Pleasure Doing Business

[Storm Veritas]

He held firmly onto the port side wooden rail, enjoying the sound of his metal-lined gloves finger-tapping the sun bleached oak. The entire ship rose and fell with a fairly even rhythm, and though it had been a while since he sailed, he had not lost his sea legs. The wind whistled past his face, finally shaven upon leaving the lands of Radasanth. It was good to exit, to clean up again, to take of the façade. The charade of being common had grown old to him, and with nothing but blue skies and a flat horizon ahead, a smile cocked the corner of his mouth. There was no reason to hide where he was going.

“No smoking on the deck!” A gruff, thick voice came up from behind him, and a meaty paw gripped his left shoulder. “The cigarette goes into the water, with or without you still attached!”

Storm Veritas took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating fumes from his long, freshly lit cigarette. Although he had become notorious in many of the lands upon Althanas, it would not be paranoid of him to claim that it wasn’t always his own doing that led to trouble. Tall, thin, and handsome, he was a perfect target for insecure squatbodies like the gruff white-hair bullying him now.

He turned to the man, switching hands and grasping the rail with his left hand now, pulling his off-hand to his mouth. With a very long, deliberate pull, he drew in an extremely large volume of smoke, burning down the lung-venom stick nearly half-way from the tip to stem. He smiled as he slowly exhaled, breathing smoke out the corner of his mouth. His eyes were wide now, pupils tiny black dots in a sea of incandescent blue, bright and brilliant with the sunlight so plentiful. He glared through the man, his posture unmistakable. He leaned forward as he whispered, but stood tall, making a point to look down on the stout deckhand as he spoke.

“Settle down, sailor. If you think the most dangerous thing on this ship is my smoke, you are leading a blissfully ignorant life. I’ll be done in a moment, and I think there are other things you could attend to.”

Bitch.

A few of the other hands on deck had turned their heads at the slight ruckus, their collective interests piqued. This array included the captain, whom Storm had paid a handsome fee to have charter the voyage. They stayed in his periphery, but said nothing, not advancing or even whispering. This was both entertaining and scary, and they had learned at port that screwing with the tall one was certainly not in their best interest. Rumor of him even coming to port ushered in a sea of stories, from personal accounts to impossible fables (the effect these stories had on this crew made for very effortless negotiation, as Veritas had quickly learned). If the old man, a greenhorn on this ship, hadn’t paid attention, it was his own damned fault, and he would sleep in the bed he made.

Deciding discretion the better half of valor, the old man wisely flinched first. His eyes lowered, looking to his hands as they meshed themselves, hoping to gather some answer from his palms. When none came, he tried to fathom how he could save some small semblance of dignity. His round belly received a clap from his hands as he tried to raise his chin. His upper lip was stuck to his teeth – a nervous tic Storm picked up on quickly.

“Sorry, sir, I s’pose it is partway your boat for now. We have the no-smoking rule to keep us all safe, ye’ know? It looks like you’re jus’ about done that one, so I’d ask please you not light another if you’d be so kind.”

The barrel-chested seaman was a doddering wreck, and Storm crossed his arms, bemused. One more pull of the cigarette, and he effortlessly flicked the remainder overboard, watching it tumble over itself in a hapless descent to the sea below. There was no sense in upsetting everyone else here. No reason to pick a fight and ruin a perfectly smooth sail.

“Fair enough, sailor. I just like to light a few a day: one at morn, one after lunch, and one before bed. I’ll be a little more discreet from here, and don’t worry about me lighting your ship ablaze.”

The older man smiled at the compliance, and Veritas felt a certain swell of pride. He had diffused the situation, but more importantly had put himself in the Alpha role here. Looking out over the horizon again, he realized he was getting sick of the ship already. The shrill, ugly call of a seagull off the starboard told him land couldn’t be too far off.

“How long until we hit land, anyway? Captain Torrow said three days, so we may hit shore before my night-time smoke anyway. And why aren’t the other passengers enjoying the sun? It’s a gorgeous day!”

The little man saddled close, propping an elbow on the rail as he looked out over the pristine, gentle swells that carried the ship. He smiled now, appearing amicable and soaking in the situation. The mast overhead was ballooned thick and strong, and they were sailing quickly.

“I think at last check the sextant read up that we’re sixty miles out – so we should be at Fallien around suppertime. Of course, everything is relative. Six past noon is supper for the old bitch and me, but I suppose the other folks keep a later schedule. Hell, it’s noon and they’re still below, wretching and moaning and sleeping off hangovers. A day at sea leaves you ready for rum, but I guess the land-legs below couldn’t take as much as us, eh?”

Whoa, shit. Not so fast, sailor. You aren’t shivering my motherf*cking britches today, son.

A deep breath. Now the old man was getting buddy-buddy, simply because Veritas had shared a few drinks from the keg of swill rum with the rest of the crew and cargo-folk the night before. This was not going the right direction.

“Guess not. Thanks.” A polite smile, and he strode ahead to the mast, away from the suddenly chummy old chap. He had to get off this boat. There was work to do, and money to make.

[Karuka]

Applicable profile here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=5982)Most of the time, Karuka would have vehemently protested against going on a boat. Ever since a deadly boat accident when she was a child, she'd been terrified of a repeat of the accident, and hesitant to travel by water. Althanas had put her on many ships, and most of the time the rides had been uneventful, save for a brush with slavers in her first few months of setting foot on the planet.

Right now, though, she had more pressing issues on her mind than storms, accidents, and attacks. To be perfectly honest, she didn't care if the ship went down and she with it, so she sat on the starboard banister, picking splinters out of the wood and tossing them into the sea.

'Twas barely trÃ* weeks ago...

The normally chipper red-head had recently had an opportunity to see the place her home planet -- and even homeland -- had become. It was a place where no one knew the names of the old gods; a place where the faithful were condemned and even murdered in the name of their deity because they didn't worship the deities of the time. The world Earth had become disgusted her immensely. The gods worshiped in her far future were not The Dagda, Cromm Cruaich, or Nuada. They were not Odin, Thor, Freya, Loki, or Balder. Lord Shiva had a faithful following hidden deep within India, but even that was beginning to crumble in the face of new deities. Even the Christian and Jewish god was merely being paid lip service by his so-called "faithful," but Karuka hadn't put any faith in them even in her own time period. They were murderous bastards, the lot of them, destroying other religions and cultures wantonly for the sake of their god.

No, what was worshiped in the world she'd seen were worthless. Convenience, money, beauty, possessions and entertainment were the gods of the time. And it disgusted her. What was her purpose in even being if her people had been wiped out and scattered and her religion destroyed? Why hadn't the gods intervened? Could they intervene at all? Or had they stopped caring? Was there even a point?

Fallien.

She hadn't heard much about it, but this boat had been the first out of Radasanth after she'd gotten back from Dheathain. Radasanth was already far too much like the world she'd left behind, cold and avaricious. She'd heard that the people of Fallien had faith in their gods, and she desperately needed to see that a lifestyle of faith was not in vain.

Sighing, Karuka ran a honey brown hand through her deep red hair, looking up on the clear blue sky that her eyes resembled. Never before had she had reason to doubt her faith, indeed, faith had kept her alive through the very hardest times. But what if it really was all a hoax?

"Excuse me, miss," started a voice from behind her. It was one of the sailors, a good-looking, muscular fellow with sandy brown hair, a deep tan, and hazel eyes. Karuka turned toward him, letting her merry façade fall back into place, along with the perpetual grin. She knew the man wouldn't try anything, even though she was a woman traveling alone. One -- young, good-looking, and brash -- had already tried and had gained a black eye for his trouble.

"Ay?"

"We don't let passengers sit there. It's for your own safety, miss. Hate to have someone fall overboard, you understand."

Karuka nodded, hopping lithely from her perch and landing lightly on her feet. "I understan'. How soon d' we arrive?"

"Early tonight, at the latest, miss. This evening, if the winds hold." He towered over her, but most people seemed to over here. It was kind of funny, because she'd been exceptionally tall back in Ireland. She didn't find the sailor imposing, though. She had a brassy enough personality that she didn't fear even when it was prudent -- it was one of the things that kept her frequent brushes with trouble non-violent, for the most part. When it didn't, situations got bad...but that was less often than not.

"Thank y'. I'll nae sit on th' banister again."

With a nod, the sailor headed off, and Karuka picked up her long Nihon staff and found a new place to wait, eventually winding up climbing the netting by the mast. She didn't have anything else to do, nowhere to walk, no trouble happening, and skies too clear to bring a storm. It wasn't until after a few moments she noticed a dark-haired figure lingering around, as well.

Mus' ay be th' Storm person th' sailors are so perturbed by. I dinna see why...tall tales about th' man or no, a man is still a man, wi' all its flaws an' merits.

She'd only seen him at a distance before now, not having any real reason to approach him and letting him be bothered by the occasional sailor rather than her thick accent. She didn't particularly feel like making conversation with him now that he was close, either. In fact, she'd rather not be within ten feet of anyone. But the person she'd trained herself to be was friendly and outgoing, and it was almost reflexively that she called down a greeting.

"Hallo. I'm Karuka. 'Tis good weather t'day, is i' nae?"

Weather. Perhaps the tritest topic of conversation in the world, well exhausted by her time. She could do better, but why? If he wanted conversation, he could respond and come up with something else on his own. If he wanted to be alone, he could make a bland and banal comment as well, and they'd both go back to being silent. Just because she could talk fifteen miles a minute didn't mean she had to...or actually felt like doing so.

