Near the front with the others, Míril says to the man with the sword, "Put the sword down. Release the girl. Killing the girl will not give you a weapon capable of harming demons. It will only lead to your own death."
"She's right. Murdering an innocent will not bless a weapon. How could it?"
"There are good and holy priests still living in this town. Two are with us. They can tell you how a weapon may be blessed before a battle."
Finally, when she can talk without coughing, she says, "I don't know. I didn't think it would affect me like this. I've seen people die before. Just not like that. Not so methodical."
She looks Drea in the eyes. "It's just so different, killing a monster underground, or kill someone who's trying to kill you first, than to watch an execution. I..." she trails off, not finding the words to continue.
Drea slides around to the same side of the table as Míril and, if the other woman accepts it, holds her.
"I know," she says. "I know. It was ... hard."
"But I think we have to, have to remember he made a choice. He could have stopped it, even at the very end, with a few words truly spoken. 'I won't do it again.' He wanted to hurt others more than he wanted to live."
After buying stuff, Konstantin seeks out Drea and hands her a vial of antitoxin. "Thank you for your assistance before."
"You're welcome," she says. "And thank you in turn for this."
Samirah, feeling more comfortable around her new friends, cocks an eyebrow at Drea after the 'cheers'. She says nothing, but tilts her head in an unasked question, letting Drea choose to answer or keep quiet.
"Hm? Oh. Just wondering what happens to the ... me I am now if I do get my memories back. Whether the last ten years will need to be a bulwark against a few months of nothing much or a thousand years of malevolent evil."
"Makes me rather hope I'm only ten years old."
"She's right. Murdering an innocent will not bless a weapon. How could it?"
"There are good and holy priests still living in this town. Two are with us. They can tell you how a weapon may be blessed before a battle."
His voice hardens, "The purity of the person goes into the blade. It's like the stories of Shelyn trying to purify Zon-Kuthon's glaive."
"It's why so many weapons used against the demons become evil."
His voice hardens, "The purity of the person goes into the blade. It's like the stories of Shelyn trying to purify Zon-Kuthon's glaive."
"It's why so many weapons used against the demons become evil."
"But ... whatever the truth of that, a priest can give your weapon the blessings of the gods. You yourself said a god's blessing would work, and you must see it's the better way. Maybe the gods even saw to our arrival here, now, so she would be spared."
"Surely you don't still wish to kill her if there is no need for it?"
"But ... whatever the truth of that, a priest can give your weapon the blessings of the gods. You yourself said a god's blessing would work, and you must see it's the better way. Maybe the gods even saw to our arrival here, now, so she would be spared."
"Surely you don't still wish to kill her if there is no need for it?"
His voice chokes up, "But will they?"
"Not if you kill someone innocent, they won't," Samirah says, keeping her voice and tone as nonthreatening as possible. "But as you've done nothing but be afraid for your own lives? Surely we could find a priest to help you."
"Hm? Oh. Just wondering what happens to the ... me I am now if I do get my memories back. Whether the last ten years will need to be a bulwark against a few months of nothing much or a thousand years of malevolent evil."
"Makes me rather hope I'm only ten years old."
"Ah. Well, if you got your memories back, and your time spent in meditation didn't protect you against yourself... would a promise to kill you quickly make you feel any better?" Samirah grins.
She leans back as well, crossing one leg over the other. "You mentioned your village no longer exists... what of your family?"
"Ah. Well, if you got your memories back, and your time spent in meditation didn't protect you against yourself... would a promise to kill you quickly make you feel any better?" Samirah grins.
Drea mulls that one over for a minute.
"Yes," she finally says, quite seriously. "Thank you."
"Yes," she finally says, quite seriously. "Thank you."
"Of course. It's what I would want for myself, too." Samirah says, just as seriously.
"I take it you were either well hidden within the village, or you had been taken elsewhere." She pauses. "Do the witches still live? Are there many? What grudge did they hold against your kin? Please, feel free to answer as many or as few of my questions as you like. I will not be offended if you do not wish to go too deeply into such a topic."
