Bottoms Up! [Radasanth]

[Iriah Caitrak]

The tavern was crowded as it always happened to be at this time of the night. People were laughing and carrying on in the usual manor that never seemed to change no matter what region she was in and what language was being spoken. It was a kind of free spirited engagement she just couldn’t bring herself to partake in. It had lost its flavour to the Calerian. A lot of things had lost their flavour since Malagen had left her. But to say that he was the entire cause of his departure was a lie. She had driven him away as surely as if she had told him she never wanted to see him again. All she had to do was tell him the truth that she had wanted him there by her side and that no matter how dangerous it was, he was always welcome. Her pride had gotten the better of her, her need to protect him had overruled her better judgement and she had pushed him away. In the end what they had shared had turned into nothing and the first man she had ever given herself too had walked away from her, spurred on by her own words.

Ira found herself slightly depressed and slightly confused. She did not love Malagen, she had not spent enough time with him to love him, but there was still an emptiness inside of her where he had been. Despite what he was and what he had done to her, she had cared for him and his absence hurt. She wondered if she could ever get over it and fill it with another and the thought of doing so only made the pain worse. Ira did not want another, she wanted her barbarian back in her arms. She wanted to hear the rough sound of his voice, even caustic and hurtful sometimes. She wanted to feel his calloused hands on her body once more and she wanted to lose herself in the passion that only he seemed capable of eliciting in her. All of that seemed lost now.

Sighing, the Calerian picked up the glass in front of her and downed the contents of the light blue alcohol. It burned all the way down and settled in her stomach like a fist, but she didn’t care. If alcohol could wash away the memories of that man, she would drink herself into a stupor, but in the morning they would remain. She knew the truth of that and as such did not wallow into the glass before and a never-emptying bottle of bliss that could afford her only one night without thought and care. She would not do that to herself. She was a warrior and dealt with things on a regular basis that would make most men piss in their pants. There was no way a mere man would make her fall, no matter how much she happened to have grown attached to him in the short amount of time they’d been together, and the weeks of training she had endured under his tutelage.

Waving a hand to the rather plain looking serving girl, Ira ordered another of the same. She had forgotten the name of the drink by now, but the woman remembered and that’s all it was. In an hour or so, maybe she’d return to her chambers. Yet the thought of spending the night without Malagen’s arms around her made the Calerian ache for him all the same. Would he ever come back to her?

[Christoph]

Christopher would have been difficult to fit into any mold as he walked into the bar. His chef coat and black pants marked him off as an average cook at first glance. That would have been true a year ago. Upon closer inspection, however, it quickly became clear that the man was something far more. It wasn’t the sword on his back, strapped to his broad shoulders. It wasn’t the scars on his forearms or his fit and lean frame.

No, what really set him apart from the common man in the city were his eyes. The brown orbs held a fiery energy and command that most nobles could only dream of. The dark, tired rings circling them did little to diminish the power they held. Those eyes told a story of a man who had seen more violence and death in his young life than many veteran soldiers. The revealed a soul that had gone from innocent and naive to hard and fearless. Somewhere during his trials and travels, he’d gone from being a boy to a man, and perhaps more.

He was a warrior and a scholar, a tradesman and a sorcerer. He went from a follower to leading entire armies into battle in the northern reaches of Salvar. He went from being a nothing to a formidable power dealer whose name was known through Alerar to Corone. Yet, with all of this, he found himself wanting merely to relax and enjoy the simpler things in life, if only for a little while. And that was why he wandered into the bar, because if there was one simple thing he enjoyed, it was drinking, eating, and fighting drunken morons.

“Give me whatever you grab first,” he called to the bartender, settling two stools away from an odd-colored, introverted woman about his age.

[Iriah Caitrak]

A new glass was placed before her with the exact same contents and the last two had previously held. Sipping the strong drink and letting the cool taste of it rush down her throat, the Calerian sighed and leaned back in her stool. Her silver and swirling yes scanned the crowd, looking from face to face as if interested and yet uninterested at the same time. She was beginning to ponder leaving the tavern for some place quieter and not so filled with the raucous calls of mostly men and a few women, probably whores they had picked up in the street. She had no idea why, but it seemed a common profession here in Radasanth and yet in Fallien the women needed not to bring themselves so low as to sell their bodies. They could become warriors, protect their land, farm it, or even rule it. They were held with the utmost respect. But here in Corone things were a little different. The men thought themselves of higher value then the woman and as such often treated them like nothing more than whores, so perhaps that is why many of them became such a thing.

As her eyes scanned the crowded she noted the man who joined the bar counter and his rather odd dress. He appeared to be some kind of warrior chef, but it was his eyes that intrigued her they most. Despite their colour, the hard look of them and experience behind them reminded her of many a few she had met in her travels. They weren’t the cold eyes of Malagen, but instead they were the fiery eyes of someone still living life and expecting it to give them its worst and beat it back all at the same time.

Taking another drink from her glass, Ira turned back to the rows of bottles before her only to have someone bump into her from behind. And by bump, she literally meant the person practically fell upon her and the glass in her hand tipped, spilling the blue liquid across her blood red robes and making them stick to her body as if they actually were blood pouring from her arm. Narrowing her eyes, she turned to look at the man, who apologetically mumbled something under his breath and used her shoulder to steady himself. When his glazed eyes finally landed upon her person a smile widened and revealed too white teeth behind cracked and dry lips that no amount of alcohol seemed capable of moistening. He smiled, his blue eyes roaming over her body and making her feel like his hands were groping her in kind.

Disgusted, she reached up and pushed him away from her hoping he’d get the hint.

“Haven I sewnu ar’und befare?”

If speech was hard enough for her to understand in common, considering the variety of accents these people had, then his drunken slur was nearly impossible. He spoke not her native tongue and she was left merely confused as she tried to decipher it. Why she even bothered was beyond her.

“Leave me be.” She said curtly, the cold that Malagen had taught her seeping into her face and almost making the depths of her silver eyes an endless expanse of ice.

[Christoph]

Christopher’s ears tingled slightly at the sound of a very familiar phrase, two of them in fact. He’d ignored the exchange between the woman and the ugly drunk at first; it hardly passed as noteworthy, since stumbling drunks were a common sight. Then, however, the chef heard horribly slurred mockeries of the words “Haven’t I seen you around before.” Again, such a line, bad or otherwise, was a common sound in a noisy bar, as was the woman’s response.

There wasn’t anything wrong with men flirting with women in such a setting. In fact, bars were typically used exclusively for either finding a new girl or forgetting about the old one. In this case, though, the chef had to laugh at just how much the drunken simpleton was out of his league. He wasn’t getting the hint, either, deciding to move in for another advance. He mumbled something that sounded somewhat like “come here often?” and reached a groping hand out toward his target.