>>>It was only three weeks ago.<<<

"Yes?"

"I understand. How soon do we arrive?"

"Thanks. I won't sit on the banister again."

>>>Must be the Storm person the sailors are so perturbed by. I don't see why...tall tales about the man or not, a man is still a man, with all its flaws and merits.<<<

"Hi, I'm Karuka. It's good weather today, no?"

[Storm Veritas]

The girl that approached him had bright eyes and a cute smile. Typically Storm would make nice and just chit-chat with anyone that came up to him on such a day, but the approach of a girl like this was just a bit suspicious. The lands of Althanas were plagued with hags, and the majority of women he encountered tended to be thick middled and beer riddled or simply just plain, simple ugly. There were also plenty of women that looked like this, seductresses that could kill a man with a soft eye and pouty lips.

Damn, honey. You’re way too sexy to be a sailor, and by the look of those knocked knees I’m guessing you don’t hit shipside too often. What are you doing here?

The truly stunning women (and this girl certainly qualified) fell into a few categories. The first category lied in professionals – call girls and dancers. The tall, handsome Veritas had no qualms with them, but preferred to stay away – to pay for such services implied he couldn’t do as well on his own. The second group of people tended to be the fellow freaks.

The gifted ones were littered sparingly about Althanas, and yet he found himself accompanied by them more often than not. Letho Ravenheart, Damon Kaosi, Zephyriah Abilone… whether he was so inclined or not, he was often butting heads with men and women of considerable lore. This girl was no “professional”, so he had sized her up quickly as one of the gifted ladies. There would be something about her, be it the ability to fly, transform into some horrendous monster, or something of the sort. Women like this were often sent to assassinate him. Three had failed so far.

I hope you aren’t number four, my sweet…

“Oh, sorry, yes! Yes, it certainly is!” he offered apologetically, speaking after a considerable delay. “I was just saying that I couldn’t figure out why everyone didn’t come up to the deck to enjoy the sun. Did we really drink that much last night?”

He looked upon her again, his eyes soaking up her beauty. High, pristine cheekbones, a smooth, soft jawline, and gorgeous sapphire eyes fell beneath a shock of dark red locks. She was incredible, and thin and tall and all other things particularly wonderful. There was definitely something lurking under the surface, because the surface could far too easily distract a man.

“Actually, I don’t believe we met last night. My name is Storm. Storm Veritas, as you may have heard from some of the absurd stories lurking about the deck. Ever hear the phrase ‘believe half of what you see and a quarter of what you hear’? Just expand that and don’t believe a damned thing these fool deckhands say about you.”

His hand was extended to the lovely girl, and his mouth was wide, white teeth shining brightly in his most debonair gesture. His eyes would not leave hers, save to spot up what type of weaponry she may be carrying.

[Karuka]

((sorry for the wait, things got busy. >.<))

She let him scrutinize her for a few moments. She'd done the same to him before speaking, it was only fair. The gaze with which he regarded her was familiar -- delight and suspicion, although he hid the latter better than most did. She'd received many looks with varying combinations of the two reactions since she'd come to Althanas, and she supposed that she always would, at least as long as she remained young and pretty.

Did I ay start t' think o' misel' as pretty? When did tha' happen?

She was brought back to attention as he took her hand, and she gripped his firmly for a moment in greeting before hopping down from her perch in the rectangles made by the ropes of netting. Grabbing her staff, she went around to speak to the man face to face, rather than through a barrier.

She grinned as he introduced himself. "Ay, I'd heard. An' if e'en a tenth o' what I've heard was true, it means there'll be a great many stories t' tell. Stories that go well wi' a mug or dÃ* o' ale. Th' men still b'low understan' alcohol as a means t' be drunk, an' thus suffer th' illness tha' follows."

What Karuka neglected to add on was that she'd probably had about as much ale as the men that were still groaning downstairs. The difference between them was that she'd grown up in an area where beer was a more essential part of the diet -- for everyone -- than even bread. It gave her an edge over the men that drank for sport rather than sociability. The other edge she had was that she didn't let her drink take her over most of the time. These men didn't know any better.

She looked over Storm's face. He certainly was a handsome man, and handsome men generally meant arrogance, boastfulness, and generally more trouble than good. And if even a portion of the stories she'd heard on this sea voyage were true, if Storm Veritas desired to be trouble, he could be. Then again, there were occasions that she'd been much more trouble that she was worth. She just wasn't famous.

I s'pose 'tis my advantage in nae havin' gran' stories tol'. I can ay be as much trouble as I like withou' any'un bein' th' wiser b'fore han'.

"So, y' dinna seem th' type to spend much time in th' desert," she said, a subtle remark on his pale skin. "What brings y' out t' Fallien?"

>>>Did I really start thinking of myself as pretty? When did that happen?<<<

"Yes, I'd heard. And if even a tenth of what I heard was true, it means there are a great many stories to tell. Stories that go well with a mug or two of ale. The men still below understand alcohol as a means to be drunk, and thus suffer the illness that follows."

>>>I guess that's my advantage in not having grand stories told. I can be as much trouble as I like without anyone being the wiser before hand.<<<

"So, you don't seem to be the type that spends much time in the desert. What brings you out to Fallien?"

[Storm Veritas]

Well, she wasn’t wasting any time.

He had to look away for now when she spoke, the absurd twang in her voice some alien dialect that made him laugh. Probing questions always raised some suspicion from Storm. Still, if she was here to put a hit on him, it wouldn’t matter what he was up to, so the question remained innocent. Besides, no one said that now was the time to start telling the truth.

“Well, got a couple friends to meet that moved out here, but mostly just a pleasure cruise. I’ve heard some nice things about Fallien, although I know that the climate here can be hell.”

Well, perhaps nice wasn’t the right word, since Fallien was notoriously intolerant, and the natives had often viciously insisted upon sticking amongst their own. He had also had an adventure here before, dealing with some obscene tribe in the midst of the desert. It was a wild party, followed by a completely befuddling adventure, and when it was over he wasn’t sure how much was real and what was some drug-induced hallucination.

Enough about me. Let’s see what’s turning the wheels in your little head there.

“And you? I wouldn’t think a pretty thing like yourself would fare well in Fallien. Lots of mean humans, and I think someone like you could use an escort.”

He looked up, ahead, seeing land break on the horizon. The port of Kithdir was only a few miles ahead, although it seemed even closer against the broad expanse of the sea. To the west, the absurdly hot Nirrakal, where only the death-wishers would seek to wander. To the east, mountains and a vast expanse, where he had been before. It was a land that wasn’t worth mentioning, a few Podunk towns and little else worth seeing. He was headed up the river that split the land, past the Outlander’s Quarters and unto Irrakam. There he would make trade, and find his assignment. There he would begin raising his army. His services had been requested, and they would come at a steep cost for the rulers of this place.

Without another thought, he spoke again, not wanting to leave an awkward silence from the girl who would probably be put off by his forwardness.

“If you’re heading up to Irrakam, anyway, I’ll take you with me. A man and woman will be received more seriously than just a woman, but with a friendlier tone than just a man.”

It was a risk, and his mind told him to forget it. This was stupid, bringing a potential assassin with him. Of course, with all his combat experience, and all the adventures he’d braved, his intelligence was outstretched by his arrogance, which also came up short only to the hedonistic desire to ram the accent out of this beauty’s voice.

It was a good risk.

[Karuka]

Karuka glanced sharply at Storm as he offered, quite unexpectedly, to escort her to Irrakam, but then she turned back to watching the golden horizon grow larger and larger on the flat blue plane that had seemed to go on forever. As he tried to cover up his forward and probably not-entirely altruistic offer, she laughed softly. It was a delicate, bell-like sound, a match to the melodic voice that hid beneath and flowed throughout the thick accent that most people heard.

"Mean humans..." if only he'd heard some of her stories, ranging from a face-to-muzzle encounter with the cat of the Liviol Sanctum off of Scara Brae to an otherworldly adventure with a half-vampire to standing toe-to-toe with a band of slavers armed with naught but a mop and a bucket of potatoes, perhaps he wouldn't doubt her ability to take care of herself. But she wasn't famous. She was just a foreign girl with an accent.

"I'm goin' t' Fallien...t' look fer somethin'. Or some'un. Or some place. I dinna...know, exac'ly." A frown drew her eyebrows together beneath the red chakra her father had given her when she was two, dedicating her to Lord Shiva, and her eyes looked into a distance much farther away than the ever-nearing port town. "I'm lookin' fer a sign tha' nae ev'ry'un is driven by th' persuit o' things tha' shine," she said quietly, leaning on her staff. "An' perha' I'll ne'er fin' i'."

She withdrew two little clay tablets from a pouch, flipping them so that she could see them. One was a straight line that ran almost the entire length of the rune, and the other one was an H with a diagonal hashmark connecting the two vertical lines. Sometimes her readings were cryptic, and other times they were crystal clear. In this situation, the meaning was clear: stay with Storm.

Why?

She dropped the runes back into her pouch, and felt her fingers brush a third, which she picked up and glanced at before returning it to its fellows. It had been completely blank. The name of the rune was Wyrd, and it answered her question: Fate. In other words, "because."

I dinna ha' anywhere else t' go, so why th' Hel nae?