Samirah eventually pops up beside him. "Do you sign because you must, or because you prefer to?" She asks the quiet man. "It's very expressive. Sign language, I mean. But I'm curious."
Roshan's eyes welcome his companion in ways that his lack of language cannot, though he seems to be keeping the rest of his face in check, for whatever reason. He listens, seems to take a moment considering her words. His expression turns mournful for a moment as his fist rotates in a clockwise circular motion across his chest, then turns quite serious over the next several motions.
1) He points to himself (or is it towards the massive scars peeking out from under his cloak?)2) His finger goes to his lips before opening into a flat hand that slaps down on the rising fist of his left.
3) His right opens from right to left as if flicking water from his finger tips
4) He points to himself again
5) His thumb brushes the underside of his chin, following his fist.
6) His fingers form a right angle to his palm and push from right to left at shoulder level.
If it's possible, he seems even more serious over the last three motions as he stares intently into the young Ifrit's golden eyes. As his motions finish, he relaxes with an outwards breath, a half smile returning to his lips as his right hand brushes his cloak back exposing more of the ugly scarring that runs up from his chest and across the right side of his throat. His right hand fans out following the invisible breath and he shrugs, almost as if it's out of his hands.
"I am Konstantin Argentaev," he says.One of Irabeth's eyebrows crooks up, her brown-green eyes taking stock of the man, her gaze is not a comfortable one as it seems to cut through the surface, "You realize that doesn't actually answer my question."
If anyone were to be watching the man in the shadows, they would note his the expression of approval and possibly that affirmation that yes, yes it does, if only by demeanor and attitude for those to whom the words mean nothing.
Any humor that had been in Irabeth's eyes drains away, "I'm sorry for your loss. The Sunrise Sword was as hard hit, in fact you may be the ranking member of your order as I am of mine."...This news disturbs Míril, but she keeps quiet and simply nods her understanding and acknowledgement.
Roshan appears behind Miril's right shoulder. His presence meant to offer support little as it might be in this instance. A reassuring hand tries to impart the words he cannot bring forth.
His voice hardens, "The purity of the person goes into the blade. It's like the stories of Shelyn trying to purify Zon-Kuthon's glaive."
"It's why so many weapons used against the demons become evil."
Chancre slaps his hand against his face. "What? No no no, that's not at all how that story goes. Your theology is questionable at its best, young man. Now let that lady go before you do something we will all regret. Please."
Samirah watches his movements closely. "I suspect it will take me some time to follow what you're saying, and I don't fully understand you now." She says honestly. "I see where your scars reach, and your motions speak of violence that I'm guessing robbed you of your voice? And this motion," she mimics brushing her thumb under her chin, "looks like an insult or negation."
She shakes her head. "This is frustrating for me, and I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for you. I hope you can be patient with my very weak guesswork, and forgive me if I completely misunderstood what you just showed me." She smiles, apologetically. "Especially if I continue to pester you for long explanations and then continue to mangle them."
He nods to himself and finishes his drink. "To explain what happened, you have to know the history of Irrisen... well, the broad strokes anyway. We are ruled by the winter witches. They are exactly what they sound like. Any who oppose them are killed. We... we opposed them. I, and all those Scillarovich and Scillarevna alike, were born to be weapons against them."
He traces an imaginary line on the table, unable to look anywhere else. "They sought those like me, those of the three lines of the dragon. We were the ones, the princes and princesses our people gathered around. Looked to as leaders. As beacons of hope. They hunted us relentlessly. Before my village was destroyed, loyal partisans spirited me away. I wanted to stay. My mother... disagreed." He rubs the side of his head absently in conjunction with the memory.
"The winter witches still live, but I am coming for them. Some day I will return to Irrisen and I'll bring them a winter even they cannot withstand. I'll freeze the flesh from their bones and crush their castles beneath an avalanche of ice. I will turn their dreams into a vast, white wasteland."
