rushing away from her table, Ira was stopped by another one of the serving staff as a few others helped up the knocked over man.

“Miss, miss is everything all right?”

She nodded her head and tried to move passed him but he kept blocking her way and she didn’t know what kind of bravado was seeping into his brain but she wanted to squash it. She could handle herself and did not need the help of some prissy little waiter.

“Are you sure, should we call the guard for you?”

“I do not need the help of your guard. Now…remove yourself from my path!”

If she didn’t know any better she’d guess she’d just sounded like another one of those stuck up noble, Radasanthian women, but she didn’t care. It got the job done and the man quickly moved away from her. Sparing a glance just long enough to ascertain the one member of the staff was indeed uninjured, Ira quickly turned and fled from the establishment. She didn’t know how long Malagen and she had been inside the restaurant but in that time the sun had begun to set. It was not dark, but dusk was upon her and the air had chilled. As the crisp wind swept against her bare arms and stomach she couldn’t help but shiver and resent the goosebumps lining her flesh.

Her eyes scanned the crowd of people in the street. There weren’t too many but she could not immediately spot Malagen. She would think that a swordsman wearing all black would stand out immensely in a crowd of men fluffed in colours she usually saw on the wings of birds. But no, her eyes could not see him.

“Malagen!”

A few heads turned in her direction and looked distastefully upon her sudden outburst, one of the women even sniffing at her.

“Abhiga abhipa karambhavaluka!” Ira growled at her, not at all bothered when the woman raised her haughty little head and walked away.

Ignoring her and continuing to search the crowd, Ira sighed as she realized her chance of finding him was slim to none. He was probably long gone and away from her by now.

“Malagen…”

Looking down at the neat rows of cobbled stones and running her fingers through her short, purple hair, the Calerian picked a direction and began walking. No point in standing around for nothing. If she were lucky her chosen path would lead back to the Inn she was staying at. If not she had another long night ahead of her. What more did she expect though? He answered the one question that had truly been bothering her and neither of them had any more of a reason to interact with one another. She was only pouring salt on the wound.

[Malagen]

He watched Ira burst out of the tavern from the safety of his shadowed hiding place and didn’t know what exactly to make of the fact that this strange foreign woman called his name. The setting sun cast a thick shadow over him, making him almost invisible behind the stacked wooden crates. He knew he should’ve been running, scurrying away from this epicenter of chaos that perturbed him, and yet instead of disappearing into the vast maze of Radasanthian streets, Malagen was standing in the alley adjacent to the Black Forest Inn, looking at the woman that managed to quake the simple, yet effective world he built. Though he refused to acknowledge it, there was something within him, some flame long extinguished, and it was curious whether or not Ira would follow. But even now when the barbarian witnessed that she did, he was still confused as to what was the true meaning of her actions.

What did she want from him? Why did she go through all the motions with somebody who she didn’t even like? Was there a secret agenda to her interest? It couldn’t be for the sake of fornication, for they went down that road already and stuck a blind alley. Did she truly care for his story, care for him the way she cared for all those weaklings that she had a tendency to protect? It would’ve been so much easier if she hadn’t run out of the inn, if she had simply finished her meal and walked back to wherever the hell she called home away from home. It would’ve given a certain closure to this peculiar... something that was occurring between them. Neither attraction nor aversion – or rather both attraction and aversion – this emotion seemed to take root inside both of them. And Malagen didn’t know what to do with it. Discarding it like one of those obsolete, needless things would’ve been the easiest route, but for some reason that trait of his didn’t work anymore. He felt bound to her and incapable of severing that bond.

It was because of this peculiar sensation that the ruthless swordsman didn’t turn his back and walked the other way. Instead, his eyes followed the white-attired woman, his feet taking him from one corner of the alley to the next, finding cover in the most inconspicuous manner possible. There was a fair number of folk on the streets, but in the Government District they stuck to the main roads, leaving the side alleys rather vacant, thus enabling Malagen to follow Ira undetected. The timely evanescing of the daylight only further aided him, making the shadows denser until the twilight made them permanent.