She shrugged, looking back at the raven-haired man with a slight smile on her pomegranate-colored lips. "Since I dinna know where I'm headed, I dinna see a good reason t' nae go t' Irrakam."

If Storm wished her harm, perhaps he could very well kill her. But she'd stood before other men that wished to kill her, and had so far come out all right. She was lucky in that respect: most girls thrust into Althanas from situations similar to hers wouldn't have lasted. She was possessed, however, of unusual amounts of brass and fire -- and a dharma that hadn't quite killed her yet.

She wondered why she was supposed to stay with Storm, if it was for her safety, or his, or her enlightenment, or his. Her life was confusing like that, when looking forward. Looking back, things became clear, most of the time. She'd been stuck on the same boat with Seth Dahlios once so that when slavers attacked, she could start the rebellion, he could take out the majority of their captors, and she could prevent his murderous side from killing innocents when the danger was over. They'd been there to save innocent lives as well as each other -- him, her from forces she hadn't the strength to fight, and her, him from his own dark side.

Perha' this, too, will be clear in time.

Lol, it's the accent that gets on people's nerves. It's ALWAYS the accent.

"I'm going to Fallien...to look for something. Or someone. Or some place. I don't...know, exactly. I'm looking for a sign that not everyone is driven by the pursuit of things that shine. And perhaps I'll never find it."

>>>I don't have anywhere else to go, so why the Hel not?<<<

"Since I don't know where I'm headed, I don't see a good reason not to go to Irrakam."

>>>Maybe this, too, will be clear in time.<<<

[Storm Veritas]

This girl seemed nice enough to really convince him of almost anything, and he was beginning to soak it up all too quickly. She was charming, cute, and nice, a welcome change from the cold and shallow tough-girl types he had come across far too frequently. She spoke with a twang that he could scarcely comprehend, but all that he was picking up sounded just fine to his ears.

Looking for the good in people, honey? I don’t think you could have picked a worse target to check, to be blatantly honest.

He smiled at her, and they chatted for a few minutes, before arriving at the docks. The air here smelled foul, no doubt the residual bait from fishermen who worked the shores. The dried up fish and miscellaneous chum had a certain distant glisten to it, and looked as though it had been dead for years. Here, Storm figured, once something was gone it was forgotten. That may be a welcome change.

When the boat hitched up hard chain to the dockside, he slipped a few gold coins into the captain’s hand. They had done a fine job, and arrived smoothly. It wouldn’t hurt to grease the palms of progress a little bit, and by being so cordial he allowed himself plenty of room to maneuver.

Additionally, Veritas figured that he could look chivalrous in front of this girl – a girl it seemed he had fooled so far. He went so far as to offer her his hand when she motioned to step down, but it appeared she was far from ready for such an ingrained show of gentlemanly grace. He had tried.

They weren’t off the ship for more than a moment or two when he approached a fisherman. He was a boy, tall and darkly tanned and lean, with hair bleached by the warm sun. Bright, brilliant blue eyes shined back upon Storm, who placed the fish monger at no more than twenty.

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for a caravan. I understand there are horses to ride to Irrakam. I commissioned a few of your finest mounts through Captain Gainesborough, who told me I need speak to Sire Ableh’ehn. I have tickets.”

He tried to say the captain’s name as gains-burra, as though adapting to the primitive sounding tongue of these native mongrels would be simple. The boy snickered and smiled, picking a piece of what looked like spinach from his incisors.

“Well, horses would be a trick in the desert, man, but we’ve got camels. Steady, sturdy, and I guess they work for the out-of-towners. ‘Course, if you’re heading to Irrakam, as I’d suspect, I hope you weren’t planning on wearing that.”

Although his instinct was to retort with some sort of wise answer or simple backhand, Storm knew the boy had a point. With dark, heavy clothes and no hat, his skin would burn and he’d dehydrate in hours, not days. He would need to find some more local fashion if he was going to survive the climate. Bringing the lovely little traveler along with him to a changing room didn’t sound like too much of a hindrance.

“Thanks, I know – just looking for a shop in town to pick up my whites.” Storm spoke with a smooth, even confidence in return to the lad, who gestured over his shoulder to a small stone shack. It was one of many, largely unmarked, but had an open flap-style door to welcome outsiders.

“I believe we’ll need to dress more appropriately for travel, my dear.” Veritas offered a crooked arm for the lovely girl, and anticipated she would respectfully decline.

[Karuka]

It was Karuka's first time in a desert, and she looked at the golden red sands as the dry heat enveloped her body. The stench of things rotting and rancid was more subtle here than it had been at other ports, the sun mercilessly extracting what little water there was.

The red-head was used to surviving in forests; deserts were something else entirely. It was good fortune that she had someone else to travel with -- someone who had means of traveling in the desert.

Keeping half an ear on Storm's conversation, Karuka let her attention wander to the natives. Most of them had skin ranging from amber to mahogany, and there were a few with honey-brown skin, like herself, and they all had dark hair, much like her father did in her dim memories of him. If Dheathain was the Althanas version of Ireland, then Fallien must be its India, even though she remembered tales of dense jungle, not endless desert.

The conversations she heard flowed lyrically in Sanskrit, but the way they shaped the words sounded slightly different to what she remembered, and they went too fast for her to even try catching the few words she knew. She hadn't heard anyone else speak the language since she was five.

Storm's voice in her ear startled her back to attention, and she adjusted her bag on her shoulder, glancing over at him, and then at the shop he'd indicated. It looked shady and cool within the stone shop, and the sign, written in tradespeak, advertised sale of desert appropriate clothes.

"Ay, 'twould prob'ly be a good idea." She glanced at his arm and shook her head with a grin. "Y'll ha' t' fergive me bein' wary, but th' las' man t' take me by th' arm tossed me headlong int' th' water a moment after. 'Twere an experience I'd rather not t' repeat."

She stepped forward lightly, turning back toward her companion so that the entire motion was something of a spinning bounce. "C'mon."

The heat seemed to shatter as soon as Karuka stepped into the shop, the dimness of the room and the thickness of the walls serving as a barricade against the desert sun's barrage. Along the curve of the wall hung long, creamy white garments that were designed to go from head to toe -- perfect protection from the heat.

The shop owner looked up, seeing the darkness of Karuka's skin and greeting her in Fallien.

"Greetings. How may I help you today?"

Karuka's eyes widened for a moment before they scrunched up as she desperately tried to find the words to tell the storekeep that she didn't really speak the language.

"Sorry...ignorance...umm," she rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead, trying to find her next word. "Tongue! Me, ignorance, tongue Fallien."

He seemed to understand, nodding and then switching to Tradespeak for the benefit of both Karuka and Storm. "Welcome to my shop. What can I get you today?"

[Storm Veritas]

((I'm bunnying a little here. If you don't approve, PM me and I'll fix it up.))

He smiled at the shopkeep, appreciative that he wouldn't have to fumble through his poor knowledge of the Fallien tongue. Most people here spoke tradespeak or the bastardized version of standard Coronian, but the true Fallien language was something he had been forcefed in a prior journey. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, and he preferred not to revisit such memories.

"Standard Whites. Top, bottom, head wrap, and some fresh socks. I've got some clean cut Radasanth gold with me - thirty pieces for the lot sound about right?"

The way that the shopkeeper nearly salivated at the mention of such a respected currency made Storm swallow hard to keep from rolling his eyes, but he still maintained the steadfast and even smile while he handed over the coin. A hearty, happy "help yourself" indicated he had probably offered far too much, but his bankroll was already heavy, and this trip would only further expand his coffers. It was a small loss.

Now then, gorgeous, might as well see how you dig the goods.

Without hesitation or apology he disrobed in the shop, meticulously removing first his dress shirt and second his pants. Without hurry or any particular delay he pulled up the pair of pants he had found marked under his size - long and thin, and then gazed about for a shirt. His torso was a specimen of his life's story - a roadmap of both scars and sinewy muscle. There was a time when that same frame was wiry and clean and pathetic. The body he had grown was something he was proud of, and he didn't avoid eye contact from the stunning woman he had attracted to join him in this trip.

He hoped that she would follow suit and change in the main sector, but was disappointed to see her dart seamlessly behind the changing curtain.

Well, shit.

He pulled on the full white covers, wrapping his hair, head and neck in whites, and gazed at his impressive outline in the mirror. He looked like some day-time ninja type, or some similar absurdity that he imagined the hero-types on Althanas would don.

Right. The good guys are always dressed in white. Check.

With another nod, he was out the door, the clothes he had packed wrapped tight in the small, expandable burlap satchel he was wont to carry. It wasn't a few minutes longer before he had wandered past the initial perimeter of the one-horse port town, and reached the small parcel of barbed wire that called itself a camel ranch. A small shanty and a massive trough of water were all that marked the ring of camels from some biblical lunacy. A single gate ushered the entrance (and exit) to the shop.

He looked down at the temptuous girl, hoping she would have some knowledge of how to ride these god-forsaken beasts. Words escaped him, but thoughts lingered.

You've got to be f*cking kidding me.

[Karuka]

While Karuka had been loathe to shed her sturdy vlince clothes, she had to admit that the soft cotton garments that Storm had bought for her were a lot more comfortable and cool than her previous ensemble had been, and the neat turban made it feel like her head wasn't on fire. It was something to be grateful for. She just hoped that he wasn't annoyed with her for not vacating the area in which he'd chosen to change sooner, although the more cynical side of her leaned toward the belief that he'd have much rathered she do the same.

