Blood in the Marrow of the Soul

[Iriah Caitrak]

Closed

Iriah Caitrak's head cracked back like a whip. Splotches of colour danced in her vision a mere second before pain ripped across her temple and eye. She pushed it back. Like she'd been trained to do. A crimson waterfall still dribbled down her chin from her broken lip. She brought her head forward, swallowed the iron taste in her mouth and slowly opened her eyes. The silver of her irises were gone, burned away by a rage as hot as the Fallien desert. A fiery red flame was left in the wake of that anger, eating away at the molten metal until none remained. She narrowed her eyes on the man before her, and they spoke even if she didn't.

Do that again and you'll regret it.

He answered by rolling up the sleeves on his blue uniform, exposing corded muscle beneath pale skin decorated with scars.

A few hours earlier...


Blood in the Marrow of the Soul



http://i218.photobucket.com/albums/cc292/Witchy701/Ghost.jpg

Iriah stood outside the large, militaristic rectangle that blotted out the surrounding fields and the encroaching forest far off in the distance. Windows dotted every side of it, grimy and cold and empty, like the night itself. They reflected the dark of the sky and the world around them like the obsidian stones back home; deep, black and impenetrable.

Nothing seemed to stir in the still hours before morning. That bleak time when the world hung over a precipice, wondering when the sun would break the horizon, or if it ever would. She was awake during that time not because she wanted to be, but because she had to be. The call had come for her and to ignore it would be to ignore who and what she was, and her job upon this plane of existence. Even from this distance she could feel the pull of the souls trapped within that lonely structure. It echoed within the chasm of her soul, resonating with that dark place inside her.

The place she wished did not exist.

As the cool, night air pushed against her back, slipping through the thin fabric of her purple top and snaking along the contours of her beige pants, Iriah stepped forward when all she wanted was to return to her warm room back at the Inn. Her worn, brown boots crunched down on the dried vegetation and overgrown grass, wild and untamed by human hands for a long time. The place appeared to have been abandoned, one of many buildings she had seen in such a state since the Civil War.

Walking up the overgrown path, the Ahketamikan approached the front door. She noticed signs of recent activity on the way up: stalks of grass bent back and trampled in muddy footprints. She dismissed it as vagrants looking for a safe place to sleep. A building like this would be very tempting; none of the windows were broken out and the door was still in good shape and held it's form. Grasping the cold, metal handle, she turned it only to feel it stop a quarter of the way. Jiggling it to and fro did nothing. In one last attempt, she turned it as far as she could and slammed her body against it, but it only creaked and groaned and barely budged. The door was obviously locked, not stuck.

She abandoned the front door and began a walk around the building. The windows were low enough to the ground that she could easily pull herself in, but each one she tried was firmly locked. The idea of shattering one and slipping inside flitted through her mind, but she quickly pushed it aside. Iriah was no thief or burglar, breaking in did not appeal to her. She would if she had to, but she preferred to find an unlocked door or window somewhere.

Coming around to the back of the building produced a new problem for the warrior. The two storey structure reared up and overhead, blocking out a moon that hung lazy and fat in the ink sky. She could barely see anything. Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the new soupy blackness, granted her only the mere outline of vague shapes. She clearly had not thought this through enough. Pulling on the silver chain that dangled from her neck, Iriah channelled energy into the two crystals that tinkled against one another. They began emitting a soft, blue light that illuminated just enough for her to see.

Next time, she'd bring a lantern.

Luckily, the sun would break soon and give her more illumination. She could just see where the sky was beginning to lighten, far off towards the Jagged Mountains.

Resting her fingers along the stone, worn smooth from wind and rain, Iriah walked along the back of the building, testing each window she came upon. Luck struck her upon the third try, when the window stuttered and then stopped. Reaching up with both hands, she shoved the warped wood. It groaned and squeaked, the sound piercing through the near silence like an arrow. Her heart kicked up in tempo with it and she couldn't help but glance into the darkness, assuring herself she was still alone.

The window gracelessly gave with one final shove and shriek of protest, opening it's maw into the cool darkness of the room beyond.

She saw nothing within.

Grabbing the ledge of the window, Iriah hoisted herself up just as a bright light rounded the corner of the building.

Present

What were you doing on Corone Government property?"

"I already told you," Iriah sighed, "I was—"

Her head slammed to the side, pain exploding along her jaw and mouth. The cut on her lip, finally beginning to crust over with blood, opened worse than before. She could feel a fresh torrent of crimson oozing down her chin and dripping onto her lap in the small puddle that had already formed on the beige material.

Turning her head back, Iriah spit a glob of blood and mucous at the guard. It landed on his chest, sliding down his wrinkled uniform, before getting stuck on the breast pocket. He grabbed a fist full of her orchid hair with his meaty fist, speckles of her blood covered the blotchy, pale colour of his skin. With a twist he jerked her head back so hard she felt the muscles in her neck protest as he exposed her throat, showing off the terrible looking scars along the right side. The back of the chair dug into her skull and scraped along her scalp. She uselessly struggled against the rope that bound her, feeling the chafe and burn against the sensitive skin of her wrists. Even her ankles were firmly tied to the legs. She could do nothing more than squirm like a snake firmly caught by both ends. His face loomed over her view of the grey ceiling and the spiderweb of cracks in the flaking plaster. Limp, greasy brown hair fell around them, creating a curtain so that she could only see him.

Hot breath fanned across her face. It smelled vaguely of onions and garlic. His next words came out in a guttural growl. "I asked you what you were doing on Corone Government property?"

She scowled and pursed her lips tightly together.

When she didn't respond, he let her hair go just as he slammed his fist into her stomach. Iriah gasped. Her lungs contracted as air rushed out, while she desperately tried to breathe in at the same time. Unable to move, her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, attempting to draw in something but getting nothing in the end. Spots danced in her vision. Her head swam. A tunnel of black formed, slowly closing inward until it blotted out everything around her.

She came to with her chin on her chest.

[Otto]

It was a grey sort of day.

Otto looked up from the grimy street, to the overarching blanket of cloud above. The sun was up there somewhere, but the thick expanse of cloud might as well have been lead sheeting. It was rolling in slowly from the sea, and had turned the city of Radasanth below into a dull, monochrome version of itself. Even the street life appeared reserved and withdrawn - in anticipation of foul weather, pedestrians were fastening coats and bowing their head against the wind, and vendors had begun to pull their wares under whatever cover they could lay claim to.

