Live to Fight Another Day

[Christina Bredith]

Thanks to the marvels of liquid time, this quest takes place quite some time ago, during Letho's "The Price of Freedom," which has gone unfinished. Partly to give some closure to a storyline that may never get finished, and partly to explain what Christina has been doing in my long absence from Althanas. I haven't really decided whether it's open or closed (i.e. solo) yet. If you think your character has a good reason to run into Christina in Fallien and assist her (or antagonize her, I suppose), and if you're active enough to see it through, then let me know and we might just be able to work something out. ^^

Marshal,

Sorry to leave you in the lurch like this. I don’t know where you find yourself after that raid by the Empire, but that’s probably for the best. I’m being pursued – these bastards want my head almost as badly as they want yours, but I’m not about to give it to them. I’m leaving Corone for a time, hopefully long enough to shake off this pursuit and gather some support for our cause. I can’t tell you where just yet, in case this letter is intercepted. And besides, I can’t risk having you do something silly like coming to find me – your life is infinitely more valuable than mine, so if I can lead them away from you, then I’ll consider it a job well done.

Take care of yourself, Marshal. (Ha, as if I needed to tell you that.) I don’t know when we’ll be able to see each other again, but you can bet your beard that we will. This is just a bump in the road. And you’d better be ready to kick some imperial ass when we do – I'm already itching for it.

I’ll write to you when it’s safe to do so. Keep the porch light on for me.

Love,

Christina

P.S. Take good care of this kid. He took a pretty big risk to find you with this letter. We could use more men like him. (And he's kind of cute, don't you think?)

~ * ~

Christina sighed as she looked out over the glistening blue-green ocean from the deck of the ship. It felt wrong, somehow, to be fleeing Corone in its time of need. Everyone had worked so hard to fight the Corone Empire and reinstate the former republic, but now it seemed like it had all been for nothing. The island nation had long since disappeared from the horizon, and as it had faded from view, Christina felt her hopes of saving it slip away as well.

She had to keep reminding herself that it was necessary. To remain in Corone right now would be signing her own death warrant, as well as that of Letho and all the other marshals and deputies. They needed to scatter to the winds, to divide the attention of their pursuers, to bide their time until another effort could be made. It was their only remaining hope of victory in this woefully-one sided civil war.

It had happened so quickly. They had been preparing an attack on the southwestern city of Gisela, whose governor was secretly sympathetic to their cause, when the empire descended upon their Concordian hideaway with its full strength. It was only thanks to the Raiaeran Bladesingers that they managed to escape at all: without their powerful song magic to bewitch and distract the raiders, the entire resistance might have been slain that day.

Christina had lost track of most of her comrades in the shuffle. She only knew Letho had survived because rumours to such effect persisted as she fled south, through the Tylmerande region, toward Serenti. It was there that she crept into the city in the dead of night to avoid any guards sympathetic to the empire, and it was there that she learned of the bounty on her head and the assassins on her tail. The warrior made hasty efforts to obscure her appearance, penned a letter to Letho in hopes that it would find him in good health, and set off on the first available ferry to Fallien.

In the time since, Christina had naught but her faith to sustain her. Faith in Letho and the other rangers, faith in the people of the Republic of Corone. Worrying about their safety was a luxury the woman could scarce afford; it was she that needed saving now, and for the first time since she had met the Marshal and Izvilvin, Christina Bredith was on her own. Not even Rosebite's comforting steel was strapped to her waist, and without it, she felt naked.

The emptiness of solitude frightened her… but the knowledge that they would survive, reunite, and conquer their oppressors sustained her.

“Land ho! Fallien, dead ahead!”

Leave the past where it belongs, Christina urged herself as the vessel plowed toward her new port of call. The only behind you need to be watching now is your own.

[Christina Bredith]

As the ship pulled into the widening mouth of the River Attireyi, Christina stepped away from the railing, knowing that soon they’d be in the Outlander’s Quarter. She wanted to be off this ship as soon as possible and find somewhere safe to hide while waiting for her exit papers to be processed. Once that was done, she could probably hide out in Irrakam, or even one of the smaller villages along the way, until she caught wind that it was safe enough to return to Corone.

The ship’s crew had exploded with life once the ship began to approach its destination. They were a shipping crew, not directly affiliated with the Corone Empire, which is the only reason Christina had been able to get on board in the first place. A little persuasion got the captain to give her passage – for a small fee – with the added courtesy of no-questions-asked. Amidst the hustle and bustle, she was easily able to gather her things and prepare to disembark. It wasn’t much: a brown cloak she grabbed from a long-forgotten stop on her journey, just enough to obscure her tell-tale armor, and the bland steel sword the Rangers had given her before they split up. The weapon was nothing compared to Rosebite, but she would have to make do for now, and hope that she’d still be able to reclaim it when they one day retook Gisela.

The ship soon docked in the Outlander’s Quarter and slowly lowered its creaky plank to the deck below, but before Christina could set off toward freedom, she was intercepted. As she approached the plank, a young man of no more than 18 or 19 intercepted her, holding a bundle of thick brown cloth across his arms. He had dark skin and eyes, like a native Fallian, and his hair was obscured by a wrap of gray cloth, but when he finally spoke to her, his accent was no less than one who had lived in Corone all his life. “Miss? I believe you forgot this.”

