Far From Home...

[Iriah Caitrak]

((Closed.))

An endless expanse of brown and gold and beige stretched out before her. Rolling, rising and then coming crashing down into one another in deep valleys that brought forth dark shadows that contrasted the bright light. Each grain by itself was only a small pebble, one of a million, different and yet the same. But together and piled one on top of each other in endless fields of sand they created dunes and waves as if born from the ocean and water itself, only to barely feel the caress of water upon its surface. They rose and fell against the bright blue sky, brilliant in the blazing light of the sun, which burned throughout the desert as something that both gave life and took it away. It was beautiful to her eyes. It was familiar and brought forth a longing in her she did not realize she had because...

It was home.

She could feel the pull on her heart. Like a fist, it encased the organ and squeezed as hard as it could, making it difficult to breathe, making it difficult to live. Home. Such a novelty, really. She had been away from home for so long that she had forgotten just how much she missed it. She missed the feel of the hot desert wind lashing against her body and pulling at her clothing and her hair, the kiss of the sun on her skin, the shifting sands beneath her feet, but most of all, she missed her friends and she missed sleeping under the roof of her own home. The countless Inns she had stayed in, the nights that she slept under the protection of the stars and the moon had been pleasurable and tolerable, but they could never compare to what home felt like. But something felt wrong. Even as the wind danced across the top of the sand dunes and slithered through the layers of her clothing like it always did, it felt hollow and unnatural.

“Ira.”

Her entire body stiffened for the briefest of moments as the voice rang out, loud in all the silence, yet calm and soothing to her ears. But most of all, it was familiar.

Ira spun around. The motion created a trail of sand that rose into the air and shimmered in the light of the sun before falling back to their comrades like too many glistening shards of shattered crystals. The quicksilver of her constantly swirling eyes perceived two things, one right after the other. The first was the village of Astaka that lay behind her, deserted and empty and hanging upon a thread as if all who had lived there had forgotten about it. The vibrant colours of the thick, animal hide tents shone under the sun, creating their sharp contrasts of red and blue and green against the normal colours of the desert. None of it moved though, no children laughed and cried and chased each other through the homes and no Calerian walked through desolate and forgotten sands. There were merely footprints in the sand to mark what had once lived there and seemed to no more. The second thing she noticed was Gereint.

The Village Shaman, the leader of the Calerian warriors and a trusted friend and confidant. He stood feet away from her as his sightless and blind eyes looked through the veil of his white hair and directly into her face as if perceiving something she could barely begin to fathom. His old and frail body was covered in a myriad of deep red robes that made him seem much bigger than he truly was. His wrinkled face looked different than the last time she had seen him. There were lines upon his dark skin that had not been there before and dark circles under his eyes that had never dared to mar his face. He also looked sad and troubled and more fragile than she had ever seen. It was as if the slightest breeze could topple him and send him to his knees.

“Gereint?” Ira made to move towards him, but something in his face and posture made her still her feet and stay exactly where she was.

“Ira, I have a mission for you...”

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

She felt a chill breeze work its way across the back of her neck, creating a sweet shiver that raced along her skin and forced a soft and light moan to escape her lips. With a slow and deliberate laziness, she shifted her position, rolling onto her side as cold, soft sheets caressed her bare skin like the gentle hand of a lover. Taking in a deep breath, the Calerian opened her eyes and looked at the darkened room around her. She was facing the window, the sheer white curtains of which billowed as the wind snaked through the open pane of glass and found its way to her and her bed. Beyond that, she could see the faintest hints of day breaking through the darkness of the night and creating a haze upon the sky where it knew neither day nor night but precarious balanced between the two of them.

Though reluctantly, Ira slowly began to move. Every instinct within her body wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the blankets and return to the bliss of her dreams, but she knew she had to move. Placing her hand on her pillow, she pushed herself up and allowed the thin sheet to slip down her body, stopping only when it met the rise of her hip. Turning, she looked at the sleeping form of Malagen, her lover, her barbarian and her teacher. When he slept, he was such a contrast to the man that existed while awake. It looked like he was at ease and peace when he slept. No worry furrowed his brows and the only thing that made his handsome face look harsh were the shadows cast by the moon.

I think I love you.

Those words still rang throughout her mind, even though it had been over a week since he had spoken them in a moment of blind panic and emotion when he had thought she’d left him. But did he really know the true meaning behind those words? No, he didn’t, how could he? He was just a man coming to terms with things he had never felt before in his life. The concept of love was beyond him at this point. She did not doubt that he felt for her, otherwise they would not be together and she would not be alive and sharing his bed. But it was not love, it couldn’t be love, not this early into their relationship when she could barely admit to herself the things she felt for him.

I don’t know you enough to love you, my Barbarian.

She reached out and gently swept back his long, raven black hair from his face before she leaned over and kissed him softly.

And now I might not get the chance to.

Pulling away from him, Ira slipped over the side of the bed, immediately feeling an explosion of bumps break across her body as the cool night air touched her. She looked around the room, noting all the discarded clothing that was haphazardly thrown around without care or worry in the heat of the moment. Not wishing to wake Malagen, Ira moved softly along the cold, wooden floorboards. She walked past the large, stone fireplace, the fire they had lit within long since dead and cold and leaving only ashes and soot behind. Along the way she collected her articles of clothing and quickly slipped into them, wrapping her body in the blood red, and flowing material. Then she moved into the washing room and used some of now cold water still here to clean off her face before soaking the short strands of her soft, light purple hair in it. Grabbing a few of her personal items left in the room, she moved back into the bedroom and knelt down next to her rucksack and began packing her things.