Otto and William sauntered their way down the street, their red tabards a defiant splash of colour in the gloom. The orc's battered sallet clanked at his belt with every step, as did his iron-shod boots. He resisted the urge to follow the lead of those around them and wrap himself up in his oilskin cloak; the brass wanted uniformed bodies on the streets, but while they took a dim view on transgressions of the uniform regulations, they took an even dimmer one on rusty armour. He'd have to cover up when and if the rain hit, but for the time being, left his cloak draped over one shoulder.

William suddenly looked up. His eyes narrowed and scanned the rows of old buildings, each one built to a similar design but modified by centuries of accommodation, before they fixed on one. "Here we are," he remarked to his partner. "Dunno about you, but I could do with having a brew inside me before we go on."

Otto examined the structure in question. It was slightly taller than the houses around it, and wider too, but devoid of their manicured front gardens. Where the others had large, breezy windows and baroque railings, this one had stout shutters and spiked fences. A small arch round the side provided an opening to a rear courtyard and encircling facilities. One would know it was different, but be unsure of exactly how, until they alighted on the brass coat of arms above the door; an escutcheon charged with sword and feather, party per saltire, the symbol of the Corone Armed Forces.

It blended into the wall, mottled green-blue with verdigris. They hadn't even had time to fix up the lantern next to it.

"Settling back in nicely, aren't they?" Otto said. Something went plink, and he looked down at his sallet, where a drop of water was running down the side. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the street started hesitantly, then swelled with confidence. "Let's go in," he stated. William nodded, and together they left the roar of the rain behind them as they stepped through the door.

The foyer was warmly lit by some wall-mounted lamps, as well as a small fire behind the counter at the far end of the room. Bleak little chairs lined the walls, for those who came to deal with the watch, though each one was currently empty. There were doors on each wall, which presumably led to offices and such where the work was done, and some stairs rose up behind the counter to the first floor. The only other occupant in the room was a duty officer at the desk. He looked up as the duo entered, and offered them a welcoming nod.

"Afternoon, lads," said the man. "Nasty day to be out. Finishing up soon?"

Otto and William gave him a salute. "That'd be preferable, sir, but no," William replied. "We've yet to be heading up Kingsway and then the Anchorage afore we finish."

The junior lieutenant tutted sadly. "Along the waterfront? You have my sympathy. Still, just stand leeward of that one and you'll be dry as a bone," he added, with a nod towards Otto. The orc smiled dutifully, and the man continued, "Pop into the office on your right. We're still unpacking in the others. Corporal Sepovic has the kettle on; make your report to him and he'll sort you out."

They saluted again. "Thank you, sir," said William, but they were already marching through the door.

The room beyond was fairly spartan. It was filled with a series of widely-spaced desks intended to deal with a large amount of traffic, where the good citizens of Corone could stand and give their complaints, confessions or testimony to a seated representative of the law. It was a relic of an earlier time, when the watch had been more... approachable. But things had changed since the 'Empire' had been founded, and these days the upstanding folk of Radasanth preferred to deal with their troubles by themselves, rather than involve the CAF. The watchmen weren't all bad, not by a long shot, but when the Rangers had sounded the pibroch, it had drawn a civic-minded and responsible kind of soldier away from the ranks. War and the oppressive tactics of the Assembly had only made things worse for those who remained.

There was a fire in here, too, and a cast-iron kettle sitting by the grille. A dozy-eyed corporal had the back of his chair to it and his feet up on his desk, but the spacious room was otherwise empty, just like the foyer. He jerked to attention as the soldiers came in, relaxed when he realised they weren't officers, and quickly got chatting to them about their patrol while he put the kettle back over the hearth. William handed over some mail they had been given at the garrison, to be given out to those stationed at this watch house. Otto relaxed in one of the sturdier chairs the room had to offer, enjoyed his tea, and didn't add much to the conversation.

Minutes ticked by. After a while, someone said Otto's name.

He frowned. He'd been listening, but not to the conversation. Faint but nagging sounds were coming through a door towards the interior of the building.

"Hmm?" he replied. Was it William who had just spoken, or Sepovic? And was that someone yelling?

"I asked if we should start heading on," William said, rather pointedly.

Otto closed his eyes, and concentrated. Something replacing vision slowly bloomed in the space behind his eyes, and unfurled outwards. First he felt his mail, a bright recurring pattern, and the rusting iron of his plate armour and shield rim. Almost immediately after that he picked up the wrought iron and steel heads of his hammers, as well as the cut-off, dead area of the latter's Dehlar core. Then came William's short sword and buckles, a dagger discreetly tucked away at Sepovic's ankle, and as it rolled out into the room, a wealth of nibs and pencil sharpeners and binding rings and hinges and all sorts, and then Otto was through the door. There was nothing beyond but what by their shape seemed to be cast-iron wall mounts for the lamps, but they led downwards, and he followed it through until he felt a room full of iron. There were shackles, and bars, even doors made of the stuff, and sitting sinisterly against that, a wide variety of specialised tools. And also... blood?

"Who's the prisoner?" he asked.

Sepovic glanced over to the doorway. "You can hear that, eh? Some intruder we nabbed in the wee hours of this morning."

"An intruder?" William enquired. He looked surprised. "Why'd they break in?"

"She says she's hunting ghosts, or some such rot." Sepovic shrugged, then rubbed his eyes. "Seems like the best thing she could come up with on the spot, but we're still working on her. The lieutenant's keen to get her talking though, especially with what's been going on recently."

"How do you mean?" Otto asked.

Sepovic looked uncomfortable. "Had word of a few, er, incidents. Security breaches. Brass think it's the same people who were behind the... well, you know... the Citadel run your squad were part of..."

Sepovic's voice faded to a mumble. Otto and William looked at each other, but not for long. Neither of them relished their memories of that sabotaged Citadel exercise, especially William, who'd had the inexpressible misfortune of becoming the infiltrator's brief plaything. That it had occurred in the Citadel did not free it of consequence; the Ai'Brone could heal all wounds, save those of the mind.

Otto stood up. "I think we should take a look at this prisoner," he said.



* * *


Otto and William peered through a slit in the heavy door. The orc had noted, with faint interest, that the holding cells in this dungeon were unlike those back at the garrison. Rather than the airy, open-barred affairs back there, these cells were stout brick-and-mortar things with solid iron doors, though Otto could still sense steel rods reinforcing the walls from the inside. It was certainly gloomier, too, devoid of windows and lit by fewer lamps. To truly see what you were doing, you would have to bring your own. The people on the other side of the door had done just that, and they lit up the scene nicely.