Christina was already desperate to get away. Her heart was racing in her chest, its forceful rhythm sending ripples through her body, and her breathing was increasing in pace. Despite the less-than-official nature of this ship, she had no way of knowing that she wouldn’t be discovered and turned in. She was too irrational to realize that if anyone had any such designs on her, they would have taken care of them long before the ship reached the Outlander’s Quarter. It was thus that she blurted out, “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken, I have everything I came with.”

The boy shook his head, fixing his dark brown eyes on her gray ones with such intensity that he must have been attempting to speak the unsaid directly into her mind. “No, ma’am, I really think this belongs to you.” When Christina hesitated, he gently offered the bundle of cloth forward, and added, “A rose for the pretty lady?”

Christina’s well-polished brow furrowed, and she looked down toward the bundle of cloth. Nudging aside the flaps of her cloak to free her arms from it, she took the bundle and carefully peeked inside to see what was so important. There was a soft glow from within, and the gift nearly fell from her grasp when she lifted one hand up to her mouth to stifle a gasp. “R-Roseb—but how did you…? Who are you?”

Once again, the boy shook his head, and gestured for her to follow him down the creaking plank, already covered in crewmen carrying heavy boxes to the dock below. “Not here.” He padded down the walkway, silent as the night in his soft sandals, and Christina followed less subtly, her leather, high-heeled boots sounding along the thick wood as she did.

Her strange young messenger led her through the Outlander’s Quarter, taking her along side streets and through alleyways she didn’t even know existed. The entire place was teeming with life, and most of it was the sort with which Christina never hoped to get acquainted: beggars lined the streets, clothed in little more than they owned when they exited their mothers’ wombs, pawing at every passerby for mere scraps of food; shady figures garbed in dark cloaks, covered from head to toe, leered at her and her companion as they passed through their alleys, but Christina followed his lead and didn’t so much as turn her eyes toward them. At length, they came to a little inn called The Black Scarab on the outskirts of the Outlander’s Quarter, and she was led inside.

The building reeked of spice and smoke, varieties that she had never even imagined back in Corone. If it was possible, the patrons were even seedier than the dirt-ridden natives they had passed to get here, but they were mercifully ignorant of her entrance. Perhaps they were all escaping their own dark pasts, and had no interest in hers.

The boy offered Christina a seat at a table in the corner of the room, and then took a seat opposite her. The table was so dirty that the warrior didn’t even wish to breathe near it, but with some effort she reminded herself that comfort was not a luxury she would be able to afford for quite some time. She set Rosebite atop the table wrapped in its cloth, and looked over to her guide, who began to speak.

“My name is Amin,” he began, in a voice that once again stunned her with its clarity. Either he had lived many of his years in Corone, or this was a very clever disguise, because no hint of a Fallian accent crept into his words at all. “I am an ally of the Baron of Yarborough.”

Christina’s eyes widened. Surely fate jested with her! The Barony of Yarborough was the southwestern region of Corone, and its capital was none other than Gisela itself, the city which the resistance had been planning to steal from the empire before it was raided, and the site of the horrendous Gisela Massacre, where thousands of people were slaughtered in a single day for acting out against what would then become the Corone Empire – on that day, Christina was arrested, convicted of treason, and had Rosebite taken from her.

Still, it explained much. The Baron of Yarborough had always been secretly sympathetic to the resistance, and their plan to take Gisela had hinged upon receiving the support of his soldiers once they sailed into the city on the empire’s newly-upgraded frigates. It would have been easy for a man of his persuasion to “lose” some of the rangers’ confiscated weapons and have them brought to the people who once owned them.

“But how did you find me?” she asked at last, leaning in to the table despite the filth caked onto it.

“Rumours followed you through Tylmarande,” explained Amin, “and they reached Gisela on the back of a merchant caravan. His lordship had been planning to give the resistance some small support – some weapons that had been confiscated in the massacre, and a few easily accounted for supplies to avoid attracting the empire’s suspicion – but before he could get them out of the city, he learned that you had been attacked by the empire and scattered. When he heard rumours of your survival and escape towards Serenti, he gave me your weapon and told me to do whatever it took to catch up with you.”

Christina nodded a little. It had been difficult to escape to the south without being noticed. Untrained in such matters, she was passed by several merchant caravans along the way, and it wasn’t until she reached Serenti that she realized there was a bounty on her head – any number of those merchants may have recognized her and reported her to the authorities, though they wouldn’t have risked doing anything about her themselves, knowing all too well what she was capable of. Once she had learned that the empire had actually sent assassins to Serenti to eliminate her, Christina made a hasty and intentionally sloppy retreat from the country, making sure that they would at least be able to track her that far – and thus leading them away from Letho and the others. It was no surprise that Amin was able to do the same.

“Well, I owe you a really big one for this, kid,” she said with a smile, gesturing at the formless bundle of cloth on the dirty table. “When I get back to Corone, you be sure to look me up if you need anything. But you’d better get back there as quick as you can; it’s too dangerous to stay here with me.”

Once again, Amin was defiant. “I will stay with you, miss. You must be kept safe so that you may return to Corone.” Christina motioned to object, but the boy immediately cut across her. “This I must do, for my lord and my honour.”