He watched Ira with hatred. He watched her with affection. He watched her with craving, with questions, with confusion. He looked at her and found the source of everything he ever fought. And he couldn’t cope with it, didn’t posses the knowledge of how to cope with it. In a lifetime void of emotions, Malagen was finally feeling and it was a haunting sensation, disturbing to the point of agitation. It had to come to an end, he knew, one way or the other. Either she would give him some clue as to what to do with this mess she caused or he would take her life. Either way, there would be some kind of a resolution to the problem.

The prowling Dram waited until Ira finally got off one of the wide avenues, waited patiently with his blade sheathed, standing in the darkness, his back turned to a stone column that was the corner point of a fence that surrounded a rather lofty compound. And when he heard her footsteps come near enough, he stepped into the middle of the street... only to realize that he didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Ira stood before him, speechless, as if she too failed to find the words. He took a step towards her, then another, his face foreboding, expressionless.

“Is this where you’re supposed to say that you give a damn?” he finally asked once only several feet of cobbles remained between them. Though his words seemed stone cold, there was a spark in his eyes that reflected the turmoil within him. “Is this where you say that you care, that you want to know, that all will be well? That there is a silver lining to every damned cloud?”

There was anger in his voice when he spoke the last words, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he disallowed it. With a single fluent motion, his blade played a metallic chord as it was drawn and pointed at her neck, his eyes shooting her over the length of the blade. His next words weren’t spoken, but spat at her. “DON’T! Don’t tell me you want to know! You don’t want to know! There is nothing for you here. Nothing! This is who I am!”

At the end, Malagen almost shouted, bringing his blade so close to her neck that the tip of it threatened to prick her skin. But instead of the trained calmness that usually kept his hands steady, this surge of emotions made his blade quiver, made his grip uncertain just as he was. He wished that she would turn around and walk away. He wished that she conjured her blades and put up a fight. He wished that she said that she did want to know, that she touched his hand. He wished all of these things at once, unable to decide, unable to distinguish what was right and what was folly. His eyes, regardless of how steely he tried to make his glance, sought answers in the silver ones at the far end of his blade.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The rest of her night presented itself in a plain and boring way. She would go back to the Inn, perhaps order something else to eat but most likely not even eat it. After that she’d lay in bed for a few hours staring up at a darkened ceiling until exhaustion won over and she finally passed over into restless dreams that gave her no comfort. She never should have entered that Citadel again, knowing he would be there and even though trying to deny it going there specifically to see and talk to him again. It was a lot to admit to herself, but what was the point in lying to her own mind over and over again? Malagen had just ended their interaction for the second time now and to go after him again would be folly. Chasing him out of the restaurant was foolish enough, but she’d probably do it again if the opportunity presented itself. Just why she enjoyed spending time with him was beyond her. If only their interaction had stopped after The Citadel, neither of them would be in this kind of position.

Where were the guiding words of Uriahd when she needed them?

‘You’re actually letting him get away? Haven’t I taught you anything!? Go get him!’

But she couldn’t go get him. She didn’t know where he was and besides, he’d tried to kill her for real and not just in the illusion of The Citadel.

‘So? You’re alive aren’t you?’

Yeah, that was true. He saved her, or by his explanation she saved herself. It was rather strange.

‘Okay, good. Now I ask again, why are you letting him get away?’

She…didn’t know. But she’d looked and she hadn’t been able to find him. If Malagen wanted to get away from her she was certain he could do it. He knew these streets and she didn’t. She knew the way back to the Inn and quite possibly even then she might get lost. Navigating a desert was so much easier than meandering through stone walkways and tall buildings. She couldn’t see the sky from in here and the sky is what helped guide her, yet even if she could the stars looked a little different in this area of Althanas. Every street looked the same. Every wall was a replica of the last and every window held the same glow and warmth of the one before it. The sun was almost gone too and as Ira glanced up towards the sky she could just make out the first of the stars appearing.

Ira was so lost in her thoughts that when Malagen appeared from nowhere in front of her, her heart leapt into her throat and lodged itself in her airway. At first she didn’t recognize him, his clothing too dark and his face hidden in shadow at just the right angle. It didn’t take her mind long to register who stood before her though. A small amount of relief crept into her mind then and her heart returned to normal but then she saw the look on his face. Hard and cold. He was back to normal and his intermittent steps were bringing him closer to her and she didn’t know what to do. Every instinct within her body told her to flee, that he had once again reverted to the predator and she was merely the prey, but she couldn’t. Something within her would not let her leave and even if she could, she doubted she’d turn and walk away.

