Maybe We’re Victims Of Fate...

[The Cinderella Man]

((Closed to The Emerald Hind. Takes place directly after A Dusty Traveler (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=2568)))


The Thousand Roses restaurant was one of those places of which people like Victor – who weren’t exactly the regular clientele with their shallow coffers – knew only through stories told by the more fortunate high-caliber customers. It was one of those places that had a pair of prissy doormen who greeted people with utmost courtesy and a pair of gorillas in dark blue suits that bid you farewell with utmost lack of courtesy should you make a misstep beyond the ornate double doors made out of polished cherry wood. It was one of the places vagabonds like him usually passed by with not as much as stray glance and a disdainful contemplation that nothing but clotheshorses, heavily powdered quasi-dames and nobles too big for their breeches dined beyond those doors. It was overpriced, overpraised, overblown and over in the north part of Underwood where the lumberjacks – common for a town whose economy rested on timber – were sparse and gave way to lords and ladies that took a wrong turn and wound up in the middle of the forest instead of Radasanth’s Government District. It was where the best of the best went, and for once Victor was able to include himself amidst those.

About an hour ago, Victor Padre Callahan was in a bout that he was supposed to lose. The odds were stacked against him, the bookies guffawed at anybody who put their money on an underdog that was facing none other then John Bricktop Chivas, the champion of the godforsaken arena befittingly dubbed The Pit. But the strangest thing happened, an occurrence that was so rare in his life as of late that he forgot the taste of it; Victor Callahan won. And it wasn’t his boxing prowess that tipped the scales in the clash with his bloodthirsty foe, it wasn’t his ability to take a punch and another and another and another, it wasn’t even the fact that he fought with his heart on that particular occasion. It was a newcomer in his life, a mere passerby for certain, but still the essential component in the puzzle that was his victory. It was Kaia, the herbalist lass... or at least that was what Victor liked to believe. She was in his corner, tending to his wounds, cheering for him, wincing at every hit he took, and though she most likely didn’t know it, it was that obscure connection that got him through the worst. He needed somebody to fight for and she was there, and even if the only reason for her presence was the fact that they shared the winnings down the middle, it was enough.

So instead of the loser’s purse, they wound up with five hundred gold pieces apiece and Victor figured if that substantial sum wasn’t reason enough for some serious celebration, chances were there would never be a more appropriate cause. And since he was never much of a drunkard and his partner in this pugilistic endeavor was a woman, a classy dinner seemed like a plausible course of action. Thousand Roses was Vic’s primary choice for multiple reasons. First and foremost, he really wanted to take Kaia somewhere nice. Between selling ointments and herbs on the streets, sleeping in the wild, exploring the uninviting back alleys of Underwood and fixing up a washed out boxer in a place called The Pit, the amicable girl scarcely had a chance to see the visually appealing side of Corone. Secondly, this was probably the only time he actually had enough money to venture in the fabled restaurant. And while Victor was by no means an aspirant to royalty, his curiosity insisted on making a visit to the supposed gastronomic paradise.

Getting in proved to be rather easy, though he didn’t know which glares unnerved him more; the contempt-filled ones of the doormen, the dumb mocking I-can’t-wait-to-kick-you-out ones of the bulky sentries or the sanctimonious ones of the patronage. The garcon that stood behind his miniature table seemed to have all of the above in some small part, but when Victor took out the newly-acquired pouch filled to the brim with gold, he could’ve sworn that the man actually stole several of those pieces with his rapidly softening eyes. With a number of falsely courteous apologies and thin smiles, the lanky man in a ridiculous-looking tailcoat led them to a rather secluded table, excusing himself with a deep bow afterwards.

The interior of the restaurant certainly approved the name the building bore. Victor wasn’t certain where there actually a thousand blooming roses within the compound, but he reckoned the actual number wasn’t too far off. Roses were everywhere, the scarlet ones, the blue winter roses, the pearly white ones, even some that were combination of both, whose petals seemed each like a flame tongue. They filled the vases, they climbed along the walls, coiling around the wooden columns, making the prizefighter wonder how the hell they managed to succeed in making a rosebush grow within a building. The furnishing was as gallant as he expected from such a renown establishment; soft carpets with hundreds of weaved motifs, tablecloths that seemed velvety enough to be worn as a dress, glasses so thin and fragile that he almost feared to touch him with his destructive mitts. It was only then, when they were already sitting in heavy wooden chairs, that Victor realized how out of place a boxer and a street healer were.

Luckily, the tension was broken with some fine vintage – whose name Vic forgot as soon as their waiter finished pronouncing it – and before the first course was on the table, his tongue was untangled enough for him to speak to his companion. “Wow. I didn’t expect it to be this classy. I hope it’s not all looks though. I’m starving after that fight.” Victor spoke, struggling to find the right volume of his voice in a place where everybody murmured in whispers and made sure the forks and knives didn’t scrape against the porcelain. Still, he wasn’t about to waste the last moments with Kaia on silence, so he continued, unconcerned by the fact that the only thing louder then his voice was the sound of a violin of a musician that was nowhere to be seen. “So, what do you plan to do next? Stay here in Underwood and do some more selling or try your luck somewhere else?”

He hoped for the former. If she stuck around then he would too and then he could accidentally bump into her from time to time, maybe take another idiot off her back, maybe buy some remedies from her just to make some traffic. It was wishful thinking, but that at least was something everybody had a right to.

[The Emerald Hind]

Kaia kept in step with the boxer as they meandered through the streets towards the chosen destination, those soft hazel spheres playing host to his image more often than was necessary, all under the pretense that she was calculating his condition to ensure that the man did not overdo things so soon after his match. She listened to him intently as he spoke, answering and exchanging words where appropriate. All the while she donned a contented expression, the warm, soft grin of a happy housecat that had taken its fill of cream and butter.

Her plain lineaments wore the design truthfully as she reveled in this chance to socialize with the man further. She had been certain that they would part ways at the door of The Pit and that she would not see him again, losing whatever chance she had at forging a friendship with anyone to the obscurity of the night. The herbalist had been alone for much too long, she who had always held company with her family and friends in Avani, and she was desperate for human contact. Even while the Southern Lord held her captive and later turned her to his serf, she had her mother. After then and before this night, she had no one.

Ever since Nitesh died all those moons ago it had been a hard life for the girl. She had left her homeland to cross a wasteland sea then ventured upon a strange land where the populace was composed of the crude and the infantile. Amongst there number she had found nothing but pain as she was chased off from one village to another, shooed away like a rat by the local healers who found her a threat, or threatened by the inhabitants after being accused of witchcraft. Sometimes she was subjected to both, as the apothecaries and healers of each settlement told strange stories of her consorting with demons at night to seal the pacts she made with them, pacts in which she gave her body and soul to the twisted monsters in return for her “dirty miracles”. The fools of the towns believed the tales and chased the girl away—rather, she ran away or else be killed—and she was left to wonder through a foreign land, trying to make sense of it all.

However, she had not given up hope: she was much too stubborn to submit. Lord Rarce had discovered such after taking possession of her. She had made his attempts at dominating her so difficult and harried that he had given both her and Nikesh to a serf in hopes of breaking their spirits, they who had been held in such high regard in their town for their abilities as Wisewomen. They were too proud to be beaten so, and never did they shy from the pain. For them, it was a means to remain with the world, to remind them of the good they had known and that justice would be served one way or another. Rarce would have his.

Kaia’s persistence buoyed her through those turbulent years of degradation and torment, and eventually she broke free of it all, aided by a strange stone given to her by her mother, a burden she now bore with stern resolution. As compared to what Rarce had done to her, the petty torment she endured under the administrations of the locals meant very little to her, and so she held her head high and marched on to Underwood, where she set up shop and endured.

It was there that she chanced upon Victor, and the two had made a deal: she would provide the fighter with medicinal aid between bells, and he would split his earnings with her in return for the healer’s services. Somehow the two of them had managed to form a tentative companionship in the time between the night they agreed to the business venture and this one, and for that Kaia was most gracious. It had been too long since she received a truly kind word from anyone, much less since she was able to hold a civil conversation. She was not being persecuted or taken advantage. Victor was simply a kind-hearted sole with a masochistic penchant he liked to exploit in the ring. It was refreshing.

But she dreaded parting with him so soon, so when he brought up the topic of dinner, well, she agreed without hesitation. Her stomach reminded her that she had eaten very little when they dined together earlier, and her heart nagged at her about its loneliness. Who was she to say no? So she made the trip with him to the northern part of Underwood, marveling at the sudden change in atmosphere and scenery as the world broke away from the clutter of the commoner’s district to that of the higher-ups.

It was bewildering, and for a while she wondered if Victor had taken a wrong turn, but if there was one thing she had learned that day it was that the boxer knew far too much about the city than seemed normal. So she made no comment as she took in the grand houses and buildings that popped into view. The residences were bigger now, and most sported tiny plots of land which were over packed with exotic foliage of every kind. The combined fragrances of so many different flowers planted without thought to scent or planning was almost nauseating, but it was far better than the stench of filth on the lower end of town. But here she felt far more conspicuous, and as the two came upon their destination, the girl was more than a little uneasy.

Then they were before a large establishment named the Thousand Roses and Kaia was certain that they were in over their heads. The unsavory glares that speared her reminded her so much of how Lord Rarce and his court had looked upon her and her family when he took over their lands that she wanted to turn around and march back the way they came and return to her little camp. Her fare might have been meager there, but at least the trees and the stars would not look upon her with such disdain. Amongst their number there was comfort. But Victor seemed resolute in their being there, so she did not budge. As he produced the appropriate coin, she held her head high and ignored the second glances that played over her shabbily clothed form. Obviously, the staff at the restaurant were not used to serving low-end fighters and their tag-along herbalists.

In fact, this was probably the first time this mythical realm had ever been penetrated by such clientele as they. This place was too perfect with its plethora of delicate roses and decadent patronage. It reminded her far too much of the Keep after Rarce overtook the Old Lord. Those heavily jeweled rooms with their bouquets of fresh flowers and lavish tapestries; the ladies with their pampered pets resting upon their laps, their cold, dead eyes boring into her; the haughty lordlings that looked upon her with hunger and greed all carefully masked with genial expressions—it was all here in this place, and it was just as horrid as it was then.

The heavy perfume of roses was somehow far worse than the rude smells of the alleys they had traveled through earlier, and it made her dizzy as she struggled to regain her composure. But, as always, she persisted, and her façade never gave any hint at her anxiety. This was a grand gesture on Victor’s part, and she would not ruin it for him by cowering from it like a scolded child.

More than happy to have access to the semi-private table—normally such seating was given as a signal of respect to money, but tonight it would serve as a means to hide the upstart street rats—she sunk into the chair and nearly hung her head with relief. Rather than risk Victor’s pride on such a display of weakness, however, she kept her chocolate-tressed pate level and instead indulged in a muffled sigh. She looked at him from across the rose-décor and smiled weakly in response to his words.

“I hope to stay here for a while. I really do not enjoy moving around so much, and as long as no one becomes too hostile I think I will keep to the town.” At her own words she recalled the day’s events and nearly chuckled at the recollection. She could still see the look on the man’s face when Victor pointed that odd contraption in his face, and suddenly she did not think she had much to worry about. It was enough to lend strength to her timid smile and she was able to recline in her seat with some ease. “I think you have taken care of that for a while, though.”

She pinned the man with a significant eye then chuckled softly before reaching out to her glass, which the server had filled with a pink-tinted drink. The girl sniffed at it experimentally then took a small taste of it only to return the chalice to its place. Rose wine. The people here certainly over did things. However, it was probably all they would be offered, so she took another sip, careful not to consume too much or else lose her head before the meal. With her thirst slaked, she resumed the conversation. “I shall stay here for some few days, at the very least. I have to collect and prepare all the remedies I have used over the past few days. But, what I plan hardly ever is it seems, so I am not really certain.” Absently, she touched the mottled stone at her throat.

[The Cinderella Man]

It had been a while – years more then likely – since the last time Victor was in a situation such as the current one, sitting at the dinner table with a friend, and a woman friend at that. He was a vagrant, a wind that swept from one doorstep to the next, never lingering, never resting. And while such life afforded him a plethora of acquaintances that ranged from amicable one-eyed prostitutes to some really twisted shape-changing druids that wore loin cloth and called forest their Mother, there were incidental drawbacks of such a life style. Wind had no place to call home, no cohesion; it went from one nowhere to another like a beggar pleading for a purpose and finding none. Friends were friends until he left the town and turned them over to the gray twilight of oblivion. Houses were homes until his money was depleted and the rent became the luxury he could no longer afford. Vagabonding wasn’t a way of life. It was a ceaseless fight for survival, a never-ending bout against an invincible, invisible opponent. In such a disconsolate struggle, this little Underwood endeavor was the breather between the rounds.

A breather that, according to Kaia’s response, might just have a chance to be elongated for a several more days. The lovely herbalist lass that sat at the other side of the table announced her definite intention not to skip town, inadvertently eliciting a mental sigh from the bruised prizefighter. Sure, it was very probable that it was just a temporary decision – after all, from what he was able to gather, Kaia was somewhat of a wanderer herself – but some additional time was better then just shaking hands and going separate ways after tonight. It had been months since he conversed with somebody on topics other then boxing strategies and the whimsical weather this far south, and yet with this foreign maiden Victor was able to gradually break free of his phlegmatic, introspective self. A part of him insisted it was just loneliness speaking, the accumulated thoughts and emotions breaking through the crust like magma, and that he was trying to latch on to even the slightest notion of courtesy and bonhomie. But even if that was the case, was that so wrong? Was it wrong to wish a good thing to last a tad longer?

First he had to make sure she wanted him around though, but that was a tickly matter to say the least. Too forward and his intentions could be misunderstood as unchaste, too neutral and it smelled like lack of interest. That’s one of the few reasons why Victor liked being in the ring. Between those ropes there was no pussyfooting, no mind games, just him and another person beating each other until they thought they saw their late relatives in the stands. Out of the ring much more thinking was required, much more estimation and foresight and weighing and measuring. In the ring he could lose a round. In life he could lose a friend.

While he deliberated on the best way to shape this possibility of them spending some more time together during the following days, one of the servants approached silently, his query snatching Victor from his pondering. Only then the prizefighter realized that he was being rather rude, staring at Kaia with one of those half-wistful glares.

“Have madam and ser decided on what they wish to dine?” the man with smooth, oily hair asked, his voice triangulated somewhere between professional politeness, indifferent frigidity and concealed discontent. Victor knew which of the three matched the real attitude of the black-attired waiter no more then he knew what to order in a place such as this one. The doubt that always lingered somewhere in below the surface, waiting to let him know that he was a real dumbass to come here, now started to giggle hysterically. Unfortunately for it, the boxer had an ace up his sleeve, a phrase that always worked in situations such as this one.

“What would you suggest, my good man?” Victor asked, straightening his back in a rather comical attempt to look more in accord with the high-classed interior of the Thousand Roses. It was comical because in his current attire it would take some pretty fancy antics to look royal and he had none in his arsenal. Luckily, none was required for getting a reply to his answer.

“Since unfortunately you are not our regular customers, I’m afraid I’m unaware of your appetites.” the garcon said, adding such a subtle twist on the unfortunately part that Victor couldn’t tell was he being flattered or mocked. “However, I believe our special Hundred Flavors menu would tend to your hunger rather efficiently.”

The bulky prizefighter looked at Kaia, searching for either approval or dislike, but the girl seemed at a loss just as him, so he finally shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Sounds good to me. As long as there’s meat in it.” The last part was rather redundant. If there was half of the mentioned hundred flavors, there had to be some meat involved.

“Why, certainly. What kind of a dish would it be without meat?” the man said, and this time around Victor was certain that there was some sarcasm subtly served within the formal response. But a bow later the tailcoat was gone and the lively music of the violin took dominance over the glossy environment of the restaurant. The boxer was visibly relieved, the tension fading from his lineaments, transforming his face to the casual everyman visage. Thanks to Kaia’s salves and ointment, it lacked the ordinary post-fight deformations and swellings. His jaw still ached like an open gash when he clenched it tight.

“Those herbs of yours certainly did wonders.” he spoke after a rather awkward period of silence. “Usually, after a fight, I come out looking as if a hundred bees stung me in the face. Not a pretty sight. But you already saw that yesterday, I reckon.” He finished with a close-mouthed chuckle, remembering their meeting in the Peaceful Promenade and the aches that made him feel like a tired lame horse. “I hope you didn’t waste too much of your stuff on me though. I’d hate to take you out of business. Maybe I could help you gather some herbs or something. I’m not going anywhere soon either, not until my ribs heal, and people would give you less sass if you have some muscle with you.”

It was a weak attempt at what he deliberated on prior to the waiter’s visit, but it came out naturally, completely unplanned by the boxer, and the best he could do is utter another nervous chuckle and wait for her – probably negative – reaction.

[The Emerald Hind]

A cool eye glanced off the retreating back of the servitor as he fled from view, the fragile mask of polite agreeability sliding from her features as soon as he was beyond viewing range. Her distaste with the snob was evident in the slight line of tension that dotted her brow and the steely glare that stalked the fringes of her lineaments, but such indications were quickly gathered together and neatly swept away under a rug of stubborn indifference. She only wished that she could concoct some equally painful retorts with which to strike the high-hat but nothing came to mind. Kaia was not exactly known for her skill with words. In fact, except in Victor’s presence, she tended to silence.

However, the waiter’s slights at Victor—and, in effect, herself—were most uncomfortable. She wanted to vacate the restaurant with all hast, but she doubted her ability to come up with a suitable explanation for her actions of her companion. Instead, she remained stalwart in her commitment to the night and sought safety in the continued conversation, using the exchange of words as a wall with which to divide herself from the sumptuous world of tangled deceit.

Victor’s words served as a perfect barrier, and no sooner spoken and she nearly forgot about the server and the Thousand Roses. In fact, his words were received with such relief that she could have laughed in merriment, but she thought better of such a reaction and merely smiled with pleasure. Ever since they had left The Pit she had mulled over an idea that had come upon her, a means by which she could monopolize his person for a few more days at the very least. She had dreaded bringing the topic up, however, for fear that the man might view any attempt at prolonging their contact as an invitation to greater intimacy, which was by no means her intention. Her wish to become closer to the boxer was really quite innocent if not a bit selfish, for she simply desired the company of a good-hearted person with whom she could enjoy a few days before the burden she bore about her neck dragged her away.

Yet, here the man was with a solution to her dilemma, his kindly nature prevailing as it had since they first met and steered in a direction that suited her best. And, better yet, she would be in her element. Their deal had pulled her out of her scope of experience and plunged her into an unsavory world of senseless violence, but this amicable partnership would allow her to delve into the world she knew best, and possibly one that offered fewer dangers. However, she had not lied to Victor in the least when she told him that her plans seldom kept to the direction she preferred. If she wanted to go East, chances were she would be channeled southwest. Luckily for Kaia she was an optimist and truly believed that there was always a chance at a better future.

Her grin bright and sparkling, she responded with a soft lilt to her deeply accented words. “I would very much appreciate if you to came with me. I do not have much company when I harvest these days. I would be welcome of change. Two gather more than one, besides.”

The girl went on to sketch her plans for the morning, about the routine she followed and how she hoped the man did not mind waking up early, the fact that she was not familiar with the terrain and might need his assistance in selecting the best fields and groves, and how she would not allow him to help at all unless he got proper rest and promised not to overdo things. All the while she planned the day out as was her custom, giving rigid structure to an otherwise unpredictable world. The past two days had been far more chaotic than she liked, and she did not plan to continue with the ruinous state without some form of attack. Tomorrow, things would go her way.

Midway through the discussion and the server returned with a youth in tow, the first course of appetizers prettily arranged on a silver platter befittingly studded with ceramic roses along its edge. Their man retrieved the hors d’oeuvres from the boy’s tray and set it neatly on the table, his starchy voice rising high as he introduced the proffered food. He then offered the two suitable beverages and filled their glasses to the appropriate levels before leaving them with the assortment of smoked fish, each finger-sized tidbit garnished with a sprinkle of dried parsley leaves and drizzled with a thin sauce.