The vixen slumped in her chair with a lowered brow and pursed lips. She could see that arguing with him wasn’t going to get her anywhere, but looking after herself was going to be a big enough job as it was. Still, she couldn’t deny that she could use the company, and having someone by her side who knew Fallien better than she did might be just what she needed to get out of this in one piece. At length, she nodded her head reluctantly and extended her hand to the boy. “Glad to have you aboard, then. Now, where can I get something decent to eat in this sand-pit?”

[Christina Bredith]

The next few days were spent laying low, with Christina staying behind in the Black Scarab while her new companion ventured out into the Outlander’s Quarter to gather what information he could about her situation. This was not the way the blonde would have preferred to do things, but Amin was proving to be quite a stubborn little child, and while Christina was perfectly happy to let people do things for her, she was not so pleased with being told to do so.

Still, she had been convinced that this was the most efficient option overall. During their nightly conversations, Christina learned that Amin was born and raised in Fallien, and several years ago his parents died of an illness that had been spreading through Irrakam. His only living relative was his grandmother, who was too old and frail to look after him herself but had enough money to book him passage to Corone and assure him a stewardship under the baron there. He was thus just as at home in Fallien as he ever would be in Corone, and her pursuers were not likely to suspect him in the least.

But each day as the sun set, Amin returned to report his findings, and each day they were scarce. By the third day, the pair was in agreement (reluctantly in Amin’s case) that this course of action was fruitless, and different measures would be necessary: it was time for Christina to head out into the Outlander’s Quarter herself.

“I’m glad you finally see it my way,” she said from her vanity on the third night. She was engaging in her now-nightly ritual of brushing her hair carefully and thoroughly, resulting in a lustre and sheen that, despite the heat, was unrivalled. Even Christina was impressed by it; but then again, she had never before had the time or inclination to spend three entire days cooped up in her room with nothing else to do.

Amin nodded reluctantly. “We will apply for your exit papers and head for Irrakam, then,” he told her. “I have contacts there that may be able to help us falsify your death.”

Christina pursed her lips and turned the chair around to face her companion, who was seated on one of the two beds in the room with his legs crossed. “You mean you’ve had friends like that all along and yet I’ve been locked in here like a senile old woman for three days?”

“It’s been a number of years since I last visited Irrakam,” Amin answered with a shrug. “These contacts may not be of use to us anymore. I didn’t think it was worth relying on the possibility unless we had no other choice.”

Christina rose from her seat and moved over toward the window, running her hands through her golden hair. “You’re pretty frustrating sometimes, kid, you know that?” she told him in good humour. “So what’s the plan, then?”

Amin leaned forward on the bed, displaying equal parts wariness and excitement. His hands were folded between his crossed legs, and he began to explain. “The problem with the Outlander’s Quarter is that most Fallien natives would rather forget it even existed. The only way to spread the word from here that you had been killed would be for it to be true.”

“But in Irrakam, that won’t be a problem,” she surmised.

Amin nodded. “You will see. Here in Irrakam, I have no contacts within the gangs themselves. It would be impossible to falsify such a rumour and have it spread credibly. But the reach of those gangs does not extend into Irrakam, and so my contacts will be able to easily spread the word. If necessary, we can even create a rumour that you escaped the Outlander’s Quarter without your exit pass and were executed as a result.”

Christina shrugged and leaned back in the chair with her arms folded across her chest. “If you say so, kiddo. I’d rather tear into these so-called assassins myself—” Amin fixed a reprimanding glance upon her, to which she laughed and shook her head—“don’t worry, I'm not stupid!”

Amin frowned and continued. “While we wait for your pass, we can continue searching for clues here in the Outlander’s Quarter. It is dangerous, but you never know what clues might turn up if you join the search as well.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Christina burst out with a smile. “In that case, let’s get some rest. I’ve got a feeling tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a day.”

[Christina Bredith]

After no more than an hour in Fallien’s crippling sun, Christina could no longer remember why she had ever wanted to leave her room. The sweat was rolling down her face in droves, and every time she passed someone drinking from a canteen of water, she felt like punching them in the face and taking it for herself. Her golden-blonde hair, at least, was as radiant as ever – in fact, it was attracting considerable attention from the average passerby, which is exactly the effect she was hoping for.

Applying for her exit pass was a painless procedure, but she was informed that it would be several more days before she could expect it to be approved and delivered to her. Laying low for even longer didn’t appeal terribly well to Christina, but she wagered that it was an acceptable evil, as long as it was a step toward getting her back home.

The rest of the day was strangely uneventful for a city filled with pickpockets and murderers. It was almost as if Christina had been declared off-limits, but she was sure that sort of thinking was just in her imagination. It wasn’t until night had fallen and she and Amin were heading back to The Black Scarab that her luck changed.

Amin was leading them through one of the city’s many back alleys when their exit was cut off by a pair of men. Both wore white shirts, pants, and turbans, carried sharply-curved scimitars at their waists, and were staring pointedly in Christina’s direction. When she and her companion halted, the two men began to advance upon them; Amin, sensing danger and wishing to escape it rather than face it, started for the opposite end of the alley. Christina, on the other hand, stood her ground.

“We have waited long to meet you face-to-face, Miss Bredith,” one of the men announced in a thick Fallian accent. He and his ally continued their slow saunter toward her; it was impossible to read the expressions on their faces, because everything except their eyes was covered by the same white cloth that obscured everything else about them. Everything, that is, except their forearms, upon the left of which was tattooed a golden snake, coiling around the entire circumference of the limb.