“If she came here often before, I have a feeling that you’ve broken that habit,” said the chef, glancing over with a raised eyebrow. “How about you go out into the alley and throw up for a while instead. It might make you less repulsive.” The drunk blinked a few times, a blank, dumb expression plastered to his disgusting face. “Gods, you’re not a bright one, are you?” The man grew even more confused and the chef sighed.

“All right, fine. I’ll speak your language,” Chris said, shifting his voice to mimic intoxicated babble. “Yer stupeed!”

That, the drunk understood, and he growled angrily. He glanced back and forth between the girl and the cook, as if trying to decide whether he wanted to defend his wounded pride and attack Chris, or if he wished to wound his pride even more by continuing his advances on the annoyed, and dangerous-looking woman.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira felt the corner of her lip curl into a slight smirk at the mocking words from the stranger. Though she most certainly did not need his intervention in a matter like this, it was not completely unwelcome. In fact, she found his last line somewhat humorous, especially the fake little drunken slur that he added onto the whole thing. The fact that the drunken man and greasy, grimy little fingers didn’t exactly know what to do next didn’t help the entire situation. He took one stumbling step towards the man, but Ira quickly kicked her leg out from its resting place against the stool. The toe of her boot caught him in the side, towards the back of his knees and sent him to the ground, that same knee cracking against the dark and stained wooden floor. A mixture of ale and other various kinds of liquid most people didn’t want to think about began to seep into his pants as she vainly tried to get up.

“Just give it up and leave me alone. I’m not interested.” She said coolly, her Fallien accent think on her words. She wouldn’t be surprised if his addled mind couldn’t comprehend them.

Apparently she was right on that one for the man seemed to want to get himself to his feet and try again. His questing arms reached out and grimy little fingers covered in dirt and sticky ale grasped around the dark brown leather of her boots, slipping upon the metal plating that covered the front of them as he tried to pull himself up. She growled low in her throat and kicked him off again. This time he lost his balance and fell to his side, the sudden movement doing nothing to help him. He heaved, his face turned a rather grotesque pale colour and then the contents of his stomach became one with the many stains already covering the floor of the tavern.

Sneering in disgust, Ira shook her head and turned back around to the bar. As she did, her eyes came to rest upon the stranger once more. She nodded her head in thanks, giving him a small smile.

“I appreciate it.” He said to him. “May I pay for your drink as thanks?”
Though she may not have necessarily needed the help, being polite and respect was ingrained within her and as such he deserved some kind of thank you for what he had done.

[Christoph]

“That would be something of a reversal of gender roles,” Chris chuckled, before catching himself. The last thing he needed to do was offend the foreign woman. He was in the mood for a brawl, not for getting his ass kicked by a woman in front of a very sexist crowd of bar patrons. “Not that… I ever bought into that. Besides, I won’t say no to a free drink, not that I did much to earn it.” He smiled at her, a genuine warm smile that he’d almost forgotten how to form on his face. Then his lips formed a grimace as he glanced at the drunk sprawled on the floor.

“Okay, I think I was wrong. Vomit did NOT make him less repulsive.” He shuddered slightly, as though he hadn’t seen far more disgusting things before. It was amusing that he could keep a straight face while hacking a bloody, rotten path through a hoard of zombies, but puking drunks made him gag a little.

The rest of the bar was quickly going back to normal. A pair of bouncers dragged the unconscious bum out into the streets and everyone quickly forgot about it. Chris leaned against the counter and faced the woman. The bartender dropped and ale in front of the chef, which he gratefully took. It was weak and a little watery, but still drinkable. At least it wouldn’t have much alcohol in it; he wanted to be sober for the brawl. Unless, of course, he opted for an intelligent conversation with the striking woman across from him instead.

“Now, the first question that came to my mind was to ask you where you’re from,” mused Chris, sipping from his tin mug. “But I figured it would be more traditional to ask your name before inquiring about the source of your fascinating accent.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

She found herself smiling at his odd sense of humour. It was far from what she was used to and actually a nice break considering the cold and distant demeanour that Malagen had around her all the time. Despite the experience and the ghosts that lay beyond his eyes, this man truly did seem warm hearted and perhaps even generally interested in her and not because she was exotic and good looking either. But maybe just as a person. After all, Ira was getting tired of constantly behind hit on because of her looks. Men that vain did not interest her in the least.

“Ira Shinkara,” She said to him as she extended her hand in greeting to him. It was not something that they did in Fallien and definitely not in her tribe, but it was common practice in Corone and as such she had grown used to it. Normally, almost any kind of physical interaction in her tribe was reserved for people who were actually friends with one another and not mere strangers. The act of touching was personal after all. “And I hail from Fallien, the desert nation to the south of here.”

It was surprising and yet not surprising that he didn’t know where she came from. Her deep skin colour usually gave it away rather easily, but then again someone not as traversed in the world may not recognize it. Plus her accent was hard to place.

“I would assume that me giving out my name means I get one in return.” Hard not to give in to his light conversation, even though a part of her wanted to be left alone. That part of her was small though and quickly being pushed aside to make way for the more spirited, free0willed and outgoing personality that she mainly consisted of. It had been hampered a little as of late. After all, a cold hearted barbarian made it hard to be a spunky, fiery soul hunting warrior that put on a brave face to bare the corruption slowly trying to burrow deep into her soul. The brace face was more than just a front though, Ira knew she could overcome and control the corruption because she was that strong, because she would never let something like that turn her into the monster it wanted to be. Shoving aside those less than pleasant thoughts, she brought herself back to the moment.

The man wasn’t bad looking either, in a bit of scruffy kind of way. She bet that when he really wanted to, he could certainly turn a few heads though right now he just appeared as another traveller, another warrior with a sword strapped to his back. The only difference was between the many wannabes she had seen in the streets of Radasanth, this man actually knew how to use the thing. She wondered how well and part of her, the part Malagen had been honing was curious to test him out and see, but this was neither the time nor the place. Besides, Ira was never one to engage in fruitless fighting. Too much could go wrong and she had much to do in this life before she died.

[Christoph]

“I suppose it’s only fair,” the chef replied with a grin. “I’m Christopher Knighton. I come from Salvar, and I’ve traveled to many places. Fallien is not among them… yet.” He took her hand, shaking it in a manner both firm and gentle at the same time.

He chuckled. “Our lineage is ironic. You, a woman from an exotic desert and me… a simple cook from a frozen wasteland.” Of course, he knew very well that he was being overly modest about himself. In fact, he barely even considered himself a chef anymore; that part of himself had become increasingly crowded out by everything else about him. It was nice to know that he had humble roots, though.