For the time being, the two soldiers inside were content to use their fists.

This wasn't a prison cell, like those which lined the corridor Otto and William now stood in. It was a larger room, more spacious, with thick fabric nailed to the walls, a heavy-duty chair in the middle, and a plain desk in front of that. The table held a couple of lanterns and a roll of black velvet, stuffed full with the song of steel. Otto vaguely wondered if the dungeon had already been furnished so when they guards settled back in, or if there was a sizable portion of the government's budget devoted to making sure such facilities were well-supplied.

There was indeed a woman in the chair. Falleni. Well, well, Otto thought. The coincidences keep stacking up.

He turned to William, his mind decided. "Go to Orman," he said. "See if she can pull this prisoner in, one way or another."

"What? You sure?" William's look of perplexity quickly transgressed to one of apprehension. "You know how Orman hates dealing with that inter-jurisdiction bureaucracy - "

His words were, at that moment, punctuated by a meaty impact on the other side of the door, followed by ragged wheezing. Otto turned back to his partner.

"You were saying?" he said. It wasn't a growl, but there was certainly a steely edge to the words.

"Alright, fine. I'll see you in a bit. But can I at least have your cloak?"

William scurried away, fastening the oilskin as he went.

Otto took a breath, straightened up, opened the door, and strode in.

He didn't need any extraordinary sense to pick up on the blood now. It wafted in to his sinuses, rich and wet and crystallising out of the fetid, stuffy air. He also noted a certain incompleteness to the room, mainly in the fabric overlay, which had been done up to but not including the ceiling or wall from which he had just come. It was probably on the 'to do' list somewhere, somewhere between buffing the pilliwinks and hosing down the iron maiden. You move out, leave the place for a few years, and see how the work piles up...

He deigned to notice the two soldiers, who were staring cautiously at him.

"Who the fuck are you?" said one.

Otto glanced at their uniform. Privates, both of them - a little surprising, perhaps, but fortunate. He closed the door firmly behind him and then, glaring at the one who had spoken, loomed over him until his beard was in danger of scratching the man's retinas.

"Look at this, private," Otto growled. A large thumb jerked angrily at the badge pinned to the orc's breast, and the man went pale when he realised he was addressing a superior. Not much of one, true, but Otto had learned well from the CAF's wealth of screaming, red-faced drill sergeants, and his act was calibrated to hit these rookies with the force of a steam-driven drop hammer.

"Sorry, sir - " the man started to say, before being being shouted to oblivion.

"Sir? Sir?! Do I look like bloody officer material to you, boy? Just your luck there ain't any of the gentlemen present, 'cos they get real tetchy about sharing the honourifics with us oiks."

The other soldier, spared the flow of vitriol, rallied a bit and said, "What's, uh, going on?"

"I need to interrogate the prisoner," Otto snapped.

The men looked at each other. The second one said, "I'm sure someone would have told us about - "

"I am, right now." Otto's posture relaxed, and he scratched his beard. "I've spoken to Corporal Sepovic. I've also sent someone back to my lieutenant - it's entirely possible she's involved in one of our investigations. But I'd like to establish that first, if possible, then we can bother with sorting out a transfer."

"Do you need one of us to help...?"

Otto glared down into the young soldier's eyes.

"No."

This seemed insufficient, so Otto continued wearily, "Go upstairs and see Sepovic. We just had a cuppa, so why don't you lads take a break while the kettle's still hot? Then, when my partner gets back... well, we'll see what's what."

They shuffled out, if a bit reluctantly. Still - if those lads had been going at it since before dawn, they'd probably be grateful for a brief rest. Otto watched them leave, making sure the door closed properly behind them, then unfurled the black velvet roll. Rows and rows of tools twinkled up at him, in enough shapes to boggle the mind. To think they'd been using their fists! Bad old Sergeant Wright would have had a field day down here. The man had been a terrifying enough force just with a hot blade, and Otto shuddered to think what he might have got up to with even half the implements on the table.

His memories of the events around sergeant Wright, which had involved Otto's first encounter with Resolve, brought him cleanly back around to the matter at hand.

Otto leant down to inspect the woman's face. The hospitality was clearly poor at château de inquisition, as a bloody chin and numerous bruises testified. But the steel-coloured glare which was returned to him seemed sharp enough.

He stepped back. "Can you speak?" he asked.

The woman continued to stare at him, but said nothing. Otto paused and considered his approach. After a few seconds, he smoothly unsheathed a straw-edged dagger and rammed it deep into his side of the desk.

"They say you are chasing ghosts," he casually remarked. His hands went to the straps on his knapsack, then started to dig around inside. The woman's eyes flicked impassively back and forth between that and the dagger.

"Yes," she replied.

Otto withdrew a length of linen bandage from his pack, measured off a length, then wrapped it against the dagger's blade. The cloth frayed and parted easily against the keen edge. He repeated this a couple of times until he had several lengths of bandage cut away, and left them on the table.

He stared into her eyes again. At length, he grunted and looked away. "Similar eyes," he said, "but I thought you people also had markings."

The woman's gaze turned even sharper. "And who are 'we' people?"

Otto blinked. "Ahketamikans. Unless you have another kind of ghost-finder in Fallien?"

"I am... more than a little surprised you know of us. Your fellows betrayed a deep ignorance of my homeland. I doubt they could have even picked it out on a map."

The orc smiled. "I think they'd have trouble picking out Corone on a map. We are the city watch, after all."

"Yes. I have been reminded of that endlessly for the last few hours."

That got rid of Otto's grin. He appeared to be thinking again - a slow but sure process - and studying this guest of the Corone Empire's Armed Forces. The smoke from the lamps was slowly turning the air thick and oily, but Otto didn't seem about to open up the room for fresh air. In fact, he had been regularly checking to see that the peephole remained closed. Hopefully, the thick fabric on the walls and their hushed voices would foil any potential eavesdroppers.

"I'm Otto, by the by."

"Iriah," said Iriah.

Otto stood up suddenly, grabbing his dagger in the process. He stepped behind Iriah, and she felt the flat of the blade move against her skin. There was a brief sensation of pressure, and then the rope at her wrists fell loosely away. She looked down to see Otto crouch by her feet, and a similar sensation of release followed at her ankles. He stood back up and returned to his seat, while she gingerly rubbed her tender flesh. Then he placed his waterskin on the desk next to the lengths of bandage, and pushed them towards the woman.