“You have hidden yourself well,” added the second man, “but it is curious that you have decided to show yourself now. Foolish, even.” His voice was higher pitched than his companion’s, which seemed appropriate since he was thinner and taller. His blade was also a little thinner, but as he drew closer, Christina could see that he had a second one on the other side of his waist – a large knife, by the look of it.

Christina smiled. “Aww, you guys are the best. That’s just what I was hoping you’d think!” She had already drawn Rosebite from its scabbard; the runic gems that decorated both flats of the blade were glowing, more brightly than usual it seemed, as if the sword had missed its master and had been longing for this moment.

“We shall see,” responded the first. “Two against one hardly leaves much in your favour, and we have the motivation of a handsome reward upon your death. Of course, we were led to believe you would not have that weapon with you… but I am sure it will make no difference.”

“I’m sure.”

The second man drew his second weapon, the knife, holding it underhand, and both men assumed a battle stance. Christina lowered her center of gravity and poised her muscles for the first strike, which she was intent on making herself. A crimson rune on the outer side of the blade flared to life as the warrior announced, “Scatter, Rosebite!”

Cracks formed along the length of her blade, branching off like red lightning bolts and multiplying infinitely in number until the sword could bear the stress no more and shattered into a thousand metallic pieces which floated in the air like the petals of some deadly flower. At Christina’s command, the cloud swept forth, spanning the entire width of the alley and threatening to engulf both assassins in one fell swoop.

But before the attack could reach them, the thinner man extended his hand and the air rippled in front of them. Rosebite’s shards collided against a barrier of force, creating a dull sound like rain on a plastic tarp. The shock of this defence caused Christina to lose her concentration, and when she did, the shards fell to the ground and eventually slithered back toward her, reforming into Rosebite’s blade.

“Magic, too? My, my, the scum-sucking bounty hunters in this city sure are high-class,” she muttered, causing the men to grin, not out of amusement but at their early success.

With her initial salvo thwarted, Christina weighed her options in the few seconds she had left. Using Rosebite’s whip-blade form was out of the question in the alleyway, as it was too narrow for her to put it to good use. She was also not willing to risk these assassins being equally talented with their weapons, so taking them both on at once could prove to be an extremely foolhardy move.

That left one particularly viable option, which Christina put to use as the assassins charged. This time it was an emerald green rune that sparkled vibrantly. “Snare, Rosebite!” The green light engulfed the whole of the blade, and the ground rumbled slightly beneath their feet. Seconds later, vines erupted from beneath the stones and sand, lashing themselves around the second assassin’s ankles. As he fell forward, more vines extended around him, encasing him in a sturdy cocoon; were he not in such a prone position, he would probably find it an easy task to snap the vines by physical strength alone, but Christina had been fortunate enough to catch him off his guard.

She had just enough time to bring Rosebite across herself to parry the first assassin’s downward slash. Damascus clashed with steel and after a brief struggle Christina was able to force him away. She followed up by slashing at his midsection, but he parried this blow easily, brushing the girl’s attack to the side.

As the assassin made for another downward chop, Christina stepped to the side, turning her body so that her back was now against the wall. At that moment, she could see with great despair that Amin really had fled the scene. Thanks a lot, kid! She could only hope that he had gone to get help, because the last thing she needed was an ally who fled like a frightened rabbit at the first sign of trouble.

It was fortunate that Christina had good reflexes, because they were the only thing making up for that moment of distraction, during which the assassin had swung his blade hard like a baseball bat, intent on taking her head right off her shoulders. She ducked and slid under the blade quickly, causing him to slam into the wall of the adjacent building. The reverberations shuddered through his body, and she saw her opening: a swift slice at his ankles would bring the assassin’s feet out from under him.

Even the numbness in his arms didn’t make him an easy target, though; the assassin leapt and flipped backward, sailing right over her attack and putting considerable distance between them. His landing was clumsy because of the trembling in his arms, but he was still intact, which put Christina out terribly. To make matters worse, at that moment, his companion burst into flame; the vines she had summoned withered and receded instantly, but the assassin rose unharmed moments later, brandishing his weapons anew.

“Huh,” she murmured in astonishment, tilting her head. “You two are turning out to be a real pain in my ass, you know that?” She swung Rosebite around, pressing its tip into the sand beneath her and raising her eyebrows. A silver rune near its tip roared to life, and the assassins’ eyes widened; even they were aware of this, one of her most well-known maneuvers. “I wish I could stay and chat, but… I don’t want to! Scream, Rosebite!”

The two men lunged forward, but they were met only with a surge of air and a cloud of sand which quickly blinded them. They knew that the force of the blast had propelled Christina directly into the air, and so she had likely landed on one of the adjacent rooftops. When the dust settled and they could stop coughing and sputtering, they quickly worked out a plan to pursue their fleeing prey.

She didn’t know how much time she had bought herself, but as Christina fled across the roofs of the Outlander’s Quarter’s many buildings, she hoped that it would be enough.