[Malagen]

Even though they practically shared a bedroll ever since the auspicious set of circumstances bonded them together, Malagen Kha’Thars still felt ill at ease while sleeping next to someone. For him, it felt an awful lot like when someone moved a piece of furniture in a room you’d been living in for a couple of years. You knew where it used to be and you liked where it used to be because you grew accustomed to it, and now that it wasn’t there anymore, it threw your world into discord. There was no great mystery here, just a mere force of habit that made him feel like something was awry even if it was actually in perfect order. Before Ira, every woman that he had was forced to leave his side immediately after the intercourse. No embraces, no snuggling, no soft whispers spoken, no bodies intertwined. Only a command to depart while he was still in a not-so-murderous mood. But this changed with Ira Shinkara. A lot changed with Ira Shinkara; the Calerian moved quite a lot of furniture in the bleak room of his life.

The most important change was the crack in the dam that held his emotions at bay, a weak spot in the barricade Malagen thought impenetrable. He had fended off sentiments with the same skill he had parried swords up until the point he met the feisty Fallien woman, safe on his little throne of placidity and indifference. But Ira was like a serpent, cunningly snaking her way past his defenses, tempting the part of him that had never been tempted. Whether she did it deliberately or not was unimportant; the only thing that mattered was that he found himself unable to take her life. There was so much blood on his hands, proof of so many innocent lives he had taken without a moment of pause. And yet when the moment of truth came, he couldn’t do the same with Ira. She crept inside of him, her reckless defiance, her stubbornness, her persistence and spite. There was such flare within that woman that she managed to scorch her way to the lump of ice that was supposed to be his heart. And suddenly the fortifications he had upheld for so many years started to crack and crumble.

The acme of this emotional assault of hers had occurred up on the mountain. Within its jagged peaks the pair had trained ardently, fighting the fatigue, the elements, each other and above else themselves. Some of these battles were won, but the most important for Malagen was lost. He found himself unable to shun away Ira anymore, found himself experiencing a surge of emotions he always thought of superfluous, redundant. She was like an addiction, like a favorite type of liquor that washed away the reason and made you feel the way you didn’t even know you could. Above all else, she made the Dram feel and that was an unexpected breakthrough indeed.

A couple of weeks ago, that cold, level head of his would’ve reprimanded him of such silly, inefficient behavior. It would’ve reminded him that emotions were a weight in a battle, a backpack filled with stones that dragged you down, made you weak. But being with Ira didn’t necessarily contest that little fact; it rather circumvented it. Yes, perhaps feeling something other than just the physical was a burden in a battle, but fighting wasn’t the only thing in life. There were others and maybe, just maybe, they were more marvelous then lopping someone’s limb off and making them beg for a quick death.

He was quite ready to admit that on this very morning. Ira’s muffled moan roused him from traditionally light sleep, the warmth of her smooth skin rubbing against his own. The entire bed smelled of her, of this mixture of skin and sweat and the starch in the ruffled sheets and the lavender in the pillows, bringing memories of another night of passion in broken, lewd images. It would’ve brought a smile to his face if a smile was something his facial features were accustomed to. As it was, it only brought back the question that he had been asking himself for days now. Did he truly love this woman? He believed so, at least to the same extent that he understood the meaning of that word. If love was the desire to spend another moment with somebody instead of being all on your lonesome because they made you feel better, then yes, he loved Ira Shinkara.

When she kissed him and snuck out of their bed, Malagen opened up his eyes for only a moment to ascertain what was happening. The dawn was still on approach, starting its daily invasion of the east, which meant that Ira was probably going to the privy. Nothing to be worried about. He shut his eyes back and tried to catch that last strand of sleep before it departed from his alerted system. He probably would’ve been able to do that as well if Ira returned at his side as he expected she would. But instead there was shuffling of clothes to be heard, followed by the splashing of water from the bathroom and the almost soundless pitter-patter of her bare feet on the wooden floor. The barbarian played dead throughout it all, waiting to see what would unfold from this activity, but it soon became clear in his mind that the caress he received moments earlier wasn’t just a random expression of affection. No, it was a kiss goodbye.

“And just where do you think you’re going at this ungodly hour?” Malagen asked once he heard Ira going through her knapsack. His tone was scarcely louder than his usual speech, but in the stillness of the predawn it seemed almost offending, an unwelcome guest. By the time she raised her head and looked towards him, he was sitting with his back against the headboard with the sheet covering only his privates, one arm supported on a raised knee. The chillness of the night seemed to be lost on his muscular body, for it sustained its chilly grasp without as much as a shiver or a goosebump. The only part of him that seemed to be affected were his eyes, their azure encased in the ice of seriousness that made his gaze relentless.