"Tell me," he said, leaning back into the seat. "How did you get caught?"

[Iriah Caitrak]

The sharp corner of the stone window sill dug into the sensitive skin of her palms. The rock was cold and unyielding in the evening air and chilled her straight to her bones. When her head came level with the yawning chasm, Iriah looked within, only to see nothing but the eclipsing darkness beyond. Even the pathetic shimmer from her necklace seemed incapable of piercing through that and illuminating anything that lingered beyond.

As the Amaratna crystals dangled in front of her, a light rounded the corner of the building. At first her night adjusted eyes saw nothing but the bright glow of a candle, reflected around the mirrored panels within the encasing lantern. Once her eyes grew used to it, she could pick out the arm holding the lantern, the legs that carried it forward and the body that came attached to those extremities.

“You there!”

The voice bounced off the stone wall and seemed to echo in the stillness of the night.

Iriah dropped to the ground and landed in a crouch. Her orchid hair fell across her forehead and into her eyes, obscuring her vision of him, though the bright light of his lantern drew her eye nonetheless.

“This is property of the CAF, state your business!” The voice was authoritative, but young and as her eyes grew more used to that flickering flame, she could see the face of youth that held it.

She could also see the blade strapped to his side, barely covered by a thick, woollen cloak that hung over one of his shoulders. The uniform seemed to come as an afterthought to her. Something she only noticed because it was glaringly obvious once she knew what she was looking at. Though Iriah herself had no idea what the CAF stood for, she had seen that uniform before in the guards that wandered the city streets of Radasanth. The same guards the citizens gave wide berth to.

Slowly, the Ahketamikan stood up from her crouched position, keeping her hands in plain view at all times. Not a single weapon adorned her body, which she hoped would give her the illusion of a harmless woman, even if the lithe, well formed muscles beneath the clothing did not.

“I mean no harm.” Her accented reply came.

He walked towards her in sure strides that cut across the wild weeds and tall grass, parting them like a blade parting skin.
“I asked what your business is.” He said, his voice seeming to grow in assurety as he moved closer to her, though his did falter slightly when he realized she had an entire inch of height over him.

She glanced to the side, before quickly shifting her swirling molten gaze back at the youth. Having dealt with people that knew nothing of her kind before, Iriah hesitated telling him the truth, but she could come up with no lie. No, she didn't want to come up with a lie.

“I'm here to free the trapped souls within this building.” She said simply and calmly, locking eyes with the guard.
Silence reigned between them. She could feel her heart thudding inside her chest harder and harder as it stretched. The wind whistled and the grass swayed in the seconds as they ticked by.

“You're...going to...” He seemed to stutter over the words, as if trying to understand them.

She shifted and his hand flashed to the hilt of his sword, lightning quick. The young always were eager to remove their blades and prove their worth. She too had been like that once.

"Don't move!"

As he came closer, she could make out more details. The badge that was proudly displayed above the right breast pocket of his uniform gave evidence to her assumption, though she had no idea of his rank. Her assumption was indeed correct, his round face was still marred by the spots of youth and she could see a desperate attempt to grow a beard beginning upon his smooth cheeks.

"I carry no weapons." She told him simply. "I thought the building was empty, but if it is not then you really must allow me entrance. If the souls trapped within are allowed to wander freely for too long there will be consequences."

He came to a stop less than a foot away from her and Iriah resisted the urge to step back from the invasion. "Of course, so you can 'exorcize the ghosts' while conveniently spying on us."

"Spying?" She looked at him in dumb shock.

"Who are you working for, The Rangers?"

"I work for no one."

His mouth pulled down in a frown as he inspected her from top to bottom, eyes lingering in places they shouldn't. "Sword for hire then?"

"I carry no sword, I'm only here to free the souls."

"Who hired you?"

Her stomach churned as a feeling of dread settled deep within her. She knew this guard would never believe anything that came from her mouth.

He growled. "Answer me!"

She didn't. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword a second before metal flashed yellow in the flickering light. Iriah reacted on instinct. She rammed the heel of her palm down on his hand, forcing the blade back inside. The guard stumbled back in shock, but recovered far quicker than she anticipated.

The lantern fell from his hand. As the glass shattered on the hard, dirt ground, his fingers closed on her wrist like a vise. The flame flickered between them as their eyes locked for a briefest second, the hard steel of her gaze meeting the determined coal black of his. Then the second passed. She wrenched her arm to the side and turned her body, twisting his arm and wrist in the process. His fingers slackened and Iriah slipped free as she bolted towards the opposite side of the building.

Her heart kicked into a frenzied drum beat as her boots smashed down the grass and weeds. They pulled at her pants, trying to impede her, but she ripped through them. Rounding the corner of the building, Iriah realized the only steps she heard were her own. She turned her head to glance behind her right as her body slammed into what felt like a stone wall. The breath rushed from her lungs in one great expulsion as her feet went out from under her and she landed on her back.

Dazed, she looked up at a hulking shadow of a man, just as the younger guard rounded the building.

"...get her?"

She wheezed and drew in a ragged breath, obscuring part of what he said.

"No thanks to you." Came the much deeper response from up above her.

Rolling onto her stomach, Iriah attempted to stand. One of them kicked her sharply in the ribs. The toe of his boot felt as if it pierced right into her chest. She collapsed, desperately drawing in air that smelled of wet earth and grass. It tickled her face and stabbed her in the eyes. Someone grabbed her arms from behind and secured them in the small of her back. Feeling the rough, abrasive texture of rope on her skin, Iriah twisted and squirmed, attempting to free herself. The guards grunted, something hard pressed down into the small of her back, holding her in place. She fought harder and was rewarded by a sharp crack against the back of her skull, then a darkness deeper than the night.


*~*

Iriah's fingers finished with the last knot as her story came to a conclusion. The ropes around her ankles fell away, allowing the blood to once more flow to the tips of her toes. She massaged the skin, trying to bring some kind of feeling back into it.

A silence stretched between them as she looked up into eyes the colour of amber. The man before her was not human. The tusks that protruded from the sides of his mouth were not the only evidence of this. His eyes were small, quite small in comparison to the size of his head, and his nose was upturned and slightly flattened to his face. His skin was a strage colour she'd only seen on that of corpses and harpies; grey, like a dreary sky. A full beard covered much of his face, the other part obscured by thick, bushy eyebrows, and he appeared to wear a permanent scowl.