[Christina Bredith]

The trek across the rooftops was surprisingly easy for Christina; because the Outlander’s Quarter was a walled city, expansion was not possible, and so each building was simply crammed as close together with the next as possible to conserve space. Each hop was much shorter than she had hoped for at first, and even though some of the leaps still took a fairly impressive feat of acrobatics, she managed it without much difficulty at all.

That was, of course, until she heard something behind her, and turned to see the thin assassin charging headfirst at her – while flying through the air! She stopped at the edge of the building and turned full around, eyes widened in shock. “You buggers fly, too? You have got to be kidding me!”

But the blonde could rapidly see that she was running out of options. She was at the edge of the last building now, and the city wall was much too far away to jump to. She could try to run parallel to it, but turning like that would only give the assassin the chance to catch her; she might be able to outrun him in a straight line, but that was it. Perhaps, if she used Rosebite once again…

No time – the assassin tackled her hard, his shoulder colliding with her stomach and sending her flying backward. The wind flew from her lungs and her muscles loosened as she sailed helplessly toward the ground three stories below. She couldn’t remember much during those moments; they happened so fast, but were punctuated with that horrible feeling of stopping as her body was crushed into the sand. Instant blackness overwhelmed her, and she struggled no more.

~

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

The Marshal awoke groggily as Christina marched into his room, a tray of food balanced across her arms. She smiled cheerfully at the man and continued, undaunted by his lack of alertness. He groaned at the intrusion on his sleep, but she took no notice and sat herself on the edge of the bed, a modest distance from him.

“You can’t sleep all day, now, can you, Marshal?” Christina shook her head and tsked. ‘Marshal,’ while being Letho’s title, had become her nickname for him in the time that they had served together. She rarely referred to him by his name – in fact, she was ironically more likely to do so when she was being extra serious, which is when most people would use his title instead. Letho pursed his lips and looked up at her. He appeared scruffier than he used to, with his beard a little longer than usual – but then, he had been bedridden for quite some time now. “And look, I brought you breakfast. See?”

She set the tray down across Letho’s lap. It looked like a simple meal, with some eggs and sausages and a glass of orange juice set beside it, although there was a small vase of flowers in the corner to spruce things up. “I hope you like scrambled, ‘cause that’s all I know how to do,” the woman confessed. “Izzy helped with the sausages, too! Well, I think they’re a little overdone, but you strike me as the type who likes that kind of thing.”

Truth be told, the meal didn’t look all that bad. The eggs showed some small signs of overcooking on their underside, and the sausages were a little black here and there, but it seemed quite appetizing to Letho’s famished appetite. He didn’t eat just then, however, instead looking up at Christina to ask a question.

“How long has it been?”

The blonde pressed a finger to her chin and peered upward. “Well, let’s see… three days now, I think?” She rose from the bed and shook her head like a concerned nurse while she hovered nearby. “Hoo, I tell you, when you fought that guy from the Scarlet Brigade, I wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up afterwards. You took some pretty nasty wounds.” She tsk-tsked again. “But, please, as if one of those losers could ever be a match for our Marshal.”

“It was only because you and Izvilvin assisted me and distracted the demon,” Letho pointed out hoarsely, a touch of disdain in that last word. The Scarlet Brigade definitely wasn’t made up of humans – probably something the Empire had pulled from the reaches of Haidia, she shouldn’t wonder.

But at his words, Christina snorted. “Please, we were almost totally ineffectual. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. That so-called ‘emperor’ is serving a nice, long term in prison for high treason, and you, my dear Marshal, are a national hero.” Letho grunted and began to protest, but Christina cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, ‘I’m no hero, I’m just a man,’ sure,” she interrupted, mocking his voice with a playful imitation of her own. “Whatever you say, Marshal. But a lot of people see things differently, and they’re the ones you’ll have to convince. Now, eat up because you’ve—”

A sudden onset of coughing from Letho interrupted her then, and she sat back on the edge of the bed with a concerned look. “Oh dear, oh dear…” When it had passed, she held the orange juice out to him. “Drink some of this. You’ll feel better. Now, let me see if you’re still running a temperature…”

The woman pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, and after no more than a second or two, her eyes widened. “Marshal, you’re burning up! I mean, literally!” When she couldn’t bear it any longer, when it felt like her own hand would conflagrate because of the heat, Christina recoiled and cried out in pain – and then the veil of illusion lifted from her eyes…

~

The blonde awoke on the sand, the back of her right hand red with burns and throbbing in pain. She sat up immediately; apparently she had rolled over in her sleep, and laid her hand on the scorching hot desert sand, the pain of which was enough to wake even the dead. But as she looked around, she slowly rose to her feet, staring at the horizon in disbelief.

“…well, shit.”

The vast dunes of Fallien’s desert expanded infinitely all around her, and as she turned to watch the skyline, hopelessly out of reach on all sides, she wondered just what the hell she had gotten herself into.

((I do hope Letho doesn't mind the pseudo-bunnying there - it was a dream, after all. ^^))

[Christina Bredith]

It didn’t take long for Christina to realize exactly where she now found herself, and her heart gradually sank somewhere into the pit of her stomach as it dawned upon her. The merchants on the ship she had come here on told stories of this place – Nirrakal, the Glass Fields, better known to the locals as “The Blight”. A desolate wasteland even by the standards of a scorching desert, Nirrakal was marked by the glass which crept into the sands from the caverns beneath.