Then his words rang out in the silence and with every question Ira felt the beat of her heart increase with his anger. She didn’t know what to say to him, she didn’t know what he wanted to hear. A multitude of answers swam around in her head, moving too quickly for her to grasp them and hold onto. She had to say something, but when she opened her mouth he silence her with heated words that made her jump and the tip of his blade that made her heart stop beating for an instant. Every time he yelled at her he brought the sword closer to closer to the flesh of her neck until the tip nearly brushed against her skin. But it quivered. There was no steady hand holding it with certainty, there was only a man battling with things he couldn’t begin to understand because he’d shunned them his whole life.

For the first time she felt real fear around him. He could end everything for her in the blink of an eye and the last thing Ira wanted to do was die.

“Malagen…”

Her shallow breathing made her chest rise and fall in quick intervals. She couldn’t hide her fear from him but she could try to push it aside. She moved forward just a fraction, just enough that the tip of his blade pierced through her flesh. Blood welled and a few drops trickled down to her collarbone, but it was not deep enough to truly bleed.

“If you want to kill me…kill me. I’m tired of fighting you.”

His eyes implored so much from her, but his face was impassive and cold. Yet he made no move to finish the job and slit her throat. Stepping away from the sword, Ira moved closer to Malagen. Her eyes never leaving his, searching their depths as her hand rested upon his and slowly lowered his sword.

“Enough Malagen. I…I don’t know what you want to hear from me but I’m not going to lie to you. I barely know you but the fact that I’m standing here and not running away should tell you that I do care and that I want to know you better. This is who you are and I’m not asking you to change!”

There were no accusations within her words, no anger, nothing. They were just softly spoken to him, “What I feel and want doesn’t really matter right now, does it? The fact that I feel something does…what exactly is it you’re feeling right now? What is it you want?”

She couldn’t decipher him. He could push her away and run from her once again or he could kill her on the spot, she didn’t know anymore. Despite the fact that he tried to hide so much within himself and deny the basic emotions any human should have, there were layers to Malagen he himself may not know existed. Perhaps he had forgotten about them or pushed them away as inconsequential, she didn’t know. But they were surfacing now and he didn’t know how to deal with them, that much was certain. Whether or not Ira could help him was a mystery, whether or not he would allow her to even try was something else entirely.

[Malagen]

Candor and benignity with which Ira countered his words were a blade that passed right through the abysmal core of his being. All the fortifications he erected, all the callous walls of ice and stone, all the defenses which were supposed to keep him safe from weakness, she cut through them as if she knew some secret passage he had no knowledge of. Her touch was meaningless, but it was electric, paralyzing, conquering his resolve. Her eyes, both stern and soft, seeped into his own like firewater, setting him ablaze and bringing light to the shadows that accumulated within him over time. Her words offered questions instead of answers, further complicating the puzzle that already left him befuddled. By simply being who she was, Ira succeeded in making Malagen feel helpless, pathetic, all the things he fought not to become. She shattered his balance, and each shard of his previous self was different, jagged, like broken glass. A part of him hated the sense of hopelessness. A part of him felt relieved. A part of him wanted to embrace her, to do the unfathomable and apologize. A part of him wanted to act like all the human dogs he hated that put tails between their legs and ran away from a problem.

Mostly, though, Malagen just wanted it all to end.

For that purpose, his hands did what they did best, what they were honed for during his entire life. He tore his wrist from her grasp, stepping back just enough to give himself room to operate his saber. It moved almost too fast for the eye to see, the grayness of the twilight masking the strike that went for her neck. But Ira did nothing. The only sound that preceded the swish of his decapitating blade was the breath she took, shallow, but not surprised as her eyes peered hauntingly into his own. Malagen knew those eyes, he knew the sound of that inhale. Not so long ago, they belonged to another woman that cared, a woman that made him question the doctrine of his mentors for the first time in his life. A woman he murdered.