The uniform Otto wore marked him as another of these CAF men. The same ones who had been finding a new home for their fists upon her body.

"Is this the part where you pretend to be my ally, and I tell you everything I know in hopes that you'll help me?" Iriah asked rather flatly. Her words were slightly slurred and when she talked, the cuts on her lips broke open and fresh blood flowed down her caramel skin. She wiped it on the torn sleeve of her shirt, already stained by so many other blood droplets.

He looked at her for a long moment. Just looked. She could practically see the rivers of thought flowing through his eyes.

"No." He simply stated, his deep voice seeming to echo throughout the small chamber. "This is where I help you get out of here."

She felt her brows rise in surprise. Her molten gaze piercing his as if trying to find the motive behind his words, but his face remained impassive and his thoughts impenetrable.

"Why?"

The word hung between them, like the knife that remained embedded in the table.

"Because you do not deserve to be in here." He sighed and glanced away from her intensive stare. His long arm rising from his side as fat finger scratched at the main of black hair upon his chin and cheeks. "But," he glanced back towards her, "you'll have to trust me."

The colour of her eyes flickered from silver to red and then back again, so fast that he would have thought it a trick of the shifting candle flames and the lanterns.

"The choice is no longer mine to make." Iriah said as she stood upon stiff legs.

Otto stood as well and she was forced to look up at him, his true size now more than evident to the Ahketamikan. The man was built like an ox. She extended a scarred hand towards him and Otto enveloped it in the massive paw of his own, which looked just as scarred as hers. Skin to skin, they shook hands, and locked eyes.

"How do you propose to get me out of here?" Iriah asked as she releases his hand.

Otto grunted something deep in his throat, eyes glancing back towards the door.

[Otto]

The silence stretched out like elastic: long, thin, and tense. He tried not to show it, but Otto was feeling nervous. It was only a matter of time before the junior guardsmen he had booted out got chatting to Sepovic, and from there, the duty officer. He did not fancy having to explain things to that lieutenant. He didn't know that he'd even be able to.

Iriah cocked her head all of a sudden. Otto followed suit by perking up and straining his ears, and dimly heard hurried footsteps sound above them, then some doors opening. The timbre changed as the boots stepped from wood to stone, and they soon drew level with the interrogation room. Otto eased himself out of his seat and watched the door, then visibly relaxed when William stepped quickly inside. But the relief was short lived.

"That lieutenant upstairs is wondering what's going on," William hissed to the orc.

"Close the bloody door," Otto replied, soon followed by: "What did Orman say?"

The other man pulled out a sealed slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over, before quickly swinging the cell door shut. Iriah saw the man peer anxiously through the slot, which he then slammed closed. Otto was about to break the wax seal, impressed with the CAF insignia, when the sound of more boots started to make their way towards the dungeon. Three pairs of eyes swiveled towards the ceiling.

Otto was the first to act. He whipped out his dagger once again as he approached Iriah, and without explanation, seized her firmly by the arm and slipped the blade up her sleeve. The cold metal pressed against her forearm, and she heard the faint snick of severed thread. The dagger was quickly retracted, but Otto's other arm was stuffing something else up her sleeve and wedging it in the freshly-opened gap in the hem.

"Welcome to the watch," he whispered in her ear. With that seemingly incomprehensible sentence, Otto jumped back into his seat and tucked the dagger away - but he had no sooner parked himself down than the door flew open, and he was shooting up again.

"Ten-hut!" barked William.

The duty officer walked in, flanked by Sepovic. He gave Iriah a withering glare before he deigned to notice the two other soldiers and put them at their ease.

"What's this about another investigation?" asked the lieutenant, turning to the pair. "And why is she unrestrained?"

"Can't really say, sir," Otto replied, while directing furtive glances at the other corporal.

Otto was in the luck. The lieutenant picked up on it, and gave each person a curious look before rounding on Sepovic. "Be so good as to step outside, would you?" he told the man.

To his merit, Sepovic just saluted, about-turned and walked out the door, which he closed behind him. The officer returned his attention to Otto and William, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes. He looked tired, but Otto supposed anyone would had they had been up during the wee hours of the morning, performing an interrogation.

"Speak plainly," the man continued. "Why do you want this prisoner?"

"Well, sir," said Otto, awkwardly. "She's one of ours."

The officer blinked dully at him.

"I'm not clear on the details myself, but our lieutenant instructed us on how to identify the agent if need be. I just sent Private Tallow back, and it's been confirmed."

"What sort of operation?" asked the man. He gave Iriah an appraising look, which she returned coolly.

"The lieutenant didn't tell us much, but it might be related to the security breaches we've been experiencing. Like those your men mentioned to us just now. The agent was supposed to take some CAF documents from here, but should have already been supplied with false intelligence by her handlers, which she would feed them instead." Otto scratched his thick hair. "Probably still had to make a show of breaking in, though. Sir, Lieutenant Orman insisted that it is of utmost importance that the documents reach their target."

The officer nodded at Iriah. "And you had them on you? We didn't find anything like that in your possession."

Iriah stared at him, and then, moving with exaggerated care, put a hand up her sleeve. When it emerged it held a small, crumpled leaf of paper, sealed with the military's insignia.

The lieutenant snorted. "Why didn't you just say, then?"

"Same reason I haven't mentioned this before, and not in front of your subordinates, sir," Otto answered for her. "Needed my superior's permission first."

It was a delicate moment, but the best that Otto could come up with. He could see the officer's eyes settle greedily upon the document, and knew how easy it would be for the man to use his own stamp to re-seal the thing after he had divulged its secrets. However, he also knew that it would be a dire breach of protocol - and there were too many witnesses to boot. In the end, self-restraint won out.

"Alright. Take her," said the lieutenant. "And I'm sorry for the... misunderstanding. Though the Thaynes know how you're going to salvage this operation if her affiliates saw her get nabbed."

I'm sure we'll think of something, sir," Otto replied calmly. He stood up. "Come on," he said to Iriah, and picked up some more rope; of course there was little point in appearing to transport a prisoner if they were not obviously bound and restrained. "On your feet. Let's go."

[Iriah Caitrak]

Iriah stiffled the growl that built up in the back of her throat. The moment Otto walked to her back and grabbed her arms, every instinct inside of her screamed out to struggle. To throw him flat on his back and use this as her moment to finally escape this payate, but she didn't. Logically, she knew she could not get out without him, if what he was doing right now was truly helping her. So, when his fingers wrapped around her wrists and he pulled her arms into the small of her back, she gave him only a token resistance that his strength easily overpowered, with she assumed barely a twitching of muscle. It didn't help that she was physically and mentally exhausted.