Chris sighed softly, strangely content and relaxed. It was odd. He felt like his old self again, as though he were still just 19 years old, sitting around in a tavern and chatting with an attractive girl. Things were different, though. He wasn’t an average chef, and Ira was far from an average woman. Perhaps that was why he’d bothered to strike up a conversation with her in the first place, or even notice her to begin with. It made him wonder, if only for a moment, how many extraordinary people had passed right under his nose simply because he didn’t know to look for them.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Fallien, but it never seemed to work into my plans.” He sighed again. “But what can one do? Perhaps I can find my way there someday.” In fact, with war ravaging much of the rest of the known world, the isolated desert nation seemed very alluring in comparison. It was ironic, really, that after having spent months and months trying to return home during his first journey, that he would leave again as soon as he could. “It’s not like there’s anywhere better to go these days. It seems like everywhere you turn, there’s a religious zealot trying to convert you with a large war hammer or a hard of zombies trying to eat your brains.” Chris had more experience with both of those things than he’d care to remember or talk about, though his eyes spoke louder than his words ever could.

[Iriah Caitrak]

“Salvar, huh?”

That was also a region that Ira had never been to. It was too cold for her. She’d barely survived the heights of the Comb Mountains, let alone the icy wasteland that she had heard Salvar was. Then again she had been mercilessly training upon that icy plateau at the wind and snow and rain buffeted her and soaked through her clothing until her body finally caved under the pressure and gave way to sickness. Another memory of Malagen that was coming to the surface. So much of her time away from home had been spent with the man that she didn’t know if she had anything else to think about. But Christopher gave her a small reprieve and she was more than willing to jump on that.

“I’ve never been there before; it’s a bit too cold for me. I can barely stand Corone in the fall let alone a place like Salvar.” She said as she swept back the stray strands of her short, light purple hair. “I’m sure I’d turn into an icicle long before I got the chance to see anything interesting.”

It may or may not be true. Her resistance to the cold had certainly grown since the training, but she had yet to test the boundaries of that growth. Not to mention she had no desire to. She preferred it warm. She preferred the sun beating down on her, baking her as she shifting through the turning sands of the Fallien desert in search of her home.

“Fallien certainly is a beautiful place... and it has been many moons since I was last there.” A longing became evident on her face as the Calerian picked up her glass and brought it to her lips. The alcohol was starting to tingle her mind a little, but not enough to worry her. She was far from drunk and her tolerance was higher than the weaker things they served here. “The region is a bit weary of strangers, but travel there with a native and you’re more than welcomed, not to mention being an isolated island region means any outside news is always welcome. As for the zombies and religious zealots... well, it’s hard to escape that stuff no matter where you go. Fallien has their own variation.” One of which is my job to fight on a daily basis. Once again, something that would make most men piss in their pants. This one, I’m not so sure.

If he had faced hordes of brain eating zombies, perhaps the legions of Fallen would not be so bad on him. Perhaps he could handle it. But they were far from rotting corpses, after all they were souls and destroying them was destroying a soul, not just already decaying flesh reanimated for the sick purposes of some insane person. Ira had fought zombies before and had no desire to do such again. They were too similar to Fallen in her mind, even if they were complete opposites in origin. Sadly, Fallen were something that haunted her every move and even sitting here, Ira could sense nearby souls. The ones without a mortal shell were so easy to decipher from the ones still attached to this world, after all they shone so brightly when they no longer had a body.

[Christoph]

“Perhaps their antipathy toward strangers is why I’ve never passed through there before,” he explained. “I’ve always hitched rides on cargo vessels to get where I need to go. Most of them stop off in Alerar or Scara Brae on their way to Corone. Although, I’ve seen wares sold that were from Fallien, so foreign ships must stop there occasionally. I just haven’t been lucky enough to be aboard one.” He chuckled and took a sip.

“Granted, you make it sound like a hot version of Salvar… same wasteland, religious zealots, and creatures better suited for dark fairy tales. Just replace snow with sand, right?” Not that either of the two was qualified to make such a comparison, since neither had been to the other’s homeland. “Corone, though, is nice. They’ve got a little of everything. A little forest, a little plains, a little sprawling, omnipresent government bureaucracy… even some zombies. It’s amazing what you can find on this island.” He peered into his half-empty mug and wrinkled his nose, his eyes a canvas of disappointment. “What I’d really like to find is a little decent ale, like they brew back home.”

“Hey, barkeep!” he called to the stout man behind the bar. “Do you have any imports from Salvar?”

The bartender sneered. “What, is local stuff not good enough for you?”

“Not when it tastes like frothy water,” sighed the chef, his response eliciting an angry glare from the bartender.

“Maybe you can just drink what you’ve got.”

“That’s a possibility that I’ve already explored and decided against.” The bartender blinked in a manner not dissimilar from the drunk from earlier. “Okay, look… at least get me something with enough alcohol in it so that it won’t matter how bad the actual drink tastes? Can you cope with that much?”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira chuckled softly as she watched the exchange between Christopher and the bartender. He was being a little more than belligerent with the man, but it was in a manner that she couldn’t help but smile over. She didn’t know why either. Normally she would find such behaviour distasteful and more specifically rude, but she liked it when it rolled off of him so easily. It just suited the man for some reason.

“Just give him what I’m drinking; I’m sure it’ll be enough to put some heat in his blood.” Ira said to the bartender. She used one of her more charming smiles to douse the anger she could see boiling underneath the man’s skin.

Bringing her glass to her lips, Ira quickly drained half the contents there and set it back down on the counter before her body went rigid. Close by she could see the presence of Fallen, not just the bodiless souls that had be near to here haunting their old families, but Fallen. She could ignore souls for a time, they were no immediate threat, but this was a serious problem and one she knew she shouldn’t leave alone, especially since there for three...no four of them and they were rather close to here to.

Closing her eyes for a moment, the Calerian focused and concentrated and felt the distance between them. Just a short walk, probably a few streets over. As she did so, the soul of a person too close to them for comfort was suddenly released from its mortal body.

Bhandakinya!

Opening her eyes and her ears to the inner tavern once more, Ira forced a bit of a tight lipped smile, trying to hide her now more serious and grave countenance. Reaching into a pouch along the side of her robes, she pulled out a few gold and tossed them on the counter, perhaps a bit more than enough to cover Christopher and her drinks but she didn’t have time to count it out. She needed to take care of them before they could find another soul to feed off of and another person to corrupt.

“That’s my cue to leave.” She said to him softly, “It was a pleasure talking with you, Christopher.”