The warrior knew immediately that this was the worst fate she could have been dealt. Her assailants would have been far more gracious to have just killed her where she stood when they had the chance. Here, she was at the mercy of the desert’s savage beasts, and that was only if the natives didn’t get to her first. Without her exit pass in hand, they would be just as treacherous a foe.

Worse still, Christina reasoned that she was truly between a rock and a hard place. If she ventured further into the desert, she had no place to go, and would inevitably be worn down by the desert, its creatures, or apprehended by the native clans. However, if she made her way for the Outlander’s Quarter, she would be literally walking into the hands of the Fallien authorities, and their punishment for traversing Fallien without the proper authorization was severe.

It was enough to make Christina want to sink to her knees and bury herself in the sand, never to be heard from again, but she knew that there was no time for that. If she stayed, she was dead for sure. If she made for the city, at least she had some small chance of survival. It was slim, but not every odd was against her: Rosebite was still nearby, the assassins unable to take it from her because the sword would not permit them to do so. It had burned her cousin’s hand, too, when she had tried to claim the weapon wrongfully so long ago. As long as Christina had her weapon, she had a chance of surviving the desert’s dangers. And when she reached Irrakam, maybe Amin would still come through for her! He certainly owed her that much.

It was fortunate that Christina had familiarized herself with a map of Fallien during her journey here, because it only took her a few minutes to discern her broad location within the desert. The Mountains of Zaileya were far to the east, too far for her to be on the eastern shore of the River Attireyi. That meant that she must have been somewhere west of Irrakam. She probably wasn't too far north, either, since even those assassins would probably think twice about taking such a long trip. Using the mountains as her guide, she began to trek eastward, having decided that the Outlander’s Quarter was her safest bet.

Although the woman was fortunate to be wearing clothing that covered most of her skin, she didn’t feel that way: the thick fabric of her mother’s army uniform – long since her army uniform – felt like a coffin in the unrelenting desert heat, and even after she had loosened the front zipper (revealing far more cleavage than even she would chance on an average day), she felt like she was suffocating beneath the heat.

Minutes dragged into hours, and those hours marched on endlessly. Christina couldn’t even tell if she was making progress anymore. Her steps became sluggish and slow, weakened by the disappointment of seeing the Zaileya Mountains remaining just as far away from her as they had always been. Even the mighty river that split Fallien in half could not be seen yet.

On the bright side, she had seen neither hide nor hair of the natives of this region. She actually didn’t know much about them herself, not even their name, but she knew enough about Fallien’s natives to suggest that she didn’t want their first meeting to find her lacking an exit pass. That alone wasn’t enough to sustain her, though; the desert was a harsh predator without the assistance of its inhabitants, and it was quickly taking its toll on her. Although she had lasted several hours without food and water, Christina was finally reaching her end. She stumbled once, and then fell to her knees. The heat threatened her, but remained at bay thanks to her sturdy pants. She didn’t care one way or the other. Death was soon to claim her, she knew.

But Rosebite, it seemed, had other plans. She had been holding the weapon aloft as she travelled, so that it would be ready at a moment’s notice if she came under attack, and now it had fallen just in front of her. She watched through tired eyes as the blade called out to her, almost in sorrow; one of the runes was glowing. It was bright, lime green, a refreshing and inviting colour against the shimmering backdrop of the Glass Fields. Christina’s mind was slow to react; her eyes slowly sank toward this runic gem, and while they were out of focus at first, they gradually came to fix themselves on it perfectly.

Then her brow furrowed. She had never seen this rune before – or to be more precise, she had never seen it glow before. There were a number of runes on her weapon that she had yet to unleash, and they seemed to appear before her gradually, as her abilities increased or as the situation warranted. The first one, a silver rune granting her the power of Sonic Sable, had revealed itself to her to protect her from her scheming uncle and his brainwashed daughter when they had tried to take the blade from her. Was Rosebite doing the same now? Was her blade attempting to save her from death at the hands of the cruellest mother of all?

Slowly, the woman reached forward. Her hands scratched against the sand, and she cried out and recoiled at the immense heat contained within the dust and the shards of glass. But with intense determination, she continued onward. The rest of her body was limp, like a person not even in full control of their mental faculties, but that arm… that arm had purpose. Slowly it reached for its target. Struggling against fatigue, she commanded her muscles to obey her, her senses to remain sharp. There… there! She had it: Rosebite was once again in her grasp. It felt cool to the touch despite the heat of the desert. Refreshing… beautiful.

Christina struggled further to bring the blade up to her face, where she could examine the rune-gem more closely. Into the gem there was carved a runic word which now blazed brightly orange in a way that it had never done before. The language was unfamiliar to Christina to this very day, but for some reason, she had always found herself able to read it, and today was no different. She pondered for a moment, and then her voice, strained and desperate, cracked to life:

“Nourish, Rosebite…”

Instantly, the entire length of the blade was wrapped in the same lime green light of the rune-gem. For a while, that light seemed to intensify. Christina felt immediately inspired simply by looking upon it; it was impossibly refreshing, like a banquet after a long hunger, a beautiful man after a long celibacy… like a pool of water after a long drought.