[Iriah Caitrak]

She didn’t have very much to pack. The Calerian had always believed in taking only what was necessary with her and indeed, she did just that. Her rucksack contained only a few items of clothing carefully folded and then rolled and placed in the bottom of the bag. She had started out with more clothes when she’d first come to Corone, but she’d lost one set to injuries and another when Malagen had cut them from her body. She remembered that night well for it had been their first time together, but more importantly her first time ever being with a man. Ira had been so worried and uncertain and yet all the same more sure than almost anything she ever had been in her life. And surprisingly he had been so gentle with her, quite different from the sex they’d shared up in the mountains. That had been rough and fast and hard, and done in the heat of the moment bringing out an excitement and thrill in her that his gentle caresses just hadn’t been able to. Just how such a man as him could ever begin to be so lovingly careful with those he slept with, as if they were made from glass, she was not sure. But it was part of the reason she had stayed with him and this had not been a simple moment, a one night tryst. The fact that he could feel and understand enough to be like that with a woman meant there was more beneath his cold exterior than he wanted people to know; she was just going to have to work long and hard to uncover all of that. Only now she was wondering if she’d ever have the time to do just that.

Gereint was sending her on a mission, one that was going to take her away from him for a period of time incalculable to her mind. She may find herself gone for mere weeks, or she may find herself trapped upon foreign soil for months without being able to see his face again, hear his voice or feel his rough, calloused hands upon her sensitive skin. The fact that she was so reluctant to leave his side made her wonder just how much she felt for this barbarian of a man. The fact that her mind entertained the thoughts of asking him to come with her made her question her lucidity and her sanity all at the same time. This was a Calerian mission and her personal feelings had no place in it. Malagen would serve only one purpose during such a thing, to get in the way and get himself killed. The man was a formidable fighter, one that had been able to cut her down within moments, one that had been able to teach her a cold and calculated way of fighting, but against The Fallen, that mattered not. He should know that, he had already faced them once when she had been on the brink of a death he had wanted so badly to give her and she had taken him to Purgatory.

Still, these rational thoughts would not make saying goodbye any easier. In fact, they made it harder. Ira almost wanted him to argue with her when she woke him to tell him of her plans. She wanted him to sternly say that he was going with her and nothing she could do or say would stop him, because if he asked, she wouldn’t let him come. But if he merely took what he wanted and did as he pleased, she couldn’t stop him. Oh, she’d try, vainly and without perhaps any true conviction, but she’d still try. For his safety and maybe for her sanity, she would try.

The Calerian was just slipping into her armguards when his voice rang out through the silence of the room, harsh and unforgiving just like him. So lost in her thoughts and her own worries, that she had not heard him stir or even shift upon the sheets of the bed and as he spoke she felt her heart leapt into her throat and beat wildly against the walls. It allowed no air to her lungs for a few moments and forced her to place a hand upon her chest, as if that simple motion could stop its erratic beating and help calm it once more. Then, after her initial shock began to slowly still, did she fully realize the words that he had spoken.

“I...hadn’t wanted to wake you yet.” It was not exactly an answer to his question, but she wasn’t prepared to tell him yet. She had wanted to wait until she’d steeled the courage somewhere safe within herself and gently nudged him from whatever pleasant dreams had shrouded his mind.

Raising her head from her packing, Ira looked across the room and towards her naked barbarian. He looked far too beautiful and harsh, and the coming light of the day was casting deep shadows along the crevices of his stomach and chest, turning already hard packed muscle into something more defined. Something that her nails had scraped against hours before and her lips had caressed. But there was something that kept her from truly enjoying him in the milky predawn, his eyes. They looked at her with such intensity in their depths that they stilled her and the cold that was turning them to ice made her heart stutter and her mind race.

Why is he looking at me like that?

Her silver eyes searched his face, which gave away no hints to the thoughts that lurked within his mind. He was a mask and she did not know how to read him. It was true that Malagen looked at the world with such a cold expression, but lately his eyes had been softening to her. They no longer looked like the endless expanse of a frozen lake, but one that was beginning to thaw and flow. Now though, they had reverted back to that cold ferocity she had known so well when they’d first met. It was the one she had never backed down to and one she didn’t plan on starting to now.

Slowly rising to her feet, the Calerian drew in a deep breath as her fingers nervously thrummed against the side of her thighs. She held her head up in defiance and confidence, even if she didn’t feel it.

“I just received a mission from my tribe’s Shaman...” She said to him, her voice sounding too loud to her ears as it echoed around the still room. “I have to leave for Dheathain and I can’t take you with me, it’ll be too dangerous. You’ve already fought The Fallen, so you know you can’t do anything against them.”

Oh, please argue with me. Be defiant, be cruel. I don’t care, just don’t let me walk out of that door without you.

Her own thoughts surprised her. She wanted to take back everything she had just said and tell him to come with her, to throw caution to the wind and allow him on what might potentially be a very dangerous mission. But she couldn’t. It would be foolishly putting his life at risk. Malagen was not a Calerian warrior, he could not see the dead, he could not touch them or even hear them and he had already battled them once and nearly lost. There was no way she would so willingly throw him into such a situation again. Not when she had the choice of leaving him behind and enduring the ache that was growing in her heart. Only made bearable by the fact that when she got back, she knew he would still be here.