Another pause, this one longer. His tone, so even and cold, turns slightly warmer, more rueful. "That is the foolish vow of a boy... but I made it."
Drea's glance goes to his blade, and then up to his eyes.
"If you want me to promise to give you a weapon that can pierce the flesh of demons, to spare her life, then I will do it, to save her," Drea says. "Or you could decide not to bargain with the life of a hostage, but instead let her go, now, and then ask us freely for our help."
"Make your choice."
"I would not want one of our soft-hearted companions counseling me to be kind and be merciful. The winter witches are my enemy, and I will kill them wherever I find them." He says this last with a tinge of warning, a statement of the disharmony that might be caused in such a situation.
"I am under a death sentence in my homeland... all those descended from the wyrm are. I just happen to be the only one left. Perhaps there would be another way to return to the Skala Mountains, but I do not yet know it."
Drea's glance goes to his blade, and then up to his eyes.
"If you want me to promise to give you a weapon that can pierce the flesh of demons, to spare her life, then I will do it, to save her," Drea says. "Or you could decide not to bargain with the life of a hostage, but instead let her go, now, and then ask us freely for our help."
"Make your choice."
The blade is easy to see, the eyes harder, the man's back still to the group. "Yes," he says, dropping his blade. "A weapon that will work against the demons, for all three of us." As he says this, the other two drop their hold on the very young woman who grabs a small, misshapen leather satchel before she bolts past the three crusader.
And then draws up short when she realizes there are more people behind the three woman who'd be doing most of the talking, her eyes wide but no longer with tears flowing from them.
And then draws up short when she realizes there are more people behind the three woman who'd be doing most of the talking, her eyes wide but no longer with tears flowing from them.
Konstantin gently escorts the woman away from her attackers, giving her directions to the Defender's Heart and the password.
Konstantin gently escorts the woman away from her attackers, giving her directions to the Defender's Heart and the password.
She follows rather meekly until you get to the mouth of the alley then she shakes her head. Then her eyes go all big again and she speaks, for the first time that you've heard her, her voice very quiet, and as if the words take effort to shape with the burns on her jaw and throat. "I can't, not by myself." A pause, as spark of something stronger rises in the depths of her eyes and she shakes, "I can't leave my parents. They were injured and don't walk easy."
A hint of color, shame, "We've been hiding." And even quieter, "Even when we heard the insect things and the demons attacking people, we hid." Her head bows with this last pained whisper, pulling on Kon's hold, not believing that she deserves to be saved.
Konstantin gently escorts the woman away from her attackers, giving her directions to the Defender's Heart and the password.She follows rather meekly until you get to the mouth of the alley then she shakes her head. Then her eyes go all big again and she speaks, for the first time that you've heard her, her voice very quiet, and as if the words take effort to shape with the burns on her jaw and throat. "I can't, not by myself." A pause, as spark of something stronger rises in the depths of her eyes and she shakes, "I can't leave my parents. They were injured and don't walk easy."
A hint of color, shame, "We've been hiding." And even quieter, "Even when we heard the insect things and the demons attacking people, we hid." Her head bows with this last pained whisper, pulling on Kon's hold, not believing that she deserves to be saved.
"I am certain my companions will be pleased to escort the group of you back. As soon as they are finished negotiating with your attackers, we should be able to return to your parents."
The blade is easy to see, the eyes harder, the man's back still to the group. "Yes," he says, dropping his blade. "A weapon that will work against the demons, for all three of us."
"I see."
Drea checks to make sure the girl is safe and being looked after before she speaks again.
She draws a cold iron shortspear, not threateningly, the tip pointing down. Then she touches her Scale, and glittering silver light spreads across the length of the weapon.
"I promised you a weapon against demons, and one such weapon is what I have. But it would be possible for me to sanctify two more of your own, although only for a time."