Bowing her head slightly, the Calerian quickly turned in a flurry of flowing, blood red robes and began to make her way out of the tavern. She wove through tables of people and quickly ducked away from serving girls with laden trays lest she make a rather big mess upon her exit. Once she was outside, the cool and crisp night air slapped against her skin and created a shower of goose bumps as the shivers raced down her spine. It was a pleasurable feeling, but one she couldn’t really enjoy at the moment. Taking a deep breath, Ira reached out with her senses once more and began heading in the direction of the fallen, her right hand twitching at her side as it already longed to feel her weapon within it.

[Christoph]

“Wait… where are you going?” he called after Ira as she abruptly stood and hurried for the door. Something wasn’t right, and he didn’t need his instincts to tell him that. Just her demeanor revealed that something was very wrong. Sudden shifts like that were not usual, especially since she didn’t appear to be mentally unstable when they were talking.

Of course, it would have been easier that way, to just assume she was a crazy woman. He could sigh, shake his head, and just go back to drinking. That wasn’t going to cut it, though. Perhaps it was his chivalrous side shining through again, that innate longing to help a pretty girl who was in trouble. In this case, though, said pretty woman seemed plenty formidable enough. The chef would just need to chalk it off to a desire for some action that the boring pub just wasn’t providing.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered, downing the blue drink placed in front of him in one shot and tossing a few coins on the counter. “Keep the change.”

With that, Christopher made his way to the door with all haste. Although, instead of weaving and dodging through people, the crowd just seemed to part around him, allowing him to pass unobstructed. It’s good to look dangerous sometimes. He made it through the door several seconds after Ira had left, and exited with only a moment’s hesitation.

Outside, it had progressed from mid-evening to full night in the short time that he’d been inside, as was typically in the autumn months. The air was moist and cool, almost reminding him of spring in Salvar, and dried leaves from the some nearby trees left standing in Radisanth coated the streets. The buildings seemed to loom even higher over him, casting oppressive shadows in the pale moonlight. Their dark windows stared at the chef like sunken, phantom eyes. He could feel a presence, too. His sword left an itching sensation on his back, magical energies radiating in anticipating to conflict. The damn sword always knew more than he did.

“Ira?” he called into the night, glancing around for his departed acquaintance. Almost in response, he heard footsteps heading left down the road, and he caught sight of a slender form with familiar hair rounding a corner into what appeared to be an alley. “Crap… All right.” He took a deep breath and sprinted off after her, following the woman into the alley. He steeled himself for what he might find there.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The dark of the night was nothing new to her eyes and her senses. She was used to hunting souls at night, there were less witnesses and less of a chance innocents would be caught in the crossfire. Still, these Fallen were closed to populated taverns and inns and that posed a seriously problem to the Calerian. Not only could someone come out and see her but they could also get in the way. It wasn’t that she minded when people caught her releasing a soul from its bond to the world, it was that they usually asked a lot of questions afterwards that they never truly wanted to hear the answers to. People always thought they wanted the truth, wanted to hear about the knowledge inside of another, but when they finally learned of it they realized it was far too much for them to handle. Some people just didn’t want to know what happened to their soul after they died and even with her more than average knowledge in that sense, she did not know anything.

Rounding the corner, Ira felt her eyes grow and adjust to the shadows and the dark as her other senses tried to ignore the stench of garbage and urine and a variety of other things she could not identity. Truly, this area of Radasanth was not the safest, but nor was it the most deadly. She had long ago learned that the best places to go to in the city were the places in between The Governor’s district and the slums.

Movement caught her silvery gaze as the Calerian stepped further in the darkness just as she heard the approaching thud of footsteps behind her. Her eyes narrow and in her hands where nothing had been before, her Half Swallows appeared. The long metallic handles and the edges and curves blade of what would normally lie at the end of a Naginata lay in a relaxed position between her fingers. With a sudden and intense burst of motion, her legs shifted and she twisted around ready to strike down whatever had followed after her only to see the man from the tavern.

“Christopher?”

Her blades fell to her side once more and before she even had the chance to question what he was doing here, though she could guess, she felt the movements of the Fallen once more.

“Katsam!”

Turning back to the alley she watched as four disfigured and grotesque looking creatures with blackened flesh rotting from their bodies slinked through the walls as if they had never been there to begin with. They crawled and ambled and moved quicker than the average zombie and the gaping holes in their faces classified only as mouths screamed a silent scream just for her. Each one of them looked different and yet all had one feature in common, the dark hole in the centre of their chest. Behind them, and further back into the alley she could now barely make out the lifeless form of some unfortunate person who got in their way.

Gritting her teeth and feeling her fingers begin to tighten around the handle of her blades, the Calerian moved once more. As still as a statue she stood one moment and the next her form was silently rushing through the alley and towards the four Fallen before they could even get close to Christopher. The man should have stayed inside where it was safer. Side stepping in a quick motion, she parried the clawed attack of one and then plunged her blade into the darkness of its chest. The creature stopped its motion and turned into a black and red butterfly before disappearing into the night and onto the afterlife, leaving Ira to deal with the other three.

[Christoph]

Chris instinctively drew his sword and readied for the fight to come, only to realize that there was nothing there to fight. Ira had charged down the alley and appeared to be fighting the air. She slashed and dodged, locked in combat with an imaginary foe. Then his Mage Senses burned in the back of his skull and the grim realization hit him. They weren’t imaginary foes; they were invisible.

He wanted to ask what was going on. He wanted an explanation, but it would need to wait. His instincts told him what his eyes couldn’t – they were both in danger. The chef could sense their unseen foes, detect their numbers – three – even pick out their general distance and location, but it wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t hear or see them. As much as it pained his pride, he would need to stand back and let the woman do the fighting herself.

Then, he sensed one of the things closing in, getting past Ira and charging straight for him. He muttered a curse. There wasn’t time to think of a course of action. Fear was welling up in his chest because he knew that his life was on the line, yet he as far as his mortal senses could tell him, there was nothing putting him in danger.

Reflexively, he raised his sword in a defensive stance. The handle of the blade tingled in his palm and seemed to subtly tug on his arm. His eyes widened in the fraction of a moment he had left to spare. The damn sword always knows more than I do. He closed his eyes and blocked out all sounds and smells, and ignored the chill of the night air. These were all mortal senses, and thus useless. His magical, often frighteningly cognizant blade, somehow knew what to do; he would just need to leg go and trust it for a moment.

Time slowed. Chris couldn’t hear or feel anything, per se, but he knew it was coming closer. He relaxed his muscles, not allowing himself to offer his sword any resistance. The subtle tugging on his arm guided him, and he sliced his sword through the air just his Mage Senses were burning like hot oil in his skull. It connected with something, though he couldn’t quite explain how he knew. There was the faintest resistance in the air, so slight that he could have ignored it any other time. And then the burning in his skull died down to a low simmer once again.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Corruption slithered into her body as the soul on the other end of her blade was released. She could feel it sig into her soul and make a path towards the strong demon Abhrapatha that already lived inside of her. She hated it. She could barely stand the thought of knowing that something like that resided in her, something that was nothing but pure evil and wanted nothing more than to destroy her and everything around her. But it was who she was now, made that way by Iren and she had no choice in the matter anymore. She could only fight it and use it like the woman had told her she must.