The two dined from the tray for some time, talking all the while, only to have the remains of the platter stolen away and replaced with two steaming bowls of onion soup covered with a creamy yellow cheese and soon followed by a salad course that featured rare succulents and the house vinaigrette. Each meal was accompanied with the appropriate drink and was expected to be eaten with the correct utensils, but all such considerations were well beyond Kaia as she took in what she could from each course before it was taken away with great haste. Their server looked upon the two with well concealed revulsion, chiming in with clever bits that were meant to prod and poke as much as they were intended to degrade.

By the time the main course (the fourth dish) came around, the girl was barely able to contain her outrage at the treatment she and Victor endured throughout the meal. However, by this time she was determined to remain firmly in the seat just to pester the oily snob, donning her most affable smile and nodding her head like a dumb mute. They had just one more meal to endure and then she would be free of the Thousand Roses and its trappings.

In the mean time she battled the establishment and its patrons the best way she could: by striking up another topic and simply ignoring that which lied beyond her wall. “I hope I do not bore you with our outing tomorrow. Cutting plants is not as…eventful…as fighting a bully. It is still enjoyable. And I can make the attempt to repay you for the meals you have provided to me. As long as you do not mind fish and rabbit, any how.”

[The Cinderella Man]

There were people, Victor knew from tales and hearsays, that could pluck a thought from a woman’s mind by using some vile magical devilry in the same manner that a fisherman plucks a trout from a river. He also knew that there were people that were able to achieve a similar result by merely reading facial expressions and all the intricate particulars that a woman’s countenance subtly offered. And though his aversion towards anything the least bit magical forbade him to even consider the former, and though he was rather uncouth and bungling in the latter, the washed out boxer could tell that Kaia hated it here. Not here in Underwood – though the clash with the moronic local apothecary didn’t exclude that option – but here in Thousand Roses. She upheld her gracious aspect, did her best to keep the conversing mirthful and intriguing, but the discomfort crept over her like a shadow of a cloud. Victor couldn’t blame her; between the waiter’s subtle jabs and the general atmosphere of the room, he felt like the building itself was trying to cast them out.

“Idiot! Why the hell did you insist on coming here?” The answer was rather simple. It was because he was just that kind of a person. Victor Callahan mayhap was a bit indifferent and even inert in some aspects of life, but when he set his mind on doing something, he gave it his all, his best. Oftentimes he wound up overdoing it, though, and this evening in the edifice of great splendor was one of those occasions. Another was when he changed his entire way of life for a chance to court Delilah Da Lesius, and that one backfired at him like a rusty musket. And yet another was when he got the bright idea to play hero and free some slaves. He did a lot of overdoing when he did some actual doing.

The current situation, however, didn’t seem to boomerang and hit him in the face yet. Despite the visit to this frigid hell, Kaia seemed genuinely in compliance with his proposition that almost served as a trigger that unleashed a flurry of words. She spoke about the work that ought to be done with great fervency, plotting out the routine that, come morning, would change from hers to theirs. There were a lot of things Victor didn’t understand, a lot of terms from pharmacology and herbology and flora that he could only nod his head to, but he didn’t mind. Just listening her speak of the details of her occupation and sporadically interjecting with his semi-intelligent observations seemed enough to take them both from the dour interior of the restaurant and into the place of their own.

The cliquish staff of the establishment disrupted their conversation on what seemed like regular intervals, bringing back a dosage of cloaked aversion with their next course. It hurt, in an introspective manner, the way it always did when somebody axed your elated spirits at the root, but Victor was cut down so many times now that he grew resilient to their scathing words and keen looks. When you were a bum, you grew a thick hide fast. He focused primarily on Kaia’s words and secondarily on the food served, dismissing the waiter with no more then a distant nod. The food was... peculiar, and that was generally not the word he liked in his menu. The fish was passable, the onion soup never a favorite with the prizefighter and that went twice when it came to salads. Regardless of how well it was seasoned and arranged and presented, salad was still just overblown grass to Victor.

Luckily, the fourth course finally meant something concrete. Or at least that’s what it looked like anyways. A formidable specimen of capon was brought on a silvery tray, its roasted skin bronze and glistening, its interior stuffed with a mush made out of spices, carrots and tidbits of liver. Around it, covered with reddish sauce, were potatoes, peeled, carved and arranged to look as close to rosebuds as potatoes could. Victor was almost sorry to break the composition by taking some food from it and into his plate, but he did it anyways, cutting away a single drumstick and placing several rose-shaped potatoes before himself.

“No, no, you’re not boring me at all,” he spoke with what he hoped to look like a reassuring smile on his lips, verifying his statement. “I actually find it rather intriguing. You’d think that the life of a boxer is...eventful...but it really isn’t. If you take the bouts out of it, all you’re left is routine. I don’t mind much. I like the routine. Gives you a sense of certainty, something to rely on. But even I sometimes need a break from it, especially if the doctor says I can’t train until I get proper rest.”

He smiled again, bit into the meat, causing his jaw the click an unhealthy bony click and send another mild jolt of pain across his face. But the reason his face crumpled up as if he ate a sour grape was not the pain. No, it was the taste of the capon, the salty-sweet taste of meat roasted with honey which offended his tongue and nearly made him retch. He hated this obscure, unexplainable combinations, hated it so much that he coughed out the stuff he was chewing into his hand and stealthily deposited it beneath the table. With a restrained groan, the repulsed prizefighter took a quick sip of sour white wine, washing the godawful taste down. “Honey,” he said, looking at Kaia and figuring he owed her an explanation. “I hate when they do that. Maybe it’s just me, but I think the meat should be salty, not sweet. Ruin a perfectly good chicken like that.”

Victor tried to douse his bitterness with a smirk before downing some more wine and opting for potatoes instead, but they were a bit sweetish as well, almost like yams, so he found little satisfaction there. It was rather sad that the fish and the salad were the highpoint in the place that looked like it milk and mead and ambrosia flowed through it like a river. He looked over on the other side of the table, attempted and failed to decipher what revolved beyond those infinitely warm hazel eyes, and figured now was as good time as any to admit that he hated this place. “Do you hate this place as much as I do?” he asked, his voice hushed as if he worried if somebody could hear him. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He hoped she’d say yes. Before they brought on salty fruit tarts or some inedible abomination akin to it.

[The Emerald Hind]

Kaia had not been impressed with the establishment’s spread from the start. The girl had a simple palate incapable of appreciating the complex flavors and textures set before her at each turn of meal. She was no painted lady raised on exotic dishes but a girl born to a family of well-off land owners insistent upon providing their own means. She and her family had all that they wanted in life and then some, but not one of their number had hoped to reach beyond their comforts to the true luxury of the aristocracy, the seeds of defection. Although they could have obtained the rare delicacies afforded their noble class, the Ekeerty family kept to themselves and their town, preferring the greater joy of a modest existence.

From that she drew a simple oral perception for her fare was composed of fresh vegetables, seasonal fruits, hard breads, and a number of domesticated and wild meats. Not one of these fancy dishes ever appeared on her table, not even in her daydreams, so she never acquired the necessary tastes. Her mother was a wonderful cook who had a way with seasonings, but not even her most elegant dish compared to the Thousand Roses cheapest starter. However, Kaia would have given anything to exchange the oddly flavored fowl before her for the chance to be at her meager camp baking a couple clay-wrapped fish on a rock to accompany her wild picked greens. At least then she was certain of the ingredients and the flavor. That meant more to the healer than this overdressed presentation of unpalatable mash.

Unfortunately, it was too late for her to fish or hunt, and so she was forced to consume what she could of the many courses provided to her. She ate what she could but not with any conviction. Instead of relishing food as she normally did, she dutifully shoveled it into her maw just to fill her stomach. At least she would not be awoken by the pangs of hunger in the bleak morning hours, even if she had to suffer through dish after dish of unfamiliar flavors and textures. When it came to the main course, however, she was unable to take so much as a bite before rejecting the capon. As with Victor, the honey offended her tastes, and it was quickly shoved from reach.

“I did not wish to say so before this time, but the further from this place we are the better I would feel,” she responded softly, nearly jumping upon the excuse to take leave of the restaurant. Kaia was uncomfortable and each course brought her to greater unease, and it was not all due to the unsavory selection of food. Their waiter and his attendants were grating on her nerves all the more, and she wanted desperately to be freed of their disapproving glares and polite mockery. Victor provided her with an escape route and she dove for it.

Gathering her things, she removed herself from the table, looking to her companion as he did the same, but as they began to leave the server appeared with the dessert, an ironic quirk drawn across his thin lips. He raised a brow at the two and inquired as to whether or not the meals he had provided suited them, to which Kaia politely refuted, insisting that they were taking their leave due to an impressing engagement. Obviously he did not believe a word he said, but he bowed all the same and bid them farewell, taking his payment with devilish delight. The herbalist and the boxer then exited from the building with all the grace two such as they could, at least one of them sighing with relief upon escape.

A grateful eye slid over Victor as they continued on their way, following the path that had led them to the sumptuous domain of the wealthy. “More than happy am I to have left that awful place. I appreciate the meal, but those people were…”—she paused, struggling with the correct word—“Impolite? No, that is too kind. Foul? Not that, either. Obnoxious? Yes, they were most obnoxious.” She stopped, realizing she sounded ungrateful, and nearly blushed at her rudeness. This man had been so kind to her ever since she met him, and she had offered him nothing in return but trouble. Now, here she was poking a stick at an open sore. It was not like her to have spoken so without such thought, and for that she felt wretched.

“Victor, I am sorry. It was a very nice place—very beautiful—and I did enjoy the night. Thank you.” Her words fell from her tongue in a slow tumble, all the notes of apology punctuating the accented fluctuations of tone, but ending in a wistful lilt as she looked up at the night sky. She walked in silence for a few moments more, gazing up at the endless stars, a vista that offered no comfort in the chill of the evening. Another night here in this strange land, another night she searched its veins with the kindest of strangers, and she had not yet offered him any kindness in return. He had nothing but trouble from her since that morning and he bore it all with a gracious smile and an affable nature. She was more determined than ever to repay all she owed him before parting with him.

As they turned onto a more familiar road, one not far from her chosen campsite, Kaia finally broke her focus from the diamond dust canvas to look at her companion in that usual way, the barest of smiles gracing her wide mouth as she molded her solemnity into something more useful.

A light chuckle filled the void of silence then, a tremble transformed into deeply accented speech. “I nearly forgot, but that makes three meals and two acts of heroics owed to you. Kindness given is kindness returned. It is my way, so you are plagued with me until repaid.” She just hoped he would take his dues in slow time.

[The Cinderella Man]

“Well, that was certainly money well spent,” the wry voice of Victor’s mind stated with more then just a speck of satire, mocking the evening’s escapade and the unsatisfactory tradeoff. It reminded the prizefighter – in an instigating and self-degrading fashion – that he just squandered almost two hundred gold pieces to take Kaia to place that both of them grew to hate, where snobby staff served bad food to an even snobbier clientele. It was a waste of money, a waste of time, a waste of gastric acids that would dissolve the mishmash that looked classy, but tasted like a chef’s nightmare. And yet, despite all that aggravation and the realization of tonight’s failure, Victor walked with a rather sated and contended expression on his face.

Partially, it was because they were finally liberated of the glossy, odorous interior of the Thousand Roses. The place was nothing but eye candy, the boxer acknowledged now, and while it had the aroma similar to the insides of a dame’s purse, it had a surly, disquieting face below the glittery masque. But the departure from the establishment that was trying to will them out from the moment they stepped in was just a minor reason for his repose. The other, much more substantial reason, was the fact that despite being a complete failure, the evening had a definite positive side to it. So much so, in fact, that it outweighed all the annoyances of the day combined, from the slugfest in the boxing ring to that last snide look he received from the porters that held the door open for their exit. Kaia was, unsurprisingly, at the core of that gratified sensation, the herbalist agreeing to prolong their partnership a while longer. And even though it probably meant nothing more then a couple of days of walking in the woods, gathering grass and root and leaves, it was a far cry from the mind-dulling solitude that would occur if they parted ways tonight.

Observed from that angle, the two hundred shinnies weren’t squandered. It was the best investment he made in years.

“I think quite a few people should do the apologizing after tonight, but you’re not one of them, Kaia,” Victor responded, doing his best to allay her excusatory demeanor that he found completely unnecessary. “The only thing you should be sorry of is the decision to accompany me to that snake pit. I guess I’m not the best of guides you could’ve picked. So far I led you to a crummy boxing ring and a pen of well-dressed mules. Although, in my defense, I am still rather new in Underwood myself.”

He thought a jest would be capable of lightening up the dour mood that the restaurant bestowed upon them. It probably did the trick too, eliciting another velvety chuckle and a short recount of kindnesses, but then again, it might’ve been just the fresh coolness of the night’s air that brought Kaia’s spirits up. Either way, a genuine, heartily smile was incomparably warmer then a dozen of fake ones that she most likely had to force on her lips back in the Thousand Roses. Sweeter still was the plague she mentioned, and though Victor was raised in a family that tended not to count neither the good nor the bad deeds (at least that was the theory of his father’s preaching), her intention to repay him was not something he could shoot down even if he wanted to.

“You drive a hard bargain. I guess I’m in no position to negotiate?” the prizefighter said with a smirk and a wink, ambling alongside of her with his haggard gym bag slung over his shoulder. The majestic mansions were fleeting behind them, sinking into darkness together with their meticulously mowed gardens, delicately shaped hedges and tiny artificial ponds. With them, the street lamps started to evanesce in both luminance and frequency, their flickering flames going from bright yellow to xanthous to tawny in minutes until the cobbles finally ended and there were none by the dirt road. This was where Underwood officially ended, the stone giving way to the living wood of the forest, but there were still numerous cottages scattered throughout the landscape. Most were slumbering serenely deeper in the woods though, undetectable by human eyes with only the faint argent illumination of the crescent moon.

Victor was rather reluctant to proceed past the last line of town’s habitats though. The darkness of the night in Concordia forest still scared the hell out of him. Having Kaia at his side alleviated some of the tension from him, but peering into the hollow darkness of the woods just struck that queer bone in his body that had every intention to make his knees wobbly and his stomach clench as tight as a fist. The fact that the hollow darkness was by no means hollow and empty didn’t help much either. Luckily, the Wuss Factor stood on the other side of the scale, tipping it towards proceeding, reminding the anxious boxer what it would look like if he bailed out. “Take the bad with the good, maggot!” he reminded himself and put on the best indifferent mask he had in his inventory. Whether or not it was good enough to prevent Kaia from noticing something was awry, he couldn’t say.

“It’s been a while since I slept beneath the stars.” he commented half-wistfully, his head tilted skywards and his eyes lost in the myriad of tiny pearls above. It was a lie, though. He was a wanderer; sleeping beneath the stars was a given. However, it really was a while since he spent a night in the forest. Towns were different. It was a different kind of wilderness, where people were beasts and houses were trees, but after living most of his life in towns, it was his forest. This one - the real one - was a place where he needed a guide.

[The Emerald Hind]

Those plain features settled into an expression of content amusement upon receiving the boxer’s admission, his remark eliciting a gentle inspection of his person by the girl before she dared venture into the wood beyond. She wondered if he were the type to find comfort in the wide expanse of the forest where the unknown lurked in a cloak of shadow. For some, the innocent hoot of an owl or the beautiful howl of a wolf bore as much danger as an axe held in the hand of an executioner. It was human nature to fear the unknown, and, unfortunately, there were many such beings that could not look beyond the hazards of night’s obscurity. There was no safety beside the fire that kept the nocturnal beasts at bay. There was no comfort in the untainted breath of nature that gave life to all. Here, for many, there existed only the primal menace that jeopardized the lives of sentient creatures, the monsters of imagination that stalked after mankind with malice in mind. They gave no thought to the fact that most animals fled from the presence of men, the beast that was feared most of all, and, in all reality, the only danger came from one’s brethren of blood. There was more safety in the wood where men feared to stray than in the towns and cities where they procreated like vermin.

For Kaia, there was no greater relief than the quiet industry of nature, that pure realm of lush diversity sacred to all those who took communion with the Mother. Here amongst the trees and the flowers there was no deceit, no falsehood, just a vicious innocence that composed life. All that existed was the simplicity of nature, and it was that universal instinct to survive that drove the minds of the wild. There was no need for treachery, not when every living thing understood the rules of the game. Live or die, it was as simple as that. Duplicity had no place here—not when everything was black and white—and all were secure in truth. The only threat that these woods harbored was the foolishness of its inhabitants. If one was attentive and respectful, then there was nothing to fear in the mesh of leaf and bark.

Confident in such knowledge, Kaia stepped away from the worn path of the road and ventured forth into the forest, passing the guardian arbors that stood like sentinels along the path, their eyeless faces watchful and wary of all those who entered their domain. She waited for Victor, coaxing him forth with a radiant smile, one far richer and glorious than any she had offered thus far. Amongst her own kind she now found discomfort for all the misdeeds forced upon her in those few past years, but in the woods she was as self-assured and happy as a woodsprite, flittering past the woods in random motes of moonglow. She shed her previous awkwardness like a stained and tattered cloak and beneath it all was a girl who nearly glowed in her environment, a creature that was as much a part of nature as the grass or the stars. In her element she did not falter. Here she was as close to home as she could ever come.

Her spirits lifted by the fresh air and the utter lack of human encroachment, the herbalist weaved her way through the labyrinth of maple and elm, stepping lightly so as not to trip over an upraised root or scare an unwary animal. Her pace was slow to accommodate any of Victor’s uncertainty, but they managed at fair speed nonetheless. She kept their trail rather straight for the boxer’s sake. Any other time she would have taken meandering loops, making sure to backtrack at irregular intervals then proceed in a direct route. It made tracking her far more difficult in the unlikely event someone should be after her, but tonight she saw no need in an extended trip with a stranger to the wood in tow. She doubted anyone would be after them, and even so between both Victor and herself—in the wood she could defend herself far better than in the open—any foe would be neatly dispatched.

Soon enough they arrived at a tiny clearing swept clean of debris. The earth was well packed with light impressions of animal prints, most recently a deer with her offspring and a small family of raccoons. Near the center was a small, deep pit covered over with scattered leaves and dirt, the remains of the fire pit she used the night before. Other than the pit, there was no sign of human habitation, as Kaia intended. She never left any scrap of her camp behind, clearing away any evidence of her presence at a nearby stream and packing the rest to take away. To a well-trained eye it would be obvious that a person had taken residence at the clearing for some time, but not many would care. It was not uncommon for wonderers and vagabonds to seek refuge in the woods, and as long as they did not disturb the locals they were allowed to do so without molestation. Most did not venture as deeply into the forest as Kaia had, but that was her need for self preservation at work. She feared being discovered by the bandits that inhabited the wilds near human settlements and this far into the dark they did not usually venture.

The girl set her things upon the ground and set to work, but not before motioning to Victor that he should do the same. She smiled warmly at him as she neatly unpacked her travel bag, her eyes bright even in the pale glow of the full moon. She produced the necessary tools to start a small fire, which she handed to Victor temporarily, then cleared the pit and filled it with a few dry sticks she had buried under the leaves and dirt. She then took a large, flat stone from her travel bag along with a steel sickle, and with such tools she soon created a small, cheerful fire, giving the two travelers some light and warmth.

“If it were not so late, I would have a meal ready, but I would not like to hunt at this time, not in moonlight, and I dare not take fire beyond the pit. In the morning, there will be some proper food, though,” Kaia promised. She finished setting the camp, dusting out her bedroll and spreading it out near the fire then doing the same with her tent so for Victor’s use as bedding. A few things were collected for the morning like pots and pans along with a few key items from her herb bag, then the rest was hoisted up into a low slung tree branch and secured with the straps from both bags. With everything to her satisfaction, she motioned to Victor that he should sit beside her near the fire, at which point she quickly set to work checking over his wounds once again.

“I wish to make certain the wounds are setting properly,” the girl explained as she checked him over as she had so many times before, smiling softly as she did so. “After that, to bed with us both. You have had a long day and need rest. Else, you will be of no use to me in the morning.” A smirk smothered her features at that as she finished up with redressing a few of his cuts and bruises, her usual mirth dancing across her voice in a silvery ripple as she delighted in her own familiar surroundings. For the first time since that morning she felt completely at ease, and for once she did not even worry over having a male at her camp. She was content and assured of the night, and for her there was no danger within the cool touch of darkness.