“No.”

Despite the current tumult in his head, the calm voice halted his blade before it ever reached Ira’s neck. His right was shivering. It took Malagen several seconds to realize that it wasn’t just his hand that quivered like a petal of a dying flower. His face grew paler then usual, displaying fear for the first time since he could remember. He took a step back, then another. The saber slipped from his fingers, its clattering against the stone ringing in his ears. There were so many thoughts zooming through his head, so many emotions cramming into a narrow doorway of his mind. He tried to speak, but plucking a single thought from a torrent of them was like trying to catch a trout from a wild current with your bare hands.

“I...” the hectic barbarian tried to speak, but found himself struggling with words just as much as something as simple as walking. He doddered for another couple of steps, like a man with a mortal wound, and when his back touched the wall of the adjacent building, he slid down on the street. He didn’t look at Ira anymore, couldn’t bear to see the reflection of himself in the eyes that beheld his weakness. “I... I don’t know what I want.”

He sounded so immature right then, like a spoiled teenager that couldn’t decide what to do with his life. Perhaps, on some level, he was a teenager, a boy that he never was, reliving all of the emotions he suppressed during his life in one moment in time and being unable to identify them. Sitting on the cold floor of the street like beggars that he despised, almost unaware of the fact that he was doing it, Malagen continued the story that he initiated back at the table of the Black Forest Inn.

“They used to take us to river Ennes in the early fall, when the ice was still thin enough to be broken,” he began, his arms propped on his knees, his eyes gazing at nowhere. “There were a lot of us in training, a lot of those that didn’t have what it takes to become a warrior. So they bound the strong with the weak with a piece of rope. They gave the strong a knife and shackled a boulder to the feet of the weak before they threw us into the river. The first time you try to swim to the surface together, but the water... It draws the strength from you, rips it from your gut with its freezing fingers. And when you hit the bottom, you know that the only way to survive is to cut the deadweight. Quite an experience for a ten year old.”

He looked up towards Ira when he said the last sentence. He didn’t know why he spoke of it. Perhaps, even though he still refused to admit it, he wanted to see and feel some compassion in her eyes. “It was a lesson that was supposed to teach us how dangerous emotions were, how they made us weak, and I learned it, mastered it over the years. You ask me what I’m feeling right now... It’s like asking a blind man for directions. I don’t know, perhaps I never will and perhaps that’s best for both of us.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira felt as if a fist had closed itself around her heart as Malagen described what his people had done to him and considered it training. It was horrible and cruel. Never in her life had she heard of such a thing and never had it been done to train youth and forge them into a better fighter. It was traumatizing. To a ten year old, she just couldn’t imagine such a thing. The ice cold water all around them and the deadweight at their feet. Only it wasn’t deadweight, it was an actual person that was struggling to survive just as much as the other. Calerian training was hard and even at times harsh, especially to a five year old, but never would they do something as cruel as force you to murder another person. No, Ira could not classify that as murder. It was simply pairing people together knowing that either one or both will die. Either the boy will find the will and strength within himself to cut the rope and kill the person attached to him or he wont. It was as simple as that.

Put in such a similar situation Ira couldn’t even begin to imagine what she would do. Part of her reasoned she wouldn’t be able to do it at all, but under feet of freezing water knowing that she was going to die unless she simply cut a rope she wasn’t so sure. After all, as reason could dictate, she was not the one truly killing the person attached to her the water was doing that. She was merely saving herself. To the mind of a ten-year-old boy she could not imagine what thoughts had been going through his head. The men who had dropped those boys into the river were murderers and Ira took a small amount of satisfaction knowing that they would probably be sent to the Abyss when they died. Then again, Malagen would probably be sent there as well.

Uncertain, Ira moved towards him. Kneeling down, she picked up his fallen blade along the way, the blade that he had moments before nearly killed her with. How simple it would have been for him to end it all with that simple blow and kill her. Then the emotions would go away and the turmoil within him would disappear, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her.