The piece of paper went back up her sleeve once the rope was tightened around her wrists. She felt him tie it, but noticed it was not as tight as before. With a bit of wriggling and some force she imagined she could escape easily enough. Iriah could only assume Otto did that to appease any worry she may have that this was all some kind of farce.

In tense silence, Otto marched her out of the room. Eyes followed her every step and it took much of her self control to keep the neutral expression upon her battered and bruised face. Not to mention, each step sent a fresh wave of pain through her body. Muscles in her arms and legs protested every move, having ceased up from the hours of being tied to that damnable chair.

The other man with Otto, whose name she had never quite caught, opened the door to the interrogation room and moved aside so Otto could push her through. She nearly stumbled on the threshold, but he kept her on her feet.

Out in the hall, her eyes rapidly glanced around at the plain stone walls, light by torches that dripped flame up the wall and blackened the stone to the colour of a flat, lifeless night sky. The rough stone looked just as grey and dreary as she felt, as exposed and beaten up as she was. With Otto at her back and the other man in front of her, Iriah she led down the hall and passed a few other rooms. The doors were opened or closed, but it didn't seem to matter. They carried nothing within but dust and an occasional bit of broken or disused furniture.

Well, that's all the two men escorting her would see anyway.

In one room, Iriah caught the eye of a lone man as she walked passed. Neither of her two companions noticed him and in her fogged state, it took the Ahketamikan to notice the solid shape was a ghost and not in fact a real person.

She turned away when she could no longer see him, but not without catching Otto watching her with a guarded expression.

Saying nothing, Iriah was led up a stone staircase to the first floor of the building. Dreary light flooded in through grimy windows and barely illuminated the worn wooden floors and scratched walls. The torches were replaced by lanterns that looked as if they hadn't been used in years. Cobwebs still clung to their surface, slowly melting off on the heat of the glass. Down another hall they walked to the sound of thumping feet and creaking wood. Quickly through a room lit by a large, blazing fire and what she thought were desks and then through another door and out into another hall.

In less than a minute Iriah found herself thrust outside into a cool and wet day. Mist slapped her in the face and wet, heavy air filled her lungs, both refreshing and revolting at the same time. Water clung to her skin immediately and more fell from the sky in small droplets that began to soak into her clothes and dig into her bones.

As she looked around, she realized she had not been within the back building—the one she'd tried to break into—but the front building that lay slightly off the street. She could help by try and twist back to get another look at the looming bridge building barely visible through the mist, before sighing and turning away. At first she thought Otto would just release her here, but instead he led her to the misty street and continue to escort her up the cobbles and mud.

They attracted a fair amount of looks from the denizens of Radasanth, but they all kept a safe distance from the two members of the CAF. They just watched with expressions that ranged from pity to anger.

Once out of sight from the guardhouse, Otto loosened his grip and with a sudden sense of pressure, the ropes around her wrists fell away. She sighed in relief as the two men took positions on either side of her.

She rubbed her wrists and glanced between the two of them. "Where do you plan on taking me?"

Otto grunted and turned down another street without saying anything. Being between them, Iriah was forced to follow. House fronts and tiny, muddy yards and dirty windows poked out from the encompassing and shifting sea of grey around them. Eventually, he stopped walking and she continued to a few paces mechanically before halting herself.

"You'll be safe to carry on from here alone." He said, his words slightly slurred around the tusks that protruded from his mouth.

"Thank you." She nodded. "Ah your...paper." Reaching up into her sleeve, Iriah produced the crumpled parchment and handed it back to Otto. "It is of no use to me."

He took it reluctantly and slipped it into some hidden pocket under his cloak.

As she turned to leave, he reached out for her. "Wait."

She paused, her shifting gaze regarding him as he mulled over his next words.

"The guardhouse, do not return to it. It would be unwise."

Iriah inclined her head, "Of course." then turned and walked away from the two members of the CAF and into the misty streets of Radasanth. She'd have to be a lot sneakier next time she approached that place.

[Otto]

"Come on," William called to the orc. Otto watched Iriah dissolve into the fog for a moment, and once she was gone, shuffled back around.

They proceeded down the street towards the wharfs. In an unexpected turn for the better, the wind had cut down during their delay at the re-opened watch house - and as such, remnants of the morning's mist had regrouped and rolled back over the lower streets once again. Buildings loomed fuzzily besides them, their roofs seeming to meld with a pale white sky, while the few pedestrians who passed them by ran from vaguely shifting shadows into brief flashes of detail, before being reclaimed by the fog. The two watchmen's footsteps clacked out muffledly along the flagstones, the only sound to come from the otherwise silent pair for several minutes.

"Are you going to read that?" William eventually asked.

Otto pulled the letter out of his pocket and pincered the seal between thumb and forefinger, though he didn't break it straight away.

"Don't you already know what it says?" he enquired.

William glanced at the paper before turning back to face the street. "No," he replied, as he scanned the scenery drifting by. "The lieutenant just penned it and gave it to me, to give to you. Said it was important."

"Huh,' said Otto, and he snapped the seal. The paper unfolded out to a largely blank page, save for a couple of lines of neat, stark text:



Bastum,

Do not interfere with investigations outside of your purview. Continue with your assigned duties post haste.

Orman


"So, what does it say?" persisted William.

"Er," Otto replied hesitantly. The tone was obviously clear enough to the other man, who shook his head despairingly.

"I was looking forward to finishing up and reporting back," William growled. "Now I think I'd rather stay out here in the damp than face the lieutenant..."

William powered on through the fog in a fresh burst of fury-fuelled speed. The orc quickly tucked the letter back into his pocket and scurried after the disappearing figure of his colleague. Trails of mist coiled and closed ranks behind them, so that they were soon just a couple of sets of receding footsteps, and then, not even that.

After a few minutes, it began to rain.



* * *


Jeremiah, Krepulsky, Arlbet, Chen - Otto had almost memorised the spines in Orman's entire bookcase by now. He had no idea what any of their contents were, though he might confess some small curiousity that way. What great mysteries and adventures were contained within their pages? What questions of philosophy and science did the authors posit between their simple wooden covers, what strange and useful facts did they record? These idle fancies nagged at him for as long as he was in the lieutenant's office, and were swiftly forgotten as soon as he walked out the door.