[The Cinderella Man]

To say that Victor didn’t have a certain amount of wanton thoughts and ideas in the present situation wouldn’t have been a mere understatement, but rather a flat out lie. He maybe considered himself a relatively good person, he maybe tried his best to be genteel and courteous towards the opposite gender, but stripped down to the bare essentials he too was just a man. And like all men, there was a licentious part lurking inside of him, always watching, always insinuating, a sly demon with focus bent on lust and satisfaction. “Why not?” it said, slithering undetected somewhere beyond the boxer’s brown irises. “She’s a pretty little thing, soft and curvy in all the right places, and she did lead you into the dark solitude of the forest. Nothing wrong in a brief roll in the figurative hay.”

Only there was something wrong, not just in the nookie devised by his hormone-driven imagination, but in the very perception of the current state of affairs. Kaia was his friend. Friend. Some handed out that title like spare coppers, but Victor never took it lightly. Perhaps that was the reason why he had so few of them. Perhaps the reason for that were the prerequisites that an aspirant had to fulfill, such as benevolence and self-sacrifice. But the most important of them all, the paramount of every relationship regardless of its nature, was trust. And Kaia trusted him. She trusted him in the Peaceful Promenade when she timidly asked to sit at his table, trusted him during their pain-riddled escapade in The Pit, trusted him even when he led them both to a dinner that was about as fun as an average funeral. And she trusted him even now, leading him to her natural abode beneath the leafy canopy, permitting admittance into another aspect of her life. Even thinking of it – however remotely – as an invitation to a midnight coition was degrading and undermining.

Luckily, Victor was well trained in reprimanding his own mind and distracting it from the paths it wanted to tread. He treated himself with the usual downers, insisting that she was out of his league, that she would never even consider him in that manner, that she wasn’t his type anyways, bombarding his mind until it finally ceased to observe Kaia as a sexual object. It was a hard fight though; the herbalist lass was a rather lovely sight. But by the time the fire was crackling, sending a myriad of shadows dancing ceaselessly through the endless void around them, Victor was able to drive out the demon out of his head temporarily. It would come back, the tenderized prizefighter knew, but this was a battle that the bastard lost, giving ground to serenity and platonic affection.

“Oh no, please, don’t worry about food,” the bulky brawler responded, his left arm pressed against his wounded side as his right aided Kaia in arranging the bedrolls. “A person can get full with bad food as fast as with the good. Faster even. Nothing quite like a honeyed piece of meat to kill the appetite.” This was no courtesy, but the hard truth. The colorful courses of the restaurant still battled with his stomach, running circles through his intestines and taking their time to negotiate the passage further down into his bowels. Eating something – however tasty – would be an insult to injury right now.

And speaking of injuries, his companion figured that his ought to be checked once again. Victor wasn’t absolutely positive that it was necessary – only his ribs still gave him trouble, but there was no medicine in the world that was able to mend that little defect instantaneously – but healing was something he was proficient at about as much as Kaia was in boxing. So he took a seat next to her, cross-legged, and allowed her to once again do her herbal miracles. With nothing better to do while her fingers worked diligently, Victor observed her visage. And there was no doubt that there was a substantial deviation in her facial expression. It wasn’t something tangible, something that he could pinpoint with absolute certainty, but there was almost like a prominent aura around her. It splashed a healthier color to her cheeks, it got reflected in her irises that he could once again observe at point blank range, it crept into the tone of her voice, making it more vibrant, more relaxed. It was almost as if the forest itself took a weight off her shoulders and she was able to breathe with full lungs again. It occurred to him then that the environment of the Concordia forest suited her just as well as the stuffy air and the stone maze of Underwood suited him. They were on two different sides of the specter, and that realization slammed the nail into the coffin of the aforementioned demon.

“I believe my ribs agree with you,” he spoke while she worked, responding to her advice to hit the sack as soon as possible. “Hopefully we won’t wake up with our legs chewed off or something.” Once again it was mostly a jest, but when Kaia was done with her ointments and pastes and he laid back on the tent canvas, something shuffled the dry leaves beyond the illumination of their camp fire and somewhere in the distance a twig snapped audibly. It was enough of a warning to Victor, the boxer pulling his gym bag closer under an excuse to use it as a pillow, while his true intention was to keep his revolver close. Once he was as secure as secure could be in the middle of untamed woods, and his eyes peered at the starry night above once again, he spoke again.

“You really seem at home here in the forest. I mean, I would’ve gotten lost at least half-a-dozen times from Underwood to here. I guess when you deal with herbs, you have to know your way around nature.” Victor was never good at small talk, especially with women, but he figured their current location was a rather appropriate ice breaker. “Back in Scara Brae, people who preferred nature over towns were scarce, everybody just striving to build bigger grander things. I guess I just sort of fell into the general groove. Towns aren’t such bad places once you get used to them. They too have a certain life beating through them, like they were living things.” He propped himself on his elbows – which inflamed his side with pain once again – and looked over to her cot. “Did you ever consider living in places like Underwood?”

[The Emerald Hind]

Normally, Kaia would not have permitted Victor within her camp, having known him for only two nights, but in that passage of time they had endured quite a bit together. During all that the boxer remained respectful of her nature, making none of the usual overtures men imposed upon the opposite gender. There was no hint of alternative motives in his demeanor and due to such he posed no threat to her. Of course, she would have been a fool to believe that he was innocent of the basic needs of the human condition—the urge to reproduce was as great if not greater than the need to live—but she somehow doubted he would act on such a base motive. At the very least, he would not force himself upon her. He was too kind for that, or so he seemed to the herbalist. Perhaps she was being naïve, but she was a decent judge of character, and Victor was not the type to take advantage of a girl.

Besides, she could not deny the fact that she entertained a few unchaste visions. Females were as susceptible as males in that regard— women were just better at disguising that fact. She had been admiring his build throughout the day, appreciating his well defined masculinity in much the same way a wine connoisseur appreciated a fine vintage. The man was not strikingly handsome, not in the way most women would consider attractive, but his rough edges and hard lines held a certain allure. Kaia was fond of men who took on physical labor for a living, and even if Victor chose a more violent route than she preferred the physical affects were the same. He was robust and seemingly healthy, and his face was not at all unappealing even if it were somewhat plain. She found him quite attractive, and it was only natural for her to be affected by his close proximity.

However, she was a stubborn girl and more than capable of keeping herself under control. She wanted to keep this man as a friend for as long as possible. Giving into desire would only make a mess of the situation, and undoubtedly she would be tagged as another easy lay. She was none of the sort, and had it not been for Lord Rarce she would have retained her virtues until her wedding day. As it was that was stolen away from her in a violent fray, and she was quite broken on that score. There were too many scars upon her—physically and emotionally—and she did not favor the possibility of reopening the old wounds. Victor could break her as easily with benevolence as the Southern Lord had with brutality, especially with her as tattered as she was.

With any carnal longings effectively squashed by that old nightmare, she finished up with the man’s dressings and retreated to her bedroll, where she curled up against her memories. There she felt safe enough against any chance at reentering the horrors of the past, constructing an invisible barrier between herself and her companion, and forgetting all about her sullied reveries. It did not weigh so heavily upon her that she expressed the momentary melancholy beyond a whispering sigh, however. She trusted Victor too much to believe any harm could come from this night, and besides it was only practical that he stay in camp with her if he intended to help her harvest herbs in the morning. By the time she located him in town and whatnot half the day would be gone.

Feeling much better for her reasoning, Kaia relaxed a little more on her makeshift bed. She listened to the sounds of the forest and found comfort in the familiar ruckus, even as it alarmed Victor. It was the man’s voice that took her by surprise: she was not accustomed to conversation here in her sanctuary. Even though she was very aware of the boxer’s presence in the clearing—he was hard to forget—she was mildly unprepared for any social interaction. Kaia, cheathei, you have become as a hermit would… Yes, it had been far too long since she had company in the darkness.

“It would not be so bad, I do not think, but I have never lived in a town. With my family we had our land and our woods and our cottage and we went to town regularly, but never to stay.” The girl sighed wistfully at that, regarding her past in silence for some time as she remembered her parents and their home. She saw their cozy home nestled amongst the bushes and saplings with their fields before and the forest behind—her lost paradise, denied her for all time.

“No,” she began truthfully, any hint of half-remembered remorse chased away from her voice, “I could not live in a town. Near one, yes. Near so that travel took no time, but not within. There is a life there, a pulse, but it is faint, corrupted. Here in nature it is strong, pure. I could not live far from it, or else I would become as faint as so many have.” Her voice rapped upon the air with its own power, her solid conviction as much a promise as any. There was no regret but a quiet joy tinged only by the faintest color of grief for her parents and her life. Over it all was hope charged by her own promise to recreate what she lost. She would have a little cottage near a town where she could do her work, and there she would have a family, a husband and a child. That was her ultimate goal and she was determined to reach it no matter what: it was all that kept her bound to the earth.

After a few moments she broke from her reveries, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized how serious the conversation became thanks to her. She had made Victor endure quite enough of her mood for one day, and for that she offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It is late and I am tired. I think this day has been too much for me. We will speak further in the morning. Fair dreams, Victor.” She then banked the fire so that it did not go out in the night, settled herself upon her cot, and tried her best to go to sleep, but with so much on her mind and Victor so near slumber proved a difficult partner to court.

[The Cinderella Man]

The response he received from Kaia was one he could anticipate. Everything about the good-hearted lass seemed in tune with nature, from her apparel and curing methods to her demeanor that almost seemed like an extension of the forest milieu. It was an intriguing variance from the usual, something Victor seldom saw in his world of stone and monotonous visages always scuttling from one task to the other. It also managed to fortify the conviction that they were so undeniably different. Where he opted for a hired bed and foreign sheets, she chose grass and leaf. Where he spent a handful of coins for a measly meal in a measly inn, she hunted and foraged in the wild. Where his feet took him by the well-trodden roads, she went by goat paths. Even for one as unperceptive as the prizefighter, that realization was enough of an eye-opener to the reality of things and he knew that this little herb-collecting expedition was likely to be the beginning of the end.

With such hapless thoughts plaguing his mind, Victor thought it would take him the usual hour or so to fall asleep. However, after he courteously responded with a rather conservative: “Good night, Kaia.”, the fatigue that had roots as far back as the bout prior to the one that occurred tonight swept over him like a warm blanket. It wrapped his aching limbs, relaxed his overstrung tendons, bringing uncontestable serenity to his muscles. In front of such a tide of physical alleviation his mind could hold no ground and before long it lost the battle for consciousness. Victor forgot about the ominous forest that loomed around them, let go of the usual set of wistful thoughts that crept into his head on daily bases around this hour, even disregarded the butt of his revolver that jutted from his pack, poking the nape of his neck. He simply sunk into the sweet molasses of slumber with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the breeze that rustled through leaf and grass thread.

He expected – even hoped secretly – to dream of Kaia, but whatever his mind displayed during the night was lost by the time he woke in the morning.

***

It was unusual for Victor to fall asleep like a log just as it was unusual for him not to wake at the slightest of sounds. When he was still a runt, his mother used to say that he had the slumber of a rabbit, twitching and reacting at everything that made sound in his proximity. Sometimes it was a blessing, a caution trigger that made him alert even while sleeping, but mostly it was a curse that ensured that the boxer didn’t get proper sleep. Luckily, the last several days were quite an ordeal, taking him through two boxing matches in three days, and such outwear numbed his tentative instincts. So he didn’t hear Kaia getting up, didn’t hear her tiptoeing around the camp as she went about her usual morning business, didn’t even hear the orchestra of the chirps that the countless birds preformed in a celebration of a brand new day. Hell, even the sun that cut through the leafy awning and shone onto his lowered eyelids failed to rouse him from sleep.

Once he actually woke up though – probably more under effect of some inner clock then what actually went on around him – he realized why his body insisted on hibernation.

There was only one thing worse then getting the god punched out you, and that was the morning after. The sharp physical pain of the wounds was doused ever so slightly to the point where it was perpetual and dull. Only the morning after, everything else ached as well. Finger joints, knuckles, wrists, elbows, shoulders, knees, muscles and tendons and bones, they all joined in a singular painful wail once he tried to put his body in motion. Even lifting his eyelids took some summoning of willpower.

Once Victor finally managed to do so – albeit only to a squint – the world was a white blob riddled with hurt that begged him to go back to sleep. However, while the pain persisted, the lack of form thawed and soon he could see that the white blob was actually a fluffy cloud that floated way above their little campsite. The boxer waited for it to cover the sun temporarily before he forced himself up in a sitting position. A grunt, a groan and a bony crackle in his neck seemed mandatory companions to this action. Once he knuckled the crust out of his eyes though, he was able to notice something that was enough to draw a rather drowsy smirk on his face.

“Good morning,” Victor said, his voice a bit raspy and dry, looking at Kaia. The cleric girl was sitting next to the modest fire, flipping something on her tin pan. From the looks of her, the lass wasn’t lying when she mentioned she was an early riser. Unlike him, she had the look of somebody who was already more then prepared to tackle the day’s task. He wanted to say something else, but a yawn attacked him, and when he opened his maw – remembering to cover his piehole with his hand – his jaw clicked and hurt like a stab of a knife. It was more then enough to beat the remnants of sleep out of him, retrieving the wide-awake expression to his lineaments.

“I hope I wasn’t out for too long. I was so wrecked yesterday, I felt like I’d never get up again.” he added, stretching his arms and making the joints fall in all the right places before he crossed the legs beneath him once again, sitting closer to the fire and the person tending to it and their breakfast.

[The Emerald Hind]

Still unused to the voices of her own species, Kaia nearly jumped when Victor arose with a courteous greeting. Every fiber in her body tensed, coiling tightly at the pull strings of ligaments and tendons, the girl’s potential energy accumulating in the springs of locomotion in preparation for flight. She stood still for a heartbeat, testing her surroundings with her various senses, as pitiful as they were, but there came only the grunts of pain from her companion. Realizing that it was only the prizefighter, she sighed with relief and shook her head at her own timidity. At one time it was the silence she hosted at her camp that frightened her, and now it was the sounds of human habitation that did so. Had it truly been so long since she held camaraderie with another sentient?

Slightly upset by her reaction and lack of sense, the girl did her best to hide any lingering shock with the pleasant smile she flashed over her shoulder. She forced her muscles to relax as she finished up the last of the eggs she collected earlier that morning. Preparing the food was therapy enough, and within moments she was at ease enough to turn towards Victor with confidence, certain that her reaction to his voice was not perceived. She handed to him a well-worn wooden plate on which were a few pan-fried robin’s eggs, some fresh-picked berries, and a bit of tough jerky, the last of her travel rations. After he was served she settled herself on the ground, her plate cradled in her lap as she reached over for the leather bladder she had filled with water at the river.

“Fair light,” came her bright reply. No longer unsettled by her previous jolt, she was in high spirits once again, her eyes sparkling and her expression joyous. “Do not worry over such things. You are hurt and you needed the sleep. Doctor’s orders, recall? I am just sorry there is not more for breakfast, but eggs are hard to take when mother birds are near.” She smiled sheepishly at that but went no further on that score. The last thing she wanted to do was recount how she had scrambled into a tree—a comical sight in its own right considering her lack of height—only to fall flat on her face when a pair of birds began target practice on her head. She had to go to three different sites before finally finding enough eggs to feed two for breakfast. By that time she was more than willing to dine on nothing but berries no matter what havoc it reaped on one’s stomach.

She poured a few counts of the water into a dented metal cup, which sat on a hot, flat rock near the fire, then handed the rest of the contents to Victor. After both the brew and the man’s thirst were seen to, she ate what she could from her plate, leaving behind only a few bites of egg and a couple unripe berries. Victor was finished with his meal before her and was taking a swig from the water sack. She warned him not to drink too much, however, then handed him the cup of steaming liquid, making a face as she did.

“The tea is bitter, but it is powerful. The willow bark will ease your pain. It is suggested that you drink it as quickly as you are capable.” She scrunched her nose in remembrance of the tea’s awful flavor while offering Victor some sympathy with a gentle look, but it was not enough to warn the poor man of the infusion’s strength. After one gulp he was laboring with the after taste. Trying note to laugh, Kaia took back the cup, throwing out the last few drops of the liquid upon the forest floor.

Another apology and she was offering him alternatives, such as actually chewing on the bark itself, or having to digest it as a powder. All this was made to sweeten the bitterness of the terrible drink, although, it was doubtful that anything could combat the tea’s properties. However, the benefits were worth the flavor, or lack thereof, and she promised that within a few moments he would feel some of the pain leave his battered form. While it began working its powers on the man, she took the time to examine him once more. The healer was most pleased with how far the swelling had gone down and the progress of his many wounds. The ribs still worried her, though, as did his nose, but she could do nothing about the former and the latter still had some swelling to contend with before setting the broken bone in place.

With him seen to, she finished up with the camp, putting out the fire, rolling up their beds, and tidying everything up. With everything gathered up and the unnecessary supplies—her travel bag, for instance—secured to a high tree branch and disguised by leaves and fallen branches, she was ready to get on with the day’s tasks.

“I doubt we will be able to find the herbs I have used on you, as I acquired them from my mother who did some trading with spice traders. The climate here is not proper for cayenne or helichrysum, so we will have to find some other things instead. I shall show you.”

She led the way, using her staff like a walking stick, checking the dense foliage for snakes and other nasty surprises. They walked for some time, cloaked in relative silence, stopping occasionally for Kaia to inspect the flora. On the first few tries they came to no luck, but in a dappled bed of shadow and light near the edge of a clearing Kaia found one of the many prospective herbs for which she was searching. There was a small bed of violets, their deep purple flowers beautiful in the pale morning light and wet with dew drops. There were only a handful of flowers, but they were enough, and for that Kaia was thankful. Violets had a many number of uses, and with them she could device several concoctions to serve as antiseptics, sedatives, coughs, and swelling. It was very lucky that they should find any at all, especially since these plants in particular were a bit out of season, but the girl did not complain. Sometimes such things happened, and for that an herbalist was normally grateful.

Without thought, she made her way to the wild bed and knelt down, opening her bag reflexively and producing her sickle. Sickles were not traditionally used to cut things such as violets, but Kaia did not want to pinch or bruise the stems, so it was best to put the sharp, curved blade to use. Before she set down to work, however, she looked up at Victor and motioned him over. “Ready to try at being an Wise Man?” she asked in a tinkling voice.

[The Cinderella Man]

The taste buds on Victor’s tongue still rebelled against the tea that tasted like absinth and smelled of tree sap when they departed from the campsite. Mimicking his substantially more knowledgeable companion, the boxer did his best to find a proper spot to hoist and conceal his gym bag, but his camouflage wasn’t nearly as good as hers. He wasn’t terribly worried about it though – the most valuable contents he took with him. His revolver was safely tucked into the holster on his right hip, hanging on the rather loose, slanted ammo belt. “That is the way you wear it, boy!” an aged traveler once told him, commenting on the position of his belt. Victor didn’t quite comprehend the reason for the looseness, but it became clear to him when he tried to quickdraw. If the belt was too tight, the holster was too high and thus awkward for pulling the weapon out swiftly. This way the butt was aligned with his hand. Not that it mattered that much, since the prizefighter couldn’t quickdraw even if his life depended on it. Keeping a rather vague balance of encumbrance, his combat knife rested on his left hip.

However, while his mouth detested the taste of the beverage Kaia offered him after breakfast – which was, despite its modesty, a satisfactory mundane meal – his body greeted the aftereffects. The acerbic liquid maybe was no sedative, having an opposite effect and bringing Victor to a working temperature, but it was quite an effective analgesic, spreading from his stomach in a myriad of tendrils that pinpointed and slaked his aches. The timid herbalist maybe had no instant healing salves that some of the healers sold for an arm and a leg, but she seemed to be having enough tricks in her hat to deal with any obstacle her occupation might set before her. For that prowess the brawler was infinitely thankful, following her through the woods with none of the usual bout aftershock effects.

They conversed as they meandered through the surrounding woods, Kaia mostly of various plants and herbs that Victor tried and failed to memorize, and Victor interjecting here and there with an observation or a remark. Usually he was wrong, asking dumb questions and receiving polite, amicable replies even if it was the second time he made the same query. For one so young, the foreign healer seemed to have endless patience, reiterating and gesturing towards specific specimens with her staff. She probably knew, somewhere beyond those merry brown eyes, that most of the information she dictated wouldn’t stick for long with the prizefighter, and that he would become a herbalist no sooner then she would a pugilist. And yet she seemed so elated to share the knowledge she acquired during the short span of her life. Victor didn’t mind; he enjoyed just listening to the sound of a voice that wasn’t derisive and offensive towards him.

