A Blade and a Fire, First Verse [ Closed ]

[Barbatos]

3rd Day of Searing, 122

Some things never changed.

From what the Sellsword's father told him, there would never be a shortage of men needing hired muscle. Moreover, there would never be a shortage of men whose irresponsibilities led to such a necessity. Though the work was sometimes gruesome, it was a consistent way to keep one's belly full. So it was that Barbatos was able to find some odd jobs in his newfound home. From whence he came was still a smoldering crater, and thus the only way was forward. Kalzasi was where he resided now. It was where he'd carve out some semblance of life anew.

But this day, the nature of his work took him outside of the city limits. Not too far that it would be perilous, but far enough that he could fulfill his task to the letter. Apparently there was a man known for his gambling habit. Well, he had left one bet too many unpaid - and that drew the ire of Barbatos' employers. Of course, the sable-skinned man wasn't hired to kill the poor sod. That would leave the debts unpaid perpetually. But rather, to scare and shake him up a bit. A little bit of encouragement to make good on his word.

It didn't take long to locate the sod. And though Barbatos felt guilt for needing to do such a thing, he grabbed the man by his shoulders. A blade drawn here, some harsh words there, and the debtor was damn near pissing himself. Fortunately enough, he swore on his mum's grave that he'd pay up - and soon. Good. With thus said, he was free to go on his way. And Barbatos was free to report his success to his employers. The Sellsword was about to turn back when an absolutely divine scent reached his nostrils.

He couldn't quite place it, but he knew meat over a flame when he smelled it. Following the aroma, he wandered up and over a nearby hill. A modest flame soon graced his sight, along with a single figure tending it. Barbatos raised a hand, waved, and drew closer. "Hello there!" he called, striding closer. "Spare a bite? I've coin." He was hungry, after all, and this would save him a lengthier detour when he returned to the city.

Assuming, of course, the owner of said meal was feeling generous.

.

[Faelora]

3rd day of Searing, 122

Azazoth lifted his great head to the sky, his stormy grey mane tossed behind him as he voiced his disapproval. I glanced up from the flames of my campfire, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Is that so?" I asked incredulously.

The huge grey horse tilted his ears towards me, swinging his great head around, and grunted again. Leaning back, I chuckled,

"Oh and what are you going to do about it?" I teased.

Azazoth, apparently sensing that I either didn't understand him or wasn't going to untie him, huffed and turned away from me with a dismissive flick of his tail. For a moment I watched him, a mixture of curiosity and awe. He was deceptively large; a hulking beast of pure muscle and fur the colour of a rolling thunderstorm. For a moment I wondered what it would feel like to be such a creature; to exert such strength with so little effort.

Shaking my head, I turned back to my fire.

Fortune-telling and doom-saying isn't always the most profitable profession, but it suited me. Only sometimes would I be paid in coin; more often, my services were traded directly for a meal here, a patch job there, whatever I needed. It was freeing, in a sense. Most recently, I had given a young woman advice on her upcoming betrothal, and in exchange, she had offered a huge pot of soup and bread that had been made with herbs.

The payment now sat simmering over my fire as I watched my moody, stubborn horse sulk at his post.

"Hello there!"

I glanced up as a voice came from over the hill. It came from a fit-looking man, approaching as he asked if he could join. I watched him draw a little nearer before I raised a hand to gesture to the other side of my fire.

"I've little use for coin," I answered, studying him up and down, "but perhaps you have something I can use. Would you consider a trade?"

[Barbatos]

As the Sellsword moved closer to the pyre, his eyes widened ever so slightly.

It was not the fact that the woman had hair of snow. Nor was it the fact that her ears were as daggers. No, what drew Barbatos' surprise was the fact that she was alone; outside of her steed, that is. Even the most empty-headed of sellswords knew that the safest place for the unarmed were behind city walls. Especially now that, to the south, raged the Dreadmists and whispers of armed conflict. Nonetheless, Barbatos fixed his face when she invited him to sit on the other side of her fire. The sable-skinned man nodded and squatted down, outstretching his hands to warm them.

To his question, about trading coin for a bite to eat, the woman had an answer he did not expect. She had little use for coin? This caused the man to literally blink with confusion. What soul couldn't find a use for money, especially when they were a stone's throw away from one of the Free Cities. Curiosity bid his tongue to answer, so he spoke over the crackle of the flame. "You're the first I've met with little use for coin."

He began, punctuating his thought with a light chuckle. As a mercenary, coin was his lifeblood. It inspired him to do such things as shaking down a gambler. Without this motivation, there was no telling what sort of mundane life he'd lead. "I'm hungry enough to consider a trade. I don't have much outside of coin, however."

His offhand rose, gently touching his chin in thought.

"Do you need assistance with anything? I've a strong back."

.

[Faelora]

3rd day of Searing, 122
My eyes remained upon the visitor as he spoke, expressing surprise at my offer. He remarked on his strength, and I let a smirk takeover my features. Raising my head, I nodded behind him at my horse, who now had turned slightly so he could study the man while he grazed.