[Malagen]

There were no lies hidden in her words; Malagen could tell that much from the tone of her voice and the fidgety way she stood at the bedside. He hadn’t the slightest clue how Ira could’ve received a mission during the night when he heard no messenger knocking on their door, but he was certain that she wasn’t lying about it just as he was certain that she failed to disclose the whole truth on the issue at hand. Yes, she probably planned to wake him eventually, but not before she was all packed up and ready to go. That would’ve placed the barbarian before a done act, giving him little or no say in the matter. It was a wordless way of saying something that she eventually put to words. She didn’t want him to tag along.

“Nonsense,” he disregarded her words without as much as an explanatory gesture. If her worries were bent on his wellbeing, they were obviously being squandered since he put little effort in worrying about himself. Fate had a beaten path for everybody and he was ready to face whatever obstacle the bitch had prepared for him, mundane or otherwise. Pushing the sheet away, Malagen placed his bare feet on the smooth wood of the floor before adding: “I’ll get my gear.”

The argument came right back at him, like a piece of hot coal that was being tossed from one pair of hands to the other. Ira’s pitch was delivered with both sincere concern and a touch of almost parental strictness. “I can’t let you come. It’s too dangerous,” she repeated, making the Dram turn his head in order to see what kind of a face came with her insistence. Still soft, reluctant, emotional. Beautiful. He picked up his pants from where they lay haphazardly on the nightstand and pulled them on.

“All the more reason for me to come.” It was like arguing with a wall. While the wall replied with silence and Malagen with words, the result amounted up to the same; the resolve of both was unmoving.

“This isn’t the same; these are Fallen I’ll be fighting. You’ve already faced them once before and if memory serves me you wound up with a ripped shoulder and losing enough blood to faint and wake up tied to a bed,” Ira tried to reason, sacrificing more and more of the sugarcoating in order to get to the hard facts. With each word she was becoming more and more the spirited woman that conquered him, her brow furrowing and her posture growing more stalwart. All she managed to do was elicit a smirk on his face as he pulled on his boots. Those were good times she was mentioning, recollections of occurrences that defined them, brought them where they were now.

“I remember saving your life as well on that occasion.” It was really a moot point given the fact that he and his blade were the reasons her life had been threatened in the first place, but he needed something to put up against her arguments. “There are other dangers out there beside the Fallen.”

His words did nothing to mitigate the situation. If anything, they only worsened it, for Ira’s face grew more grim despite the fact that more and more natural light filled their room. By the time he picked up his sword and started towards the rest of his inventory, she unleashed another salvo. “Considering all the experience I've gotten with the murderous type, I think I'll be able to handle myself.”

A more sentimental man would’ve been stricken by this insinuated accusation, especially if he found himself in those words just like Malagen did. But the fact that Ira called him a murderer meant as much to the Dram as it meant to the pot when you called it black. Yes, he was a killer, and no, he didn’t lose sleep over the faces of those he murdered. What he did found troublesome, however, was the acrimony with which the words were said and the finality in the quicksilver of the eyes that lashed out at him. Even to one such as him, who was often blind to the body language and the stifled emotions, it was becoming clear that Ira’s mind was set on leaving him. Was the mission the real reason for her departure or just a convenient excuse for leaving him, Malagen didn’t know and didn’t care. If she desired to be on her own, he wasn’t about to stop her. Lesser men would’ve begged and pleaded and argued throughout the morning, but not him. It was beneath him, beneath the pride that kept his spine upright and his chin up. Ira was a unique woman, one that opened doors that had been locked and barred for the barbarian for so long. But she was still only a woman.

“Fine. Go,” he ultimately said, countering the resolution in her tone with the deadly chill in his. It was as if in that moment all those doors were simultaneously shut and he was back to the vile bastard he was before her. He turned his back to her and faced the window and the rising sun instead, cold and stoic as a statue. The last words he said to her were: “You have your own path to follow. Maybe it’s time I return to following my own as well.”

He tried to clear his mind, but that ability of his didn’t work the way it used to. Instead of a dead calm, his head was being filled with nonsense directly related to the situation at hand, with questions that had no answers, with realizations of the fickle nature of women, with things of no practical use. Mulling over what went on in a head of a woman was as useful as counting the stars. Wiser men than him had tried both and failed utterly.

[Iriah Caitrak]

She felt something inside of her crack at those words. They would seem like nothing to any other person, just a mere statement of the fact that Ira and Malagen were two different paths on the roads of life that had mingled and shared time together, both pleasurable and painful. But to her they were more. She knew the true meaning that lay hidden within their depths only because she knew Malagen was not a man to waste his time on meaningless words. When he said something he meant it, when he spoke, she listened and what he told her in that simple phrase cut through her faster than any blade he had ever wielded.

He’s not going to be here when I get back.

A pain began to grow somewhere in her chest. It spread, like wildfire, like a disease that threatened to cripple her body and send her to the ground, but she wouldn’t let it. She was a stronger woman than that and the quick words of a man would not bring her to her knees, no matter what she felt for him. If Malagen wanted to go his own way, than fine. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time she got back to doing what was expected of her, what she had trained all of her life for. The time she spent with him had taught her much about herself and even about the way that she fought. He had taught her many things and she would cherish what she got from him, but she would not falter or fall, or ask him to change his mind. She was, after all, a prideful woman from Fallien. And let’s face it, he was only a man.