When they finally stumbled upon something usable, the herbalist apprentice was rather surprised that it was a mere patch of wildflowers. With his nose still out of order due to the jab it sustained yesterday he couldn’t pick up the scent of the violets, but according to Kaia, they had various positive effects if mixed properly. Victor didn’t see the difference between these and all the other flowers they passed by, but then again, his expertise lay elsewhere. He chuckled at her question though, kneeling next to her and taking out his knife to assist her in the plucking. “A wise man? Now wouldn’t that be a change from my usual line of work?” he said with a sincere smile, doing his best to follow her example and hack off the purplish flowers with utmost gentleness. “I think I’ll settle for an assistant to a wise woman for now.”

Once they collected the violets, their exploration continued, Victor a bit bolder to leave Kaia’s side and search on his own within an earshot. He found a funny looking fern that looked like plume of a cockatrice, but it had no healing application according to his companion. He stumbled across at least three types of mushrooms, but two turned out to be poisonous and the third would make for a good lunch, Kaia said. The boxer couldn’t really agree – he was never an avid fan of mushrooms – but he didn’t voice that thought. He also almost fell into a poison ivy shrub, but luckily the diminutive cleric was around to warn him of the threat. It took some bending of his pride to take all the suggestions and instructions from one so young, but his age and experience counted for nothing in the wilderness of the forest. In here, he was the youth and she was the sage. It would’ve been a hard fact to swallow if the sage wasn’t as polite and lovely as Kaia and if the assistant wasn’t a rather indurate man. As it was though, their partnership seemed to function to the satisfaction of both.

“Let me ask you something,” Victor spoke after a while of trekking, the boxer barely evading a rather soggy bog hidden below a layer of dry leafs. His voice seemed intrusive in the current environment, slicing through the perpetual buzz of the nature that seemed to have a heartbeat this far from civilization. It was a slow, barely noticeable thing, a hum at the edge of the hearing that probably didn’t even exist, but Vic was still reluctant to erase it with his voice. “How do you know where you’re going this deep in the woods? I mean, there are no paths, the sun is...” he peered up, through the impressive lush crowns, and made an estimation. “Well, I guess it’s about noon, so there’s no help from it either. I figure there are other ways to navigate, but I’ll be damned if I know what they are.”

It was probably another one of his dumb questions, but he asked so many today that he didn’t feel the chagrin anymore.

[The Emerald Hind]

Absent-mindedly wiping the dirt and debris accumulated on her hands, Kaia paused in the task of digging up a few roots to consider Victor’s question. She often took her ability to navigate through forest and field for granted as she had done such for so very long—ever since she was old enough to accompany her parents on trips—that identifying and memorizing her surroundings had become second nature. When it came to trekking through nature’s splendor, she had a near-perfect memory, picking out the subtle differences in trees and the noting the slight variations in the terrain. After a while, it became a simple thing to observe all the minute details and fix them into a mental map, which she could easily reference at will. Things became a little trickier when she was new to an area, but she quickly found her way simply by finding her general direction and wondering through the labyrinths of grass and leaves. If she were dumped in some place far away from what she knew, such as happened to her when she first arrived in Corone, she would be at a great disadvantage. It required weeks sometimes months to orientate herself, and even then there was no guarantee she could return to the places she knew before, but she would familiarized herself with her new surroundings.

After a few a few moments stolen so as to consider how she found her way around, she finally replied, although a bit slowly. “It is the trees I see and the land I feel. Each place is different, and when I see them I know them for what they are and they become to me as people would to others. So when I see a plant or rock I know, I then know where I am.” That was not much of an explanation, she realized, so she quickly added: “It is how you know the people you pass in a town. You know their faces, know where they live and maybe where they work, and know their habits. You are seeing where they come and go, and so you know where and when you are in town. That is how I know. The trees and rocks and sky are people, and I see them and so know where and when I am. Yes?”

She hoped the man understood, but she was not certain if she made herself clear. Such left the herbalist a bit frustrated with herself as she could not properly explain, but a sudden thought came to her and she led him to a nearby oak with a deep black scar on its face and several brackets of red mushrooms layered over the lower portions of the lightning mark. Kaia brought him around to face the spot and indicated the old, charred wood and the decaying matter consumed by the fungus.

“See? I know this tree. It is like no other. It is scarred and dead where it was struck by a storm seasons ago. I know it for that, like I know you for your face. I also know now that we are south of a creek that flows towards the west and has steep banks of polished rock. I have been here before and I noted these things, and so I know where I am by this tree. Most landmarks are not so distinct, but I see them and from them know where I am. My father taught me this when I went hunting with him, as did my mother. That way I am never lost and know my way home. When I first came here, I explored the woods for some time until I knew most places. I do not know all around, but I know where I have been.”

Feeling a bit better for the instructional aid, she turned as if to go further south, but she felt a sudden pang in her stomach that made her stop mid-step. She raised a brow at the sensation, wondering why she should be taken by an ache so quickly, but ignored it and took another step forward. Another wave of pain-laced nausea crashed through her belly and this time she placed her hand over the spot in a reflexive gesture. Victor gave her an odd look, to which she just offered a shrug and a weak smile, telling him that she must have moved too quickly. Obviously trusting in her ability to determine her own illnesses, he accepted her explanation and waded through a patch of sunlight to a curious bunch of plants.

Kaia, however, did not follow, but leaned upon the oak tree, hand still over her stomach. She took a few moments to steady herself and tried to move again, but she was overcome with a horrific stomach cramp that left her breathless. She struggled to maintain her composure so as not to alarm Victor, who was luckily preoccupied with an unruly shrub she had identified for him earlier as myrtle. Sickening warmth washed over her organs followed by a cold chill, which left her weak in the knees and near whimpering, both conditions to which she refused to fall victim. However, she was given no choice but to submit for another flurry of spasms caused her stomach to flutter unpleasantly, and she felt as if she would lose all the food she had consumed in some day’s time. She nearly fell to her knees on that occasion, but she was well-practiced in steadying herself in such a condition by now, and, to appease the culprit, she turned in the opposite direction and went back towards the burned oak.

As expected, the illness subsided and she felt much better for it. A green light pulsed at her throat in approval of the girl’s understanding, to which Kaia sneered and muttered a muted, native oath. Why did the damned thing have to flare now? Why did the Earth Stone have to choose this moment to awaken? It had left her alone since she first arrived in Underwood near a week ago, and she had become relatively certain that it would leave her alone for some time more. Logging was a natural part of life here and she had not seen enough animals around for them to be greatly threatened beyond the usual hunting by the locals, all of which was part of Nature’s plan. There were no signs of malicious killers such as manticores or basilisks, no evidence of poachers after rare beasts. Why was she being tortured by the Stone’s will now? It made no sense.

Whether it made sense or not, however, she had no choice but to submit to its will or else lose her senses and fall victim to the Stone’s anger, which was great and unyielding once provoked. The object to which she was bound held no sympathy for her affairs: it knew only what it wanted, and what it wanted was to maintain the balance of its element. It remained silent in most times, but it was always listening even in its slumber, ready to react to any misfortune upon its domain through one undersized wench forced to bend to its power. It was enough to make Kaia ill—figuratively and physically—but she had no control over it. The thing was far stronger than she and it was determined to do its work through her. She was its slave.

So she was forced into the direction from which she came, but she had to adjust to a more northern course after a few paces. She dreaded the prospect of what she would be forced to do now. Save a family of wild pigs from a prankster pooka? Set to rights a feud between forest gnomes? Fight another manticore? It could be anything. The only thing Kaia was certain of was that she was unprepared to assist in the situation, as thus far she had been ill equipped to face any of the challenges set before her. She had succeeded by luck alone, but it was unlikely that the streak would continue. The Earth Stone would one day be the death of her.

She had not gone too far when she remembered Victor, cursing herself for having left him from memory so quickly. In her defense, she had too much else on her mind for the boxer to occupy her thoughts as he had all morning, mainly the worry of being the sacrifice of a piece of jewelry, secondly to the pain that kept drifting up in thick motes whenever she faltered.Furthermore, she was still unused to companionship, even more so in the current situation. Never before had anyone been in her presence when the illness began, and that brought with it added complications. Poor Victor would certainly have to play the hero one more time for her, for Kaia was sure to be in distress quite soon.

Trying her best not to let onto her condition, she called out to him, insisting that they go north to the river. “We can wash up there and rest for a while,” she intoned softly, striving against the Stone’s pull, which swept over her in a painful tide. “If you are hungry and we are in luck, perhaps fish for lunch, as well?” If I am not made for the fodder of a rampaging golem or swooped up by a misplaced harpy first…

[The Cinderella Man]

Kaia’s explanation of how she navigated through the wilderness made some sense to the boxer, but not enough to resolve all the questions his curiosity posed. In short, Victor understood the concept in theory, but doubted its efficiency in practice, at least when he tried to apply it to himself. Yes, he noticed people when he walked through the town streets, faces he knew and faces he didn’t, and faces that were too unique to be forgotten anytime soon. But scarce were the ones that transferred from his short-term memory to the more permanent one. The prizefighter reckoned it was all a matter of practice; if his survival depended on memorizing the intricate details and calling them back as a reference point, his brain would probably activate the inactive gray matter that was stuck between his ears. Or he would die in the middle of nowhere, trying to remember was a certain gangly birch north or south. Luckily, for the time being he could count on the herbalist to do the guiding.

Or at least he thought he could. No sooner then Kaia concluded her explanation, a change swept over her lineaments, erasing the glee and replacing it with a tinge of gloom. Her hand scurried to cover her stomach – probably the epicenter of whatever usurpation ailed her at the moment – but before Victor got a chance to ask what was awry, she reassured him it was nothing. The boxer didn’t prod too deep into the matter. He lived with three women for a good portion of his life, and even though all three were members of his family, he knew quite well that there was a certain time of the month when all females had certain issues in the nether areas. And the most important aspect of that realization was that during those days, women were cranky and moody and as tense as a bow string. The best course of action was no action at all.

He wished he could help her somehow though. Even though he tried to keep himself busy with collecting the leaf of some shrub whose name was strangely similar to the metal called mythril, Victor kept an eye on Kaia as much as he could, spying her through the multitude of tree trunks and leaf curtains. The tiny cleric seemed to be able to allay the pain of others with extreme prowess, but when it came to her own, she struggled with it, and as much as she attempted to conceal it behind a mask of serenity, the pain was seeping through her pores. It was in her eyes that suddenly stopped reflecting the vibrant green of the environment she lavished in. It was in the motions of her body that seemed eerily sapped of the energy that drove her forward. It was even in her voice when she finally addressed him and gestured towards the whispering gurgle of a nearby stream.

“I wouldn’t mind a breather. All this exploring and plucking and wandering can get rather exhausting. No wonder you’re in good shape,” Victor responded, doing his utmost to conceal concern from his tone. But what his mouth stifled, his mind’s voice remarked without restraint. “Not in good shape anymore. She’s barely holding on.” And regardless of how much the prizefighter disliked that voice, it spoke the truth. The healthy color was effaced from Kaia’s cheeks, replaced by a vague shade of pale, and the walking staff which she used for merely prodding the risky aspects of the environment was now being used as support. When her step finally faltered and the herbalist nearly toppled over with another wince of pain marring her fair visage, Victor could remain silent no more.

“You are unwell,” he spoke, sincere worry prominent in his voice as one of his hands touched her shoulder in an attempt to steady her. “What’s wrong, Kaia? Was it something...”

The vexed prizefighter never got a chance to finish. His browns barely made a contact with her eyes when another cramp clutched her body like a giant fist, squeezing and eliciting a whimper from the healer. Victor dropped the fern leafs from his left, but before he got a chance to grasp her other shoulder, the diminutive lass went to her knees, prehending her lower torso. And when he joined her on the forest ground, kneeling in front of her and trying to pick her head up, Kaia tensed unnaturally and regurgitated the half-digested eggs and berries all over his lap. She instantly tried to murmur an apology, but the boxer didn’t mind; his nose was oblivious to the olfactory sensation at the time and the aesthetic aspect of his attire was never something he was too worried about. What he was worried about was being in the middle of Concordia forest with his only friend – and his only guide – vomiting and growing weak by the second.

“Come on. Let’s get to the river so you can wash up.” He positioned one of her hands around his shoulders, their height difference forcing him to walk hunched in order to provide the support. Vaguely, through a myriad of thoughts that ran through his mind at the speed of an unbroken mustang, Victor wished that the roles were reversed. Kaia would know what to do if he puked his guts out.

[The Emerald Hind]

At any other time Kaia would have been petrified with embarrassment, but the Earth Stone’s power over her was so great that she cared little about what Victor thought of seeing her evacuate the partial remains of her breakfast. In fact, she barely registered his presence at all, not even when as he positioned her so as to take on the bulk of her weight. Every thread of her being was struggling against the Stone’s will, rebelling with the fervor of an enraged bull, but to no avail. It was stronger than her and so exerted its supremacy with stoic authority, abusing its hold over her in much the same way a tyrant might a petty commoner. It did not care that she was in such unbearable pain that she might be unable to bend to the yolk it forced her to wear. With the proper coercion techniques, it could make her do whatever it wished of her. It just never occurred to the single-minded object that rewarding Kaia with kindness rather than torture would be a more effective tool.

However, Kaia had little ability to divide her attention between what was taking place within her and her thoughts of how things should be, and she was reminded of the fact with another prod from the Stone and another agonizing spasm raced across her stomach. Had it not been for Victor, she would have collapsed, but the man kept her steady, marching purposely—although, a bit blindly—towards the stream. The action of being pulled back to her feet caused her stomach to flip uncomfortably, but it reminded the poor girl that there was another beside her, helping her once again. She had not the energy required to even groan at this predicament and merely accepted Victor’s assistance without any mental punishments upon her person.

The man tried his best to follow the directions she had given him previously, but they had not been great in detail and without her observances they were slowly trekking off course. This did nothing to please the girl’s geas, which refused to release her from torment until she did its bidding. It made Kaia aware of the situation with another bout of intense nausea. With nothing left in her stomach, all that came up was a thin stream of bile, which left a bitter taste in her mouth but did nothing for her ailment. Sensing that the Stone would not relent until she got herself to the river, she managed to clear her head just enough to take control of the situation—a tentative hold, at best. Between the excruciating cramps and sudden urges to bring up any remaining fluid in her belly, the healer communicated to Victor through diluted murmurs and shaking hand motions, directing him on which way to go. Luckily enough, it did not take much on her part to get them to their destination, as all they had to do was go roughly north. Kaia simply kept them on that course, even though the seemingly easy task was complicated by her “illness”.

Soon enough, the trees began to thin and give way to a narrow track of sloping meadow, which served as a flood plain for the thin river. It was a fairly new course, and so was fast flowing and slim, following a fairly straight line in a south-west direction from mountains some distance away. The waterway cut deeply into the land, leaving behind steep banks adorned with polished pebbles and grit, and its waters were ice cold and laden with ores and rocks. Here, a good many of the forest animals came for a drink or even a swim, in the case of the aquatic savvy creatures, such as otters. Today, however, it would play host to humans, as well.

Victor gingerly deposited Kaia on the rocky shore, his concern for her expressing itself as he helped her clean off the effects of her illness. He tried his best to reassure her perplexing illness, but was polite enough not to ask her why she was taken so suddenly by its symptoms nor why she did nothing to resolve her situation. She was glad for that as she was not at all keen to explain the geas at any time, much less when she was trembling with fatigue and overcome by pain. Things were bad enough with her having to depend on the man so much in the past few days without having to throw in the added problem of her soul being bound to a seemingly inanimate object that tortured her if she did not do as it wished. That would certainly be a deal breaker.

No sooner cleaned up and Kaia realized that, besides her shaking from the labors of the past few minutes, she was no longer engrossed in agony. Heaviness still claimed her stomach and a presence pressed upon the very back of her mind, but beyond that and the soreness of overworked stomach muscles, she was fine. A slim brow arched in reaction and she began to look around to see what she had stumbled upon to make the Stone so pleased that it would ease its hold on her but she saw nothing. Slowly she got up to her feet, an action that went unnoticed by Victor, who was busy rummaging through her things in search of a mug from which he intended her to drink. As drained as Kaia was, she was determined to discover what she was to do, so she stumbled forward, following the river bank at a limping pace.

She did not go far before realizing what she had Victor had missed in their urgency to rid her of the illness, and it was enough to make her stop in her tracks, breath bitten back in a sob. It was enough that she collapsed right there, falling into a heap with legs splayed under her in impossible angle, her hands falling limp in her lap even as she struggled to reach forward. The last of her energy was zapped from her and she was unable to do more than just sit there and look on in sorrow, her eyes glazed with emotion as the full effects of her condition let her resolve fall away. A whimper passed her lips and for a time that was all she could do: sit and give voice to unspoken grief, a cruel reminder of a loss not so long felt.

Before her, not two arm spans away, was the corpse of a tiny doe, her body contorted in the throws of pain. Her neck was bent back in a severe angle and her delicate legs were scattered haphazardly about her. Thick foam covered the animal’s lips, tainted by streams of blood oozing over the brim of the hind’s mouth. Even without a close inspection, it was obvious the creature suffered a spasmodic episode, something with which Kaia was only faintly familiar, having learned of its symptoms through her mother. However, if had only been the doe laying there in such a way, Kaia would not have been so horrified. It was the tiny animal beside the doe that elicited the girl’s sentiments.

The fawn lay beside its mother in shared pain, although, it was that of a different sort. The animal was impossibly thin and it shook with fear and confusion, but dared not flee from its mother side. There was evidence of illness upon it, as well, and it looked just as weak as Kaia felt. It wobbled uncertainly upon its spindly legs, making strangled cries as it probed at its mother’s lifeless form, trying its best to awaken her from her deep slumber. An undersized white fawn trying her best to save her snowy mother: it was so heart wrenching that the healer could do nothing for some moments but look at the poor thing and mourn its plight.

But as such, Kaia was doing nothing to save the fawn, and the Stone reminded her with a gruff pull at her stomach. Aware of her mission, the girl did her best to get to her feet, but was unsuccessful so weak from her illness was she. Deciding upon a different avenue, she turned around to look for Victor, but he had apparently taken notice of her absence some moments ago and was quickly closing the distance between them.

“Victor, please. We must help this little one…”

[The Cinderella Man]

It was a common misconception that hero work required a lot of heavy lifting, but given common content of fables and myths, it was an honest mistake. In such – more often the not imaginary – tales, the protagonist always fought against the odds, always had some gargantuan behemoth as a nemesis, and always defeated the evildoers with some major physical work. Or at least that was the general impression. Those that have been around the block more then once and actually paid attention to details unrelated with sword swinging and chest beating were able to get a deeper insight in the entire hero concept. And they realized that the tacky execution was just a final chapter in an otherwise much longer book. Heroes weren’t heroes just because they had the sharpest blades, but because they had the sharpest wits as well, because when the figurative feces hit the figurative rotating propeller, they knew exactly what to do. The heavy lifting was just a cog in a rather intricate machine that took troubles and refined them into victories.

That was why Victor was most definitely not a hero. The heavy lifting part he could handle; the nature and the training gifted him the physique for such endeavors. It was everything else that he needed to improve on. So when Kaia started to puke her guts out and wane like a flower plucked from the ground, the prizefighter was as clueless and lost as a blind man playing a game of ‘I spy’. It was rather obvious that something had to be done about this condition that tore the gentle lass apart, but the best Victor could do was offer some support – both physical and verbal – and hope that he wouldn’t wind up digging her a grave.

It soon became clear, however, that his pessimistic – and rather panicky – estimations were overly negative, as per usual. As soon as they reached the gurgling stream and he deposited Kaia on one of the boulders on the bank, the ailment that terrorized the herbalist seemed to release its grasp a little bit. She was by no means as chirpy as earlier that morning, but the cramps ceased, leaving her visibly spent, but leaving her nevertheless. Encouraged by this improvement, Victor scurried from her side just long enough to wash out the vomit from his pants in the nearby stream. It gave him the look of somebody who just lost control of his bladder, but the awkwardness was currently – like pretty much every other emotion – taking the backseat for worry. It was this concern for Kaia’s health that made him ransack through her possessions, seeking a cup or a bowl or anything that could hold some water.