As the other Fallen moved in on her, Ira side stepped, backpedalled and then charged towards the creature. She ducked low and swept the flat side of her blade against what could be classified as legs. The blade connected and the thing lost its balance, falling to the ground below. The disgusting liquid staining the grey stones did not seep into or stain its skin, for it could not truly touch it. Before she could plunge her blade into the creature’s chest and release it, it disappeared into the ground. Cursing, she turned and watched as Chris actually dispatched of one of the creatures, with his eyes closed! She was just about ready to smack him and tell him to get the fuck out of there when she noticed the glow of his sword and then realized that he had just released the creature from its torment. She didn’t know how and now wasn’t the time to truly question it, but when this was over she certainly planned on doing so.

Knowing she didn’t have much else of a choice, Ira ran over to Christopher. “Open your eyes!” She growled the command to him just as she pulled and called at the realm of Purgatory.

Everything around the pair of them sudden froze, everything except them. Then the buildings began to crumble and fall into ruin. The darkness of the night became grey instead of black and everything with colour sudden withered and faded until it remained no more, everything except them. The air grey still and stagnant and when the transformation to Purgatory ended, Ira grew in a deep and calming breath and then searched for the two Fallen. She had pulled them in here with her and knew that they wouldn’t have gone far. The hard part would be getting rid of them before more felt her presence and came for her soul. The last thing she needed was a serious fight on her hands with a regular human by her side.

Realizing that the Fallen had moved behind them, Ira opened he silver eyes wide and quickly shoved Christopher to the side, nearing pushing him into a wall as a blackened hand shot forth and wrapped around her arm. Before she could struggle free, the twisted creature pounced on her and sharp, jagged teeth bit into her shoulder, rending flesh and causing a well of blood to spurt across cloth and skin as it began to feed and pull on her soul. She cried out and then shoved the creature away, stabbing into its chest with her other arm and watching as it turned from the hideous creature it was into a butterfly before disappearing.

[Christoph]

Chris gasped as the world around him transformed into a realm of bleak nightmares. The city vanished and was replaced with a dark, hellish world. Even that wasn’t as disturbing as the creatures that suddenly became visible. Twisted and grotesque, they began to emerge from the shadows. One had taken Ira down, but she dispatched it before getting her face chewed off. The chef wasn’t about to let that happen to either of them.

He growled and readied his blade, daring the beasts to attack him. They obliged almost instantly. A pair of them attacked from two sides at once. Chris flicked his hand and conjured his speed charm, quickening his movements and making everything else seem to slow in comparison. He focused his energies and unleashed a shockwave of blue fire in all directions, searing unholy flesh and sending the beasts sprawling backwards, injured but not killed.

Using this advantage, he charged the one to the left, once again trusting his blade to guide his hand. A few months ago, he’d have never had such faith in the weapon, because several months ago, it housed a malevolent demon that sought to control and harm him. That entity was now locked securely away in his mind, allowing the sword to do its work uncorrupted.

His trust was warranted. The tip of the blade plunged into the dark, rotting wound in the monster’s chest, causing it to practically evaporate in a puff of unholy smoke. Tendrils of the dark mist reached out of him, but retreated back in the face of the burning blade. The second creature had risen to its feet and was lunging at the chef from behind. Gritting his teeth, Chris pivoted with his supernatural agility and lashed out with his weapon, slicing right across its midsection.

More of the creatures began to emerge. There must have been six newcomers, all stalking silently up to them like rotting specters. The chef sprinted to Ira’s side, his entire body glowing in an aura of blue fire. He gave a feral grin and scanned their enemies, offering her a hand to get her to her feet.

“What do you say we send these creatures back to hell?”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira frowned up at Christopher as she took his outstretched hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. His analogy of what they were was completely wrong, but given their current circumstances and his ignorance on the issue, she couldn’t blame him. They were probably too similar to the zombie creatures he had mentioned fighting before, for the chef to tell the different between the two. If she got the chance to, she’d enlighten him but at the moment it didn’t seem like a very important thing to do. Just as long as they released them all and got out of here in one piece it didn’t matter.

“Just aim for the hole in their chest and maybe you won’t get yourself killed.” She said a little coldly.

Bringing the hilts of her Half Swallows together, Ira reformed the metal with a simple thought and turned the half weapons into a full Swallow. Then she called on her Irenian crystal and where her body had merely been covered in nothing but cloth before, it was suddenly covered in a pristine, white armour that covered her torso, her entire left arm, right forearm and her shines. It protected her against the advances of the Fallen, but would do nothing to help her in Christopher suddenly turned his blade against her. Not that she expected him to.

Not wanting to leave the man’s side, Ira waited for the Fallen to come to her instead of advancing towards them. They slinked and stalked and slithered across the ground and varied and jerking motions that could be both fast one minute and slow the next, making their extremely hard to predict. It was one of the reason why solo Calerians often fell to large numbers of them. They were weak, but in big groups, even the more gentle of creatures could become overwhelming. Ira on the other hand never planned on letting something like a Fallen take her down.

Two of the Fallen broke off from the group and six and headed towards them, Ira took two steps forward and pivoted to the right, giving herself a safe distance away from Christopher to use her weapon. The long metallic band staff of metal shifted in her hand as she began to spin it and the bladed tips sliced through the air in a practiced motion. When the creature made a jerky moved to pounce on her, she stepped to the side, shifted her other hand to the metal shaft and then twisted it sharply towards the chest. The creature actually pivoted away rather quickly but Ira took one step towards it, continued to spin the weapon around and slashed diagonally across it’s chest. It began to fall to the ground right before it collapsed and reduced itself to a butterfly before disappearing.

The second one tried to sneak up on her, but she could sense it. Twisting her body around, the Calerian had just enough time to duck down under a blow before it took her head off. Smirking, she formed a small throwing dagger in her hand and then tossed it towards the creature’s chest, releasing it from whatever kept it bound to this world as well. As it departed she felt the tightening inside her chest as the corruption continued to seep into her soul.

[Christoph]

“I’d figured that out, thankfully,” Chris replied, spinning around so that his right shoulder was adjacent with hers. He barely managed to get into his fighting stance before one of the abominations lunged at him. It was fast, but nothing was faster than thought – and it was a mere thought that conjured a glittering translucent barrier between him and the creature. It impacted and let out a silent, angry howl. The chef took a quick step forward and drove his blade into his foe’s weak spot, grinning as it evaporated just as the other had.

