The 'bed' at the flophouse was no more than a piece of tanned leather stretched across a wooden frame. It simply was a modified stretcher and it took Min longer than usual to get used to it. It didn't help that she knew by now, her mother would be beside herself with worry. Ikwame as well... and Min winced - she didn't even want to think about what Myrnal was going to do.

By all accounts, she was glad she got this far. It would take two days to erase whatever tracks she made and then, she would resume her travel plans and hopefully, make it to Nijon in one piece.

The flophouse was rather dingy, as expected and lit only by the occassional flicker of candlelight and the orange embers of what was the inkeeper's burning pipe. Min flipped onto her side and stared at the floor. A small shadow darted amongst the legs of the other beds, making it's way toward the end of the hall where she lay. It was a rat. a prosperously sized specimen of its kind too. It finally reached her bed, and like a small dog sat on its hind paws and stared at her.

"What?" she surprisingly found herself talking to it.

It seemed to only 'cheep' or whatever it was that rats did in response.

"Would you go away?"

The rat stared blankly at her.

She sighed. Like every other person, Min had her eccentricities. One of them was privacy. It was hard enough to sleep. Harder to sleep in a room full of people. And now, this rat seemed to find her interesting. "Do you want food?" she asked. Food always worked with animals, most men and almost all children.

Amusingly, it seemed to prick its ears at the word.

Min rummaged her sling bag and tossed it a small piece of cheese. "Sorry, no meat..." she whispered, "I'm vegetarian. Now, scram..."

Minshara woke up with knots the size of pomelos in her back. "Well," she breathed, "if it weren't for desperate times..." Min made note to never spend another night in a flophouse unless there were no more taverns in the area. Absolutely nothing was worth waking up in a room filled with the stench of twenty other labourers.

Mornings in Tarsis, thankfully brought fresh air in from Miriel. Min looked at the dusty mirror in the corner. She had taken pains to change her dressing  and appearance in the tavern the night before. She tossed her old clothes to a nearby beggar and had put on a cream-white dress and a faded green cloak, both looked sufficiently weathered having got them from a store selling junk that the rich of Tarsis didn't wish to keep any more. Of course, one man's junk is another man's treasure.

She needed to buy dried food provisions and fresh water, she decided, slipping on her knapsack and tying on her cloak. She didn't bother tying her hair back, allowing the black curls to frame her face. Normally, she would have trimmed the length by now.

Min stepped out. Her eyes moved to the still sleepy street, watching as the people lazily got to work. "All right," she breathed. Min wasn't quite sure what to do next but she had to stay out of sight. She turned back to the flophouse. No, she decided, she couldn't return there. She had find another place... Racking her brains, she looked at the streets. Of course, she smiled to her feet. Daidlin's Monastery... that should protect me for a few days. And better lodging too.

(OOC: Okay, you guys... and I mean guys... Myrnal and I have more or less advanced as far as we can in this part of the tale. So we're leaving the next few posts up to you... )

The city is for the exploring and your pursuers would not know to come for us here. I will meet up with you later, when I have completed what it is I have to do. The note was written in the short common speech with long scrawling letters that made Demetri have to squint to read. Altair was right about his pursuers not coming for him, but unfortunately the enemy would be starting to think harder on the subject. They had underestimated Demetri once and had paid with four lives of their assassins.

They would not make a mistake again.

Whatever Altair had to do was of his own consequence. Demetri had not worked with a partner/partners in years, and had forgotten things about how to cover ones back in enemy territory. However, under the current stressful situations, Demetri had had to remember them fast. He needed a way to prove his worth to Altair, to somehow show his capabilities in combat, or show his cunning in some form or another. How did one go about doing such as that? Demetri would have to wait for his chance to show his skills and when he did so, he would leave Altair more trustworthy of him. Incidently, if they didn't learn to trust each other soon, they wouldn't get far.

Demetri sighed and sat down on the bed in the small room they had rented, thinking of the things he had done in the city. Night had fallen, and Altair had not returned for the day, having been gone since Demetri had awakened. The small blanket Demetri laid on on the floor was rumpled, Altair had left earlier it seemed. Demetri had been busy with his own things since they had come to the city. While he waited for Altair to finish his duty or whatever the hell he was doing, Demetri had taken the time to sharpen the Twins and his knife. Afterwards, he had taken his time to wander the city and make himself with familiar with the city. It had been a simple adventure in the new city.

Demetri had nearly got into a fight with a curt man who had been harrassing a woman. Demetri merely told the man to leave the woman alone. When the man did not, Demetri had to promptly break his wrist. The man had been angry and slightly hungover, apparently from a hard night. He was no challenge, however when he tried to assault Demetri (even with a broken wrist) Demetri had to knock the feet from under him. Demetri wasn't a little man, and had faced up to far harder opponents than that of drunken men assaulting women.

Fortunately, his good work was in his favor. The woman, having been trying to reach the market, instead rewarded him with a silver coin. Demetri told her that it was of no need, and made her keep it. Men who assaulted women were nothing but cowards who beat the helpless and the weak until they themselves felt good about themselves. Demetri held no mercy for those who did so. Unfortunately, in his line of work he had witnessed several incidents of the downtrodden being shoved into the ground and had been unable to do anything to help those who were hurt.

Demetri needed to meditate. His fate was out of his control, and Demetri needed to assess the situation. He would have to think hard on what their mission was and to what next part that would happen. This would prove difficult, because it involved using Demetri's gifts. Those that he was not too fond of.