"This one will always be able to harm any demon you are likely to be able to fight against and live, properly armed or not. But it is now sanctified to good so that for a time, it will also overcome the resistance of even the most mighty of demons if you have the skill at arms to strike it, should you be so unfortunate as to meet such a one."
She proffers the spear towards him.
Samirah watches his movements closely. "I suspect it will take me some time to follow what you're saying, and I don't fully understand you now."A soft, understanding smile.
She says honestly. "I see where your scars reach, and your motions speak of violence that I'm guessing robbed you of your voice?a sad shake of the head
And this motion," she mimics brushing her thumb under her chin, "looks like an insult or negation."
he catches her hand with his right, holding hers softly but firmly, his smile grows, and he holds up two fingers on his left. Continuing to stare into her eyes. His breath has deepened somewhat and he is closer than most people would feel comfortable from a stranger.
She shakes her head. "This is frustrating for me, and I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for you. I hope you can be patient with my very weak guesswork, and forgive me if I completely misunderstood what you just showed me." She smiles, apologetically. "Especially if I continue to pester you for long explanations and then continue to mangle them."
His eyes and demeanor softens. Her words, her presence, seem to have had an impact. He leans closer and kisses her gently on her forehead, just below one of her petite little horns. Then, giving her hand a little more of a squeeze, he backs away as far as seems to be comfortable for her and loosens his hold.
The man looks surprised to see just what kind of creaure is offering him the shortspear, but it doesn't stop him from taking the weapons, nor the other men from drawing their own well-worn weapons and cautiously holding them out pommel first to Drea.
Meanwhile, near the mouth of the alley, the girl stops, blinking back emotion and looks at the people in the strange group. Slowly she shakes her head, "You are out for a reason?" Half-question, half-statement.
It is a squat, unassuming one story building. A wooden sign above the door bears a carving of a bunder of orange herbs and flowers hoevering over a beaker filled with smoking orange liquid. The building's windows are tightly shuttered, but the front door hangs halfway off its hinges.
Another, "F$!~ it. We're disbanded, we need something to live on until we find a new job."
The first, "Fine, we have that." The first voice again, although he doesn't sound happy about it. "And we havn't had to hurt anyone for it," a pause, "Yet. Can't we keep it that way?"
As Drea sanctifies the weapons, Míril intones, "'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.' Something I learned in the monastery. Those stories you heard, it wasn't the weapon that turned evil; it was the wielder who turned. Evil requires choice." She gives the man a significant look.
The man looks surprised to see just what kind of creaure is offering him the shortspear, but it doesn't stop him from taking the weapons, nor the other men from drawing their own well-worn weapons and cautiously holding them out pommel first to Drea.
Drea performs the same action with the men's weapons that she did with the shortspear.
"And now that you have what you wanted, I must ask you - please swear you will not threaten or harm another innocent."
"I don't believe you truly wanted to."
...She draws a cold iron shortspear, not threateningly, the tip pointing down. Then she touches her Scale, and glittering silver light spreads across the length of the weapon.
'''
'''
She proffers the spear towards him.
Roshan steps forward and holds out a hand before Drea uses her scale again. He holds out a finely crafted dagger pommel first, and a cold iron starknife.
Drea whispers to the others what she heard being said.
As Drea sanctifies the weapons, Míril intones, "'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.' Something I learned in the monastery. Those stories you heard, it wasn't the weapon that turned evil; it was the wielder who turned. Evil requires choice." She gives the man a significant look.
A finger to the side of the nose, another at Miril. It seems Roshan would like to add extra emphasis to her point.
Drea whispers to the others what she heard being said.
A golden starknife appears in Roshan's hand.
Roshan steps forward and holds out a hand before Drea uses her scale again. He holds out a finely crafted dagger pommel first, and a cold iron starknife.
If Roshan wishes to offer the better weapons before she can enchant the swords , Drea will not stop him.
She will explain to the men, "The weapons my friend offers, like the shortspear, will not lose their demon-piercing power the way your swords eventually would."