For a time, silence remained in the room as she refused to speak and move. Her shifting eyes watched his form, tense and rigid and unmoving against the coming of the dawn. She had seen the look on his face as he’d turned away from her and heard the finality of his words. They had been cold and emotionless. They had been spoken from a man who had shut himself down once more and turned away from her after all that she had tried to do for him. She had put her life in his hands hoping there was more to him than the endless frigid depths of a frozen lake and she had been right. But in the simple moments of their argument, if it could even be called an argument, she had forced him to close himself down and become the man she had first met in The Citadel. The man who had wanted her solely for her body and nothing more. The man who had hunted her down and tried to end her life because she had disrupted some kind of balance within him. This was not the person who had made love to her last night, this was the murderer who had taken so many lives without care or thought or consequence.

Her foot moved and brought her one step closer to her lover, her barbarian. But when the sole met the cool wood, the other did not follow. Instead she remained stationary, still once again.

“I...” Her voice failed her. What was she supposed to say to him? Nothing, that’s what. What great and inspiration phrase was going to come spilling forth from the depths of her throat and make him change his mind? None, they didn’t matter. “If that is what you wish.” The words sounded dead and hollow even to her ears. Thank you for everything you’ve given me.

There was nothing else to say, nothing else that needed to be said. Inside she felt like she was coming apart at the seams but she held it together. Each thread she held tightly onto, holding it in place and making sure it would not move an inch, a centimetre or even a millimetre. Reaching down, she grabbed the strap of her rucksack and slung it over her right shoulder. But before she could leave, she did something on impulse, something that she may come to regret later but at the time thought it may be a good idea. Her left hand wrapped around the two light blue crystals resting just above her breasts. The sound of them clanking together filled the air as she held them in her palm. The Irenian Crystals. One belonged to her, one that she was irrevocably and forever bonded to until the moment she died. The other had belonged to someone else, a nameless Calerian killed by Fallen. She had come across it during one of her missions and it had been hers ever since.

Her long, thin fingers wrapped around the unbound crystal and gently pulled. The chain around her neck tightened and pulled along her skin until the energy created silver links slipped free of the crystal’s grasp and fell back to her chest. She looked down at the shard resting against the worn and calloused skin of her hands made that way from years of fighting and training and harsh times spent in desert sands. This simple fragment allowed her and her people to maintain and control abilities that would otherwise be beyond their grasp that would otherwise control them. With a quick flick of her wrist the Calerian warrior tossed the shimmering and glistering item towards Malagen. It travelled through the soft light of the coming dawn, reflecting against the dark wood and then landing upon one of the boards with a light tink. It bounced and it skidded to a stop close to one of Malagen’s feet.

Ira saw it reflect there, unsure why she had even done it. Unsure of whether or not it was even a good idea to give him something that precious. He would not understand what it was anyway, or what it stood for. Without even bothering to see if he turned and looked at it, acknowledged its presence or even cared, she placed her back to him like he had done to her. The deed was done. Her steps were surprisingly steady considering how she felt inside and she crossed the small distance to the door with ease, quickly. Wrapping her fingers around the ice cold metal of the door handle, she jerked it open and left. Just like that, she left. She walked out into the darkened hallway, leaving the door to slowly swing shut as her steady footsteps took her farther and farther away from him.

Outside the Inn, the air was cool and crisp, but nothing like the chilled wintry air that she had grown used to in the mountains. This was tolerable; this was something that she could withstand even in the thin material of her clothes. So early in the morning, the cobble streets were empty and the windows lining the shops, the houses and the taverns were dim and dark and allowed no light to escape them. The city of Radasanth was still fast asleep and would remain like that for perhaps a few more hours to come. There was only one place that would be alive this early in the morning, and the one place she was heading to, the docks.

[Malagen]

That switch in Malagen’s head, the one that muted the irrational inner voices that tried to put emotions into words, was malfunctioning. With Ira gone, he should’ve been able to at least silence the nonsense that went through his head. After all, what was the point of thinking about something lost? The Calerian chose to write down the epilogue to their story on this morning and she put a seal on it by shutting the door behind her. She chose to leave him, despite his repeated insisting to come along. She chose, and that was that. Reasons were irrelevant. Feelings were irrelevant. Only the conclusion mattered and it broke them apart, possibly for good, because neither of them was about to back down. Ira would change her mind and reopen that door no more than he would run after her. They were back on their individual thrones, too stubborn to climb down, too proud, too much of a fighter and not enough of a lover.

Old Malagen – pre-Ira Malagen – would’ve returned to bed and recommenced his slumber as if he had just gotten up to close the window. He had been a stronger man, strong as a rock and as mean as a son of a bitch. He would mock and berate and eventually murder the man Malagen was today just for being soft. But that man was gone, metamorphosed into a lesser man that chose to sit on the window sill and stare out into the waning darkness. A sword and a grindstone found their way to his hand and they started their slow, rhythmic scraping against each other, grinding against the deadness of the predawn. His eyes looked for a trace of her. He didn’t want them too, but still they scanned the thick shadows and gray cobbles, tracking everything that moved through the streets within his line of vision. And every time a cat jumped the picket fence or some stray mutt plodded out of some darkened corner, something inside of Malagen jumped. He wasn’t quite certain for he never experienced something akin to it, but that restless emotion within his chest... It could’ve been hope, leaping up only to get shot down seconds afterwards.