Scrawny as I am? No 'un'd want t' see that.

While Storm dealt with the business aspect of acquiring the camels, Karuka busied herself with looking over the beasts. They were perhaps the biggest domestic animals she'd ever run into in her life, bigger even than the horses she'd seen. They had shaggy fur and long eyelashes, and looked at her calmly as she approached and walked around them. While they smelled strongly of an animal pen, the dry heat prevented any stench from becoming overpowering. The fact that she had no idea how one was supposed to actually ride one of these creatures didn't really daunt her, even though they didn't look like they were made to be ridden. A glance over toward Storm told her that her investigation of the beasts hadn't taken her more than a minute, so she leaned on her staff and reflected on her new clothes.

The pants, tunic and sash had been easy to figure out. The long, flowing pants went on first, then the long-sleeved tunic followed, and the sash held everything together around her waist. It was actually wide enough that it covered from the base of her rib cage to her hips - ironically, it covered securely roughly the same area that the rags she'd had when she came to Althanas exposed. Those rags were long gone now; she'd turned them into bandages upon purchasing her vlince traveling outfit.

The turban had been a little difficult. She'd never had to cover her head before, so it had taken her a minute to figure out how the cloth wrapped around and over her head, and then came around her nose. It was a sensible design, protecting everything but the eyes from sun and sand while being secure but not uncomfortable.

What had really given her trouble were the socks. She'd never seen socks before, never dealt with them, Hel, she didn't even know what they were. At first she'd thought maybe they were some odd form of gauntlet that maybe protected the hands from the desert sun. But when she'd put them on her hands and shoved them into rough mittens, they kept slipping back into shape.

Perha' they're not s'posed t' go on th' hands? The thought made her eyebrows draw together in a frown as she slid the funny-looking things off of her hands and examined them.

They looked roughly foot and leg shaped, but there was no way that they were going to fit over her boots. What else was she going to do with them? It's not like they could be absolutely useless. How they could be used puzzled her until she wiped a drop of sweat off the bridge of her nose with her sleeve. Then she felt stupid.

Cloth absorbs water. In an environment where one is liable to perspire, enclosed areas - like boots - are likely to collect moisture and become generally unpleasant. Thus, the purpose of socks is to absorb that moisture and prevent the unpleasantly slick feeling from accumulating in one's shoes.

She'd come out less than ten seconds after that epiphany, dressed for the desert.

A loud grunt from one of the camels beside her shook her out of her subtle musing on the nature of socks, and she saw some men coming with saddles for the camels. It looked like each saddle could accommodate a single person, and each one had plenty of room to be laden with whatever the rider wished it to carry. Karuka's would have an easy time, since her few possessions were stuffed and folded into her battered leather bag that seemed to have less and less room in it as the months went by.

[Storm Veritas]

Nothing screams romance like riding these giant phlegm monsters.

Storm knew that the window had closed (at least temporarily) on his romantic advances. This girl was gorgeous, and she came out covered from head to toe in light colored garb, the type that would look decidedly unattractive on all but the most exquisite of frames. Naturally, she looked fantastic, and he found himself admonishing his own leers, knowing that he would seem too forward, too desperate to have any chance if such brazen countenance were to continue.

He tried to temper a smile as he mounted his camel, and he strapped down two large canteens filled with a honey-laced water. It was a delicious drink, and would hydrate him while keeping his hunger at bay for a while. The rest of his gear fit neatly into a small satchel that he tied behind the large hump of fat upon the camel’s back.

“Ladies first…”

He could be genuinely charming when he tried, but right now he merely wanted an excuse to focus on the delectable backside of his traveling companion. Perhaps she knew, but she didn’t let on, and she rode her horse with a deft skill across the sands. The chatter would start thick and taper after some time, the heat taking its toll on the pose of conversation. Moreover, Storm chose to speak only until he felt his words beginning to grow the girl weary, and then focused more on driving the furry beast to Irrakam.

The hours passed fairly easily. He had rode many times, and could talk with great comfort alongside his companion whenever the mood struck. She was fun, and very beautiful, and actually had managed to charm Storm with her own wit. He smiled at her when she rode ahead again, occasionally bringing the ugly thing to a trot and giggling merrily at the absurdity of the odd animal.

Time is truly relative on the hot sands, and Storm felt himself growing a bit jaded to new sites. You can see for miles ahead of you, with only the river on their right to guide them north, and any movement that may seem like people would actually just be drift or dust or some regional animal, coming to the stream for water. Where there was water, there was life, and this was no different.

But this has to be the longest river on the goddamned planet. I should have negotiated with Kraus and paid him to warp my ass to Irrakam. This sucks.

It was the very jaded nature of such boring, eventless encounters that left him so susceptible. He wasn’t sure how long they had been riding, laughing, and riding some more before he saw them. There were at least three, and they were riding hard. Large, tall, dark looking men. They rode horses, not camels.

They were riding hard. And they were riding directly at the genteel caravan of Storm and Karuka.

[Karuka]

The desert stretched on and on. It seemed truly endless, and in the stifling heat, truly oppressive. It was the first time in her life that Karuka had encountered such heat, and she was truly grateful that dharma had put her with a more experienced traveler. Whatever his past had been, and whatever his intentions, without Storm's help, the Irish red-head would have been traveling on foot in her heavy vlince garments. She'd probably have headed out into the desert and be on the verge of collapse.

It would have been a death sentence.

She was still struggling with the heat, even if her faith had been momentarily bolstered by the fortune that had been bestowed upon her. Even with her spirits restored, her vision was hazy and she was looking forward to the onset of night, if only to escape the dreadful heat of the Fallien day.

She'd thought the sound of hooves thundering on sand was a mere heat-induced hallucination, until she heard Storm stiffen beside her. Looking up at him, she saw his eyes narrowed, and followed his line of sight to see the group coming for them.

The first thought she had was that they were probably travelers, like them, and she picked up her old canteen for a mouthful of lukewarm water. The water served to clear her mind and restore her vision. After all she'd been through, she knew better than to trust strange groups in suspicious circumstances.

Honest travelers wouldn't be stressing their fragile horses by running them for long distances in the brutal sun. These could only be bandits, and the glint of sun on steel only confirmed that conclusion.

"Malchadan." The curse slipped its way out of her mouth, even as her hand shifted into her rune pouch and started digging around. There were no clouds for her to take advantage of, and no moisture in the air, meaning that she only had one spell that would be of any use to her and her new friend. In this heat, she doubted that Ken would be of much avail against the men, but it would probably spook the horses. A few spooked horses in their group of three or four assailants would either force the group away or make their raid that much more difficult.

The first rune her fingers closed on was Tir, a spear-shaped rune that signaled impending battle.

I knew that. The thought was half irate, and she dug again, this time withdrawing the rune she wanted, and she quickly yanked down the fabric covering her face to bite her thumb, smearing the blood on the rune's face and muttering a prayer in her native language.

"Dagda, god of the forests and all that happens within,
Grant me the great destructive power of Ken to vanquish my enemies."

The fireball formed just above her left hand, slightly bigger than her head, and she could feel its intense heat on her face and through her clothes. The flame was definitely ready to be set on its path of destruction, and she only held it a few moments before obliging.

With a forward thrust of her hand, she sent it arcing through the air, watching as it impacted in the sand just in front of the lead horse. The results were more than she could have ever hoped for.

The sand exploded brilliantly in front of the horse, becoming glass in the air. The animal shrieked, rearing up so violently it fell over backwards, crushing its rider and digging its back legs into molten glass. Its screams shattered the desert silence, and the other horses scattered for a few moments, until their riders could bring them back under control to speed away from an unexpected danger.

With a sigh, Karuka slid her rune back into her her pouch. The death screams of the horse still made her wince inwardly, but they were finally quieting. The poor beast was finally slipping into shock and beyond pain.

She spared a moment to glance apologetically at Storm. Her dharma had dragged him into trouble.

"I'm ay sorry...'seems that I'm always in trouble, in Irelan' or Corone or Fallien."

"Damnit." (lit, "curses.")

"I'm sorry. It seems I'm always in trouble, in Ireland or Corone or Fallien."

[Storm Veritas]

Holy shit, I’m getting slow in my old age…

His hand had gone to the dagger, the twisted piece of metal which had served him so well. Four men, he figured, would be easy enough to take out with simply the blade. He’d be able to maintain his cover, dispatch the four, save the girl, and keep the truth behind Storm Veritas a secret for another day. No fancy moves, no lightning, just simple, fast, easy. Maybe even a scratch or scrape to make him look a little tougher.

Or so he thought.

It shocked him when he wasn’t needed, and a mighty magical blast erupted from the girl. It was fire and brimstone, looking much like the work of a mage, and Storm would be lying if he failed to mention it had him fairly excited. The energy was powerful, showing tremendous potential… the girl looked like the fledgling Luc Kraus, when Luc was younger and showing Storm the way. The aftermath was staggering.

The four bandits had been riding hard, and pulled blades from their hips as they closed to one hundred feet. Even in the blazing heat they maintained that dark swagger, clad in simple black and brown garb, their red faces twisted with grimaces of war. This wasn’t their first time robbing some nondescript couple upon the sands, and they knew better than to leave witnesses that could identify them. What they hadn’t seen, apparently, was a mage the likes of this fiery little sexpot.