"William gave you note?" Orman asked him.

Otto flicked his gaze away from an enticing set of accounting ledgers. "Yes'm."

"And you read it, I assume?"

"Yes'm."

"Good. Anything else to report?"

Otto blinked. Several questions lined up on hi tongue, but he had the forethought to bite them back in time. "No, ma'am. All quiet on the wharfs. Weather's keeping most of the troublemakers indoors for now, and on top of that, I'd reckon that what's left of Grim's lot are still lying low..."

"With any luck, they'll move on, and we won't have to keep dealing with them," Orman said. She sighed, and rubbed her eyes. "Alright, dismissed. You can hand in your report once you and Bill have had something to eat."

"Yes'm." Otto made to turn for the door, and had almost reached it when the lieutenant spoke out again.

"Oh, and I seem to have received a letter from one, let me see... lieutenant Kelvin, over in the new watch house. Asking about an undercover operation we're apparently running. Know anything about that?"

Otto stared at her, and slowly shook his head.

Orman sighed. "Ah, well. Of course, I will have to tell him that I cannot comment on any such operations that I may or may not be overseeing... oh, you'd better hurry. The canteen might be running a little empty if you leave it much longer."

Otto nodded and dashed out the door.

Played like a fiddle, he thought to himself, as he flew down the steps outside. And don't I know it?

[Iriah Caitrak]

Help me.

The inside of the guardhouse was dark in the predawn. Deep clouds covered the night sky and the brightening horizon, masking the ascent of the sun and destroying whatever rays of light it would produce. Those clouds released a constant drizzle that seemed weary and tired, the raindrops thin and sparse. The sound of those drops could be heard pattering against the wood and brick structure, and the dirty windows, so dirty they made the black outside look even blacker.

Why won't you help me?

Few people moved through the hallways, few people were even awake. But those bleary eyed, half asleep soldiers that shuffled along the dim, wooden halls, moved passed the shadow without seeing it, without even knowing it was there. It's hand reached out and tried to touch them, tried to grab at their clothes and hair, rake nails along skin, anything. It tried everything to catch someone's attention, but no one even batted an eye.

It moved through the halls. It tried to yell at them. It jumped in front of them.

I just want out.

I want out...

Please...

Someone...

Anyone...

WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME!

It yelled and screamed as it moved through the halls. Still no one listened. No one saw. Finally, the shadow moved into one of the side rooms, a bedroom. A man appeared to just be waking from a deep slumber. The shadow walked up to him and screamed in his ear, but he didn't so much as twitch. Frustration seeping into the being's very core. Snapping, the shadow lashed out.

Surprised, it watched as the glass, still half full of water, fell from the nightstand and crashed on the floor.


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

Iriah slowly pulled herself into consciousness. She felt the bed beneath her first. The warm sheets slid across her skin as she shifted and stretched her muscles. Several of them protested and frissons of pain lanced across her arms and down her back. It had been two days since she had found herself a prisoner of the CAF, but her body still bore all the marks from her treatment there. The bruises that had started off red turned purple, the ones that had been purple were now black. Her face looked like a mosaic that no trained artisan would have ever touched.

At least most of the swelling had gone down though.

As her body relaxed, a familiar sensation washed over her. A tingle settled deep in the pit of her stomach, creating a feeling that lay somewhere between sickness and a tickle. This early in the morning, Iriah wanted nothing more than to the ignore it and go back to sleep, but the job of an Ahketamikan never ended.

Sighing, Iriah cracked one swirling, silver eye open and found herself staring up into the face of a middle aged man. He was so close to her that she could see the rivers and valleys that marked his face, running deep into his sun tanned skin. His brown eyes blinked at her in a curious manner that reminded her of a man much younger than what he appeared. If he were alive and had lungs to breathe, she would have felt his breath fan across her face, but his chest did not even move with the memory of breathing, which told her he had been dead for some time.

“So, the little miss can actually see me.”

Reaching up with a lazy hand, Iriah rubbed the crust of sleep from the corners of her eyes.

“Hmm...badham, I can also hear you.” She mumbled.

The words came out slightly slurred around her thick tongue. Glancing passed the spirit, she tried to look at the night stand, but unfortunately for her, ghosts were not incorporeal, and the pitcher of water was lost behind his slight stature.

“Bed ham? What kind of language is that?”

She did not feel like playing twenty questions this early in the morning.

“Falleni.” She grumbled.

Sitting up, Iriah ran her fingers through the tangled mess her short strands of hair had turned into. Several times her fingers became entangled in the knots of a restless night of sleep, but she pulled them free. Yawning, she tried to force herself into a more wakeful state, but her mind protested the rough treatment. When she opened her eyes again, the man had stepped back away from her slightly, allowing her to see more of him. His clothes did not look out of place, though they were worn and torn and she was more than sure some of the stains covering the sleeves and legs was blood. If she had to guess, she'd say he died during the Corone Civil War, like many of the spirits she had been releasing lately.

“I...was rather hoping to be able to talk to you.” He had a somewhat embarrassed look at his face as she shuffled on the floorboard, well, over top of them, since he actually couldn't touch them.

Trying not to give him the look of indifference she was feeling, by Suravani it was too early for this, Iriah focused on a specific stain that kind of looked like The Oasis rising up out of a bunch of sand dunes.

“My daughter, I never got to talk to her befor—”

With a sigh, Iriah's hand shot out and reached deep into the chest of the ghost. Her whole arm twitched as she felt a surge of energy lance through her as her fingers brushed against his soul tread. Entwining her fingers into the surging mass of energy, she yanked and forced it out of his body. A look of shock crossed his face as the ghost in front of her evaporated. For the briefest moment, she saw one of the most beautiful butterflies in his wake, before that too disappeared from her sight.

Hanging her head, Iriah looked down and realized that her sheet had pooled around her hips and she'd crawled into bed without any clothes on.
“...jada.”

[Otto]

"Say again?"

Otto waited for the elfin man to remove his earmuffs and step away from the deafening, steady clang of steel being shaped. The orc moved aside to let Orlannes through the doorway and out into the sunlight. Outside the forge's gloom, the half-elf's violet eyes sparkled like amethysts, and were all the more striking for their contrast to the man's soot-smudged features and serviceable work gear. He wiped some beads of sweat off his brow, causing the mask to darken a little more.