He glanced back at Ira, who seemed to be taking perfectly care of herself. She was wearing pristine white armor somehow, but the chef wasn’t about to stop and ask questions. In his moment of distraction, another creature attacked, flailing rotting limbs wildly. Chris parried the attacks with his sword, lopping off both of its shriveled hands in the process, and followed up with another jab. It dodged to the side and charged forward snapping its rotten teeth at him. He cringed and drove his blade forward into its chest. Four down, two to go.

No sooner had he destroyed his fifth and sixth opponents than did the remaining two both pounce on him from both sides. Letting his combat instincts take over, he jumped to the side, slashing across the chest of the first one. His aim fell low, however, causing him to merely slice open its rotting stomach. It staggered backwards for a moment. The second one continued on, ramming squarely into the chef’s legs and knocking him to the ground.

Chris grunted in pain as he landed harshly on the ground, jolts of pain shooting up his spine. The opportunistic undead didn’t waste any time in crawling atop of its victim. The chef was nobody’s victim, though. His eyes burned with azure fire and he blasted the creature back with a flash of light and sizzling flesh. Then the other one came back for more.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The two Fallen never had a chance. Before they could move in on the man again two arrows were sent sailing through the air seconds apart. Their aim was not perfect but it was true and they passed into the rotting, dark mass in the centre of their chest, releasing the two creatures and passing on their regrets to Ira. Feeling a sudden pain erupt in the centre of her own chest, Ira grimaced and her hands twitched open, dropping the bow that she had formed to the ground where it disappeared two seconds later.

“Time to get out of here.” She said tightly.

There had been a time when she could have fought off more of them without the corruption becoming a problem, but the more she absorbed the more Abhrapatha stirred and thus the more it attacked her. The sharp pain that felt like it was piercing her heart would only grow and eventually she would no longer be able to stand it. Either the demon inside of her would take over again, or she would need to rest and allow her soul the time it required to beat it back once more. Eventually she would get used to this; eventually it wouldn’t incapacitate her so. But for now it was a burden that weighed heavily upon her.

Reaching out, the Calerian grabbed a hold of Christopher’s arm and then with a simple thought the world around them began to fade. The rotting and decaying buildings that had been prevalent in Purgatory suddenly turned themselves into the prosperous establishments of Radasanth once more and the two warriors found themselves standing in the exact same alley. Instead of the stale air of death, they were surrounded by rot and piss and garbage.

“I apologize, I did not mean to drag you into that but I could not allow them to freely wander Radasanth and kill more.” Her eyes glanced towards the corpse that lay feet away from them, partially hidden behind rotting wooden crates long ago forgotten by the store owner who had placed them there. His soul was nowhere in the vicinity, thankfully he had already moved on to the afterlife.

Feeling that pang in her heart once more, Ira drew in a bit of ragged breath and then slowly released it. The armour wrapped around her body faded with it and her hand rose to her shoulder, touching the teeth marks upon her flesh. They were not deep, but the bastard had got her right in the meaty part and the blood had already matted and soaked into her robes. The good part about fighting souls was there was no worry about any infection from inflicted wounds. After all, souls were not physical beings and as such could not carry disease, unless of course on classified regret and evil as a disease. Still, she should bandage it and give herself some time to rest before she exhausted herself. Christopher was the lucky one, he could release the Fallen indiscriminately without having to worry about absorbing what they carried, she took that burden on for him.

[Christoph]

“Don’t apologize,” Chris replied, his voice taking on a more soothing tone. “I’m the one who tried to play ‘knight in shining armor’ and bit off more than I wanted to chew.” Sighing, the chef took a moment to examine himself for injuries. He was left with a few bumps and bruises, but nothing serious. He’d gotten far worse before.

Ira was injured, but was still breathing and talking, so it didn’t appear that she was in danger of bleeding to death. Chris felt very lucky for not leaving that hellish place in a far worse state. She clearly had experience fighting these creatures, whereas the chef did not. There were so many mistakes that he could have made that would have left him dead or worse, if his past experience with battling demonic and undead entities was any indicator. He sighed wearily. As much as he claimed to not believe in fate, destiny, or any such nonsense, that night had been too much of a coincidence to not make him think.

“You’re hurt,” the warrior-cook said, stating the obvious. He smiled at her. “As you can guess, I’ve got a lot of questions, but they can wait. I don’t doubt that you’d want to answer them, but for now you look like you’re about to fall over. I’m a patient type of person, so you can tell me what just happened here once you’re ready.” He offered her a steady arm.

“I know a place that we can go,” he began. “It’s a small inn on the northern part of town. I stopped there during my last visit. They’ve got good food and they won’t ask any questions. People come strolling in there bleeding all the time, so I wager they’re jaded to it.”

He exhaled slowly at the memory of the last time he was there. The chef had stumbled in, bruised, bloody, and on the run from the law. They’d let him stay for several nights without bothering him or inquiring about where his injuries came from or why he constantly glanced nervously out the window. He had no idea if any of that mattered at this point, having no knowledge of what these monsters were or if there was any such thing as a safe place when they were concerned. Still, it was a familiar course of action that made him feel at ease.

“What do you say? If you’re especially lucky, another ugly drunk might hit on you again.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

She refused the steady arm. Ira was far too prideful for that. Besides, she’d half dragged her corrupted and nearly dead self through a desert for almost an entire day before she’d collapsed unable to go any farther. That was something considered impossible by the standards of her tribe, once you were corrupted you were a psychopathic monster that did nothing but kill. Of course, Ira had this really bad habit of proving impossibilities wrong, twice corrupted, both times survived and the second she came out with a demon attached to her soul as well. It was all a lovely mess of intricate webbing she didn’t understand but could only find herself caught in. Part of it pissed her off immensely, another part of her barely even cared anymore. She had to make do with what was thrown at her.

Still, despite refusing his hand, resting was on her top list of things to do.

“Only if I get to beat the next one into a bloody pulp.” Ira said with a smirk. Lost souls, she could handle. Fallen she could fight. Belligerent drunks, they just pissed her off. There was no reason o get that drunk. Well, no logical reason. In all honesty she had been there a few times with her friends, usually around the time of her birth when they celebrated another year lived, but that was different.