Her work was swift and decisive, her power overwhelming. The men had died as hard and fast as the charge they rode in on. The twisted wrecks of charred bodies lay as evidence of her work, and even the mighty sun above could never leave flesh so burned. This was supernatural, and beyond reproach. She was a force.

What should have been fear in Storm was replaced with pride. Watching the girl work, his mouth parted in a broad smile, knowing that whatever secrets he held would need not be restricted from her. She had her own abilities, and no doubt the skeletons that came alongside them. When she gazed upon him unapologetically, he knew that she had already sensed some of the gifts which he retained. Perhaps he hadn’t kept secrets to himself as effectively as he envisioned.

Grinning foolishly, he replied to her with a smooth, even dialogue.

“Trouble seems to follow me, too, although I think that folk like us know enough to run from it.

“Tell me… did your heart even quicken when you did that? When you blasted those four halfway to hell and back, did it get a rise out of you? Or does it burn, a pain and guilt that you don’t deserve or can’t describe… Does it hurt?”

There were many things that separated the gifted from killers, but they were not mutually exclusive. It was passed the time that Storm figure out what he was really dealing with.

[Karuka]

She hadn't expected her tactic to be so effective. She hadn't had enough experience with sand to know that if you throw fire at it, you melt it, and that it then becomes glass. She hadn't known that her actions would have such consequences. She'd never been in an environment that could teach her that.

"Y' think...y' thought...that I enjoy'd killin' him?" Karuka shook her head, lips turning downward in a frown. She looked at the scene some yards ahead of them, the horse breathing its final, labored breaths as its rider lay dead beneath it. The crater of crumbling glass indicated that indeed, her fireball had hit ahead of her target. Just not far ahead enough.

"I've ne'er been t' a desert b'fore. I dinna know...that could happen. I've killed men, ay...ay...but I was tryin' t' scare him an' his frien's away. 'Twas meant t' be a warnin'."

She sighed, remembering the first man she'd killed, his face turning blue and his eyes bulging out as she'd strangled him with his own length of rope. That face would haunt her until her dying day, she knew, and yet she knew that if she hadn't killed him - and compatriots of his - she would either be dead or a broken slave somewhere. There hadn't been a choice.

She looked back at Storm, mildly suspicious of her, but still impressed at what she'd done. He asked her what she felt about killing when it wasn't so much a sin to him? This man hadn't been killed in the Citadel. This was life, and he was dead!

"It...hurts, a wee bit. I know that he'da ay killed us without a thought, which is th' only reason I...th' reason I can accept that I've taken a life. 'Glory is th' death in battle,' they say, 'an' glory t' the blood-stained victor.'"

Sighing, she pulled the cloth back over the bridge of her nose. "Perhaps I am a killer...but ne'er a merderer."

With that, she nudged her camel with her heel, clicking to it like she'd heard a native do back in the pen. "Hut hut."

"You think...you thought...that I enjoyed killing him?"

"I've never been to a desert before. I didn't know...that could happen. I've killed men, ay...ay...but I was trying to scare him and his friends away. It was meant to be a warning."

"It...hurts, a wee bit. I know that he'd have killed us without a thought, which is the only reason I...the reason I can accept that I've taken a life. 'Glorious is death in battle,' they say, 'and glorious the blood-stained victor.'"

"Perhaps I am a killer...but never a murderer."

[Storm Veritas]

It didn’t take long for him to realize that she wasn’t the same kind as him. While he may not admit it to her, there was an honesty in her eyes that you just couldn’t fake. Killing, for her at least, was different. He viewed it as a necessary means to an end, and loved feeling that supremacy. That power, it was intoxicating, and knowing that no human could stand toe to toe with him filled him with a confidence that was nothing short of euphoric. Sure, there were moments of fleeting guilt and a desire to withhold his powers for the good of Althanas, but what did he owe these people? What had they ever done for him?

She’s not you. She’s not even like you. She’s good. Let her stay that way.

He watched the delicate beast canter off, probably a bit unsettled by Storm’s line of questioning. She wasn’t anything like him when the nuts and bolts were laid on the table. She wasn’t ruthless. She didn’t share that untold ambition. She was inherently gentile, and while there was a distinct purity to it, Veritas rubbed his chin as he watched her pull ahead by five or six lengths.

She may not be useful to me at all.

While there were moments where she appeared flirtatious, she certainly didn’t throw herself at him, like so many others in those backroom Radasanth pubs would do. They would hear whispers, the mention of his name and hearken back to the hero-villain. Their star-crossed eyes sought a taste of power, of fame, and thought that they would get rich or famous by association. It was a lovely relationship, and he didn’t shy away from groupies. They had filled his nights with plenty of excitement.

She’s not one of THEM, either. She’s no star-f*cker. She’s special. Maybe even Ira special.

There had been one before that had captivated him, one before that he had loved. That was here, in Fallien, as well. Was it Ira that had drawn him back? By now, she was a distant memory, but Karuka brought that same fighting spirit to the forefront of his mind. Karuka was real, tangible, lovable and legitimate. Like Ira, she held a power that belied her beauty. The parallels were striking, and he would have to face it eventually.

You can’t expose her to this. It’s too dangerous. She may be a hell of an asset, but she deserves better. She deserves better than you. Ira certainly did.

You know that she won’t stop. She won’t yield. She’ll try to help you. She’ll try to help, and she’ll end up damaged, maybe dead. The strong are not all brave, but this one is both.

They walked only a few more minutes when the peaks of buildings chirped on the distant horizon. The desert was long, and impossibly flat, so the city could still be ten miles ahead, but with it came the arrangement. When they reached the gates, it would be too late to change plans.

He stopped, pulling the reigns on his camel and feeling the big beast lurch. This had to stop, sooner rather than later. He had to be straight with her. This was insane, and he wouldn’t use her.

“Hey, sugar…” he began, using a bit of chauvinism to ease into a difficult conversation. “We need to talk. I think once we hit town by the river’s mouth, we’re going to have to part ways.”
She looked at him with beautiful, doe-like eyes. Clearly, she wasn’t aware that they had made any agreement to the contrary, but Storm knew that they simply had gone along too well, too cordially, to split up without any real rationale. A date, a dinner, some food… he saw the two of them growing close quickly. Such things happened among the community of the gifted – it was a bond that tied them all.

“I’ve got things to do in town that you… well, you shouldn’t be a part of. You’re still young, and you still hate killing.” A deep breath, and he looked at his hands for an answer that wouldn’t come. “That’s a good thing. Don’t run from that.”

He couldn’t look her in the eyes now, he wouldn’t try. This was hard. He couldn’t get close to her, and he knew it. It was dangerous for him to go alone, but at least he knew what he was getting into. The people waiting for him in the city knew full well what the score would be. They knew the rules. Karuka had no place in that business.

“Ride ahead, sweetheart. Don’t look back. I’ll keep an eye on you, keep you from getting ambushed on the way through the gates. You’re a wonderful, talented woman, but…”

Get her. Take her with you. She’s strong, and you know it. The two of you will waltz through your job.

-NO!- Stem that back. Stand down. Let her go. Let – her – go.

“…but I’m nothing but trouble for you once we hit those gates. Take this, and get moving. You’re a wonderful girl, good luck in town, lovely.”

He handed her something from his satchel, a small token he had won in a circumstance he didn’t want to think about any more. A pretty jade charm, thin and delicately designed, dangling from a lone, thin black rope. The necklace had looked good around her neck once…

He was praying that Karuka would take it and go, but a part of him knew better.

[Karuka]

Karuka looked at the pretty little jade charm that Storm had placed in her hand, mulling over his words. Her runes had advised her to stay with him earlier, should she just part without considering what the consequences could be otherwise? Or should she trust that if she was indeed supposed to get into some sort of trouble alongside him, she'd run into him later on?

There's ne'er an escape from dharma.

Part of her was curious. What was so dangerous that she shouldn't participate? Did he want her gone for her own safety, or for his secrecy? The mutterings of the sailors on the boat had told of a very dangerous man, Storm Veritas, that they hoped wanted no more trouble than passage to Fallien. He'd won contests of strength, done things that made them shudder to think, and though she'd been huddled in a sort of silence for most of the voyage, she'd heard the tales, and attributed most of them as false.

What if they weren't? What if he'd just wanted her along to seem less a threat, and now realized that the fewer people to know of secret dealings was the best course?

She let the charm dangle from her fingers, watching it swing lazily about, unlike the assured swing of the pendulum she already wore. Still, it seemed to swing generally towards the distant mass that was Irrakam, and that was all the confirmation she needed.

"Very well," she said at length. "Good luck t' y'. If we're meant t' meet again, I s'pose we ay will...an' if no'...then I'll r'member y'."

She reached into her bag, digging for something small and yet significant, and when she'd found it, she pulled it out. It wasn't anything particularly beautiful, just a rowan twig, but she handed it to him.

"T' keep away evil spirits...y' look like y' migh' jus' need i' a wee bit more'n I do."

Clicking to her camel, she sent it into a gentle lope, letting it pull gradually ahead from the rest of the caravan. Perhaps dharma would let her find what she sought this time, rather than pulling her into some new adventure that would challenge her faith. Without faith, she was nothing.


~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The rest of the ride was quiet and lonely, leaving plenty of time for reflection, but the heat dulled heavy thoughts into drowsy musings. She got into town as the setting sun was splashing brilliant violets, scarlets, and golds through the sky and throwing streaks of glory on the golden-red sands. Already the brutal heat of the day was plummeting into the frigid temperatures of the desert night. Fallien was a beautiful land, but Karuka got a sense of a land recovering from some unspeakable horror...a land horribly scarred.