"I said, something's come up," Otto repeated. He began to walk around the building to the south-facing wall, which stood far enough out from the fortress battlements to let the sun strike it. There was a battered little attempt at a garden here; some mildly chlorosis-stricken petunias, black-spotted daffodils, and a wilting herb bed. Standing out from the sorry specimens was a lone sea holly bush, which had climbed to a metre in the middle of it all and stood in healthy bloom. Its dappled purple inflorescences stuck out spear-like from the stem, between cobalt-blue leaves shaped like stars.

Otto leant down to some flagging azalias, gently pincering a stem twixt thumb and stubby forefinger. "I have something I need to take care of tonight," he said, peering under the foliage. "You couldn't cover me in the forge tonight, could you? I'll make it up to you."

He heard Orlannes huff from behind. "What, exactly, is the problem?" the half-elf asked him.

Otto shifted uncomfortably before standing up. He clapped some errant soil from his hands and turned to face Orlannes. "The lieutenant wants some reports in a little earlier than usual..."

"... and you haven't started them yet?" Orlannes finished for him. Otto responded with a meek shrug. "Ugh, Otto - again?"

"You know how it is for me. I just sit down to write and spend half an hour staring at a blank page."

"It's still your job. Fine, I'll do it. But - you're going to cover my shift tomorrow, and do my paperwork for me this week, since you need the practice. Deal?"

The orc nodded. "Deal. And thanks."

"Don't sweat it. But don't expect me to pull another double shift any time soon, either."

The half-elf turned tail and walked back around the corner, his boots crunching softly on the yard's bare dirt as he went. Otto remained in the garden bed for a little while longer, lamenting over the struggling plants, but also thankful that they were surviving at all in the poor, packed and barren earth. After muttering something to himself about legumes and manure, he brushed some more dirt off his knees and wandered away.

[Otto]

She could not afford to be caught again.

Iriah crouched atop the shingles of a tall townhouse, hidden in the lee of its crumbling chimney stack. Dusk had long settled over Radasanth, leaving just a thin orange line burning along the seaward horizon and coaxing the stars out of their blackened sky. Iriah peered down into the rear yard of the Blackwell Lane watch house, her eyes lingering momentarily on the window she had been caught trying to enter, before flitting over to a source of motion. A junior guardsman had just stepped out the rear door of the main building, a comically long torch in hand. He proceeded to fumble about its end for a few minutes, until a flickering glow erupted as it caught, which he then used to light the various lamps hung up around the yard. There was the watch house proper opposite her, which fronted onto the street, with a small lane down the side to permit horses and carriages. Almost right below her were the small stables, and nestled away in the corner to her right, the building she had meant to enter in the first place. She wasn't sure what use it was put to, but the structure appeared to have remained largely untouched by the recent restorative efforts. It was a two-storeyed grey stone affair, one level shorter than the main building, with ivy blanketing one side and its windows mostly boarded up.

The guardsman lit the last few lamps, dampened the end of his torch, and walked back inside. Iriah remained still and watchful for a while longer. She was rewarded after about ten minutes by a sudden flurry of activity: uniformed figures jostled out into the yard as a two-horse wagon trundled in through the side and stopped outside the stables. The guardsmen - about six in total - murmured to each other as a couple of shackled prisoners were taken out the rear of the wagon by the original three drivers. They ambled away into the warmer glow of the watch house, which left the three fresh guardsmen in the yard, who spent the next few minutes grooming and watering the horses. The building's rear door opened once again and out stepped another fellow, clipboard in hand. He handed this to one of the team, and the two exchanged a few muted words while the others turned the wagon around.

Three guardsmen drove the wagon out onto the street, and the fourth went back inside. The yard was free of all sound and movement, except for gently rustling leaves as the breeze drifted through. Iriah focused, but could sense nothing below other than the dull background presence of insects and vermin. Still, she waited.

A cloud passed beneath the moon. Iriah darted out from her hiding spot and vaulted over the rear wall. She twisted, catching the lip of the edifice with her fingers, and used her feet to brace against the bricks as she swung in towards them. No sooner had she stopped momentum than she let go, landing gently on the stable's thatch. She sprung back up into a crouch, darted across the roof, and slipped down the side of the building behind a dense patch of bush. She was nestled between the stables and the derelict building, hidden in the shadows of both, and comfortably far from any of the lamps. Trying for the door would, however, take her to the fringe of the yard's open area and right underneath one, but she could see that the structure sat a little way out from the rear wall; a black little alley faced her where she was, equal parts inviting and foreboding. She-

She snapped her head around at the sound of the watch house door slamming shut. Iriah's eyes narrowed and roved the thin slit of yard that was visible to her, but she could neither see nor hear any sign of life. She paused, focused herself, and swept the yard with her other set of senses. Again, she felt nothing which stood out more than the odd cricket, worm or rat. Iriah's tense stance relaxed some, and she refocused her attention to the little gap. She took a few cautious steps into the unmarred darkness, one hand trailing against the building's crumbling masonry as she went. Sun-starved groundcover rustled softly underfoot, and Iriah made a few yards' progress before a heavier rustling behind her caused her to freeze.

She turned around and squinted back into her former hiding place. But just as she convinced herself that there was still nothing there, something scraped against the branches, and Iriah found herself staring into two faintly gleaming, lupine eyes.

She clenched her fist and felt the comfortable firmness of a blade hilt materialise in her palm...

"The spireas were a good choice," a familiar voice uttered from the darkness before her. "Good cover, and the other guards don't come down this corner."

Iriah hesitated. "Otto?" she ventured.

The luminescent eyes bobbed a little as the figure nodded. "Mhm."

If Otto had expected that to put the woman at ease, he was mistaken; Iriah remained poised, armed, and wary. "I can't quite-"

"-sense me?" Otto interrupted. "No, I expect not. Like I said, I'm familiar with the Ahketamikan - so I took precautions. I was worried you wouldn't come tonight if you knew I was lurking around."

"That implies you knew I would come back."

"Of course. I just needed a little help realising it, was all."

Otto was answered with silence. "Still there, Iriah?" Otto queried of the darkness.

More silence. The orc shifted a mite anxiously, moving his weight from foot to foot, until Iriah's voice sounded from the crevice.

"So what do you intend?"

"Well, I figure you won't give up on this until you see it through. Am I right?"

"More or less."

"Then I suppose there's only one thing to do." Otto sighed. "If I help you finish your job here, you'll stay away? Not to be selfish, but you getting found again won't be good for either us."