And then, Christina herself was enveloped in that same glow, dimmer but familiar. Her body teemed with energy, and piece by piece, she felt its various pieces return to life. Her muscles felt vibrant again, her senses felt sharp, her skin felt cool. The burn on her hand had healed completely. While her throat still longed for a glass of water and her stomach still yearned for a meal (and, it may as well be said, her passions still hungered for a man), she felt as though she had energy again. Energy enough to go on, to carry her through this terrible desert.

An act of great and terrible irony, it was the sun itself that had nourished her, the very sun that had nearly destroyed her in the first place, and which so many of Fallien’s natives feared because of its connection to Mitra. But today… today, that sun had not gained an enemy. No – it had earned a warrior’s immortal thanks.

[Christina Bredith]

While Christina had cursed her outfit during the sweltering daylight hours, it had been something of a blessing during her first frigid night. Although it was hardly a winter coat, her uniform was thick, sturdy, and well-insulated. Her legs were a little chillier, but she was fortunate enough to have found a rocky outcropping under which she could hide that night, which at least shielded her from the cold desert winds and provided some measure of protection against the desert’s creatures.

She had long heard that travelling the desert at night was far too dangerous – even more dangerous than during the day. Certain creatures traveled the sands only on certain nights, and others were at the very least more difficult to spot. She had decided, therefore, that she would try to travel at the end of the night through the early morning, finding shelter if possible before the sun was at its deadliest, and using Rosebite’s new ability to nourish her when the sunlight allowed it. She still felt hungry and thirsty, and wasn’t sure that this power could be used to sustain her for a very long time, but it was keeping her alive for now, and that was good enough for her.

Unfortunately, Christina’s trek wouldn’t last longer than that first night. While she was asleep, even hidden within the outcropping, she had been come across by someone she had hoped to avoid entirely. They roused her with a sharp cry, and she woke to find bows and blades fixed on her supine form.

The group of men and women were plainly-dressed, but their clothes seemed suited to the current temperature, which at the time was blessedly mild. Their dark skin and hair served to further their obvious identity as Fallien’s natives – these were probably the glass harvesters that lived in the Nirrakal, rumoured to be part of the reason why the fields of glass were so deadly to travellers.

One of the women spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand, but recognized as some dialect of Fallian. She began to rise to a sitting position, and the warriors tensed their weapons, but she lifted her arms and moved slowly, showing that she was unarmed. “Please,” she pleaded, looking from one warrior to the next in turn. “I mean you no harm. I’m only trying to get back to the Outlander’s Quarter.” The natives looked at each other and muttered in the same language. Some shrugged. A few never let their gaze fall from Christina. She sighed. “Great. They don’t even understand what I’m saying. This will go real smoothly.”

Finally, a thinner man stepped forward from near the back of the group. “You are outlander,” he said at last in imperfect but passable common. “You have papers?” The man extended one hand, holding out the other to his companions to tell them to hold steady.

Christina’s blood froze at that moment. Oh, how she had hoped the natives in this region wouldn’t care about her exit papers! With no plausible lie available to her, she had no choice but to opt for the truth. “…no, I don’t. But—” The man seemed to be relaying her words to the rest of the group, which had them suddenly brimming with energy. The woman desperately tried to interrupt them. “Please! I didn’t come here by choice. I’m not even equipped for a trek through the desert, see?”

The thin man once again raised his hand for silence. “Many outlanders like you too stupid to prepare for trip into the desert.”

“But… I swear to you, I’m telling the truth! I was left here to die yesterday!”

Silence, then: “Explain.” The man’s expression became cautious, but Christina was slightly surprised by how reasonable he appeared at that moment. Overcoming her stunned daze, she continued.

“I was… attacked, in the Outlander’s Quarter, by a pair of assassins. They took me by surprise, and I guess they took me here, because I was in the Nirrakal when I woke up.” The man once again relayed her story, and much of the group seemed cautious, but unconvinced. Flustered, Christina tried to remember every detail she could, anything that would prove her story to them. “They… they wore all white, and had, uhh… tattoos! They had tattoos of golden snakes on their left arms.” She gestured with her right hand to explain.

The translator was silent for a long while before he finally told the story to his companions. This time there was silence among their number; they looked at each other, unsure, for several moments. Then, the woman who appeared to be their leader stepped forward and continued speaking in her native tongue. The thin man translated: “She says you will come with us. We will see if you tell the truth.”

A pair of brutish-looking men in loincloths stepped forward, and one each slipped a hand under Christina’s armpit, simultaneously lifting her to her feet. She was then flanked and surrounded by the rest of the group, weapons still drawn. Although she felt like a prisoner of war, she had to admit that she felt strangely more comfortable with these natives than she did when she was alone. Even if they were her enemy, there was something to be said for the comfort of large numbers.

The group began to march, heading roughly southeast from what Christina could tell from the rising sun. She offered no resistance, and thankfully the natives had not tried to take Rosebite from her – that would definitely put a damper on their relations. She didn’t know where they were taking her, but it had to be better than where she had been.

[Christina Bredith]

The Glass Caverns of the Mi’sheteri were more luminous and beautiful than Christina had ever imagined. They were not terribly well hidden, by virtue of the fact that their glassy mouths captured and refracted the sun’s light in all directions, serving as a beacon for hundreds of meters around. Of course, the natives here have no need for stealth; the desert’s creatures would find their way into the caverns one way or another if they had a mind to, and there are few human enemies who would survive the Nirrakal for very long anyway.