As she hopped off the camel, stretching out stiff legs and sore buttocks, the sense almost overwhelmed her. She was now in the heart of Fallien, and she'd never been to any land that had so strong and primal an energy. It wanted to connect with anyone that came and would listen to its call, and a little Druid was a perfect candidate. Karuka had been taught to listen to the land before she could walk, and where other places whispered, this one screamed. The only place she'd been that had come close to having so powerful a voice was the Liviol Sanctum, with its ancient secrets and deadly guardians.

An attendant came to help her with the camel as she grabbed her bag and staff from the beast's high back, and she gave the man a coin.

"Th' beast b'longs wi' a wee caravan comin' in soon behind. Give it t' th' man drivin' 'em."

That taken care of, she started to wander aimlessly. Maybe she'd be lucky and find the faithful...but all she saw was greed and depravity. She'd have to rent another camel, maybe, and go out into the desert again. Surely in so brutal a place there were people that held onto their faith and gods.

Weren't there?

[Storm Veritas]

Go back. Turn around. Let her go. Let her be.

He marched onward anyway, knowing that his better judgment would not be able to hold back the wave of hedonistic pursuit that drove him. He knew that town would hold the things that pulled him from the sea in the first place; money, sex, booze. It would have been terrific for him to turn now and let her traipse merrily along, but he knew that the tender, sexy mage wasn’t going to be leaving his memories regardless of his moral compass or inner strength. He wanted her – another to share the power – and that little twig would do little to satiate his desire for her.

His camel moved, the melodic and rhythmic rise and fall as Storm pushed onward, seeing the city slowly rise from the horizon like the Colossus. It was white and stone and beautiful, and the level of civilization surpassed his expectations. He couldn’t turn back once he laid eyes upon it, the hypnotic allure simply too strong. He had to ride in.

He felt as he approached the town not torment but relief, and upon disembarking gave the camels to an attendant, who nodded graciously as the tall scoundrel handed him yet another coin, to pay for the girl who rode in ahead. Storm smiled slowly and unwrapped his head, pulling off the long swath of cotton that protected his face. The air that hit him was a relief, and the parts of his face not exposed for the ride felt a cool burn juxtaposed to his reddened eyes.

“You, boy…” he started, motioning to a short youth selling water. The boy was not more than eight, and held small clay jugs before him with beanpole arms. Storm flipped another gold piece to the boy, unsure of what exchange rate Fallien held. Like a crocodile snatching a fish the boy snapped up the coin, tossing a water to Storm. Violently, he rummaged his pockets for silver to hand back.

“You can keep it if you point me to the girl.” Storm was smiling now. He couldn't stop thinking about her. There would never be another like that lovely one before him. “The girl with the funny accent. And nice tits.”

The boy chuckled madly at this – he’d never heard such vulgarity so openly. Most people didn’t speak as such to a young boy, but it didn’t matter –that- much. A tiny hand was held up, and he pointed to a larger edifice.

“Church, mister. Pretty lady went in there. Brought her ‘nice tits’ with her.”

A stern look from Storm quieted the lad; the last thing Veritas sought here would be more attention. At the same time, finding the girl he let walk away would prove difficult, for he and churches tended to mix like oil and water. Regardless of religion, mass-murderers don’t tend to be smiled upon by men and women of the cloth.

With a sigh, he scratched at his pockets and retrieved a thin cigarette. Standing outside the church, he lit into the small stick and waited for a better idea to pop into his head.

[Karuka]

Karuka hadn't gone into the church for having recognized it as a place of worship. Instead, she'd felt drawn to it as a place she might potentially find answers. If she couldn't find answers here in the desert gem that was Irrakam, she'd go seek them in the vast wastelands. If there weren't answers in the harshest inhabited land she'd seen yet, then she'd have to start considering the possibility that the vileness and corruption she'd seen back on Earth was not the result of people turning from the gods...but from the gods finally suffering a mortal's fate and perishing...or having abandoned humanity.

It was dark and cool inside the building, and a few faithful murmured prayers beneath flickering candles. The walls were bare, save for the occasional relief depicting important events from the history of the local religion and a priest walked silently up and down the aisles, not paying her much attention.

Karuka looked at the praying faces and felt her heart begin to sink. Here were not people that were careworn but determined and cheerful because they had faith in something better just beyond. These were people that were careworn, weary, and frustrated. They were here praying because they hoped that there might be someone or something out there that would hear their signs of piety and reward them, or refrain from punishing them. Or maybe they had that hope dashed, and were praying from long-ingrained habit. Or maybe...maybe, they just wanted to be heard by someone or something higher. Maybe they just needed to feel like they'd been heard.

She doubted there were any answers here, but she unwrapped the headdress so that she could at least try to find some. The chill air of the temple hit her face like an ill omen, but she pressed forward, finding a small niche in which she could kneel. She tried to focus her mind into the proper state for effective prayer, but doubts kept spinning through her mind like a plague of locusts, preventing her from even thinking of a way to phrase her questions.

All she managed was to murmur through two repetitions of a basic mantra, reflecting on the words.

"Aum Asato mā sad gamaya," from ignorance, lead me to truth, "Tamaso mā jyotir gamaya," from darkness, lead me to light, "Mṛtyormā amṛtam gamaya," from death, lead me to immortality, "Aum śānti śānti śāntiḥ."

Then she stood, gripping her staff and re-wrapping her head covering. What truth was there? Why strive for the light when it would only come in its cycle? It didn't make any sense.

"There's no such thing as immortality," she murmured, opening the door to step back out into the night. She figured she may as well wander around for a little while before finding a room for the evening. In the morning, she'd rent a camel and buy some provisions, and head out. Since established religion had no answers for her, maybe some solitude among the endless dunes would do something for her. A spirit quest was required of all great shamans. It gave them a purpose, if not answers, and if answers were denied her, at least she needed a clear purpose.

As she walked down the stairs of the church, she didn't see Storm waiting nearby, so she started walking right past him. While she had the same bag, clothes, and staff as before, she'd temporarily let the cheerful facade drop and a weariness slumped her shoulders while her feet dragged slightly. If he'd hoped to recognize her by her demeanor, she'd likely be well disguised. If he'd hoped to recognize her by her accent, she wasn't speaking. She looked like any other traveler in her suit, and her dark skin blended in with the locals, especially in the dark. But maybe he'd still recognize her, just by that battered bag, the jug of ale hanging from her hip, and the long staff that tapped against the sand-dusted street as she walked.

[Storm Veritas]

The hit to his ego was bad enough. It was one thing for her not to fall over his feet, it was another thing altogether for her to stroll right past him as though he weren’t even there. After all, he was Storm Veritas…

No. He was Storm-Fucking-Veritas, and as much as he tried to stay away from this identity in the distant lands of Fallien, the certain arrogance afforded of celebrity he was far less willing to part ways with. Besides, there was no logical reason for him to abandon this confidence altogether; it was what earned him the respect on the boat and the peace to operate on his own.

I don’t care how sexy you are. You don’t just walk by me, honey. Not like this.

It wasn’t pleasant, and he wouldn’t be proud of it later, but he stepped to her and clasped his long fingers around her bicep. Just the feel of her soft, smooth skin made his spine tingle like he felt someone creep up on him. She was special, and it caught him by surprise. His throat stumbled, and the words came less smoothly than normal.

“Wh… what’s that, sugar? Don’t see me for a day and now suddenly we’re strangers? How am I supposed to survive in a tough town like this without someone like you to protect me?”

He smiled, and he knew how handsome he must look. Regardless of the brusque grab, he knew that he could set even the most skeptical mind at ease. Even with the scruff which had grown soft over several days, his dimples still popped out when the corners of his mouth turned up, appeased. It wasn’t likely that she could tell how nervous he was talking to her; it had been ages since he cared enough about a woman not to stumble over dialogue like some damned boob.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but I think I need to get a bite to eat and find me a place to lay my head. Darkness falls early here, and shopkeeps everywhere in Althanas tend to overcharge when they have the leverage of a desperate traveler on their hands.”

Another smile. She looked up, but those giant, liquid eyes didn’t say anything tangible to him immediately. His stomach swelled with nerves; had he upset her that much?

[Karuka]

An open street at dusk is a prime time for a lone woman to be attacked, and with the sand on the street just thick enough to slip on if one made a sudden movement, Karuka would have been at a disadvantage. Somewhere, under the burden of her thoughts, she knew that, but wasn't conscious enough of it to keep alert.

When she felt someone grab her, she glanced back swiftly, gripping her staff tightly in case the touch was the first move of an attack, but when she saw the face, she relaxed. It was almost comforting to hear Storm speak. Here was a man that knew his place in the world without even the slightest hint of a doubt. He had an unwavering faith in something, even if it was just himself. The confidence was refreshing.

An' he ay does have a winnin' smile.

She grinned at him, sheepishly, after a moment of silence, and pulled off the turban over her head. The sun was on the wane, she no longer needed it.

"If I'd known y' were lookin' fer me, I'd have ay been lookin' fer y'. I didn't see y' there, in th' shadows, an' I ha'..." she dropped off, looking down and tucking a red curl back behind her ear. Why let someone so confident see weakness?

"I was thinking about th' supplies I'd prob'ly need t' get in th' mornin'. I thoughtcha wanted t' part ways back there, so I wasn't expectin' this."

