Date: Searing 15, 122
.
The Sellsword awoke in a cold sweat.
Barbatos' day began the very same once again. Before the rays of morning peaked over the mountains, the sable-skinned man's eyes flung open. The visions which played before his mind's eye were yet fresh, and frantic blinks attempted to remind Barbatos that it was not real. He was not standing in the blighted streets of Zaichaer. He was not looking over what little remained of his father. No. He was in Kalzasi, in his bed, in a home he had purchased with his own coin. Ah, but then his eyes began to water. The sting of reality settled in as he forced himself upright. He may not have been in Zaichaer. He may have just awoken from a dream. But the contents within were very much so accurate. He kept reliving that moment each night. And each day, his heart demanded a reprieve.
But there never was one. For the world did not wait on men to shed tears. The world kept turning and Barbatos had to push forward. Thus, like each day since he came to Kalzasi, the Sellsword buried himself in his work.
This day, an opportunity had arisen that required collaboration with a few others. The warrior's experience was such that he was no stranger to working in a group - for he often took jobs with his sire and his "uncles" as a team. From what Barbatos gathered, the task was simply mission to guard a foreign trader whilst he set about his meetings for the day. The House which had commissioned the task did not see the trader's value as enough to warrant using their own manpower, but he was valuable enough to warrant protection. Perhaps, Barbatos conjectured, the trader overvalued himself and this was merely a concession of sorts. No matter. He had been in Kalzasi for two weeks and already the machinations of the elite were making his mind dizzy.
By early morning the team had been assembled and met the trader. He was an aging man with almond-shaped eyes and raven hair. His attire was just as vibrant as the Houses within the city - a fact which would draw attention if left alone. Barbatos was reminded of old lessons imparted by his father about the rich versus the wealthy. Specifically that the rich felt the need to show off how much money they had, whilst the wealthy had no such inclinations. Nonetheless, so long as the Sellsword was paid, he wouldn't pay any mind. For the first few hours of the day, Barbatos rotated with his team. At times, he would tarry at the door with another of the squad. At others, he would venture inside of whichever building the trader entered and stand only a few paces off.
The trader, himself, seemed to not have pressing matters to attend to. They bounced from establishment to establishment, most of which the trader made simple purchases or made conversation.
Barbatos mentally checked out due to boredom, allowing only instinct to steer the ship. That is, until the Sellsword saw where they were headed next. Within one of the local trading areas, there was a woman situated. A woman who drew attention to herself, but also was off-putting at the same time. Some drew near out of curiosity whilst others judged her appearance and hurried away. For those who were brave, coin was given and a glimpse at the morrow was offered. Barbatos' eyes crept into a light smile at the sight, for she was no stranger. He wanted to go over, but his duties prevented him from doing so. Fortune, however, placed the trader's attention upon the ivory-haired Siltori. Emboldened by the guards at his back, he strode into her presence and sat down.
"So you tell the future?" he asked.
Barbatos took point, standing at the man's side. He said nothing at first, but offered the one called Faelora a warm smile.
.