“It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is,” he reprimanded himself, sheathing his blade forcefully, as if it was the sword’s fault for this mess in his head. He had a life before Ira Shinkara and the world wouldn’t stop now that she was gone. He wasn’t some fruity elven bard who would grow depressed by something like this, write a ballad and get hammered in the local tavern. He was Malagen Kha’Thars, born and bred and larger than life. And he would move on.

“Move on to what?” It was a different voice speaking in his mind, still cold, still calm, but also sensible, enigmatic. It was the voice of a chess player that knew he had you beat and asked you what your next move was, and it brought out the rough truth. There was nothing to move on to from this point. Before Ira, Malagen’s life hadn’t really life at all; just a mélange of random encounters that usually ended with some blood spilt and some lives lost. He had been a ghost ship, wandering aimlessly and hitting random shoals only to return to the open sea afterwards. Ira was like an anchor that made him stop his pointless crusade against the world, but she was more than that. She made Malagen believe that it was alright to stop, that there was nothing wrong in seeing more than just the hard facts in the world around you. He had tried to kill her because of that and failed to do so. He had tried to love her because of that and failed in that as well. And now he was trying to part with her and felt like he’s failing again.

Should he go after her? Probably not. She made it quite clear she didn’t want him around. And yet staying here, in this room, in this solitude, it was like staying in a dungeon. Stifling. Bothersome. He turned away from the window only to notice something that helped him decide his mind. On the floorboards, shimmering timidly in the bland light of the natural light, one of Ira’s crystals was resting. Malagen recognized it immediately; the Calerian never parted from that odd jewelry of hers, the pair always nestled somewhere between her perfect breasts. She never really explained their importance and he never really asked, but it was clearly more than just a bauble. He took a step towards it, crouched and picked it up. It was still warm against his fingers and when he rubbed his thumb against it, it gave out the faintest of twinkles. Was it just a memento, something she left for him to remember her by? Perhaps. Women were a rather sentimental bunch. But then again, Ira was significantly different than ordinary women. Normal females didn’t run around with an arsenal, fighting undead things and converting hardcore murderers.

“Go.” This urge within him had a voice. It wanted him to leave this room, run after the woman that took a chance on the darkness within him. There were other fish in the sea, yes, but fish were stupid, simple-minded creatures. Ira was a shark that was ready to wrangle with the likes of him. “Go!” He couldn’t abandon something so unique, someone that finally cracked him open and looked inside without fear. Chances were he’d cross the world without ever encountering someone like her again. The Old Malagen was saying that that would probably be for the best, but the Old Malagen wasn’t up there on the mountain with Ira. He didn’t feel the touch of her hands, the warmth of her breath, the softness in her eyes. “GO!”

He went.

[Iriah Caitrak]

She didn’t want to be around people. The deeper she walked into the busy docks the more she wanted to retreat from it. The sounds annoyed her; they were far too loud for her ears. The people made her cringe, too many of them walking too close to her and the water...well; she never did get along very well with the ocean. She wanted it all to stop; she wanted it all to go away. She knew why but she didn’t know why and she wanted to beat the feeling back with a very large stick and make it submit to her. But it wasn’t really working. She didn’t feel like the spirited, strong warrior woman that Malagen loved and let go. She felt crushed and defeated. All she wanted to do was crawl into a dark hole somewhere and not surface until the name Malagen Kha’Thars was stricken from her memory. Until she could no longer feel his hands caressing her skin, softly. Roughly. His mouth on hers, kissing her like he couldn’t live unless he could taste her. His voice...

I think I love you.

How easily those words could send her to her knees right now. Cripple her and take away the last bit of strength she was so desperately clinging to. Why was she being so stubborn? Why was she letting her pride get the best of her? But even as she asked herself these simple questions with no straight answer, her feet continued to carry her forward.

It was his choice. That’s what she kept telling herself, over and over again. His choice, his choice, HIS CHOICE! He could have said he’d just wait for her. He could have understood that the decision wasn’t easy for her either. He could have... he could have...

“You could always go back.”

The thought made her pause.

“Stop leaving all the decision making up to him. Stop expecting him to change his mind without even contemplating changing yours. It takes two people to make a relationship. Besides, he tried, you just wouldn’t let him. You’re the one that walked away.”

Ira didn’t know where this little voice had come from, but she did know it was right. Even though it would have been hard on her, even though if anything happened it would have ripped her heart out, she should have let Malagen come. He probably thought she didn’t want him around that she had used this as an excuse, an easy way out. But that was far from the truth. She just didn’t think she could handle it. He may be emotionally removed from the world, but she wasn’t. She could pretend to be, she could put on a mask and drown out her conscience and her feelings until she felt like exploding, but she didn’t want to. And Malagen balanced her out. When she became too emotional, he calmed her, he reminded her to keep a level head and when he became far too cold, she reminded him to feel. That feeling was okay.

How can I just walk away from this?

She couldn’t. Oh, by Suravani she couldn’t do this!

Her feet moved with little coercion. They stopped her forward motion, the one taking her farther and farther away from him and turned her around and spurred her towards where she wanted to go, where her heart said she needed go. Logic be damned, if Malagen thought he could handle what she did on a daily basis than she was going to let him.