So focused and determined the boxer was on this sifting through mortars and pestles and meticulously sorted herb pouches that he didn’t even notice that his companion was on the move. By the time he located a ceramic bowl and pried it from beneath some of the herbalist’s apparatus, Kaia was once again toppling over and crawling along the forest floor. “This isn’t good. This most definitely isn’t good. Gotta do something,” Victor’s thoughts ran unrestrained as he scuttled along the riverbank, empty bowl in his hand. Hopes that the current condition was just a hiccup and that the girl would snap out of it naturally were once again effaced when he reached her. Kaia’s lovely visage was a mask of horror, wan and flecked with cold sweat, her body contorting as another wave of the obscure illness crashed through her.

“Get her to a healer. Underwood isn’t that far,” was the logical conclusion. Carrying her wouldn’t be a problem – the lass barely weighed as much as a sack of wheat. Navigating, however, was another, much more tickly issue. But Kaia had other things on her tormented mind, though how did such intentions come into her pretty little head was beyond Victor. Broken and fatigued, the healer’s benevolence still seemed to find no bounds, her precarious whisper begging him to aid... an animal? Victor didn’t even notice the doe and her young until his companion spoke with plea in both her voice and her hazel eyes. The larger of the two animals was sprawled amidst the foliage, caught in a spasm that bore eerily resemblance to the ones barraging Kaia, foaming at the mouth. Vic didn’t see any animal with rabies before, but this seemed like a bona fide case of it. Perhaps she was bitten during her previous explorations?

He didn’t have time to mull on it. Disregarding her words as a touch of irrationality that was bound to be a product of her addled mind, Victor proceeded to gather the herbalist in his arms. “We need to get you to a healer. I don’t know what else to do.” But even before he finished, Kaia reprimanded him sharply.

“No! Help the little one...” she insisted, the resolve prominent despite the fact that her voice was barely a comprehensible whimper. And though she was less then half his size and probably had naught but a portion of his strength, the expression of her face overruled all those physical attributes, leaving Victor susceptible to her will. Lifting her gently off the ground, the bulky brawler took her only as far as one of the saplings, setting her against its trunk before he proceeded to do her bidding.

The pair of animals was uncanny to say the least, their skin of ivory hue instead of the usual tawny. The mother was clearly beyond help, the poor thing staring blankly as her body fought a lost battle against whatever coursed through her system. The skinny fawn at her side was visibly frightened, cowering in front of Victor’s advance, circling around its mother to nudge her from the other side. Its large eyes stared upwards, half in fright, half in hope, eyes of a child caught in the glimpse of a beast. “Come here. I’m not going to hurt you,” he tried to wheedle the white fawn, but it didn’t seem to do the trick. Given the fact that his large ominous mitts tried to gesture the animal closer, it was a small wonder there was no success. Only when his fingers plucked out some of the lush grass and offered it to the young doe did it come close enough for him to cradle it in his arms. Not knowing what to do with it – after all, the only animal he ever took care of was a house cat back in Scara Brae – Victor hastily took it back to Kaia, lowering it into her arms.

“I’ll go get some water for it.” The bowl he found in Kaia’s pack was discarded where the herbalist collapsed, so the boxer picked it up as he made the trip to the nearby river. The water was a bit murky, but still cold enough to chill his fingers to the bone as he scooped a bowl full of it and took it back to the ill cleric and her newly acquired pet. “Here. I think we should go soon. Healers in Underwood maybe are quite high-flown, but they’ll be able to help you.” He paused, offering the water as he squatted next to her. “Both of you.”

[The Emerald Hind]

The poor fawn had not the energy to fight against the unwelcome touch of humans. There was no telling how long it had gone without proper sustenance, for it seemed that its mother might have stopped producing milk some time before passing on to the Stars. That seemed the only reasonable explanation for the little deer’s condition. For it to have kept with its mother at all meant that there was no previous illness that prevented it from feeding, and its interest in the grass Victor used to lure it to him was enough to support that idea. That meant there was something wrong with the doe. Either she was unable to give milk due to whatever illness had taken her, or she did not permit the fawn to drink from her for the very same reason. But that was pure speculation and there was no way the healer could be certain of her deductions: her mind was still muddy from the effects of the geas imposed on her, nor did she have sufficient knowledge on deer to properly define the problem. She knew a good deal about Nature and her children, but Kaia was a healer of humans, not animals.

Either way, though, it was now the herbalist's responsibility to see to the baby deer. It was in need of care and it was her duty to see to its needs, whether she liked the idea or not—it was the Stone's will that she be its caretaker. Not that the girl would turn the animal down, any way. It was a helpless babe and she would do all that she could for it. Thus, Kaia accepted the water from Victor and offered it to the fawn. If it was starved to the point that it looked more bone than meat, that meant it was in much need of water, as well. But when Kaia’s brought the mug to the animal’s nose so it could smell the water, it turned its head violently and uttered a frail bleat as it struggled to get away from the liquid. Perplexed, the girl passed a worried and tired look to Victor then inspected the mug. The water looked fine to her and it smelt normal. She wondered what was wrong. Maybe the fawn was merely terrified of her? Perhaps, but why did it not fight against her now as she held it? After all, she doubted the animal was used to human contact. It was most likely permitting the close contact out of fear and exhaustion. But then why put up such a fight against a container of water?

Confused but curious, she offered the fawn the water again, and again it tossed its head, bleating softly in protest. Another look at the water followed by a careful sniff, but still Kaia could not detect anything amiss with it. Then again, she was not an animal nor did she have the senses of one. The fawn could sense something she could not. So, she dumped the liquid from the cup then offered the empty vessel to the fawn. This time it did not panic, although, it was clear it did not like what it smelt in the cup. Tiny droplets of water still remained within it, but not in sufficient quantities to drink.

"There is something not right with the water,” she told Victor in a raspy voice. "It should be eager for drink, but it is not. The water is not good..." But what was wrong with it? It was contaminated by something, but what? And how did it get there? The only way to find out would be to follow the river upstream until they found the source of the illness, but that could take days—perhaps weeks—to discover; longer with the fawn in tow. She had to find the cause of the doe's death and take care of her offspring as she searched. It was the what the Stone wanted, and even now she could feel it hanging over her head like a stormcloud, the threat of punishment for noncompliance laid thickly upon the air.

Even if it had released some of its force upon her and no longer inflicted her with pain and agony, it would be quick to pick up the routine if she did not hurry. Already she could sense it nudging her, tugging at her, simultaneously pushing and pulling her so that she would follow the river’s course. It did not care if she did know the lay of the land beyond the woods around Underwood. It did not consider the fact that she needed food and drink. All it wanted was the Balance to be restored, and if it were not it would surely kill her. The Stone was single-minded and persistent, and once set on a course it would not budge, not even to save its bearer’s life. It had the power to force her into dangerous situations, but not to save her.

But neither Kaia nor the fawn was in any shape to move at that moment. Not only that, but there was Victor to consider. Could she really drag him into this situation without telling him? She doubted he would abandon her now, even if she did insist on this venture, but that would be a cruel thing to do. She could land him into danger, as the Stone usually place the girl in precarious situations. Kaia could not do that to Victor. She could not act like the Stone and force him into something he knew nothing about. The girl dreaded telling him, though. Surely she would seem insane and he would leave her on the spot. All the better for him, though. It was hard enough just worrying about herself when it came to the will of the Earth Stone.

Taking a deep sigh, Kaia looked up at Victor and shook her head softly, offering him only the barest of smiles. “I am sorry Victor, but no healer can help what has taken me. If there were, I would have gone to him some time ago and released this burden, but I cannot.” She shifted slightly and repositioned the fawn, which trembled against her, afraid and uncertain. The girl knew how the poor creature felt and stroked it lightly, trying her best to calm it with a few hushing noises. It stilled somewhat, but its body remained tense. It was not sure about being so close to a creature that was not its mother and desperately wanted to return to its dam, but the poor thing did not have the strength to fight against Kaia, as weak as the girl was, herself.

“To end my own pain, I must end that of this fawn and find out what caused its mother to die. Something is in the water that it does not like. I think it might be what killed the mother, but I cannot be certain. But I know now I must find the source. I have no choice…”

[The Cinderella Man]

She spoke in riddles, doing her best to elaborate on her plight without really uttering the words that would offer a palpable explanation. It was a genuine case of beating around the bushes, and while Victor didn’t mind being left in the dark – or semi-dark in this specific case – the thing that bugged him most was the reason why Kaia felt more comfortable with bending the truth instead of just sharing it with him. His mind offered several options as an answer to this conjecture. The first amongst the few was that she had some sort of terminal illness that made her seize up every once in a while like she did minutes before. People seldom liked to palaver on the things that were the harbingers of their doom. Or maybe there was some sort of curse upon her. The prizefighter knew no more of magic then an average blockhead, but he knew that it existed and that there were magicians that could do much more then just summon a tuft of wild flowers to their hands. Of course, there was always a mischance that the girl just had a spoiled egg for breakfast and was blowing the whole thing out of proportions, but Victor dismissed this explanation almost instantly. Kaia simply wasn’t the type that made big deals out of nothing. Modest girls seldom were.

Or it could just be the water at the root of the entire problem. Even though it seemed to differ little from an average forest stream, there was something within the water that repelled the fawn from drinking it despite the obvious need for aliment. Victor picked up the bowl, gave it a sniff, but the lack of olfactory recognition reminded him that his nose was still suffering from yesterday’s bashing. Despite the lack of conclusive evidence, he said, “You could be right. Maybe there’s a carrion further up the stream. Animals can sense that.” And if the supposed dead animal succumbed to some plague, it would explain the contamination of the stream, Victor thought. But then again, he was no naturalist, so he was pretty much taking a wild guess and hoping it would make some sense.

“I think there’s some water left in my canteen,” Kaia said, gesturing towards the pack the bulky pugilist already ransacked, obviously uninterested in fleshing out the explanation of her state. It bugged Vic the unanswered questions always did, sitting in the front row of his mind and peering at him with those inquisitive eyes, but for the time being he set them aside and went to fetch her belongings. The girl sifted through the backpack purposefully, locating a small flask wrapped in coarse leather and pouring some of the water in the bowl. This time the fawn gave it a probationary smell, then a single coy lick before starting to drink as ravenously as his tongue allowed him. Before long, the water was gone and the animal seemed to be more at peace somehow, as if the offering finally assured him that the pair of humans didn’t mean to gut and roast him.

By that time Kaia was back on her wobbly feet, strength returning to her almost as abruptly as it was taken away by whatever witchcraft overtook her. For such a petite girl, she sure was determined when she set her mind on something, Victor thought, insisting on following the brook upstream to the possible source of whatever brought down the doe. The boxer had about a dozen reasons why they shouldn’t be going in any other direction but the one that led to Underwood, but Kaia’s resolve was unyielding and his benevolence ruled out the possibility of leaving her to brave this on her own. He was getting in some trouble again, the battered prizefighter knew in some obscure gut-feeling way, and once again it was because of a girl.

They mostly stuck to the river as they advanced, the constant sloshing and gurgling a pleasant, becalming sound that almost canceled out the sinister notion that seemed to loom over this entire rescue attempt. “A foolish rescue attempt,” a cynical part of his mind added. Even if there was a rotting animal somewhere up stream, was it really worth the risk to go into the unexplored areas of Underwood just to remove it? Concordia mayhap had a reputation of being a rather friendly piece of wilderness, but that definition mostly referred to the known parts that surrounded the inhabited areas. Farther below the trees, deeper in the sea of green, there were still dark things that gave birth to fables just as ominous.

Victor would’ve said something about this logical conclusion of his had he not heard Kaia’s words from before, and more importantly, her tone. The herbalist was positive that what she was speaking was true, and she did so with such heaviness in her voice that it made the boxer think that her life might be hanging on the execution of this mission. It would’ve been a silly thought, but the way she phrased it, speaking of burdens and sickness that no healer could tend to... It made the muscled brawler wrap his head around the whole issue and keep his mouth shut for the time being. It didn’t matter much anyways. He couldn’t leave her now and he couldn’t throw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and take her to Underwood either.

After some ten minutes of tramping, it became clear that there was something other then just a rotting carrion at the source of the problem. The spry trouts and their kin that usually finned up and down the stream were mostly belly-up here, floating like ships with no rudder, hitting the rocks and running aground. They ran into more animals that suffered the same fate as the fawn’s mother, boars and deer and wolves, all in the same twisted positions, all with foam on their mouths. Even the bird chirp seemed to died, turning the perpetual bubbling of the brook into an almost haunting solitary sound disrupted only by the paddling of their feet through the grass and leaf.

“There’s definitely something wrong with the water,” Victor made a redundant conclusion as he stepped into the shoals, reaching down and snatching a carp out of the water with his bare hands. The fish wriggled a little bit, but it had as much strength as if it was out of the water for hours. “I never managed to catch one of these with my bare hands.”

[The Emerald Hind]

Had the Earth Stone not been straining her as it had—leaning upon her mind and heart like a collapsing monolith—Kaia might have expressed her relief at Victor’s continuing presence, but her mind was far too occupied with finding the source of the fawn’s pain, not to mention her own. Yet, despite her inability to react or even her inability to really ponder the situation, she was most grateful to him; after all, a part of her had expected him to abandon her and the fawn. She wished that he had, as much for his own sake as for her own; however, she was far more thankful for his loyalty to a girl he barely knew, especially one who guarded a secret with so much ill-kept mystery.

It seemed over dramatic, but she dared not to tell him about her burden, about the geas and its embodiment as a piece of gaudy jewelry. That would be far worse than entertaining a bit of amibiguity. Already he must have thought she was mad. Just moments ago she was too weak to stand, much less trudge her way upstream with a sickly animal in hand, yet there she was, insisting that they continue to move against the current to find some mysterious sickness that had struck the doe and inflicted her legacy. How did that look to him? She knew how it appeared, but she could not justify her motives, and she would not. She could worry about the boxer and what he thought of her later—after she ended this thing.

Flushing all other thoughts from her head, she once again turned her concerns to the fawn and the stream. She struck a path along the rocky river shore, doing her up-most to keep pace with Victor, who seemed determined to help her in her quest. The threat of pain and illness still lingered in her petite form, quivering painfully deep within like the tremors of an impending quake. She managed to ignore them for the most part, but every now and then one was released and caused her to stumble, triggered either by her own misstep over the loose rocks of the shoreline or by the Earth Stone’s unrelenting intelligence.

Kaia fought past each slip, repositioning the fawn each time so as not to injure him should she fall. Luckily for both, Victor was there to steady her. He even made a move to remove the animal from her grasp, but she refused him. She did not want to spook the baby deer any more than necessary, and putting him in the hands of a man with the fighter’s look would do more harm than good. Victor would do no harm to the animal, but it did not know that and might fight against him. All she told her companion on the issue was that she could not leave the fawn behind for fear of it being taken by predator in its weakened state. Its ability to conceal itself in the brush was now negated by the pungent smell of humans upon it, so it was not safe to leave it behind. They had to take the poor creature. But it did not make their trek any easier, at least not for Kaia.

As they progressed, the herbalist became aware of the danger that lurked in the water. She watched as Victor scooped up a nearly-dead fish with ease, to which she shook her head in dismay. Now they knew the doe was not an isolated case, and it seemed that all the animals and plants in the area were affected. River reeds drooped sadly over their wild beds, obscuring the bodies of tiny rodents and fallen birds. The stench of expired frogs and fish crept over the sweet smells of nature, contaminating its purity with the corruption of their demise. All around the vibrancy of the forest began to fade as even the mighty arbors felt the affects of the river’s taint. The songs died and the air stood still. No longer did they walk through a verdant paradise but through a graveyard vale. About them the fruits of the earth began to shrivel up in the face of an unnamed plague. It sickened Kaia far more than the Stone’s pressure.

“A terrible thing has come upon this place,” she uttered in muted tone as if she were afraid to speak too loud or else disturb the sacrificed spirits. The girl looked to Victor then with a sadness she had not felt in some time, but slowly that grief began to harden, tempered by the flames of her will. Even without the Stone’s insistence she would have done something about this tragedy. It did not need to force her into such a situation, not when she would have gone to it willingly. She had refused before only because it gave her no choice, but now that she saw the full effects of the devastation she was determined to do what was demanded of her. No longer would it be for her sake alone but for that of the river’s victims.

It angered her that such a pure thing as the very veins of life could be perverted so as to bring about so many needless deaths, and it was that glint of fire that stole across her eyes, giving her strength when she had none. The Stone seemed to approve of her resolve and recessed into itself. Kaia could still sense it watching her, ready to strike at any signs of faltering, but it was content enough to wait and allow the girl her full faculties. Suddenly the pain that sat poised in her marrow slipped away and the cold knot in her gut untied itself, allowing her to regain some of her lost strength. She was still weak from the illness inflicted upon her, but not nearly as much as she had been now that she was permitted to a proper recovery.

With renewed vigor, she adjusted the fawn in her arms and struck a faster pace along the shoreline, giving her companion no more than a warning look before she began her purpose. Kaia was determined to discover what had come of the river and its visitors, and it was that which drove her further into the green cemetery and towards that unknown point beyond. But what could be responsible for all this death? What could have done all this? This was not the work of nature nor was it the blunder of a beast. No, this was the folly of man, for only he could be so cruel and senseless as to kill the world around him. With that in mind she began to scan the shore for some sign of human habitation: smoke from a fire, a tent or a makeshift dwelling, any of the trappings of a human home. But she saw none for some time. Victor was looking for the same, but he came to the same end as she, finding nothing more than wilted shrubs and decaying corpses.

Finally, some time later when the sun began its westward descent and the shadows grew long yet again, they found what they were searching for. In the distance Kaia could make out a dwellin, a log-cabin of some strange sort that sat equally on land and over water. Smoke blew from its chimney and the distance sounds of habitation pierced the eerie silence like a needle. All around them the scent of death was thicker than ever before. Here the plants were black and even the trees bowed their heads in sorrow. It seemed that the disease could be no worse than this, but beyond them the black trail broadened.

It was then that the girl looked over to the fighter with steel in her eyes but question in her heart. “What could a man make that would do such a thing as this?”

[The Cinderella Man]

Peculiar variety of silence was the only answer Victor could offer to Kaia. The peculiarity came not from the boxer though, but from their surroundings that gradually descended into lifelessness until even the sound of their footsteps sounded intrusive, alien. “I’ve seen graveyards more alive,” the muscular fist-fighter thought as they walked through the blackening forest. The gloomy atmosphere wasn’t the result of the lack of sun though; the fiery orb was still hanging above their heads perkily. But even when its rays managed to occasionally break the barricade made of canopy, it poured little life into the flora of the forest. Grass threads and tree leaves were unnaturally dark, looking more and more as if somebody singed them just enough to give them a charcoal coating. Wildflowers that grew anywhere and everywhere had the look of something that withered days ago, their vibrant colors faded to various shades of gray. Small wonder that there were no animals present in their proximity except the dead ones; the scenery was as dreadful as if they walked in death’s backyard.

Even more perplexing then the ghastly forest was the fact that, the deeper they got into this haunted section of Concordia, the more rejuvenated Kaia seemed. Minutes ago the girl was puking her guts all over him, shivering like the fawn that she cradled in her arms, and yet now the herbalist marched alongside of him, dictating their pace. It was enough to make Victor - ever the skeptic when it came to intangible obscure things - admit that he was starting to buy the story that sounded rather cockeyed the first time he heard it. He maybe didn’t know the details or the reasons or even the nature of whatever tormented the amicable healer, but there had to be some sort of a connection between the lass and her surroundings, something that ushered and even coerced her to act.