The cavern descended along a spiral, sloping gradient down into the bowels of the earth. With each step Christina was surrounded by glittering glass, now only dimly lit by the torches and candles that the natives used where the sunlight failed. The cave system was complex and branched off innumerably even during her short journey through it, to the point where she felt certain she would be lost almost instantly if she were to wander through here on her own – another defense mechanism, she supposed.

Somewhat to her surprise, the natives weren’t mining – or harvesting, or whatever the proper term would be – any glass in these caverns. Some of the offshoots of the main tunnel looked like they led into rooms that were furnished like domiciles, plain but efficient. Perhaps this was where the natives lived, then, rather than where they performed their trade.

It soon became obvious that she was not here to admire their homes, however: as their march continued, the tunnel gradually widened outward and upward, into a massive dome. Even the sun shone through the roof, casting a widening, rainbow pillar of light onto the ground far below. Within that pillar was a roughly-cut chair of ornamental glass, upon which sat a wizened old woman with fraying gray hair and narrow, reproachful eyes. She wore few clothes at all, and Christina found herself wishing that she would leave just a little more to the imagination.

The elder spoke something in Fallian to Christina’s escort, to which the woman who had appeared to be the group’s leader responded. A look of distaste came over the elder’s wrinkled features, and she barked what could only have been a command; Christina watched one of the escort vanish back through the tunnels they had just used in response.

“The elder agrees to see if you tell the truth,” the faithful translator assured Christina in his broken common.

“Just how do you plan to do that, if you don’t mind my asking?” Christina wasn’t keen on having some native Fallian voodoo witch doctor probing her mind, if that’s what they were planning. She’s heard stories about the shamans that live in these tribes. Whatever happened to the days when people could just trust one another?

Her question was answered with a gesture, and she turned to see the same man returning with a satchel in one hand and a small bowl of water in the other. He brought these to the Mi’sheteri elder, who reached into the pouch, pulled out a handful of some kind of grassy clippings, crushed them in her hand, and dropped them into the water, all while chanting in her native tongue.

Christina blinked and stepped back, much to the chagrin of her escort, who still had weapons pointed straight at her. She nearly backed into a warrior’s khanda, whose tip was thankfully blunt. “Whoa, whoa, you don’t expect me to drink that, do you? How do I know you’re not going to just poison me?”

“If we wanted you dead,” assured her translator, “you would not have come this far.”

The blonde frowned, and upon reconsideration decided that he was probably right. There were far easier ways to have killed her which involved less risk than leading her here into their home. Even if they didn’t kill her directly back at the outcropping, they probably could have just left her to die in the desert.

“It is a spice from the R’uuya Spicefields called Hanifa,” he continued. “It will render you unable to lie for several hours.”

The warrior gulped and nodded. The bowl was presented to her by the elder herself, and she drank deeply from the bowl. A strange sensation came over her; first, her skin tingled, and her blood felt warm. Her mind clouded and then refocused. Several seconds later, the elder began to speak, and the thin man translated. “She wants to know if you came to the Nirrakal on purpose,” he began.

Christina shook her head. “I told you, I was dumped there by some assassins. Sloppy ones, I might add. Lazy, too.”

The man repeated this for the elder, who nodded her withered head. She spoke again. “This time, she wishes for you to describe the men who attacked you in as much detail as you can.”

The blonde sighed. “Like I said, they wore all white. Pants, shirts, turbans, all white. One of them was bulky, kind of stocky. The other was thin and tall, with sort of a nasally voice, it was really unappealing actually. The thin one seemed to know a lot of magic. Both of them had this tattoo of a golden snake winding around their left forearm.” She blinked at herself when her speech had finished. That was a little more detail than she would normally have bothered to give, but she felt compelled to say it anyway, like anything less would have been repugnant.

When she had finished hearing the translation, the elder had another question, which the thin man repeated: “You know why they wanted you?”

“They were hired by the so-called Corone Empire, I think,” she admitted, unable to keep the disdain from her voice or her choice of words. “I’m not exactly well-liked by those bloodsucking aristocrats right now.”

The translator seemed to have trouble understanding what Christina was saying, or perhaps was at a loss for words to translate it, but he managed to repeat something to the elder, who frowned instantly. “This news worries her,” he eventually told Christina, as the weathered old woman spoke. “She thinks you are threat to the Mi’sheteri. But this is not the first time this has happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“The men who attacked you are from a clan called the Vipers of Mitra,” he explained. “They sometimes leave their dangerous prey out in the desert for the sun god to take. They think they will receive the favour of their god this way.”

Well, that explained a lot. Crazy religious nuts and their rituals. The whole thing would have been over and done with if they had just slit her throat right there. Still, it worked out pretty well for her. Now she had two reasons to thank this sun god, whoever he is. “Alright, but why does she think I’m a threat? I mean, I am outnumbered here. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think I’d stand a chance.” And that was the truth – it couldn’t be anything else.

“You are an outlander targeted by the Cult of Mitra,” the translator told her. “And you do not have exit papers, which makes you an enemy of the government. These things put the Mi’sheteri in a bad position.” After a long silence, the elder had now spoken again, and the thin man translated her words.

“She says that you will stay here for now,” he told Christina. “A room will be prepared and there you will remain until your fate has been decided.”