"That's my horse Azazoth," I answered, "the last two days, he's being very tender on his back left hoof. I'm not strong enough to pick it up to check... and he knows it. Share this with me, and then would you be able to take a look?"

As if he knew I was talking about him, Azazoth tilted one ear in my direction before returning his attention to the patch of thistles. I watched him a moment more before my own hunger drew me back to the meal before us. Taking the ladle, I stirred the stew, as if enticing the man to accept my terms.

In truth, however, that was only half of the deal. Trading services helped me to carve out a living... but trading stories? That's what I really desired[/color]

[Barbatos]

Ah, the truth of the matter was revealed.

The sable-skinned man gave a simple nod as the ivory-haired woman spoke. Her offer was simple and would not take much effort on his part to accomplish. But, it also answered the question of why his coin was no good. Were they sitting within the relative comfort of the city's walls, then perhaps she would have taken him up on the initial offer. A few pieces of gold would certainly have secured her competent assistance within the city. Hell, she might have even been able to visit someone well-versed in a horse's care if she haggled with him well enough.

But out here was another story. While Barbatos could easily look over his shoulder and see the city's walls, it was still a good way's off. It would take him nearly a half hour to make the trek back on foot. He could only imagine that such a journey would only be magnified if one had an injured steed to account for. Plus, an injured foot making the journey would only get worse with each and every step. So it was that Barbatos, curiosity satisfied, ran the offer over in his mind for a moment. It seemed simple enough, but he had to consider if there were any glaring downsides...

"Your horse, Azazoth," he began, before eyeing the swirling stew. "he's not likely to kick, yes?" As soon as a fresh wave of the smell hit his nostrils, however, Barbatos was sold. He'd figure out the logistics of avoiding an untimely demise by horse hoof in a few moments. Right now, the smell of tender meat was calling his name.

"But if that's what you need in exchange, I'm happy to oblige."

.

[Faelora]

3rd day of Searing, 122
The witch let her eyes flicker up back to the mighty Azazoth as he shifted with a grunt. She smiled warmly at her visitor,

"Kick? No, never", she assured him, "he might see how much he can lean on you though."

Her eyes flashed with a glint of playful mirth at the thought. Entirely useless as a beast of combat, Azazoth behaved more like the Siltori's older brother, playfully testing her and those with whom she kept company. Placing her hands on her knees and drawing in a breath, she stood,

"But for now, a meal... and a pair of names. Mine is Faelora."

Leaving a space for her exotic guest to add his, she moved to the opening of her tent to collect a pair of humble wooden bowls and spoons. As she moved, the charms and talismans jangled and clacked together; little twisted objects of bone or wood, tiny leather pouches presumably willed with stones or herbs. After crouching by the tent for a moment, she returned and began to serve the bounty of delicious stew between them, and after balancing one bowl in her lap, she reached out to offer the other to him.

Should he reach to accept it, however, he would find her free hand reach out to catch his, so she could turn his palm skyward and study it.

[Barbatos]

The ivory-haired woman was quick to assure Barbatos about his sole area of concern. Azazoth may have been many things to her, but a flight risk to his health was not among them. Were the Sellsword the doubting or paranoid type, he might have been a touch more skeptical. Yet, instead, his shoulders simply rose and fell in a brief motion. His shrug was both a physical representation of his ease and the mental exercise of quieting any lingering thoughts on the matter. From here forward, it was an elementary task for a bowl full of benefit.

"I'll do my best to support him." came his answer. His brown eyes briefly danced over to the steed and he offered a light smile. Barbatos never thought that animals could fully understand the ways of man - but he still was raised to treat them with kindness. As his father once said a well-treated steed will run anywhere for its rider. And while Barbatos wasn't intending upon sitting astride Azazoth, a little kindness to ensure he didn't get a hoof to the skull wasn't far off.

His attention then returned to the ivory-haired woman who rose to her feet. She spoke, confirming their deal, and then introduced herself. Faelora was her name. "Mine is Barbatos. Barbatos Fareed." She did not linger before him too long, as she soon stepped inside her tent. As she moved, he could hear the clinking of what sounded like glass and the rattling of what sounded like bone. Curious, he leaned to see over the fire and caught a glimpse of...necklaces? A few hung from where he could see, but they were unlike the jewels he'd see around the necks of women in the city proper.

Had he been reared within the walls of Zaichaer proper, he might have had an inkling about the nature of the woman. But having been raised outside its embrace, he was woefully ignorant. Thus, he watched as she returned and filled one of the bowls for him. It was offered and his dominant hand rose to receive it. What he then felt was not a piping hot vessel, but rather the touch of her fingers. His hand was flipped skyward and his muscles immediately tensed.

"Something on my hand?"

.

[Faelora]

3rd day of Searing, 122

"Something on my hand?"