His mind would’ve elaborated on that specific thought, maybe even insist on posing several questions to Kaia, had the grim forest not open up to present a shabby looking cottage. To Victor who was rather familiar with building construction and architecture, the habitat looked like a weathered mill, the kind that had its millstone propelled by the constant flow of water that moved the large wooden wheel at the waterside. However, in this particular case, it seemed that flour was not being ground in this particular establishment for years. The waterwheel was stationary, and given the amount of moss and climbing weeds, it had been in that position for quite some while. It came as no surprise then that the smoke that billowed from the chimney wasn’t the white puffy kind that rose merrily above the straw roof. Instead, it was thick and black, falling in perfect sync with the rest of the environment. It was that smoke, Victor suspected, that spread the pungent smell that even his swollen nose could pick up, the acidic bitterness irritating his nostrils and nearly provoking a cough. The fawn in Kaia’s arms let out a faint bleat, struggling to free itself of her grasp but failing due to its weakness.

“It seems we came to the right place. Little guy certainly doesn’t like this place,” the prizefighter said, pulling the revolver out of the holster and pulling out its cylinder. He continued while he loaded the gun with cartridges from his belt. “It seems that somebody’s home though. Maybe it would be best if you wait here while I check it out. Chances are they won’t be too happy to see us, whoever they are.”

Snapping the loaded cylinder back to its proper place with a healthy metallic click, Victor cocked the hammer and made his way past the last line of sorrowful looking oaks and into the clearing beyond. Soon enough, the olfactory sensation wasn’t the only one he experienced; a faint sound of clinking and clanging could be heard from beyond the crummy looking door that barely hanged on its hinges. The pistoleer approached the entrance tentatively, climbing up the pair of creaky wooden stairs that served as a dead giveaway of his approach. However, they failed to provoke whoever was hammering something within the confines of the cottage, so Victor proceeded a bit further using his left to push the door open while his right held the Widowmaker at the ready. The rusty hinges screeched as the doors swung open.

“It ain’ done yet, ye bastards!” a stocky figure said in a gruff voice, not lifting his eyes off the task at hand. The shirtless hairy dwarf looked almost like a gnome, his braided beard swung over his shoulder as he struck the steaming piece of metal with a hammer that looked almost too heavy to lift.

“I told ye to come...” It was then that he raised his head and allowed recognition to appear in his squinted eyes that seemed to be lost between the plump cheeks and the bushy, sweat-beaded eyebrows. “Oh... Uhm... Ye, ye’re no... Khm... Whatchoo want?” the dwarf finally managed to utter, the hammer with the enormous metal head paused in mid motion. His eyes, though, ascertained the gun in Vic’s hand as a threat almost immediately.

Victor’s eyes did their share of observation too, or rather they would’ve had the acerbic hit of the room not force them to close for a moment. The poisonous reek was even more prominent here, so thick that the boxer felt as if it was creeping into his lungs like sludge, making him genuinely nauseous. However, once he adjusted to this harsh environment, he was able to acknowledge the interior of the cottage. In all honesty, there wasn’t much to look at. Most of the common furniture and items that occupied the common rooms were gone, replaced by the scattered blacksmith’s apparatus. On one of the tables, several short swords were stacked, all with the metal of their blades glistening in a sickly greenish color. Behind the dwarf, instead of a picturesque fireplace, there was a makeshift forge that radiated tremendous heat, making the pieces of metal orange and ready to be shaped.

“We need to ask you some questions. Something is awry with the forest and we tracked it down to this place,” Victor said, not pointing his revolver, but not holstering it either. If this dwarf was responsible for poisoning the waters with his metalworking, chances were he wouldn’t yield without first trying to come at the boxer with that huge hammer of his.

[The Emerald Hind]

The girl eyed the strange contraption Victor produced from its niche, raising a slim brow in response to its mechanizations. She had seen it once before when the man came to her rescue, brandishing the metallic stick in the face of the aggressive apothecary who assaulted her. From the reactions of both the local healer and the curious crowd, Kaia was able to deduce that the object was some sort of weapon, but not anything with which she was familiar. Other than the crude pitchforks and scythes those in her community used to defend themselves against the occasional marauder, the healer had not even seen a true weapon until she and her family were seized by the Southern Lord’s guardsmen.

It was no surprise then that there were objects of destruction the likes of which she could not imagine, but there seemed no possible way that such a small piece of metal could bring forth such fear and dread. The girl might have questioned as to how the thing worked, even though she knew the answer would very well revolt her, but this was neither the time nor the place to pose questions on the subject. Perhaps later, when the situation was resolved, she would broach him on how the contraption worked. If they resolved the situation and managed to get out alive.

With that dreary realization, the herbalist merely consented to Victor’s command and waited were she was told, watching warily as he made his way to the nexus of this decaying universe. In her arms the fawn struggled, trying its best to break free of her grasp, but it exhausted itself within a few moments and soon fell limp. But those few moments she waited seemed to be hours in length, and even though the sun remained near its zenith, burning brightly in its mighty chariot, Kaia could not help but become a bit unsettled. She shifted from foot to foot as she wondered what she should do. Victor told her to remain where she was, but there was a very real possibility that whatever or whoever poisoned the water was in that dilapidated cavern, waiting with weapons all its own. It could have attacked him, taken him prisoner, or perhaps even worse. But no cries of surprise or screams of anguish issued forth from the drab hovel. Was that significant? Was he taken from behind and his voice smothered by a shadowed hand? Or was she simply giving into hysteria and fatigue and not assessing the situation properly?

Deciding it was that latter the girl shook her head to clear it and determined herself to remain calm. Victor told her to wait, but he did not say she had to wait right on that spot. Perhaps she could get closer to the cabin and hide amongst the blackened brush. In such a way she could see what was taking place and know what had happened to her fearless companion and then act accordingly. It never was her way to rush into anything without proper thought, and if she spied upon the goings on she could take into consideration the state of Victor’s situation.

But no sooner did she begin an approach to the cabin’s flank, picking a careful path along its flank just beyond the deflated bushes and withered grass, and a call issued forth. It was not the strangled bleat of a man being attacked or tortured but the confident ring of Victor’s summons to her, to which she quickly acquiesced. With the fawn secured in her weakening arms, Kaia hurried as quickly as she could, though, she remained to the side of caution and did not run but shuffled along, rounding the corner of the structure and slowly slipping into view. She positioned herself so that she was half in and half out of the door way, so that should anything untoward occur and haste was needed that she could escape without the door closing in on her.

What she saw was a bit of a surprise. Kaia had not known what to expect inside the cabin, but a dwarf made still by the slick shimmer of Victor’s weapon had not once come to mind. It might have been comical if the situation were not so dire, this tiny creature looking up at the prizefighter’s towering form with a mixture of confusion and indignation. All it took was a proper look over the dwarf’s environment and the presence of that sickening reek to know this was not some joke: this was the source of the land’s ill health. As if to reaffirm this, Victor motioned towards the weapons piled up in the back, bringing to the girl’s attention the sickly green hue of the metal.

If that had been enough the Stone only had to back the fighter, and it did so by releasing the last bit of pressure it had exerted over her, causing her to stumble with relief. She swayed uncertainly for a moment as the last thread of its will left her to be replaced by an approving pulse of warmth deep within. In the back of her mind she could see a faint green glow as her geas rewarded her with a light caress before recessing fully into its chamber about her neck, where the light became a tangible thing, warm against her skin and emitting a pale phosphorescence. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that this was the source of the river’s demise and the death of the land surrounding its course.

But before them the dwarf became uncertain of himself as surprise turned to anger and those hazel spheres locked upon him. “You? You are the one for whom this forest must die? For these things you make this fawn has lost its dam?” Kaia demanded with a voice that was all too soft but all the more dangerous. At first the dwarf merely looked up at her without understanding, but then realization slowly donned upon him and his ugly face contorted in a hideous manner, but rather than unleash his furry as he seemed likely to do, his body began to tremble and a sobbing wail broke forth. The dwarf-man crumpled where he stood and placed himself at their feet, wailing like a babe taken from its mother.

“Please? Please, kind uns, dun be angry wi’ meh! I didn’t wunt anythin’ ta do wi’ this. I wunt nothin’ ta do ta harm this place. But I wus made, ya see kind uns? I wus forced! ‘Em goblins tha uns that did this. Took meh family from meh and forced meh to this place. I lived up in tha mountuns and did muh work at tha forge there, but them goblins took meh wifey ‘nd meh little uns and brought meh here. Says they’ll kill meh kin if’in I dun make them these weapons, if’in I dun poison there tips fer ‘em. They'll gut 'um right before meh eyes 'nd make meh watch as they do terrible things to 'um.” The dwarf sobbed all the harder, making his deeply affected speech all the harder to decipher, but his meaning was clear. Kaia was suddenly stung with pity for the poor wretch and knelt down beside him in a hurry, depositing the little fawn at her side as she reached out to console the poor dwarf. She cooed softly to him as she patted his sweat soaked head and begged him not to cry.

[The Cinderella Man]

Regardless of how much he strained both his ears and his mind to acknowledge the words of the dwarven metalworker, Victor understood little of the penitent speech. The combination of the dwarf’s acute accent and the distress that overcame him turned sentences into puzzles that the boxer had to piece together with assumptions. Luckily, even with such limited understanding, it was rather clear what had been occurring here. The bearded smith was held against his will, forced to labor in this horrendous hovel of a forge by a group of goblins. However, instead of physically confining him to the improvised furnace, the mischievous bastards used a much more effective way of imprisonment. It operated on a simple premise; you do what you are told or you and you family go on an express trip to meet their maker. Quite an incentive to make you do your very best.

Even though he didn’t express it the obvious manner like Kaia did, Victor had sympathy for the dwarf and the situation he was cast into. The prizefighter maybe didn’t have a wife or little uns of his own – though he was rather fond of a possibility of having them one day – but he did have somewhat of a family. Granted, they were all most back in Scara Brae and he didn’t particularly like some of them – especially certain cousins that had an awkward habit of seducing him first, then shooting him in the back – but there was little that he wasn’t ready to do for most of them. “Blood is not water,” the prizefighter heard somewhere, and during the course of his life that simple sentence became somewhat of a creed for him. And while he was never put in a situation similar to the one of the dwarwen smithy, there was no doubt in the gunman’s mind that, if the roles were reversed, he too would do whatever it took to keep his family alive. Regardless of the repercussions.

Tentatively uncocking the hammer of his firearm, Victor holstered his weapon. There was no point in threatening the puppet into stopping the dance to the tune of the puppeteer. If he forced the dwarf to stop his work here, the forest would probably rebound to its usual liveliness, but the price for that restoration would be far too terrible. Not mention, completely unacceptable to both the dwarf and his inquisitors. No, the requital for the current situation should be directed towards these dastardly goblins.

“These goblins...” the bulky boxer started after several moments of dwarf’s remorseful sobbing and Kaia’s comforting words. “How many are there? And where are they holding your family?”

The way Vic’s simple, rudimental reasoning saw this pickle, all they had to do is retire some smelly greenskins and the situation would be corrected. The prizefighter never met a goblin, but from the stories he heard, they were neither the smartest nor the strongest bunch. Dispatching them should be a rather simple task. The stocky, hairy man, finally soothed enough to get back to his feet, deliberated for several seconds before replying.

“Dunno. Can’t say fo’ shoo. Sumtimes halfa dozen. Sumtimes more. They took meh ole forge up in them caves. Meh little uns are there fo’ shoo. If them greenies didn’t eat’em,” the dwarf replied, knuckling his eyes before returning to his anvil. The rectangular piece of iron he was working on grew quite cool by now, so the hairy blacksmith picked it up with his huge gloved hands and stuffed it back into the embers. “They come each evenin’, take meh swords and says they be back tomorrow.”

“They are yet to come today?” Victor again, picking up one of the finalized weapons and examining the eerily green metal. His finger made an almost instinctive motion to test the edge, but his mind reprimanded him for even considering such a foolish action.

“Aye. Why?”

“Because maybe we can turn the tables on them,” the boxer said. Once he noticed that his words struck no recognition in the eyes of the dwarf, Vic decided to elaborate. “What if we took them hostage? We can lay an ambush for them tonight, and then trade them for your family. I reckon these goblins aren’t very good at diplomacy, so they’ll probably agree to our terms.”

“Or they’ll kill his family and leave their own kin to rot.” Yes, both options were viable. It was a risky plan, one not without flaws, but it was the best one Victor could come up with. The dwarf seemed to be mulling on it for several moments, his unpretty face frowned and troubled. The prizefighter didn’t envy him at this moment. It took a lot of trust, a lot of faith, and a lot of guts to agree to something like this. And Victor wasn’t certain that he would have the courage to do it if he was in the dwarf’s shoes. However, unlike him, the unfortunate metalworker seemed far more determined to put an end to this.

“It could work,” he commented shortly, retrieving his braided beard from behind and stroking it gently. “With ye two helpin’ meh, it could work,”

Victor nodded before turning towards the reason he got tangled up in this in the first place. “I hope that staff of yours isn’t just for show,” he said to Kaia. “...because tonight we go a-hunting goblins.”

“Ayuh!” the dwarf confirmed, hitting his hammer against the anvil, his spirits lifted just enough in order for him not to look completely miserable.

[The Emerald Hind]

Twin arches rose high as Victor’s words only to knit together in a tangled knot as those hazel eyes grew hesitant over the truth of the matter. The healer looked doubtfully at the oaken staff strapped to her back, her slow look gliding over its beautifully crafted shaft as she mulled over the idea of using the object for something more than probe the foliage for snakes and holes. Kaia had employed it for self defense a time or two, but her skills with it in that arena were limited to awkward swipes and misplaced thwacks. She could pose as much a danger to her companions as to their enemies if forced to wield it. However, there seemed no better solution as she had unwittingly left her herbal supplies behind, and with them her hand scythe. The girl was no better with it than with her staff when it came to a brawl, but at least Victor and the dwarf stood better chances as they would not have to worry about any unexpected concussion. But she was without the sickle and there was no point musing over its benefits versus that of her only useable weapon.

However, it was not so much the idea of using a staff without sufficient practice that bothered the child but the thought of engaging in yet another battle. The healer had had her fill of violence after seeing Victor go against Bricktop the night before—a night that seemed weeks ago in the glow of this new confusion—and she was definitely not ready to engage in battle personally. She was a healer of wounds and ailments, not an inflictor of such, and to be the cause of harm to others sickened her. The girl clung to the little fawn in her arms as if using it as a shield against the unpleasantness of her thoughts, but it only made her more aware of the reason they were about to wage war at all. If it had not been for her, Victor would not have been in this spot at all. He would probably be at the inn where they met soaking up his night of glory with better company than here in this dying forest with some hapless girl who had a knack for getting into unsavory circumstances.

She sighed resolutely and nodded her head in hesitant agreement. “I recommend that you both remain distant from me if it comes to confrontation,” she muttered softly. She then got to her feet, her movements shaky as she had to accommodate for the weight of a now dozing fawn, which she then placed in a corner of the ramshackle hut of a cottage where it could sleep. “Until then, we should refine this plan of ours, for I feel not at all safe before the face of our unseen enemies.” The girl turned to the dwarf, regarding him with pity as she surveyed his sooty countenance. “Victor and I require all that you know of these goblins if we are to help you and your kin.”

As the deer slept, Kaia and Victor took up positions near the door, both checking over their shoulders cautiously as they listened to the dwarf’s tale. He elaborated on his plight, telling them how the goblins had been plaguing the satellite families surrounding their people’s main hall, where the upper-society dwarves and their ilk resided. For some few months the green-skinned monsters had been picking off the loners and smaller families, taking the viable members and using the old and the young against them. Nothing was done about it as most of those taken were considered poor by the hall dwarves and were of very little concern to them. The dwarf they now accompanied, Humphrel, was not apt to leave his homeland like many others were doing. He forced his family to stay in their ancestral home only to be their downfall, for which he now lamented.

There was very little he could say on the subject of the goblins themselves. To him, they all looked the same—green, ugly, and smelly. However, there was one that stood out as the leader of the group, the shortest of the lot with a gray-green complexion and a missing ear. Despite his diminutive stature, the others listened to him, probably because he was the meanest of the lot. It was that goblin in particular that had the most fun with tormenting Humprehl’s family before his very eyes, driving home the fact that if he did not do as his captor’s demanded that his family would suffer. He had no idea where the goblins were stationed or why they needed so many poisoned weapons. They had his family and that was all he needed to know for certain.

A bit exasperated by the lack of definite information, Kaia leaned back on the far wall of the cottage where she sat next to the fawn. Her fingers stroked its smooth coat absently as she tried to refine the plan they had hashed out earlier but she was left very much in the dark. She was not at all fond of this “goblin hunting” idea and wanted something more concrete, but not a single one of them knew how to use a bow and arrow, so picking off the marauders from a distance was out of the question. There was a chance for ambush, however, as there were normally no more than three goblins to make an appearance at a time, along with their burden beasts. That was one goblin to a person. Kaia still did not favor the odds, but it was the best chance they had.

With that decided they quieted their voices as it came nearer to the time when the goblins came. Dusk was fast approaching and the light beyond the forge’s fire had long died under the power of the wilted trees. Long blue shadows were cast over the shack and all within it, their faces highlighted by the harsh red glow of the embers and their master flame. Outside the world was deathly quiet as all the creatures that normally inhabited the forest fled from the poison, leaving behind a preternatural silence that sent a chill up Kaia’s spine. Not even the wind stirred as if avoiding this hell, as well. For some time there was nothing more than the pop of the fires and the clanging of Humphrel’s hurried hammers on steel. Then, in the distance, roughly north of where the cabin lay, the snap of branches and the crackling of shattered leaves echoed in the quietude of the black forest, accompanied by the occasional shriek or caw of their unwelcome guests.

They were slow in their approach, probably moving no faster than the pace set by their pack mules, but, for Kaia, they were coming forth much too fast. She nearly shrank against the dark planks of the cottage as she shied away from the doorway and the neighboring window, casting an uncertain glance Victor’s way. When this was over she would have to find some way to repay him for getting into all this trouble on her behalf. He had no idea how much she appreciated his presence, for she knew if it was only her in that cabin she would have died to sate the will of the Stone.

[The Cinderella Man]

She tried to keep her cool, tried to act as if she was ready for whatever came through the front door of the dwarf’s shack, but it didn’t take a mind-reader to realize that Kaia wanted to be someplace else. Victor couldn’t blame her. He had been in enough fights to lose count, both in and out of the ring, and that peculiar pre-storm buzz held him in its tight grasp now just as much as it did before every conflict. There was no real remedy for it, no way to erase this quivering entity that rippled through your gut, making your heart climb into your windpipe, making you suddenly feel like you desperately needed to take a leak. It wasn’t just fear, or anticipation, or anxiousness. It was all of the emotions rolled into one hurricane that usurped your insides. Arslan, Vic’s boxing trainer, always said that this upheaval was a healthy emotion; it was what separated the sane fighters from the crazies that didn’t care whether their opponent was a human being or a brick wall.

Victor disagreed. That hurricane brought too many questions that only time had answers to. What if there are more then three? What if Kaia kicked the bucket? What if goblins killed Humphrel’s family? What if this and what if that? All these questions ever succeeded in doing was increasing the tension of an already high-strung mind and there were three of that kind currently in the main room of the improvised smithy. And one of them seemed to be in dire need of some encouragement.

Kaia held to her staff as if she was holding on for the branch of a tree that leant over an endless chasm. That same storm that raged inside of Victor was seeping through the cracks of her solemn mask, manifesting itself in her eyes, in the whiteness of her clenching knuckles, in her very aura that radiated nervousness. Victor reckoned this was how he looked before the first time he stepped into the ring. He couldn’t see himself back then, but he was rather certain that back then his eyes betrayed his dubiety as well and that the knuckles of his balled fists were as white as hers. That was why he decided to play the role of the wise and experienced mentor, even though he had neither the wisdom nor the experience that his trainer did.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said to her, his hand touching her shoulder in hope to alleviate some of her tenseness. “If they won’t cooperate, I’ll probably be able to shoot them all down with my gun. If I don’t, try to hit’em in the crotch. Man or beast, I assure you it works every time.”

He had just enough time to offer her a smirk before Humphrel interrupted. “Shh. I think they’re comin’, lad,” the dwarf said, his bushy head of hair peeking over one of the overturned tables. And he was right. The prizefighter took a peek through the blackened window and even though years of grime and soot covered most of the glass, three figures could clearly be discerned. Short and disfigured, with gangly limbs and skin as dark as the poison-infested environment – or maybe just the blackened glass made them look so dark – the three goblins stepped in front of the cottage with a mule and a cart in tow. Snapping at each other and taking japes in the throaty language just as disturbing as their looks, they looked unaware of the surprise that awaited them behind the closed doors.