She stood up straight, forcing herself to brush off the weariness from the long trip and the weight of all the uncertainties like the Fallien housewives brushed sand from their doorsteps every day. She'd have a room tonight, a place to sleep and think to herself, but it was a bad idea to show doubt in public.

"A wee bit o' food sounds good. I haven't seen any places yet, but I'm sure there's somethin' aroun' that'll do."

She looked around, as though to seek out such a place, and wound up casting her eyes to the sky. The purples and golds were fading into soft indigos that gave the clay and stone buildings a sleepy cast. Places were closing down and people were going home. Stars weren't quite out yet, although it would only be a matter of minutes. It was time for a traveller to head in.

"I bet th' stars shine clearer here than jus' about anywhere else, at night."

A soft cough brought her back to attention, and she turned back to Storm with that same bright, sheepish grin. "Sorry...I ne'er focus on anythin'. Here looks like a good place."

With that, she led them into a small inn with just enough activity to keep it merry, but not enough to make already weary travelers and citizens fractious. They were taken in without delay, set at a small table and served promptly with a spicy curry and a mild ale.

Karuka was starting to be glad the day was at its end. Hopefully there was a place she could at least rinse off the sand; she hadn't realized the grit's tendency to get everywhere.

[Storm Veritas]

Dinner was horrible. There was something about curry that he loathed; the taste or smell or general flavor that was much too strong for his Corone-crafted palette. Nevertheless, his lady friend seemed to enjoy it enough, so he charmingly appeased her as he pleasantly finished a bit over half his meal. He then asked for the rest to be packaged – explaining that he needed to ration food after going on near-empty for a few days.

Ration some to me, and some to the camels. This stuff blows.

Her voice was sweet, with that same little familiar twang that had charmed him so thoroughly. Whatever it was about her, he was simply enchanted, and the little nuances of a voice that bordered on maniacal in decryption drove him positively wild. Seeing her eyes light up, the way that she looked at him – there was no doubt that he had managed to trick her into finding him somewhat tolerable as well.

It was wonderful, and the premise of staying in the same inn as her was certainly quite appetizing as well. As soon as they stepped through a large, simply constructed aperture, Veritas briefly yearned for the luxuries of Radasanth. While pieces of Irrakam were nice, the townfolk still lived in abject poverty. The small place was constructed of fronds and a wood that looked like bamboo; Storm was far from certain that it would remain quiet through the night.

It’s the company that makes these holidays so special, though, isn’t it?

Regardless, all he sought was privacy with the lovely damsel. A befuddled clerk stood behind a thatch desk with dark elven skin and a gaping maw that contained at least a handful of blunt, squared teeth. He slowly sipped from a tall glass of yellowish, particle-filled water that made Storm’s stomach turn. A thick growth of fur erupted from his peasant’s shirt at the collar, and the ludicrous appearance forced Storm to stifle a laugh.

Maintaining composure, Storm stood tall and proud, with hands behind his back and scruff-covered chin up. He spoke to the man as though he somehow felt a modicum of respect for him. He was quite the actor, indeed.

“The lady and I will need rooms. Any vacancy, friend?”

There were clearly two sets of crudely made iron keys hanging from a row of seven or eight hooks. Despite this, Storm clearly mouthed “ONE” silently at the clerk from behind the lovely Karuka, which led to a brilliant exclamation from his new friend, Five-tooth.

“See, sir, yes indeed, reckin’ d’have two fer ya!”

Oh, you blithering retard.

With this, Storm snapped his fingers, firing a small tendril of powder blue electricity behind him. It hit the bamboo wall with a crashing sound, which led the three – conveniently the only three in the room – to turn with mouths agape.

No sooner did the small fire start up the makeshift wall than did Storm extend a hand towards the rack of keys. A single set was lifted, which he pulled inwardly through the air. It raced into his hand, and he deftly hid the set of keys in his coat. Moving toward the flames, he grabbed the small glass of rancid yellow “water”, tossing it on the small flame and dousing it. He laughed nervously as the clerk made some damned-fool comment about how dry it was in the deserts and fires starting out of nowhere once in a while.

And when the moron returned to his post, he found that there was only one set of keys hanging from the rack. Scratching his mostly bald head with a long, bulbous finger, he turned back and handed the keys to Storm.

“Sorry, sir’ e only git’ one tunnah.”

With that, the resident fool extended a wink to Veritas, as though he had figured out the ruse. This completely perplexed Storm, and also angered him, for after all his work Karuka had no doubt seen the idiotic wink, as though the clerk were part of the agreement.

[Karuka]

From two rooms to one was too rare a happening to not be suspicious, especially since the crackling of burning bamboo did not cover the sound of a soft clank behind her. It unsettled the red-head, especially since Storm had made it clear that he was attracted to her.

It was a breach of boundaries, and Karuka's movements shifted. Where she'd been relaxed before, she became edgy, shifting her feet and adjusting her bag on her shoulder. It wasn't the only inn in Irrakam, and she wasn't going to stand for it. If he'd taken his time, maybe he could have made his way into her heart. But Karuka was still stinging from a betrayal better than a year and a half before.

The clerk noticed her leave-taking mannerisms first, and held up his hand.

"Wait. It's bad idya to wander Irrakam at night. Safer here."

She tossed her head, looking defiantly at the clerk, but her hand still slipped into her rune pouch, bringing out three little clay tablets with her. Is and Hagaal, from before, and one more, Eohl. Safety.

I hardly feel safe like this.

Dropping the runes back into her pocket, Karuka let her gaze drift back to Storm, not making any attempt to hide suspicion and a little anger in her eyes. If he didn't want to see the Irish spitfire go off on him, he'd do well to keep his hands to himself.

She then looked back at the clerk, finely structured head held proudly up, a stance that made the clerk glance down at his books and mumble something, despite the fact that she was much smaller than he was.

"All righ'. I'll stay."


~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The room was small, and as spartan as any Karuka had seen. There was a lumpy bed that might have been roomy enough for two, if they liked to sleep nestled up, and a small table. There wasn't even a water basin, so it seemed that the red-head would be dealing with the sand that chafed against her joints and on her skin, because she sure as Hel wasn't set on disrobing.

With a slightly irritated sigh, she set her pack against the wall and walked to the window, looking up at the sky. She was right, or at least she thought so. The stars shone brightly. She could even see them through the layer grime smeared on the window.

We'll ay make i' through th' night, an' int' th' dawn.

Night did always have to end.

"All right. I'll stay."

>>>We'll make it through the night, and into the dawn.<<<

[Storm Veritas]

He grimaced at what was obvious disdain. She was clearly shaken, and looked as though she felt vulnerable, too. It was a bad combination, and it seemed that Storm had been duped by the imbecilic inn owner. Perhaps the two-toothed fool took special umbrage at the way Storm had tried to manipulate him; it wouldn’t be the first time Veritas had succeeded in offending someone by coming off as a bit too commandeering.

That said, the opportunity was now, and this gorgeous little vixen was cornered. He was a lion circling a wounded zebra, waiting for the defenses to fall before he could easily lope in for the kill. She was here, alone, secluded, and though he wouldn’t resort to physically overpowering her, he felt as though she was in bad enough shape that a little negotiation would be all it should take to bring her back to her senses.

A little easy on her, but stay firm. Stay on point and don’t waste too much time; this one looks wild.

He removed his large cotton robe shirt, revealing a thin cotton undershirt and thin musculature he was quite proud of. His long, striated arms twitched with thin, explosive strength. He was nonchalant about this, but simultaneously aware of what effect his body historically had on women. Sitting on the bed, he smiled as he used his fingertip to light a bedside candle.

“You know…” he began, a bit of self-effacing sarcasm in his voice “I could think of a lot worse scenarios than being stranded in the middle of east-asshole Nowhere with a gorgeous girl.”

He looked at her with a simple, unmistakable gaze. His smile was charming, and he carefully hid the mint leaf he had stolen under his tongue. Nice breath would be a pleasant consideration.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll be up early, and meet with the head merchant at the square. I think I’ll fare quite well, based on what I’ve seen so far.”

Another knowing smile, as he avoided glancing at his leather bag. The little moonlight that came into the room lit up her pretty face like porcelain, although her eyes were still a bit glassy and scared.

The way you killed those bandits, what the HELL are you so scared of, sugar?

His thoughts swirled violently in his head as he attempted to figure her out. She was certainly lovely, but he couldn’t fathom what kept her more than arm’s reach away. Everyone had needs; everyone sought comfort. What was making her so uneasy?

“I think there’s plenty room here for two. I’ll even pretend I’m a gentleman if you want to get comfortable, and we can set the bug net up to keep the flies away for the evening.

“It’s been a long day, and you look tired. Why not relax a bit?”

[Karuka]

He was pushing, prodding, pressuring her with that smooth voice and those soft words. He thought he had her trapped like an animal, and so he did. But he had forgotten the most important thing about the trapped animal, and that was a mistake. It was also a mistake to think of her the little lamb to his big, bad wolf. She was nothing so gentle.

It was worse for him than even that, though. While Karuka's pretty face and form had come from the soft meadows of Ireland and the splendid beauty of India, while she had Gaelic cordiality and Indian grace, there lingered something much darker beneath that perfect amber skin. Something hot beat in her Celtic heart, and something fierce and dark twined through the Indian part of her soul.