Meanwhile, near the mouth of the alley, the girl stops, blinking back emotion and looks at the people in the strange group. Slowly she shakes her head, "You are out for a reason?" Half-question, half-statement.
"I am Konstantin Argentaev," he says, as this answers her question in full.
She looks, and sounds, very unaccustomed to apologizing, or even being in a situation where "no" was the hard answer for her to give.
Samirah watches her companions offering weapons with a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. She watches without speaking, however, and is on standby to attack someone who flies off the handle without warning, or escort a family back to the Defender's Heart.
She shakes her head, looking frustrated. "Was this city filled with naught but men and women that were just one calamity away from falling to pieces?" She says, quietly, drawing her weapon again.
Drea performs the same action with the men's weapons that she did with the shortspear.
"And now that you have what you wanted, I must ask you - please swear you will not threaten or harm another innocent."
"I don't believe you truly wanted to."
After the other men take the weapons offered by Roshan, the one with the shortspear shakes his head, "Didn't." His eyes are old, despite the youth of his face, "Needed a way to fight back."
Meanwhile, near the mouth of the alley, the girl stops, blinking back emotion and looks at the people in the strange group. Slowly she shakes her head, "You are out for a reason?" Half-question, half-statement."I am Konstantin Argentaev," he says, as this answers her question in full.
The girl bites on her lower lip, her eyes wincing in pain as the movement pulls on the burns, then she shakes her head. "We are well hidden and if you have a purpose, a reason, to take away from that would be.. even worse than no doing."
She nods, holds up the pathetically small bag, "We needed food. I managed that, we can hold out."
She shakes her head, looking frustrated. "Was this city filled with naught but men and women that were just one calamity away from falling to pieces?" She says, quietly, drawing her weapon again.
"Seriously. What is wrong with the people in this town?"
After the other men take the weapons offered by Roshan, the one with the shortspear shakes his head, "Didn't." His eyes are old, despite the youth of his face, "Needed a way to fight back."
"Her life was not yours to decide to sacrifice."
Drea sighs. "What you do from this point on matters more at the moment than what you believe. You have what you wanted. So I ask of you -- swear you will never do that again, whatever you believe it to have been."
At some point, Konstantin hands over the gecko meat to whoever is preparing food.
The girl bites on her lower lip, her eyes wincing in pain as the movement pulls on the burns, then she shakes her head. "We are well hidden and if you have a purpose, a reason, to take away from that would be.. even worse than no doing."
She nods, holds up the pathetically small bag, "We needed food. I managed that, we can hold out."
It takes Konstantin a moment to parse what the young woman is saying. "It is ultimately your choice, but we can take you to a fortified location where this," he gestures in the direction of her attackers, "will not happen."
He finishes his drink. "And you? I... overheard... some of what you said to our fellows. Slavery?"
She begins tapping her foot, quietly, against the floor.
"Around the time I blossomed into a young woman, I overheard the leader of the small group discussing the profits they were sure to make from 'the fiery little thing'. That night, they drank themselves silly on promises of future success, and were not careful in checking my bonds. So, I... left." Her laugh is hollow. "I take back what I said a moment ago; these slavers were stupid, and also had clearly not been in such business long. They actually handled very few other people other than myself, and typically traded more in drugs and stolen merchandise."
He pauses, and a slight bit of humor creeps into his voice. "Although as a former slave and a former prince, I feel we are honor bound to try as hard as we can."
Konstantin, who also heard the men inside talking, nods. "You want to go in and talk to them? These seem far more reasonable than the others that we have thus far encountered."
She looks around the room as though she's forgotten other people existed. "Today has been... exciting, to say the least. Maybe we should get some rest?"
"I do love talking!" She says. "Though it would be nice to open the door to a situation that immediately required fighting instead, honestly. And we should still be ready for it." She shrugs, then nudges Drea. "Ready to go in and see if we can convince them to stop... well, whatever mischief they're getting up to?"