A calmer, more experienced gunslinger would’ve inspected his weapon, checked the cylinder, be as cool as death that he was about to share with the rest of the world, but Victor was no more of a gunslinger then he was a hero. He did what had to be done when the proverbial feces struck the proverbial rotor, but the rest of the time he was just a man. And just as most human beings, he was flustered, he was afraid. His instincts did most of the work, taking him away from Kaia and in his place, front and center, with his gun drawn. Humphrel was behind him to his left, holding that huge hammer of his with both hands, keeping one tentative eye on the door and the other on his saviors. The timid herbalist was to his right, her staff almost long enough to reach the supporting beams of the roof.

The steps of the porch squeaked. The door swung open. The trio of uglies made their appearance.

“Alright, you bastards! We can do this the easy...” This was supposed to be the part where Victor gave the goblins the Speech, which they either wouldn’t understand or wouldn’t give a damn about, bringing an end to the peace-talks and commencing the fight. However, that was not how the events unfolded. Instead of finishing his sentence, the muscular gunman was interrupted by a soaring pain in the back of his head, probably caused by a blunt metallic object. It knocked the man onto the floorboards, blinding his vision with an explosion of white light and numbing all other senses with throbbing ache. His consciousness remained present just long enough to witness the grinning face of the dwarf as he spoke in an incomprehensible tongue, pointing towards Kaia. And then a boot to the face sent Victor to the world of darkness.

[The Emerald Hind]

The girl watched helplessly as Victor took position before the door, brandishing his queer, metalic weapon with a confidence she desperately wished to possess, but her aplomb was forfeit to the situation's lack of direction. The mounting chaos left her stranded in a murky sea of uncertainty, denying her a peaceful shore to swim to safety or a guide rope to which she could cling. All that existed was an endless stretch of white-capped foreboding that sprayed her with salt and distress.

A tiny voice deep within screamed out in frustration at finding herself in such a position: to be so completely lost and without direction that she must bow her head before the reins of another's lead. Her pride was stung by this uncharacteristic shift in control, but such vanities were quickly silenced by the slow tick of time's metronome and a hush stilled over the room. So quiet was it that the herbalist could hear her own heart trip over the demanding tempo, so still that she could feel the breath of the dwarf behind her slip past her arm. Not a person in that cabin stirred for those long-passing seconds where time unfolded in slow motion so that every blurred scene progressed with painful subtleness. But as slowly as it began time skipped over its own stride and kicked the laborious durge into a fanfair, dancing past those weary eyes in perverse delight.

In a flash the dwarf was behind Victor with a makeshift club pinched between his gnarled hands, swinging it like a lumberjack would an axe and cracking his would-be-hero in the skull. A sickening thump echoed in the little cabin followed and then Victor crumpled into a heap, confusion plain on his features as he managed to hook his gaze towards his side where Kaia floundered in shock. Then the dwarf turned upon her, his ugly face twisted into a feral grin. He barked something at her which she did not catch due to the strength of his accent, but the meaning was understood all the same, giving her but a few moments to draw up her weapon and make a desperate sweep at the dwarf's head. Not being the nimblest of creatures, he took the whole of the staff in the temple and toppled over into a heap beside Victor, whose mouth and still-broken nose bled more freely than they had after his match at the arena.

No sooner was Humphrel splayed across the floor and the three goblins whom had swarmed through the door just moments before were upon Kaia. She had not the time to even think of striking at them before they had freed her of her staff and forced her to the ground. One had her by the ankles as another held her wrists. The third, and the biggest of the lot, stood over her with a feral glitter in his eyes, a toothy smirk plastered across his ill-matched features. He stooped over her and then said something in that nasty, brittle tongue of his. Then he drew back his arm and let it fly, and that was all Kaia could remember.

(Sometime later...)

Kaia awoke to darkness and stench, an endless limbo of solitude where her only company was her pain and personal dejection. She felt pressure coiled around her arms and chest, binding her limbs to her trunk. Similar binds held together her wrists, which were twisted behind the small of her back, and her legs and feet. She was propped up in a cool, dank corner and could feel the rough, spongy texture of moss covered stone. The right half of her face throbbed angrily and when she attempted to open the corresponding eye to the great void of darkness she found it difficult to do so. The pain was dull but constant and left her feeling dizzy and weak, not to mention somewhat nauseous. She imagined that if she were able to reach up and touch the flesh of her cheek that she would find it hot and swollen. There was little chance that the bone underneath was broken, but it was definately bruised and would prove to be tender for sometime yet. With the battered face came a headache, as well, and one that pounded in time with her pulse. Like her cheek, it was dull but persistent, which was more than enough to make her groan in agony. However, Kaia doubted that the headache was a result of the blow she sustained to her face. It was most likely a nasty little gift from the Earth Stone: a reminder of what was to come if she did not find a way out of her situation.

Kaia had to take back some form of control of her situation, and the best way she knew to do that was to analyze her predicament and deduce a viable solution. Blocking out the pain in her head, which was made all the worse by the Stone's incessent nagging, the girl took stock of her surroundings, observing what she could, which, unfortunately, was very little.

She could see nothing but darkness and perhaps a few slender shapes cast in slightly lighter tones, but such variations in shade could be a trick of her eyes, which were busy trying to make sense from nothingness. Her surroundings reeked of mold and rot and the ground upon which she was heaped was cold and damp. This was most likely the cellar of the cabin, and judging by the churning of water, it was situated near the water wheel she and Victor had observed when they first trecked into this star-forsaken wood. True, there was some chance she had been stowed away in a remote cave that happened to play host to its own miniature waterfall, but the grooves in the wall, although brittle and uneven, were regular. She could feel them with the tips of her fingers, under which a corner of a brick desintegrated. Furthermore, caves did not normally reek in this manner. There still existed an acidic bite to the air, a thickness that was strong enough to make it uncomfortable to draw breath.

But why was she in a cellar? Why was she not dead? Surely it would have made more sense for the Humphrel and the goblins to kill her and Victor rather than let them live. From what stories told, the goblins themselves should have torn her apart, which left to reason that the dwarf had advised them against such actions. But why? Not as hostages, surely. One look at Kaia and Victor would tell how little they would reserve in kind for a safe return. Then for what?

Before she had much more time to ponder the question, another sound arose, but this one very human and very painful.

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor was trapped in a dream that severely lacked the visual aspect, and in that dream he was either drunk or he had ingested something spoiled. Or both. There was nothing but darkness around him - sticky and cold and oddly soothing - and in that abyss he was drifting like a piece of a wrecked ship. His head was throbbing, working like a pump that made the pain course through his system, and every once in a while that pain piqued, making him feel as if some creature made of shadows was trying to invade the sanctity of his skull. Or his stomach. Sometimes both. Seeing as this dream wasn’t terribly gratifying, Victor struggled to wake up. And once he did, he realized that while the darkness was gone, the pain wasn’t a part of his dream.

There were faces around him, demonic and mangled and toothy, glaring at him with their sordid yellow eyes. The trio probably reeked like a sewage canal, but the boxer couldn’t smell a thing. The only thing that was running through his broken nose was blood, and judging by the gory look of his shirt, it came out by the buckets. That was about as much as Victor was able to acknowledge with his one working eye before one of the goblins punched him again, revealing the origin of the pain detonations. They looked scrawny and unimpressive, but the hairy knuckles of these hideous beasts packed quite a punch, especially when they were launched at an undefended target. The constant stream of pulsing ache was momentarily obscured by the fists that landed on his lower torso, on his face, on his stomach again, the three taking turns and cackling as if somebody told a dirty joke. Despite the resistance he built during the years he spent in the ring, Victor was unable to stifle a groan that slipped through his clenched teeth. The torment continued until a voice barked an incomprehensible order and made the three uglies stop.

“We dun wanna kill’im,” Humphrel said, his hairy noggin coming into view together with the rest of his stocky body and the hammer that probably left an imprint on the back of Victor’s head. There was no coyness on the dwarf’s face anymore, no pitiful pleading expression that convinced a pair of amicable strangers that he was just an innocent victim. There was only malice, equal to that which the goblins wore with pride. He was the ring leader, Victor realized now, and he blarneyed them not only to walk into a trap, but to spring it as well. “Nut yet, anyhoo. Now, laddie, ye gonna tell’us who knows yer ‘ere. An’ dun try play tricksy with’us!

Humphrel the two-faced bastard took it onto himself to clarify his point, burying his fist into Vic’s torso. The sheer power of the strike nearly made the restrained prizefighter vomit the contents of his stomach. But Victor didn’t despair. He wasn’t about to beg for mercy. There was only one promise that the weathered pugilist made to himself and it was that he would die with his head held high, smiling into the face of death. Life robbed him of so many things, but nobody could take away his right to go out with a cocky grin on his face. So he smirked and coughed and spat blood not because he was brave, not because he was insane, but because it was the only piece of pride and honor that he had left. They were going to kill him anyways, he knew. His only regret was that Kaia was about to lose her life as well.

“The Underwood Royal Guard,” Victor derided the dwarf. “An entire contingent of Rangers. Hell, the Scarlet Brigade as well. They are all going to be here any minute now, led by none other then the very Steward of...” And then, WHAM!, another punch silenced him, erasing his smirk momentarily. It would’ve broken a jaw of a lesser man, but Victor’s jaw was tempered by a myriad of punches. And like steel, it grew stronger.

“Tis nut clevah to run yer damn trap like that. I’m gunna ask ye again. Who knows yer ‘ere?!” Humphrel repeated, obviously agitated, his bushy eyebrows locked in a rigorous frown as he got into Vic’s face. But by the time he did that, the bloody smirk of a drunkard was back on the boxer’s face. Sure, he was in pain. Sure, the back of his head felt as if brain was leaking out of it and his face was inflamed and swollen and disfigured. Sure, he was strapped to a chair, unable to raise a fist against these four that were probably about to rob him of his life. But he wouldn’t give them the luxury of seeing him defeated. If he was going down, he was going down with his guns blazing. Even if he had no guns in his hands.

“You’re going to come a bit closer, ‘cause I can’t hear you,” Victor said, and while the dwarf did just that, Vic’s tongue collected the bloody phlegm and tooth fragments from the inside of his mouth, preparing them for the following introduction to Humphrel’s face. Needless to say, the dwarf didn’t appreciate it. Wiping the crimson spit from his leathery face and his braided beard, he growled one final order to his minions.

“Kill’im.”

And the three greenskins cackled once again. They fired punches at the bound prizefighter, kept throwing them until their wrists hurt and there seemed to be no signs of life from their victim. They ceased their massacre only when they started huffing and puffing and their muscles yielded before the fatigue. Humphrel wasn’t idle either, but while the goblins exacted their rage on Victor, the dwarf was moving around the cottage with an extinguished petroleum lamp in his head. He spilled the contents over the floor and walls, over the chairs and tables and weapon stands. Once he was satisfied with the coverage of the flammable substance, he ordered his three comrades out of the cottage before he unceremoniously took a piece of burning wood from the smoldering furnace and set the interior ablaze.

[The Emerald Hind]

Voices stirred in the world above, winding their way through the ill-sealed planks and into the cellar chamber where the various pitches merged with the splash and creek of the water and wood. Little could be discerned from the distorted pitches beyond a jumble of gleeful cackles and angry barks, but it did not take a scholar to decipher the flashes of sadistic delight that raced through the occassional explosions of laughter or the bolts of frustrated ire that crackled with warning. Tucked amongst those erratic verbal outbursts was a more familiar thread, but what was spoken was lost to the torrents of the water wheel.

There was little doubt in Kaia's mind that Victor was amongst their enemies, a hapless victim to the Earth Stone's desires, seized by his sympathies for a vulnerable child. Now he was holding court with a treacherous dwarf and three lackwit strong-arms, most probably defenseless against their administrations. He suffered for her sake just as he had since they first met just a few nights before, enduring mishap after mishap for her, paying with blood, paying with life. She could only imagine what those terrible creatures were doing to the man.

The visions that raced through her mind become all the more vivid as the voices rose in volume against the deafening thunder of river spray. Then came the painful grunts of barely endured pain and the sharp ring of flesh striking flesh, agonizing sounds that tore at her ears with ragged claws and gnawed upon her conscience in rabid lust. She saw him sitting there—saw him in her thoughts, her mind—taking the blows just as he had that night at The Pit, only, this time, he could did not strike back. She could see the blood and the gore, the torture and the defeat: she saw it as clearly as if she were in the room above with him. And, as before, she could do nothing more than sit on the sidelines and watch in horror; endlessly waiting.

And for him she cried out, her voice lost to the world above but echoing about her in an head-splitting pitch, bouncing along the walls and filling her ears so that it drown out all evidence of the violence overhead. She begged and pleaded then screamed and commanded. Give up, give into them, do as they will, do what can be done. Save what can be saved and give the rest to fate, to the Stars. But her words went unnoticed and unheeded and she knew that Victor would do none of what she demanded. She did not know him for all that long and did not understand what drove him onward, but be it for pride or for honor or perhaps for something else, Kaia knew he would not bend his head. Defeated or not, he would not give in.

So it was up to her to rescue Victor. But how? How could some insignificant, geas-bound trouble maker save the day? Certainly she could do nothing just sitting in some musty little corner screaming her head off. She had to do something if nothing at all, and so the girl raged against her bonds, stressing the tightly coiled ropes but finding no relief, trying all she could to break free. The cords cut deeply into her wrists and arms, but the pain never reached her. It was ignored and forgotten, surrendered to the need to tear loose from her bonds, but it did not take long to see that the attempt was futile. The ropes merely tightened about her and shortened her breath. Again, she was useless and helpless. And for that Victor would die and so would she and the fawn, as well, for surely he remained in the room above, frightened and alone, too weak to flee.

But just as Kaia was about to give up hope there came an inhuman groan followed by a shrieking crack and then the world above came crashing down, the floor splintering and scattering, licked by countless tongues of flame. A rain of swords and axes slipped through the chasm ripped through the floor, glittering sickly of poison and death, and with those sharp edges came death. Crimson and topaz burned brightly before her, racing along the spine of a fallen beam, which moaned in its own unfeeling agony, unable to resist the allure of the fire. Heat blasted her in the face and a thick, nauseating stench filled her nostrils, but her pulse sped forward with her mind close behind.

Those hazel eyes drew in the carnage spilling through the thin fabric of reality, assessing the fire's fury, calculating the risk of coming too close to the heat versus that of staying put in her restraints, working out a dozen plans in her head even as she fell upon her belly and inched towards the puddle of embers and weapons. She rolled closer to the searing holocaust and scrambled for the nearest object she could find: a green-stained dagger with a simple bone hilt. Was it worth the chance of being poisoned to slice through her bonds? Was the possibility of finding an untainted object suitable for cutting great enough to go in search of another tool? No, and so she grabbed the small blade and worked it in her hands with as much speed as she could muster, holding it awkwardly as she pressed it against the ropes at her wrist and wiggled against the poisoned edge in a desperate attempt to free herself.

All the while the cabin burned, the water roared. High above she heard the frightened bleats of the fawn, but she heard nothing from Victor. One look heavenward and she could see nothing beyond the flames and the heat, but as hopeless as it all seemed to be, Kaia did her best to free herself from the burden of rope and helplessness. She worked all the harder, moving up and down against the dagger's edge, until, finally, the last loop frayed and her wrists were freed. With more freedom she writhed and rolled, moving her arms as best she could so as to create some slack in the rope that bound her arms and torso, and, soon enough, they were free, followed by her legs and her ankles.

But as she had done this the fire rose higher and became a terrible dragon of gold and ruby. It breathed acid and smoke, stinging her eyes and making her cough, but no longer did the girl care—not about herself, at least. Now freed she took account of her situation yet again, wasting precious moments were the blazing army advanced forward, cracking with the command to surround the enemy. It intensified and expanded and now the beam was wholly in flames, dry and brittle with age. But in the new found light the cellar's features could be determined and in the plain basement there appeared a short set of stairs wedged between the far corner and the downward angle of the fallen crossbeam. No few injuries would be sustained in that route, but it was all that was open to Kaia for the support was too alive with flame to be of any use and would soon collapse and fall upon the only available exit.

She ran forward, ducking beneath the pop and sizzle of consumed wood, squinching away from the heat as best she could. She tried the door, but found it to be locked, so she threw her shoulder into its breast to no avail. With a growl of frustration she tossed her eyes to the pile of weapons yet again and scurried to them as fast as possible, picking up an axe from their number, its handle hot and its body heavy. Back to the trap door and she let it fly, hacking and slicing at the passage barrier, the fire to her back, encouraging to work faster. Then she was through, the door split apart, and she scrambled past the wreackage and flame. She was in the room in which she and Victor had staged their ambush, where the floor was thick with blood and the walls alive with fire.

It was unbareably hot and nearly impossible to breathe and anxiously she wondered if Victor were, if alive before, alive at now. But she looked all the same and in one quick sweep she found his limp form staked to a chair, bound as tightly as she was. Beside him stood the fawn, wobbly upon its legs and shrieking in terror, but unable and unwilling to leap beyond the touch of the blaze. Around them the flames crackeled dangerously close, just measures away. The girl rushed to the two, both man and deer, and quickly set about freeing Victor.

"Victor! she cried, her voice choked by smoke and stress. "Please! Awaken! Awaken! Victor, we must go." She shook him hard once she untied the knot at his back and threw the ropes from his body, nearly knocking him to the blood sodden floor as she did so. Below the floorboards groaned unsteadily, ready to give in to the power of the blaze. The partially caved roof snapped and sunk further inward on the southern corner, boards and shingles sliding down in a cascade. Fire consumed nearly all the cabin, leaving only where they stood and the door just before them. Kaia pulled and struggled, dragging the pugilist from the chair but unable to move him further. The fawn danced around her bleating in terror but so weak that he tripped over his own legs. Again she screamed at Victor and again she cursed to the Stone and all its ill deeds.

[The Cinderella Man]

Death was not nearly as peaceful and as liberating one would expect it to be. In fact, it felt a lot like a really bad hangover, with an exception that, instead of that cold nauseous thing that happened to your stomach, you felt heat bombarding you from every possible direction despite the fact that there were no visible flames. Perhaps that was what hell was like, Victor thought in a semi-cognizant manner as he once again felt like he’s traveling through nowhere. Just one huge-ass, distorted, everlasting, goddamned hangover where somebody dragged your helpless soul through a kiln. And shouted your name. Over and over again. Until your that name reverberated in your ears at such a frequency that you felt like it was going to make your head explode like an apple with a burning firecracker drilled into it. Victor opened his eyes to see the demon that shouted his name.

“Yep, definitely hell,” was his first through, sounding a bit too lighthearted for a person who was sent to eternal damnation. But it was the truth – the fire was there, roaring around him like a beast eager to devour him, its forked tongues licking at his skin. And since it was the truth, there was no point in fighting it. He was there. Bring on the show. Despite the inferno around him, Victor’s thoughts were that of his father - a good man, a preacher, a martyr, a goddamn saint – who tried to bring many to the right path, his son included. By the look of things, Vic’s soul and an additional point went to the bad guys. But then the vision of the boxer’s one eye crystallized and followed the hands that tugged on his own, towing him through this blazing realm.

“No, not hell. Just one hell of a pickle.”

She had no wings, no white auras and golden halos and soothing eyes, but Kaia was still an angel. The petite herbalist was desperately schlepping his considerably heavier body along the hardwood floor, her voice rising above the crackle-snap of the wood that the fire glutinously guttled. Her eyes – or rather eye, for she too got a punch or two from their inhospitable hosts – were panic-stricken, her bruised face locked in a disquieting expression that made her look like frightened and almost doleful. It was more then enough of a reality check for Victor. It was a condescending, back-handed slap on his cheek that tore him away from making peace with the fact that his soul was going to burn in the incessant fires of hell for eternity. At least temporarily.

“Whoa, this place sure went to hell in a handbasket,” he croaked, but even that single sentence was enough to make him cough. He regretted voicing the thought immediately. There were a lot of things awry in his ribcage and they all seemed to join their forces to create a world of pain every time he coughed. This pain alone almost made Victor feel that this inauspicious fire-ridden spot he was in wasn’t such a bad place to be. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to breathe. He didn’t want to think. All of these operations hurt and he wanted to throw the towel in and get some rest. Even if meant dying. But then he looked at the personified angel that loomed over him, and he realized that it wasn’t just his life that was at stake here.