She ran. With the contents of her rucksack bouncing on her shoulders and slamming into her back with every pump her legs took and every crushing step upon the hard, stone ground, she ran. The sea salt wind lashed against her back and her clothes until the smell disappeared, replaced with the smell of filth in alleys and gutters. Twice she got lost trying to find her way back to the Inn, too lost in the moment to think clearly. But it didn’t take her long before she saw the tall, wood and stone structure that she and Malagen had called home for the past week, maybe more.

Bursting through the front door, the Calerian raced through the front lobby without even sparing a glance towards the Inn Keeper. She was a familiar face, something he didn’t even question. Up the stairs her legs took her, even as the muscles protested slightly and her lungs began to burn for more oxygen. Down the hallway she went on then turned the corner and the fourth door down. Here Ira finally stopped as she began pulling in large gasps for the air her lungs so desperately sought. Surprised to find it unlocked, Ira pushed the door open and walked inside, her heart the fluttering wings of a bird as her mind thought over what he might say to her having returned. What he would say, what he would do. But the room was empty.

She felt the smile fall from her face, the one that had pulled along her lips without her even noticing. There was nothing in the room, no clothes, no packed rucksack, no weapons. Nothing. He was gone; he had already left this place, already left her.

The seams were beginning to come apart.

Ira felt tears burn her eyes and blur the bottom of her vision as they began to pool, but not fall. She wouldn’t let them fall. She bit down on her bottom lip instead, tasting metal as she broke skin and blood washed over her tongue. The pain kept the tears at bay, the pain—the physical pain—was better than the feeling growing within her. The one she thought was going to kill her.

He’s gone.

Could she have expected anything more than that? Malagen wasn’t exactly the kind of man who would pine after a girl and wait for her to come running back and Ira wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who went running back. When she left this room, he knew she wouldn’t return so he had moved on just like she needed to move on.

Balling her hands into tight fists, Ira turned and left the room. Her steps were wooden and slow and with each one she could feel one of the strings slip beyond her grasp and allow the flood of emotion out even more. She still refused to give in to it though. As her feet trudged forward like they were carrying the walking dead, Ira eventually found herself back at the docks. It was where she needed to be after all, where she needed to go to continue on with her life.

She approached one of the sailors, a tall man, rough looking with scars on his hands, but she barely looked at his face. Mainly she stared at his shoes and his pants. They were ripped and stained and there was a patch on his right knee. She didn’t like it, the colour was off and it made her want to rip it from the surrounding material. He smelled bad too.

“I need to get to Dheathain.”

He said something to her, something she didn’t quite catch. Thankfully, he raised his hand and pointed off towards one of the vessels, one that didn’t look very different from the others. Just another merchant ship. So she moved. It appeared they were just getting ready to sail, untying the large rope loops keeping it safely secured to the dock.

“Passage to Dheathain please...”

The words sounded so dead to her ears, like she was somehow defeated.

“It’s one hundred gold for the trip to Dheathain and it’ll take about a week.” His voice was rough. Looking up, Ira stared into deep brown eyes that were so dark they almost looked black to her. He may have been a handsome man at one point in time but years on the open sea had weathered his skin, making it almost as dark as hers.

One week until her feet would be back on solid ground.

“That’s fine.”

She reached into the pouch on her belt and pulled out a handful of gold. It looked like one hundred, it looked like more than one hundred, but she didn’t feel like counting it out so she simply pushed it into his hands. He gladly took the extra money like she knew he would and allowed her to pass by him. Waiting as two bulky men loaded the last few crates onto the ship, Ira walked across the creaky and unstable plank towards what she would call home for the next week. The small wooden and rope handrails didn’t make her feel any safer as the boards shifted beneath her feet, but she tried to not let it get to her. Even as her feet landed upon the solid floor of the ship she felt no safer and she wouldn’t until she was back on land. Ira was fond of staring at the ocean, but not very fond of travelling across it.

Not wishing to go to her room yet, not that she knew where it was, the Calerian warrior moved to the bow of the ship. It was out of the way of all the sailors milling about, unfurling the sails and tightening ropes and climbing up to heights she could probably never stomach. She’d seen the motions before, but she didn’t really understand what they were doing. At the bow of the ship, Ira leaned against the wooden railing and turned to stare at the city she’d soon be leaving. Here, where no one paid attention to her and where she no long cared, she stopped holding so tightly to the seams. She let them fall apart, felt them fall apart as her throat began to tighten and her eyes welled with tears. She let them fall uninhibited onto her cheeks, cold and wet and salty. She could taste them as they moved passed her lips.

By Sanctuary, she had screwed up this time...

[Iriah Caitrak]

The week long voyage to Dheathain was excruciating. The days blurred together into a mess of faces and times and things she didn’t bother or care to remember. She ate, but she ate as little as possible and the food didn’t seem to satisfy her, not to mention she never found herself hungry. She ate because she knew in the back of her mind she needed to keep herself strong for the mission that Gereint had placed upon her. All she wanted to do was cry though, just lie in bed and let the tears roll down her cheeks, staining her face and the pillow and anything they wanted to. Iriah only let herself cry at night though, in the safety of the darkness that filled her room and coated it so darkly that no one’s eyes could ever hope to pierce it. She always hoped that in the night and the dark she’d find him and feel him near her, but she never did. He was no being to simply materialize out of the night and come to her bedside and demand to know from her why she had done something so ridiculously stupid. He wouldn’t even need to call her an idiot; she already knew she was one. She would just want to feel his arms wrap around her again and hold her close against a man who seemed so cold but felt so warm.