"I suppose we are at that point in the evening where it is one or the other. Come, let us join the others. I could use a good meal."
Samirah looks surprised, then chuckles. "I mistook you as someone who would be content to stay in the shadows and wait." There's a twinkle in her eye. "I find you intriguing, and your gestures flattering, but you also find me intrigued in another." Her eyes slide sideways to where Konstantin sits, then back to Roshan. "There is something about him I must figure out before I feel it fair to pursue others... or allow myself to be pursued." She reaches up to touch the spot Roshan kissed. "And as much as I love attention, I will never lead someone on and risk breaking a heart on purpose. I am deeply sorry if I've caused you pain."
She looks, and sounds, very unaccustomed to apologizing, or even being in a situation where "no" was the hard answer for her to give.
He blinks, then a slow smile starts to grow. When her eyes return from there little jaunt astray, he attempts to assume a much more reserved demeanor, but the approval beneath still manages to shine through his solemn nod. His hand flattens across his chest, circles clockwise, then the other flourishes out towards their dour friend. His eyes hold hers for several moments more, then flicker sideways to where two of their other companions are having a heart to heart, his eyes soften as they focus ever so briefly then return to Samirah. His expression mimics that of a young lover gazing into the face of his paramour and his two fists come together on his chest thumbs pointing towards each other over them. He nods towards the two, then to her and with a brief follow through towards there more severe friend. He relaxes back against the bar, raises his mug to her with a blink of slowly lowered lids accompanied by a nod of equal pace, a healthy swig of water and the mug lowers to a completely genuine fond smile for her.
"I do love talking!" She says. "Though it would be nice to open the door to a situation that immediately required fighting instead, honestly. And we should still be ready for it." She shrugs, then nudges Drea. "Ready to go in and see if we can convince them to stop... well, whatever mischief they're getting up to?"
Roshan sweeps the area with his gaze, noting the positions of each person in the group and where attacks might come from that could put them in danger.
"I do love talking!" She says. "Though it would be nice to open the door to a situation that immediately required fighting instead, honestly. And we should still be ready for it." She shrugs, then nudges Drea. "Ready to go in and see if we can convince them to stop... well, whatever mischief they're getting up to?"
"Certainly. Míril as well? She is well-spoken."
Drea's face has taken on the look of someone reassuring herself that, after all, very nearly half of the groups that have been met in the last few days have not chosen "murder strangers" as their new life goal.
Samirah smiles broadly, putting a hand on Roshan's arm. "Thank you," she says simply. She then tries to mimic the motion she's seen him do several times now; a hand across her chest, the clockwise circle, then a tilt of her head. "Is that fine to do in response? Because I hope you know I still intend on the pursuit of learning your sign language. It reminds me of dancing, but for hands only."
Roshan's eyes sparkle and his body shakes in silent laughter. He shakes his head, then holds up a finger and composes himself. His hand opens, then rotates in a clockwise circle. His eyebrows raised, head slightly cocked to one side. Then his hand changes to form something like a bulls horns shaking from side to side before clapping his hands together like someone praying. His expression back in the same expression, his lips mouthing a single syllable, tongue showing behind and between his teeth.
Then he holds up two fingers, composes himself again. This time his hand closes into a fist, but follows the same clockwise motion. His expression, however is sorrowful. The same side-to-side bull horns waggle and this time his left hand closes over his right fist with a similar hang-dog, protruding lower lip, chastened puppy with tail between it's legs expression before mouthing a two-syllable word.
Roshan seems to be very happy to elaborate on his non-verbal interaction. In fact, he seems to be very much enjoying it, but he catches himself. Puts up a hand so close that she can almost feel the presence of his fingertips on her upper chest just below her neck, then both fists, thumbs pointing towards each other form a horizontal circle back towards himself, before both fingers point loosely in the direction of Konstantin. He smiles, creases showing near his eyes as he emphasizes the point with little shooing motions.
1) please
2) sorry