Staying on his feet was never a difficult feat for Victor. Getting back on his feet was, especially now when his broken ribs rattled and his battered flesh called for some serious repose. It made the cough feel like a moderate punch in the gut. But Kaia was there to help him, the girl doing her utmost despite the fact that she was barely a fraction steadier on her feet then he was. They both looked and felt as if they just went into a bout unprepared and barely came out with their lives, grunting and panting and coughing as they footslogged through the rapidly degenerating cottage together, supporting each other. They were almost at the door when one of the beams came crashing down before them, effectively blocking their only way out.

“We have to mug through!” Victor stated the obvious, his word rewarded with another painful cough as he extended his leather coat and gestured to Kaia to get as close as possible. He hugged the lass tightly, just as tight as she hugged the petrified fawn, praying that the fabric of his overcoat would be enough to prevent them from coming out on the other side extra crispy. They made a run for the flames - if such uneven plodding could even be classified as running - shielding their faces with their hands. And only when they were too close to stop, a thought of futility shot through his mind. Yes, futility, because all their attempts to save themselves could be in vain if Humphrel and his gang waited right outside the door with their shit-eating grins and weapons ready to finish what the fire failed to.

It was a leap of faith, and Victor for the first time in life wished that he was more of a pious man.

However, even his limited, situational trust in God proved to be enough to get him out of the blazing mess of the cottage with his soul still attached to his body. The pair crashed through the door, blind and numb to everything but the flames that seemed to snap their jaws at their feet, their legs, their behinds, their backs, their fingers. They lost their balance first from the impact and then from missing the three steps that led down from the porch, crumbling to their hands and knees into the dirt. Behind their backs, the behemoth made of flames continued to do its work, tearing off pieces of the crummy house, eating through the wood at an almost continuous pace. But what was behind them no longer concerned Victor, who was prone and breathing the earthy air that smelled like perfume when compared to the toxic smoke that billowed from the disintegrating house. What was before them was much more crucial to their survival.

[The Emerald Hind]

Bruised and burned, Kaia tumbled to the soft earth, her tiny frame curling around the slighter one of the fawn so as to cushion its fall. The action only rewarded her with a spike of pain sent through her side as she landed awkwardly on a rotten tree stump, but the sensation was comforting in its own way: it validated her existence. She lived through the inferno, and other than being exhausted and injured, she was well and alive, still bound to the earth and all its comforts. The joy she found in that realization cultivated a strange urge to laugh, but she was much too exhausted, and the attempt at expressing her strained mirth resulted in a coughing fit. For some few moments she hacked and sputtered, bringing up the black smog she had inhaled amongst the flames. Her mouth filled with the taste of smoke while her throat grew dry, but soon enough the episode ended, and she was able to regain some control of her body.

Then her mind returned to the urgency of her situation and with the one good eye she scanned the surroundings. The world was still wrapped in darkness and the only light was that offered by the cabin bonfire. The flames cast strange shadows over the blackened trees, shapes that leapt like dancers across the deep gloom of the wasteland wood, but besides herself, Victor, and the fawn, there seemed to be no other life within the forest. All the world was silent, the only sounds being the cries of the blaze and their own labored breaths. Still, she dared not assume such as truth, for the cunning could be silent, and past the comfort of certainty came the dagger in one's back. Humphrel and his goblin trio were probably lurking in that endless torment that was this once mighty wood; waiting, watching, lurking in the arms of night like shades.

Yet, on second thought, she did not believe that the dwarf would be so slow in ending their lives. He had set their prison to flames and left them for dead, taking only what time was needed for the opportunity to do so. He would do the same here, and with Victor and herself in weakened states they made for the perfect victims. The dwarf could not ask for a better opportunity to strike and finish what he had begun. So why, if he were out there, would he be so slow in doing so? Because he was not there. He believed that he had killed them, and there was no reason for him not to be certain of that fact. What were the chances of escape? What blind luck had led both Victor and her through that living hell and into the cool embrace of night? The dwarf and the goblins were now far away from here, assured that they had killed Victor and Kaia. They were alone. They were safe. Yet, no comfort could be found in that reasoning. It was time to flee.

But first she had to see about Victor. He was in far worse condition than the herbalist, and she was certain that their escape from the cabin had spent the last of his energies. He had endured far worse than she could ever imagine, and she wondered if he would be alive at all. That thought was enough to spur her into action, and so she let go of the little fawn, who bleated its tired protest but remained were it lay, and quickly rolled over to look upon Victor. He was just measures away from her and his features were drawn crisp and clear in the harsh glow of the blaze, so she could see that he breathed and so lived. For that she thanked the Stars in her own tongue and nearly hugged him she was so relieved, but she dared not for the sake of his injuries, which were far more exstensive than she had previously believed.

With soft, gentle hands she reached out and touched his shoulder and gave him a little shake, her eyes filled with regret and sorrow. If she had not come into his life this would not have happened. He would still be in underwood somewhere, safe and sound, going about his business without any more risk to his life than a prizefighter could expect. Instead, he had ventured into a world he did not know for the sake of a budding friendship, and what was intended as a peaceful visit into the life of another warped into the chaotic blunder that was Kaia's true existence. It made her heart heavy to think that he had nearly died for her ill luck, and for that she nearly cried.

But there was no time for tears or self-pity, and so she hardened herself to the situation, ignoring the succession of misdeeds and poor luck that had transformed their outing in such a way, and instead focusing all her attention to what had to be done. And what was that, exactly? They had to escape, yet again, and move beyond the reach of the cabin and all its sins. They had to get to safety, where she could tend to their hurts and their pains, and from that point there was even more work to be done. And this time she would not permit Victor into that danger. Not for her or for any other.

Determined once again, she managed to get to her knees and lean over the pugilist, her hands wrapping themselves gingerly about his arm. "Victor? Tell me you are well enough to travel just a little further," she croaked, her voice hoarse and her throat raw. "We must go. Quickly."

She cast a one-eyed glance at the cabin, which was now nothing but fire, and watched as the greedy flames reached out to the dead brush beyond. It would not be long before the fire spread past the boundaries of the cottage's foundation, and it would be best if they were gone if they were to avoid meeting the same fate as a holiday goose. The incentive was enough for her to pester the badly beaten fighter a bit more, although, all actions were performed as quietly and politely as possible, considering the situation.

[The Cinderella Man]

Truth be told, Victor wasn’t feeling well enough to break wind right now, let alone to travel just a little further. Though he was never quite as tenderized after a bout as he was right now, the feeling that overtook him was the same. It was the forlorn, yet relaxing sensation that occurred right before collapsing on a slab of some infirmary, knowing that the money was in the bank and that he would wake up in some foreign room, lying in a foreign bed with the sterile stench of the hospital attacking his nostrils. However, the imperative in Kaia’s voice made clear the fact that he knew, but temporarily disregarded; while they were out of the immediate blazing danger, the only salvation on the horizon was the one to which their feet would take them. The burning cottage maybe looked a bit like a bonfire on some merry gathering, but there was nothing auspicious about it. It and the reeking black smoke it breathed out served as a good reminder of a dwarf, a trio of goblins and a whole lot of blood and pain and heat.

“Yeah. I guess we overstayed our welcome here,” Victor commented, the joviality of his words lost in the midst of the anguish that the pair shared at the moment. His body refused to comply with the urgency at first, satisfied with the cool earth beneath and the considerate face looming above. But after another batch of encouraging words and irritating bleats of the fawn that seemed to be baaing directly into the boxer’s ear, he worked his way back to his feet. It felt like trying to get up from a tub filled with mud, but eventually, with Kaia’s help, the ramshackle prizefighter was up but not running. Instead, he and his wobbly legs walked alongside his herbalist companion, trying not to put too much of his own weight on her lithe shoulders.

“Not exactly the type of a hug you hoped for,” his mind spoke sarcastically, reminding him of that same old, same old trap he fell into every single time. It served him right too. Beneath all the years of acrimony and unsociability, Victor Callahan was a romantic and a believer in the stories where unlikely people became unlikely heroes that saved the typical damsels in distress and earned themselves a happy ending. And now, for the umpteenth time, life or fate or luck or all those things combined slapped him in the face and reminded him that heroes only lived in fairytales. People like him couldn’t even save themselves. People like him didn’t get to slay the dragon. People like him got to trudge along the forest, feeling like a piece of marinated meat, ready to be put on the frying pan.

He didn’t regret helping Kaia though. No, Victor was rather certain that if he knew yesterday that today he’d be lugging his beaten ass through half of Concordia, he would still make the same decision and stick with the young cleric. Not because he was courageous, not even because he liked the foreign girl, but merely because his nature dictated these actions of his. It was that same damned right thing that he ran into headlong as usual, the nice guy routine that always earned him a headache. The only regret he had was that he was unable to do more. He wasn’t Damon Kaosi or Letho Ravenheart. He didn’t wield legendary blades that mowed down foes by dozens. He wasn’t even a boxing champ anymore. Just a chump that fought like a bum and couldn’t fire his gun straight. And though Victor never really desired to become a myth, right now he envied those eminent names. If one of those legendary heroes were here instead of him, Kaia probably wouldn’t be lugging two hundred pounds of worthless flesh.

Self-pity was a bath that Victor liked to sink in every now and then, and this one kept him in its lukewarm embrace as the two of them – three counting the frail fawn – walked through the forest. He was rather certain that they were really going nowhere and that his companion’s knowledge of nature failed due to the night and the unfortunate encounter with Humphrel the Dastardly Dwarf, but the young lass somehow succeeded in leading them back to their starting point. The clearing looked just like they left it, only thrice more inviting now then it was in the morning. Not because there was something in particular that made it look homey and alluring, though, but because it meant that the long, painful walk was over. They should’ve probably reported Humphrel and his activities to the authorities. They should’ve probably sought a healer to fix them both. But there was time for that on the morrow. Right now, all Victor wanted to do was lie down and sink back into that tub of mud. The cushion made of grass and decaying leaves served as a good substitute.

“God, it was such a stupid plan,” Victor said after a painful grunt caused by his body coming in contact with the soil. His tone was as if he spoke to nobody in particular, trailing away into fatigue as his eyes focused on a random star on the clear sky above the tree crowns. “I should’ve known that something was amiss. That damned dwarf... Some help I turned out to be... I’m sorry, Kaia... I’m tired...I’m just... gonna...”

And then he was finally allowed reprieve without a threat looming above his head.



((SPOILS: Uncanny bludgeon resistance – this is an upgrade to his existing skill. With all the punches Victor took, he developed an extraordinary resistance to blunt objects such as fists, clubs, hammers and the like. This doesn’t mean he is invulnerable to them, only that he can take an inhumane amount of them (about four times more then an average person). But a good strike in the back of the head with something heavy can still punch his lights out, as proven in this quest.

Also, regarding this storyline, Victor temporarily loses his revolver. It will probably be regained in the follow-up quest.))

[The Emerald Hind]

Helping Victor navigate through the thick of night in a wood already as dark as pitch was no easy task. It was a mission complicated not just by the man's bulk and the heavy blackness of the dead wood, but also by her impaired sight. Such a thing would be demanding enough on a perfectly well person with two good eyes, but for one who was little more than a roasted cyclops—a dwarf cyclops, at that—well, it was little wonder she and the prizefighter became a little friendlier with the trees than was customary. However, by some strange stroke of luck that seemed to trail after that which allowed the pair to survive the inferno, the two humans and their four-legged ward made it to the clearing with little more than the wounds they had already sustained.

No sooner there and Victor slipped from her grasp and onto the soft forest detritus, mumbling half-coherent appologies before succombing to the exhaustion that haunted him. She wished that she could join him in that blissful world of slumber, but there was the fawn to which she was obligated. The exhausted creatured danced awkwardly at her side, the last threads of strength that had permitted it a chance to escape the smoke and flame fraying at the ends. It had been weak to begin with, but now it was little more than a ghost of a creature, its throat so dry and raw that it was unable to make any demands upon the herbalist. The poor thing was starving for mother's milk, but Kaia had none to give. All she had were a few squares of wheat rations, which she sometimes boiled in water to thicken her stews. Unfortunately, she dared not risk a fire for fear that Humphrel may be lurking about somewhere, and so the fawn had to do with a meager helping of grass.

By the time Kaia had finished feeding the fawn and seen that it was comfortable she was far too exhausted to do much else. Although she had not received the beating that Victor had endured, she had still undergone quite a bit of trauma and it had taken its toll. Her body was weak with fatigue and pain-wracked from a myriad of cuts, bruises, and burns. The flesh about her eye throbbed, and her ribs were tender from the tree root that had broken her fall from the cabin. Every muscle screamed its anguish and every joint creaked unhappily, but every part of her was accounted for, so there was as much good to be found in the harm done to her as there was ill.

Then there was the Earth Stone, which was nagging her once again, imposing its relentless pressure far the back of her skull, but she was determined to ignore it for the time being. She was useless to it and to the task set before her, and if she did not regain some of her strength then she could do nothing for the forest or the poison. The girl tried to convey this to the Stone, but whether it picked up on her thoughts remained unclear. It did not perform any of its usual antics—inflicting her with unbearable pain or setting illness upon her body—but it did not back away, either.

She was happy with that, however, and was soon upon the ground near Victor, the fawn curled between them. Yet, even as she surrendered to sleep she could not find it so many were the thoughts in her head. Now, as always, she poured over what was to come, trying to form some plan in her head as to how to tackle the morrow's host of troubles, but nothing came from the sluggish murk of ideas and thoughts that ran circles in her mind. All she knew was that somehow she had to neutralize the poison that had infected the land, for even though its source was stopped its hold on the land would not cease until none of it was left to spread. The river was busy at work, flowing past its low banks, bringing with it evil tidings like a plague-ridden rat, meandering through the wood and deeper still into the land beyond, tainting, killing, all as innocently as a lamb.

It was enough to keep her from true slumber, but after some time not even those horrid musings could keep the Dream Keeper away, and so her lids dropped heavily and her mind ceased to churn over the possibilities of failure, giving in to the temptation to flee all worry and enter a dream of another sort.

(At the cabin...)

But as the little trio slept another remained in the firm bounds of wakefulness, noble eyes set upon a blaze, which had gone beyond the rough outline of the building to attack the carcasses of tree and bush. Here was where the death had begun and now it was at its end, and nothing was left of in its evidence beyond the lives already lost to its power and the fire that sought to consume it all. This could not be permitted, and so the guardian stepped forth, raising his majestic head to full height, horn flashing brillianting before the dancing flames. Then came a kind and mighty wind and away went the inferno, flickering then fluttering, until there was nothing left but smoke and ash.

As unfortunate as it was, this was all he could do for the moment, for the effort to exstinguish the fire was great upon one as young as he and his energies were now at a loss. However, it was a start, and a good one, and it heartened him to see that at least one ill deed was properly attended. For the rest there was only time, and he cast a heated eye to the darkness where three hearts beat loud and clear in a wood as silent as a tomb.

[Spoils: Kaia is more Woodwise. Before, memory and a rudimentary understanding of land navigation allowed Kaia to form a sort of mental map in her head of the places she has been in a particular wood or forest, a map that is limited by the usual bounds of human memory and perception, and is restricted to the region she occupies. However, she needed to see where she was clearly to identify her location. Now, Kaia can "sense" where she is in a given region, having formed a more intimate relationship with the surrounding terrain, and can find her way to a central location (usually her camp) using this sense. This is limited to places she has been frequently (at least three times) and is something she is only faintly aware of, therefore, it functions passively and cannot be initiated for use directly. Furthermore, it is useless in a place she has not visited before.

As a note on the storyline, the nameless fawn will now be following Kaia around as it has lost its mother and has nowhere else to go.

[Witchblade]

Story

Continuity: - 7 The story carried well throughout the entire quest. There was a brief mention of what happened earlier between the characters, enough so the reader knows how they met, leaving out just enough so they want to go back and read that quest as well. I found the dinner at The Thousand Roses almost pointless. I understood the celebratory mood that both characters were in, but the situation didn’t seem to bring anything about other than Victor and Kaia agreeing to spend more time together and that could have been done in far fewer posts. I suppose the dinner scene was just dragged out for a little too long.

Setting: - 7 I loved the setting in the quest. Both of you write differently and thus bring in different aspects to the story, each one revealing a different layer that the post above did not give detail on. The only reason this is not getting a 10 is because towards the end of the quest I found that you two grew lazy in your description. Once the fire broke out in the cabin I started losing the setting. Fire is like a living creature, is breathes and it eats and when writing about fire one should always remember that. Even the walk back through the forest got mixed up in my head. It was daylight before, but then suddenly it was dark. I guess the characters were unconscious for quite a while, but I kept picturing the forest as if it were day instead of night. Perhaps if more a description had been given instead of just mentioning the fact that it was dark I could have seen it more clearly.

Pacing: - 8 The pacing was good. In the beginning it was a little slow and as mentioned above did tend to drag on in the restaurant, however things quickly began to pick up from there. I really liked how everything changed with the ambush. You always know things are going to suddenly pick up with a crappy plan like that comes into Victor’s head. My only suggestion is to keep sentences short and concise when doing moments where things tend to speed up. It brings with it an urgency to the mind of the reader.

Character

Dialogue: - 8 I found the dialogue believable and realistic towards the characters. Sometimes Victor just said the strangest things though, especially towards the end of the quest when he’s been beaten to a bloody pulp. I don’t know why, but those things kind of stuck out in my mind, I don’t want to say uncharacteristic of him because he is an odd ball, but they still stuck out. You can continue to use them, Duro, but be careful how they’re used and how often you do so.

Persona: - 9 Both characters have very strong personalities that are extremely different from each other. This is the first time I’ve read anything by Emerald Hind and I must say that I really like Kaia. She’s a nature nut and a forest lover, a kind-hearted girl with strength and fortitude underneath her frail frame. And Victor, well, I’ve always liked him and his self-demeaning personality, especially his knack for saying the worst thing at the worst time. Got to love that.

Action: - 7 The actions of the characters seemed to fit rather well with their personalities. Both of you stayed true to the characteristics of Kaia and Victor; though I did have a hard time picturing Kaia fighting off a group of Goblins. Keep in mind that you guys also need to stay true to the actions of a group of NPC’s as well. I had a sinking suspicion something wasn’t right with that Dwarf from the beginning. Of course, why he didn’t just kill both of your characters while you were unconscious is a mystery to me. Yes, he may want to know who else knew you were there, but once you weren’t talking it would have made more sense to stab both of you with poisoned weapons then beat one of you to death and leave the other relatively unharmed in the basement. It worked; I just found it a little odd.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 7 Just as something that I noticed, I understand why you guys are bolding your writing—obviously so it sticks out against everything else—but really, every time someone talks you need to make a new paragraph anyway. It is grammatically incorrect to have a massive paragraph and throw in some dialogue at the end of it. Whenever someone new talks, you start a new paragraph. Of course you can always use tags before, after or even break up the dialogue and throw a tag in the middle, but a tag is usually no more than three sentence, not an entire paragraph. There were also spelling mistakes, grammatically mistakes, added words that shouldn’t have been there and missing words too. A lot of these were in Duro’s writing towards the end of the quest, again with the laziness, but they were also there in Emerald Hind’s. Keep your eyes open for those.

Techniques: - 7 Both of you have wonderfully developed writing styles. I didn’t really pick up on the use of any extra techniques throughout the writing, however that doesn’t mean this quest necessarily needed it. I found it enjoyable enough just as it is.

Clarity: - 9 Clear, clear, clear and precise. I don’t remember having to go back and read something twice out of confusion once.

Wild Card: - 8 Well, this was an over all good quest and a good read. I look forward to seeing the completion of the next one, who knows; maybe I’ll have the pleasure of judging it.

Total: 77

Experience:

Victor receives 2,500 experience and 350 GP!
Kaia receives 850 experience and 350 GP!

Spoils: Both spoils are approved without any alterations being needed. As both of you are probably aware, they will need to be further approved of by an approvals mod at your next level up.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP and gold added!

Each of you level up! Congrats.

EDIT: Added additional gold in accordance with the new GP formula.