Kneeling beside him, Ira sheathed his blade then brushed the long strands of black hair away from his face. Placing her palm against his cheek, she turned his head to face her and found herself without words. She kept opening her mouth to say something comforting, something that would help him cope with this but she found nothing. Some times words were not the answer. They were after all only words and actions always spoke louder than they ever could. So Ira embraced Malagen instead. A touch could go a long way and she could only hope that it would help him. Resting her head on his chest she wrapped her arms around him as best she could.

“Malagen, no boy should have to go through what you did…” She loosened her hug and just knelt there, continuing to rest her head on his chest as she spoke, “There aren’t enough words in the world that will make what you went through go away, but that doesn’t mean you should shove it aside, pretend it never happened and build up a stone wall around your emotions.”

If Ira could she would change the past and erase what he had gone through as a child. But that was not within her abilities. She’d never felt so inadequate before in her life. He needed her help and she was at a loss for how to give it to him, especially in some cold and dark alley. Ira could feel the cold from the stone cobbles seeping through the thin material that separated her skin from the ground and slowly numbing it. Not to mention every time the wind brushed against her flesh she couldn’t help but shiver. It made her want to cuddle in closer to Malagen just to stay warm if not to be closer to him longer. But she couldn’t stay like this forever; it was actually an odd and slightly uncomfortable position that was cramping one of the muscles along her thigh.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, “I…let’s get out of this alley. It’s cold and not exactly the most private area either. The Inn I’m staying at isn’t far from here…”

Getting to her feet, Ira was just about to offer her hand and help Malagen up when he pushed himself off the ground and stood on his own. Reminding herself that he was not a man who needed coddling, Ira tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and turned to leave the alleyway. It took her a moment to remember which way she had come in and which she needed to leave, but soon enough she had them on the right track towards The New Leaf Inn. It was only a five-minute walk from where they were, nestled off one of the main streets in the city. The Inn wasn’t the in the best area of the city, in fact she had left that area a while ago, but it wasn’t in the worst either. Besides, Ira wasn’t too worried about the kind of crime that went on around the place; she could take care of herself. All she cared about was the fact that her room wasn’t very expensive and was spacious, comfortable and had a massive bed that she could just sink into and forget everything in.

The New Leaf Inn was a large building mostly made of pale, beige stones with large windows that faced invitingly into the street. Candles burned in most of them and the closer she got to the building the louder the voices from within became. The Inn also had a tavern in the lower floor that never got as rowdy as some of the places she’d visited recently. Ira guessed that was mostly because the patrons were those staying upstairs and they didn’t want to get kicked out of their rooms. That being said they still knew how to have a good time and Ira had joined them a few times and woken up with quite the headache the following afternoon.

Opening the front door, Ira’s senses were immediately assaulted by a number of different things, including the sound of laughter, drowned out by equally as loud talking. The smell of ale and smoke was in the air, masking the aromas that always filtered in from the kitchen. The one thing she was really thankful for was the heat though. Glancing into the tavern before she headed upstairs, Ira spotted a few familiar faces that had befriended her a few nights ago. Heading up to the third floor, the Calerian fished her key out of her purse as she walked down the wooden hall. From up here the sounds from the tavern below were nothing more than a whisper, the noise absorbed into the wood. Moving along to the fifth door down, Ira unlocked it and slipped into the darkened room, leaving Malagen to close the door behind him. The light spilling in from the hall was just enough to illuminate the fireplace and the table and chairs set around it. The bed and desk, which were on the opposite wall and farthest into the room could just barely been seen.

Walking over to the mantle, Ira grabbed one of the matches off the top and knelt down before the fireplace. Striking the match against the stone, Ira watched as the smallest of flames chased away most of the darkness in the room before she set the flame to the kindling. Making sure it was good and caught before she stood up and slowly turned around to Malagen, Ira found herself once again feeling that nervous flutter in her stomach. She realized then it was just the two of them, Ira and Malagen, alone, in her room, together, by themselves and Ira suddenly started feeling very unsure of herself.