Readjusting her robes, the Calerian nodded her head and followed after Christopher as he began leading the way out of the alley and into the main streets of Radasanth. They were mostly deserted at this time of night, but not completely. Natives and foreigners alike randomly wandered around—some of them stumbling—as they ambled from one tavern to the next or to their beds for the night wherever they might be. In the back of her mind, Ira couldn’t help but wonder if Christopher had ever wandered bleeding into that inn before in the past; after all he spoke as if from personal experience. Ira tried not to make a habit of such things, in fact when usually injured she wandered to secluded areas away from the public to tend her wounds. But her injuries were usually few and far between. It just so happened that when she did get hurt it almost always seemed to be life threatening and she had the scars to prove it. Three times now she had nearly died, two of them had been from blood loss on precise wounds meant to kill her. Life either had something in store for the warrior or she was very lucky.

They walked in quiet together, Ira not wishing to start the explanation yet and knowing her questions could wait for a time. After a short walk she found herself approaching a nondescript building that barely looked different from any other, but it appeared to be the inn that Christopher had been talking about. And indeed, the young man opened the door for her and allowed her into the establishment. Unlike the tavern, it was busy but not overly so the raucous was not about to deafen either of them.

Picking a table at the back of the room, Ira slipped out of her pack and sat down; visibly relaxing the moment she was off her feet. Though the more she had walked the more the pain in her chest had subsided, it was still worrying her how little corruption she could take into her lately. When a rather beautiful looking young woman walked by with a tray, Ira called her over.

“I need water, also... a glass of some very strong alcohol, two glasses?” She turned a raised a delicate brow at Christopher as she asked the question, her silver eyes resting on him.

[Christoph]

“Two should be a good start,” said Chris with a nod as he settled into the seat. He rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily.

“You got it, hon,” she replied, flashing the two a smile and wandering off to the bar. It was a quiet, relaxing atmosphere. A warm fire burned in the corner, casting a golden glow throughout the room. He glanced after the attractive barmaid before grinning and returning his gaze to Ira.

“And no, I didn’t pick this place because of its eye-candy,” stated the chef with a chuckle. “Not that I can complain.”

He yawned. The events that had just transpired seemed to fall on him all at once, combining with the fatigue of a very long day. He wasn’t fully physically exhausted by any stretch. After all, he’d fought far more enemies and expended far more energy before. This was a mere skirmish in comparison. The weariness came from the fact that these enemies were different and unfamiliar, and that he could have very easily died in the fight.

Part of him wondered what he’d gotten himself into. That same part was also telling him to leave and get out while he still could, that he didn’t really want to know the answers Ira would give him. Chris had stopped listening to that part a long time ago. He’d gotten himself into yet another fight, and he wasn’t about to leave it incomplete. But first, they would both need rest.

“I don’t know what I might be getting myself into,” he said, his voice low and dark. “But those things I saw have no place lurking among the living. I can help you, if you’d have my aid.” He smiled weakly. “With all the horrible things in the world, I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I ran away from a evil that I could actually fight.” It was a plausible reason, and he almost fully believed it. It left him to wonder, though, if he would have been as eager to embark on such a crusade had it been with someone else.

[Iriah Caitrak]

“And that’s the problem.” Ira said to him. “You can’t really fight these things. They’re not zombies; they’re not mindless undead, rotting corpses that are so easily cut down with a sword. These are souls that have been trapped in this world and pulled into Purgatory where they are slowly corrupted until they become blackened creatures that wish to only inflict the pain they feel upon others.”

Taking a deep breath, the Calerian relaxed against the chair as she looked upon Christopher, as if studying him. The man did not have a second sight. She knew that because he had hesitated when she’d been fighting them in the alleyway. Still, he had released one without being able to see it and his sword had the ability, the power to do such without any of her enchantments. It amazed her; she was just not ready to let him see that.

Just when Ira was about to continue on with her probably brief and cryptic explanation, their waitress returned with a tray of drinks, the one that Christopher had referred to as ‘eye-candy’. Strange name in Ira’s mind, but she wasn’t one to judge. As she set the drinks down on the table, the Calerian nodded her thanks and waited until the woman was gone before she continued.

“Look, the things that we fought in the alley and in the place I took you are called Fallen. One does not kill them, they release them from the regrets and evils that they committed only after death and allow them to move on to the afterlife. The problem is that regret and evil has to go somewhere.” As she talked, Ira rummaged around in her bag for something she could use as a rag. Finally she found one of her torn garments and ripped off a strip. “You’re not a Calerian, you cannot take on these burdens so they’ll just sit there and accumulate, which helps nothing.” Reaching up, she unwrapped the blood red shawl from around her shoulders and neck, revealing the jagged teeth marks on the base of her neck and the blood still slowly seeping out of them. It also revealed a nasty, stark white scar that stood out drastically against her skin that also resided upon her neck. One looked like clean teeth marks; the other appeared to have been a ragged gash that would have bled anyone dry within minutes.

“When you release these souls there has to be a Calerian nearby to take on the burdens they once had... it’s why I seemed so weakened after the battle. Taking on too much can destroy us.” Soaking the rag in the water, Ira began to clean the blood off the wound. There was no risk of infection, so the alcohol she merely took a sip of. “While I appreciate your help...I’m really not sure how much assistance you can truly be and I am not one to needlessly place innocents within harm’s way. Purgatory is not place for someone without a Calerian’s abilities, or at least not accompanied by one.”

She didn’t have any bandages on her and the odd placement on the bite meant she couldn’t wrap it, so once she was done cleaning the blood away; Ira merely left the wound bare. She also left her shoulders and arms bear of anything covering them.

[Christoph]

Chris took a sip of his drink and nodded thoughtfully, soaking in everything he was hearing. A year ago, it would have been almost too much to accept – damned spirits trapped in the plane of mortals, for whatever reason, preying on the innocent to feed their warped and sadistic natures. Now, though, he merely nodded. It made perfect sense.

“I see. So these creatures need to be released to the next world before they cause more damage in this one,” reiterated the chef. “But since even magic doesn’t create or destroy something out of nothing, the fallout of the released negative energy – corruption and whatnot, remains in this world afterwards, and must be contained.” He made a thoughtful hum. His vast experience and arcane knowledge far surpassed the feats he was actually capable of. He knew how these types of things worked.

“Meaning it needs to be contained, but can only be in specific ways,” he said. “In this case, only certain people, such as yourself can do it.” He raised a curious and wary eyebrow at her. “But that still doesn’t destroy or remove it. What happens to it? You absorbed all the corruption from those Fallen…” The memory of the corruption wrought by the demon that had inhabited his sword still lurked in his memory. It was a toxin to his soul, a pollutant and a cancer to his essence and mind. It had build up more and more until he was able to defeat and contain the source of the corruption: the demon. “What happens when you absorb too much? What happens when you reach your limit? Surely this foul energy has an impact on you.”