The majority of the time, Iriah relegated herself to the deck where she could look out upon endless oceans that seemed like an eternal and blue abyss. Where had all their beauty gone? Somehow, she’d even fallen asleep out there one time and woken up to one of the crew members nudging her. What he’d said she didn’t even remember, she’d just gotten up and moved to her room to lie down and stare at the wall until she’d decided enough hours had passed and she no longer needed to stay confined. Yet now the journey finally seemed to be coming to an end. As the salty breeze whipped through her short, purple hair and tossed her sheer deep red and purple robes around her body; land came into sight. It seemed like nothing more than a spec upon the horizon, a blight that tore through the pure blue of both the sky and the sea, but as the minutes passed it grew larger and larger and turned into more than just a blight.

Iriah needed to get off the ship. She knew it and could feel it thrum through her very blood stream and into her bones. The closer land came the more agitated she felt and the more her body wanted to move. A week was too long for someone like her to be caged upon a vessel, even one as large as this. Thoughts of escaping from her feelings and immersing herself in her work raged through her mind and suddenly the mission seemed like the greatest idea in the world. Thoughts of Malagen were pushed aside. He was just a man, she didn’t need him; she could survive on her own in this world.

A few long hours dragged by as sheer rock cliffs towering possibly higher than the Comb Mountains came into view. Their straight edge reminded her of a blade that cut into the ocean which crashed and slammed against it in a shower of foam and water and salt. The sound was like the roaring of an angry beast as wind lashed the side and threatened to crack the much stronger rock. But wind and water had patience and Iriah knew in time they would win over even the power of stone. The ship sailed past two of these massive cliffs and straight through turbulent waters into a channel that only a handful of these large vessels could hope to fit through at once. Upon the other side they entered a large cove where the water lay so still in comparison to the crashing waves she thought it were a dream. Most of the cove seemed lined of sand a much lighter colour than that of her homeland.

The ship moved towards the far end corner where a vibrant city of wood and stone seemed to sprout from the very ocean itself. Stones of the oddest colours like reds and pinks made up people’s homes and what appeared to be a rather busy and full marketplace. Three other ships of roughly the same size already lay within the port and the crew of them quickly went up and down the narrow plank of wood off loading cargo to sell in this foreign land. For the first time, Iriah realized she actually knew nothing about the people of Dheathain, their customs, their language or even possibly their race. From here, all she could see were humans but she knew better than to assume that they were the only ones dominating this region.

Finally the ship docked, the crew quickly began to go through the motions and before Iriah even realized it, her feet hit dry land and with it that feeling overcame her. At first she thought herself sick from her time of travel, an illness of the stomach perhaps; but then she realized it didn’t come from her stomach. It came from her soul. It slithered throughout her body, seeping in through her pores and drowning her in something so dark and full of hatred, Iriah felt herself begin to slip away. The corruption within her began to scream and shout, not to be released and in control, but simply for her not to give in to this overwhelming sense invading her. How could all these people stand to even live in this region let alone trade and visit it? Did they not feel what she felt coursing through their system? Did it not affect them in the same way?

Her silver and swirling eyes began to cloud over into black as her body swayed. But did it really sway, or was that the odd light headedness she felt? Someone bumped into her from behind, sending her stumbling into another person, jarring her body and knocking her out of the trance like state. Her eyes refocused and the Akhetamikan warrior realized she’d moved away from the docks and into some kind of square or market area. All around her people milled about, their voicing filling the air to an unnaturally high volume that seemed to pound through her head. The smell of food mixed with the smell salt and sweat and filth and she felt herself gagging as the back of her throat threatened to close up. She needed to get away from all these people, just for a moment. They made her feel claustrophobic and she could feel the pulse of each and every one of their souls tingling through her on a scale much higher than her senses had ever gone before. It was as if whatever had initially run through her system had somehow turned up every sense she had to a height beyond what she could currently handle.

Quickly Iriah moved through the crowd, trying not to touch people, trying and failing. Every time someone brushed up against her, nerve endings in her skin shot to life and she swore she felt actually felt their soul and knew something about them; but she didn’t know what. After the twist and turn of numerous streets both large and small, the Akhetamikan found herself standing before a large and beautiful garden. Ferns the deepest colours of red and green and even purple seemed to grow to heights beyond anything she had ever seen before and within the centre of their massive leaves laid massive flowers. She moved through this veritable jungle within the city until she came to a stone fountain covered what she thought might be stone dragon carvings. She’d heard of the creatures but never seen one before and so the reliefs and statues merely looked like them.

At the edge of the fountain she sat, removing her heavy rucksack from her shoulders and giving the muscles a break. Here she could calm her pounding heart and try to bring her senses back under control. Just what kind of region had Gereint sent her into so blindly where she felt attacked the moment she stepped foot upon its soil?