[Malagen]

Completely disarmed by her amicable disposition, Malagen followed Ira through the oncoming darkness of the streets like a prisoner sentenced to death. Perhaps it was because in a way this whole encounter was a guillotine that threatened to end something that was a crucial part of him. This ruthless rationale that kept him at arms length from humanity was withering, taking away everything that he had known and introducing a different viewpoint. And from this new vantage point, there was comfort to be found in her embrace, not weakness; there was strength to be discovered in the warmth of her touch, not weakness; there was reliability to be found in her words; not weakness. It was a moment of redefinition in which Malagen was finally forced to admit that he wanted Ira for more then just the satisfaction of his bodily lust.

But that was currently the maximum effect of this redefinition. Malagen’s world didn’t topple over. His frozen heart didn’t thaw and reveal the soft spot. He wasn’t about to cry his eyes out and repent for the things he had done. That wasn’t how a Dram mind worked. That wasn’t how Malagen’s mind worked. There were no miracle cures for lifelong corruption, no groundbreaking moments that completely changed the course of one’s life, no divine epiphanies that shed light on the reigning shadows. There were a lot of closed doors inside the barbarian’s head and Ira succeeded in opening one of them. And while it was more then anybody was able to do so far, there was still a lot of darkness locked away deep inside of him, a lot of doors that weren’t opened now and that perhaps would never open.

Their walk through the benighted streets of Radasanth was brief, but to Malagen’s troubled mind it seemed to last forever. He kept rationalizing, kept calculating, kept trying to predict to what end were the events of the day leading, but there were no answers to be found. And even when he thought he had it all figured out, all it took was one look towards Ira to tumble the house of cards he built with thoughts. He caught himself looking at her when he should’ve been paying attention to their environment, following the way her body moved, the way her every muscle flexed, the tempting manner in which her attire both hid and revealed so much. The barbarian chastised himself for making such an irrational mistake, but it failed to prevent him from repeating it. Again. And again.

And then they were at the doors of the New Leaf Inn. Unlike the previous establishment they visited, this one didn’t seem as vain and starchy, and its patrons only further confirmed that conclusion. It was obvious that most of the royal, pompous folk found it far too simple and ‘below their level’, while the rapscallions and murderers – his kind of people – found it too neat and lacking enough shadows in which they could knit their webs. Ira showed no intention of pausing in the common room though, despite several of inviting hands raised to greet her at a table on the far side of the room that Malagen noticed. Instead she led the way up three flights of stairs, taking them away from the relative commotion and into the silence of her quarters.

It was the silence that disquieted the barbarian. It reigned in her room even as she moved around, setting a lively fire in the hearth whose flames chased out the darkness. Never before had Malagen feared the silence – in fact, he preferred it over meaningless words that people tended to blurt just to keep their tongues busy. And yet now, as she stood before him and there were no words spoken, he found himself looking for a way out. He didn’t know what she expected from him, what the common etiquette demanded from him in situations such as this one. Did she bring him here to bed him? Did she want him to embrace her, kiss her? Did she want to continue their conversation? Or was she at a loss just as he was? Whatever it was, Malagen decided not to back down.

He should’ve thanked her. He probably should’ve apologized as well. But those words never exited his mouth and he found them hard on his tongue and himself incapable of uttering them. Instead, he found a way around them. “You didn’t have to do this,” he spoke as he closed the door, his tone cryptic, neither deathly cold nor perfectly human. “Well, not just this. A lot of things today. Not after what I’ve done. And yet here we are. Does your kindness know no boundaries?”

A pair of steps took him closer to her, close enough for his hand to reach towards her and touch her. But for the longest time he just looked at her, his steely glare descending from up above, examining her quicksilver irises. Some men could read looks, could tell exactly what the woman was thinking just from looking into their eyes, but Malagen wasn’t one of them. This kind of subtlety wasn’t the part of the program. The term of gentleness was practically lost to Malagen through the years, but instead of grabbing her and throwing her onto the bed as he usually did with wenches, his right hand went for her face, the back of his fingers passing over the velvety skin of her cheek. She didn’t recoil at his touch, but there was something in her eyes, a surge of emotions that he deciphered as alarm and discomfort. He pulled his hand back.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

It was an enigmatic question and even Malagen didn’t know exactly what he meant by it. It was an offer to spend the night with her, but it was also more then that. It was a truce that was supposed to end this violence between them once and for all and exchange it for something more. Something that Malagen couldn’t even comprehend.