Again, a tint of mingled dread and sorry crept into his eyes and voice. Christopher knew what it was like to have a foreign force slowly change him. He knew what it was like to be warped and shaped by a malevolent force until he could barely recognize who he was. He’d barely made it back from his descent into darkness; it was a fate that he would not wish upon anyone. Suddenly the nature of Ira’s conflict came upon him fully.

“How can anyone fight these Fallen without eventually being defeated by that corruption?” he asked somberly. Outside, a slow rain peppered the window. “It sounds too much like a losing battle.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

“It can be...” Ira said to him, her expression suddenly too sombre, and too serious, lost within a myriad of her own thoughts.

The topic of corruption was a testy one with any Calerian and not something that they usually ever discussed with an outsider. It was complicated and heart breaking and every year Ira had to watch more names being added to The Valley of the Dead because of it. One day her name too would reside there, though if it would be for corruption or something else she didn’t know and was not interested in finding out the future any time soon. Not until she wrote it herself at least.

“This is not something discussed with siahds... so you must excuse my reluctance.” She said softly as her silver eyes looked away and towards some point upon their table that had nothing special about it. It merely made it easier not to look into the eyes of someone who sounded like they really cared when discussing such a sad matter. “Corruption is stored within the soul of a Calerian, when they take on too much they can no longer fight it’s taint and they become overrun. Thus turns them into nothing more a monster with unbelievably strong powers, a blight really and we must hunt down our sisters and brothers when this happens and destroy them. It is neither easy emotionally or physically and we do not enjoy doing it.”

Ira had never been part of a hunt before and she hoped beyond hope that she never would. To kill someone she grew up with and trained with her whole life would break her heart, even if killing them meant freeing them from what they had turned into.

“But, there are ways to prevent this. We are forever bound to crystals when we come of age. They help us control our energy and our senses and they also mediate the corruption within us. Travelling to our soul and fighting the corruption will permanently destroy it, but only there.” Ira no longer had the ability to do this. It was taken away from her when her soul was irrevocably bound to the corruption. It will stay inside of her until the day she dies now, leaving her with not a moments rest. But Christopher was far from a trusted friend and she would not relinquish that kind of information so freely.

[Christoph]

Chris was too lost in thought to respond verbally. His new acquaintance had provided a great deal more information than she likely realized. Of course, that came with the territory of being a savvy arcane student. Little details went a long way in figuring out how things worked. If his theory was correct – which he couldn’t be certain of until he did real research – these Calarians stored the negative energy, or corruption, within themselves, and they could only cleanse themselves by using a specific type of ritual. If something went wrong and they took in more than they were able, the corruption would overtake them. It made sense. The hard part would just be quantifying it. The silence stretched on as the chef’s mind wrapped itself around the matter at hand.

Perhaps he was simply drowning emotion with logic to keep the tragic nature of what Ira was from truly weighing upon him. He wanted to know that he was helping for a rational reason, and not just because his chivalry was getting the best of him. On one hand, the temptation to come to her aid simply because she was a pretty girl was rather strong. But he knew that it wouldn’t be a good reason for getting involved with something so clearly larger than him.

No, it wasn’t chivalry. Chris gazed on the hilt of his sword, knowing that because he possessed the means to fight this war, he couldn’t abandon it.

“I can’t very well bow out at this point,” he said flatly. “Now that I’ve seen this for what it is, I can’t just not fight it. I can’t go on living with the knowledge that good people are fighting and risking their lives in souls in a war that I could help with.” He stood. “Whether or not I fight with you or try to figure things out on my own is up to you. Either way… I think some sleep is in order first.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Bow out? She assumed he meant leave, quit, and just walk away. But he had nothing to bow out from. This wasn’t his war or his fight. So his sword was a little special and let him fight things that others would rather live their lives knowing didn’t exist. That didn’t meant he had to fight it. He still couldn’t even see it. The problem was the man did not appear to be the kind of person to simple back away from something no matter how much someone told him otherwise. And Ira couldn’t think of a reason to tell him to leave other than the obvious ones. ‘It’s too dangerous. You’ll only get hurt or get in the way. You can’t even travel to Purgatory, what help do you think you’ll honestly be?’

Ira sighed softly, something Christoph most likely didn’t catch at all. Standing, as well, she slowly nodded her head to him. “I believe you need time to think over your words. This is not something an outsider like you can ever completely understand.” The words came out colder than she wanted them too, perhaps even a little harsher. But there was nothing she could do about it. “But you are right; rest is required after such a day.”

She needed time to recover from the corruption coursing through her system. Since she could no longer expel it, she merely needed time to rest and allow it to settle so that she could dominate and control it. A scary thought really, but something necessary after what had been done to her. After everything had changed during the festival of the dead.

How I wish I could change everything that happened that night.

Being polite, the Calerian warrior inclined her head slightly and then began leading the way towards the stairs. On the way there, she stopped off at the front desk and got a room for the warrior, it was the least she could do for his help. Besides, it was not that expensive here anyway and she had plenty of travel money. Handing him the key, Ira began to lead the way upstairs. Her room was number 35 and Christoph’s was 39, just a few doors down from hers.

“I assume I shall see you in the morning. Sleep well, warrior.” Ira softly spoke the words to him before she slipped her key the door and unlocked her room.

Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the door. After a few seconds, she began to strip and crawl into her bed, knowing she needed to get at least a few hours of sleep in before she left. As noble as Christoph’s offer was, she could not accept it. She never would. And her refusal to do something like that was what had driven Malagen away from her in the end. She had been unable to accept his helping hand. Her pride and her need to protect him outweighing her common sense and in the end he had left her because of it. This time, she would be the one leaving. Only Christoph was a stranger and not a man she was possibly falling in love with.

Maybe we’ll meet again one day, Christoph... maybe...

As her head hit the pillow, Ira felt the sweet bliss of her dreams overcome her. Mentally, she set a wakeup call for a few hours from now. She would slip out in the middle of the night while he dreamed. It was the only way to remove herself from him without causing an incident. Besides, since he could not actually see souls, she had no worry that Christoph would be unable to pursue this without her around.

[Skie and Avery]

Quest Judging
Bottoms Up!

Keeping into account that this was a ten minute posting exercise, I shall too be brief in my judgment - maybe just numbers.

STORY

Continuity ~ 7/10.
Setting ~ 6/10.
Pacing ~ 7/10.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 8/10.
Action ~ 8/10.
Persona ~ 7/10.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 7/10.
Mechanics ~ 6/10.
Clarity ~ 9/10.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 8/10.

TOTAL ~ 73/100. The two of you should consider writing together more often.

Ira Shinkara gains 3303 EXP and 307 GP
Christoph gains 3412 EXP and 285 GP

Ira Shinkara levels up! Congrats!

[Zook Murnig]

EXP/GP ADDED!

IRIAH LEVELS UP!