Oh, the answers that question had. The young witch smiled softly, her eyes flicking up to meet his briefly. They glowed the way only a Siltori's could, as she again turned her attention to the lines on his palm.

"More than you know," she answerd.

The elf went quiet again for just a moment, her gaze fixed upon his hand until she leaned back and handed him the bowl of stew, apparently satisfied with what she'd seen.

"You're a child of great love."

Her answer was quiet, but ringing with genuine intrigue. Lifting the bowl to her lips, she paused to savour the aroma and flavour. Her eyes drifted closed as - for a moment - she lost herself to something else entirely. Perhaps one day she could learn to produce such pleasure herself. For now, though, she was content to trade for it.

"... and great tragedy."

Faelora's next words were slower, almost reverent in a way. The Siltori pursed her lips with a slight frown, it was difficult to mention, people often reacted unpredictably.

"I see too much of that these days; even on my own, here." Moving to hold her bowl with one hand, she extended the other; a slender, pale, delicate hand held over the fire, palm facing upwards, "see that line? The one that appears to segregate the thumb from the rest of the hand? It has that little X shape in it, mine is down in the well of my palm, because it happened after I grew up."

The witch retracted her hand, bringing it to her face as if to study the lines again briefly before returning to her meal.

"I've seen more hands with that mark than without it lately," she lamented, "devout, agnostic, lawful, lawless, it doesn't seem to matter what path we choose, everyone seems to get an X eventually."

[Barbatos]

To say that the Sellsword was unsettled was an understatement.

The act of snatching his wrist as she had done caused Barbatos' frame to tense. Yet her grip was not violent nor harsh. Over the course of his life, the work of selling violence had cultivated a few sharp instincts. Namely an innate desire to defend one's self - and how to size up a potential adversary. Thus, as the question dropped from his lips, the Sellsword's gaze slid up and down her frame. The ivory-haired one was smaller than the sable-skinned man. Her build was smaller and matched the "light" grip she had upon his wrist. Thus, his instinct calmed, for he knew he assumed he could overpower her grasp if he so desired.

That assumption faltered when her glowing gaze returned to his own. It didn't matter how much brawn the Sellsword had, magick was the great equalizer. A soldier was nothing in the face of a decent mage - and thus, Barbatos swallowed. His muscles remained tense as the woman spoke - and finally relaxed when she handed him his bowl of stew. The warmth of the vessel was a welcome reprieve from the scenarios which ran rampant in his mind. Even his own understanding of Kinetics did not give him the confidence to contest an elf of any sort. Not unless it was necessary - or if he was paid for it.

Releasing a breath he did not realize he was holding, Barbatos quietly raised the vessel to his lips. The stew was as delicious as it smelled. And as the earthy taste ran over his tongue, the one called Faelora spoke anew. She spoke...things that he had not divulged. Things, apparently, that had been written on his hand. The bowl was lowered and he quietly watched as she indicated the line upon her finger. An intersection upon her palm was an indicator of tragedy. And out of sheer curiosity, he looked upon his own hand. Sure enough, they were similarly "marked."

"The world is a bastard like that." came his eventual response. "If we aren't killing each other, then the wilds will devour us. If the wilds don't, the whims of the gods will." The subject was still...fresh. A wound he had buried, but the earth was still fresh. Loose. Try as he might, his voice faltered at the last word. Thus, he composed himself with a brief swig of the stew.

"I lost...everything recently. The storm that hit Zaichaer 'marked' me." His chin then motioned in her direction. "You could see all that with a look at my hand, yeah? That some sort of magic?"



.

[Faelora]

3rd day of Searing, 122
The Siltori leaned forwards - slightly, but keenly - as Barbatos added details about what she'd seen. His demeanour seemed reserved, as though the wound upon his life was still fresh and tender. The witch felt a pang of guilt, she was so used to travellers coming to her, desperate for their fortune, marvelling at her (admittedly still humble) abilities. She hadn't stopped to consider that not everyone was ready - or even wanted at all - to hear what she had to tell them.

As he spoke she nodded slowly,

"I had heard..."

Her eyebrows raised as he asked about how she'd known, whether it was magic. Again shifting the bowl to one hand, she laid down her palm again,

"In a sense. It's called Divination. It's not limited to hands, though. If you know how to, you can read the sky, the water, even the bones. The gods have a lot to say if we take the time and learn to listen."

The elf leaned back a ltitle, studying the man anew. He had the muscular build of a creature of combat, and he was calm as he sat with her. She had entertained many a nervous city-dweller, they were seldom-comforted by the weapons at their sides. Barbatos, conversely, seemed to have enough faith in either his gods or his skill to keep him safe. Given that she couldn't see any overt symbols of religious devotion, she guessed the latter, although...

"Tell me how you survived the storm."

The witch held him in her gaze as she finished her stew, finding herself more and more intrigued by the man. He had originally come to her, but perhaps there was more she could gain as well... At least, as long as he continued to prove himself to be more friend than foe.