"I'm goin' t' say this slowly, t' make sure y' understan'."

Without moving her body, Karuka turned her face, letting the light of the candle throw harsh shadows across the delicate features. Her eyes flashed from under firmly set brows, and there was no trace of the merry little flip he had thought her.

"I don' care who y' think y' are, an' what y' think y'll get with yer words." Her lips twitched disdainfully, like a tigress over a rabbit. "Mere, weak words."

She turned more fully towards him, fingers twitching as though they would fain draw a rune and incinerate him where he sat. There was no fear. She had lost her fear of him. Now there was merely anger.

"Y' think I'm some wee poppet who'll let th' words of aon man pull at my strings, but I'm no poppet, an' I'll ne'er be manipulated by some'un like y'. I'm no' so deaf as t' no' hear th' clank, nor so blind as t' no' be able t' tell aon from dha. Y've acted like y' think yer somethin' better n' a man, but yer no'. Yer jus' a man, an' a man wi' more flaws than he'd like t' admit. 'Tis in yer very name. Yer wrathful an' warlike, too used t' winnin' t' ha' humility, too transient an' independent t' think o' other people as people, an' too used t' possessin' what an' whoe'er y' want t' think o' any'un but yersel'."

She hefted her bag onto the table, flipping it open. "Perha', too, y' think that because y've spent money on me that y've paid fer me, like a common whore. I ought ha' known that y' weren' bein' nice fer th' sake o' i'."

She plunged her hand into the bag, grabbing out a handful of money and flinging it at him hard. "There. I've paid y' back fer what y've spen' on me."

She stated to lift the bag back onto her shoulder when she caught sight of another thing she'd slipped into the bag - the little jade necklace he'd given her earlier. That had seemed an honest gift of leave-taking, and it shone softly in the dim light, something almost pure, innocent. But she was done thinking anything honest or pure about Storm, so she snatched it out and dropped it on the table.

"I'm no whore, an' I'm no poppet. I'm a person. I hope y' realize what that means a'fore yer time is come."

That said, she left. She didn't look back at him, she didn't further acknowledge him, she just left. The clerk tried to stop her as she was sweeping out of the inn, trying to convince her that it was too dangerous out of doors after dark. He only succeeded in becoming a new target for her wrath.

"Better a dozen nights in Hel than a single 'un under this roof."

With that, the door slammed behind her, and she was out in the streets of Irrakam, angry and alone.

"I'm going to say this slowly, to make sure you understand."

"I don't care who you think you are, or what you'll think you'll get with your words. Mere, weak words."

"You think I'm some little puppet who'll let the words of one man pull at my strings, but I'm no puppet, and I'll never be manipulated by something like you. I'm not so deaf as to not hear the clank, nor so blind as to not be able to tell one from two. You've atcted like you think you're something better than a man, but you're not. You're just a man, and a man with more flaws than he'd like to admit. It's in your very name. You're wrathful and warlike, too used to winning to have humility, too transient and independent to think of other people as people, and too used to possessing what and whoever you want to consider anyone but yourself."

"Perhaps, too, you think that because you've spent money on me that you've paid for me, like a common whore. I ought to have known that you weren't being nice for the sake of it."

"I'm no whore, and I'm no puppet. I'm a person. I hope you realize what that means before your time has come."

"Better a dozen nights in Hel than a single one under this roof."

[Storm Veritas]

He rolled his head to the side as she gave him an earful. Suddenly, the little twang in her voice was more resolute, and it ran away from being cute in the direction of being scathing and intolerable. A small voice inside him called for justice; the temptation to send her reeling across the room with five fingers of common sense gripped and shook him.

No. Not her.

He stood and took it, swallowing as he stared at the little vixen, who was spouting off on a tangent of purity and validity and honor that was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The way she tried to imply such chaste behavior was a stark contrast to the shape that her figure cut. It was refreshing; with a body built for sex she was all but oblivious to the messages her curves sent out.

OK, that’s enough…

And she didn’t stop. She kept yammering on incessantly, buzzing in his ear about her scruples and morals and high standing. She reminded him over, and over, and over that she was not a whore, and that she was not “just another”, but rather a strong minded woman with real feelings, emotion, and thought. He got the point; her strength was a bit of a turn on, but her disinterest certainly seemed genuine as well.

She then turned and screamed, spinning out of the room and slamming the door behind her. Storm seethed at this; it was infuriating, but his own pride vehemently refused to let him chase after her. He could not and would not follow her blindly into the night. She would be back, or she wouldn’t, but his error was clear and her stance resolute.

Of course, if you care, you’re going to have to go after her. Irrakam is a terrible place at night, and she’s still safer with you than out there. Powers won’t do her shit if she’s roped down, bound and gagged and... Well… you know the rest.

He sat up on the bed, scratching his chest with long, digging fingernails. A hopeless gaze was painted upon his face as he considered his options. The room was very comfortable, despite its forlorn appearance, and it had been an extremely long day. To lay down and move on from here would make perfect sense; he would likely even have a visit in the night from a repentant and desperate young lady.

Or, he may not. Standing, sighing, Storm exited his room, looking out for a sexy little redhead with a face full of fire.

[Witchblade]

Storyline

Continuity: - 5 This was an odd quest for me to read. It centred wholly and completely on the character interaction between Storm and Karuka, but I never felt like there really was a lot of character interaction. There was a bit of conversation here and there, but even that was skipped over occasionally to say it just happened to keep the quest moving. I would have preferred a longer quest in order to read some more of how they reacted together. Storm was just running around thinking Karuka was hot in just about every post—which was enough already after about the fifth one—and Karuka just kind of seemed uninterested and did her own strange thing. I’m not even sure where you two going with the quest, the ending was abrupt and I can see there being a quick sequel to take place directly afterwards, but if so, I would have submitted the quests together.

Setting: - 8 What can I say here? The two of you definitely don’t have a problem when it comes to setting at all. There were very few times that I found myself without a clear imagine of where they were, one of them being when they were at the Inn getting something to eat. I do have to say though, and this is nothing I’m taking points away from, some of the descriptions of Irrakam and Fallien came off oddly to me. The place is not that poor and the people wear a more Mediterranean style of clothing than covered in whites from head to toe.

Pacing: - 6 The quest seemed relatively slow to me. Parts that I thought would have been more interesting were rushed through and other parts seemed to have too much emphasis put upon them. The situation in the desert with the bandits was strange and didn’t appear to have much of a purpose and the dinner was written right through and onto the bedroom scene! Then there was the ending, which I suppose would have been fine if Storm had just chosen to stay in his room, but with him leaving it didn’t feel like an ending, merely a beginning to something else.

Character

Dialogue: - 5 I always have a fondness towards Storm’s internal dialogue, he’s just such an arrogant bastard that you can’t help but love him. But in this quest he didn’t quite feel like Storm with some of the things that he was thinking and saying. The scene out in the desert in particular bothered me. When he was telling Karuka to go on ahead without him and that he would only be trouble to her, it just seemed so uncharacteristic of Storm Veritas that I ended up rereading the scene about three times. It just didn’t feel like him to me. Karuka, your dialogue came off a little bland sometimes, the only time I ever really felt her fiery little spark pop up was at the end when she was telling Storm off and it came almost out of nowhere to the reader, which in turn made it kind of jarring. I was hoping to see a bit more of her spunk against Storm’s arrogance. There could have been so much better dialogue done between these two instead of the strange tip toeing and polite dance that they played around each other.

Action: - 6 Like dialogue, some things with the action particularly felt out of place with Storm. I know he wanted to have sex with Karuka, but would he really go through all that trouble just for the chance? Where was all the seduction and carefully placed words and caresses that I know Storm is good at? Not to mention I just didn’t feel like there was enough in this quest to bring them closer. True, there doesn’t need to be a raid on a city and some impossible situations to get character together, but there seemed very little keeping these two together other than Storm’s constant remarks about Karuka’s body.

Persona: - 4 Karuka was definitely not the little ball of spunk that I know her to be. True, her faith has been a little shaken and she’s quite uncertain about herself at this point in time, but she just didn’t come off as Karuka to me. Even a slightly depressed version of Karuka. Storm came off really shallow and quite low to me and his constant reasoning to see Karuka and want to spend time with her was either because she was beautiful or she intrigued him. But I read nothing in that quest that made me see that intrigue. I’m being blunt here, I saw no reason for him to keep hounding after her, especially considering she wasn’t interested.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 9 Not really much to remark on in this category. Both of you know how to dot your I’s and cross your T’s, though I did notice the occasional mistake.

Technique: - 8 There’s no doubt that both of you have a good grasp of the English language and are talented writers, but I just felt that Storm’s writing was not at his best here. Perhaps it’s because of his long hiatus, but whatever the case, it was lacking a bit of the flare.

Clarity: - 7 I hate doing it because it is a trait of the character, but damn the way Karuka talks can get really confusing sometimes. I’m pretty good at figuring it out for the most part, because I’ve read work by Michelle before, but it’s very slow going and eye crossing and I just want to read, not have to decipher.

Wild Card: - 6 I’m not sure if this is going to turn into something significant for either of your characters, but I certainly hope that if you do another follow-up quest there’s some more in-depth character interaction going on than in this one.

Total: 64

Reward:

Storm Veritas receives 3,100 experience and loses 300 GP for all that money spent, but gains 150 back when Karuka threw it in his face.
Karuka Tida receives 2,100 experience and loses 150 GP.

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP Added!