He focused his mind, sitting on the bed and taking a deep breath. The window to the outside was closed, the door shut tightly. It was quiet within his room. The sound underneath in the tavern was almost nothing, hardly a cacaphony. The outside world slowly drifted away and Demetri slipped into his thoughts. As time progressed, thoughts disappeared and Demetri focused on what he was looking for. An object he had been searching for since he was seventeen and had been spent his first night away from his mother, crying in an abandoned fox hole because of the fact he had left his mother to her fate.

And again, as he focused ever more intently on his mother, he came up with only the same damn vision he had got since he had been focusing for his mother since seventeen. The damn black fog that blocked all images of where his mother could possibly be or where she might be held. Whatever was blocking his search, was a powerful mentalist. Demetri's eyes shot open and Demetri sighed once again softly. Not twenty minutes had passed since he had started meditating. Demetri got out of the bed and walked over to the door opening it to look down the hall for anything out of the ordinary.

Wherever Altair had gone. He better hury up.

The low branches bore deep wounds into his flesh that did not hinder him from running. Darkness crept in from all sides and no matter how fast Demetri ran, the darkness continued to seem in. Around him, the forest seemed to envelope everything and behind him he could hear the screams of his mother,"Why did you run? You left your mother to rot! Why did you run? Coward! Traitor! Bastard! You left me! You left me!" And suddenly, Demetri was being spun around by a cold clasp. The hand of her mother, bony and pale with age and torture, jerked him back to look into her face. Her once lovely face had rotted and the amber eyes burned with an unnatural fire,"Give your mother a hug!"

Demetri jerked up out of the bed with a yelp, tears streaming down his face, his brow shined by sweat. In his hand, he held his long knife poiting towards empty air. Shaking all over, Demetri dropped the knife to the ground making a loud clang and Demetri's posture broke down into sobs, as he clasped his face into his hands."It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault!" He uttered over and over between sobs and racking breaths. All his life had been running from one thing or another all his life because of the fact that he hadn't been strong enough to save his mother when the moment had come up. He had left his mother to an undetermined fate and he ran like the coward he was.

Punching the cot that he lie upon, anger gripped his face, the storm gray eyes locking onto the knife that still lay in the floor."No! She told me to run. I did as I was told. If I had stayed, I would have been caught." This was a mantra that Demetri repeated after every nightmare. He had run out of how many times he had awakened to a night of nightmares to give himself the same speech, to try to give rationalization to what had happened that long years ago. It was the reason that in a small cloth in his pack, he contained sleep inducing herbs that he was quickly running out of.

Standing up, wiping the dry tears and sweat from his face, he decided that he needed prayer. He needed guidance in this time. Something to prepare him for the long journey ahead. Strapping his armor on and picking up the knife he had lost, he left the tavern and made his way to the street. On their way in further into the city with Altair, Demetri has noticed a monastary that he could go to. A monastary of anykind would suit him, but Talos was on his side tonight, and the monastary had turned out to be Daidlin's Monastary. With what luck Demetri had had in finding things useful since had come to Tarsis was innumerable.

Demetri had left a note, and hopping on Ele, who was put behind the Tavern in a small stable, he made his way through the city to the Monastary. Demetri was not a religious man to any circumstances. Life had taught him that faith was an illusionary thing that was best to be kept out of one's actions and best to contemplated. Demetri lived a dangerous life daily, and he gave no trust to the Gods. The most frequent God that he did pay attention to was Talos and Daidlin. Talos was one to count on in combat, and sometimes Demetri whispered prayers to the God of Luck, but only when things were truly dire. Daidlin had only been a major part to Demetri when his nightmares increased.

Was he cursed by the God of Dreams? Not likely. He had never done anything that he had thought of to anger the God of Dreams, but nontheless doubt grew in his mind with each time he had a nightmare passed. He needed to speak to a priest, and quickly. Demetri reached the Monastary quickly and he was met by a gracious priest named Julien. When he was led into the monastary the first question asked by the kind Julien was,"Are you alright? Please, come this way so we might talk." Julien led Demetri into a private room with a small table and there Demetri sat.

For the next proceeding half hour, Demetri went into a brief summary of the eight years he had spent with insomnia and nightmares. Of course, he only told that he had been forced to let his mother die from a terrible desease. He told of the description of his nightmares and what he had had to do to stem them off,"I have not led the best of lives, priest. No doubt you know that by what I wear and the way I carry myself. Being a servant of Daidlin does not make you unobservant. On the contrary, very aware of the world around you. Am I cursed by Daidlin for actions I had taken in my life? Am I?"

Demetri turned around to face Julien, who had sat down at the table and was quietly observing Demetri,"I do not pretend to know the intentions of Daidlin, but I can tell you this; you are not cursed. You feel guilt for what you had had to do for your mother. If you had stayed with your mother, you could have caught it and possibly had died with her. Your mother would not want that. She wants you to live your life, Demetri. We all make mistakes in our lives and we must learn from those mistakes. Daidlin has not cursed you." A warming smile crossed Julien's face as he stood up walking over to,"Now, will you be staying the night or going on your journey."

Julien sent a great calming wave through Demetri that cooled Demetri's spirit. For once in his life, Demetri felt at ease in the presence of Julien. He had expected to be uncomfortable in a monastary, having not stepped in such a place for years, but no. He was serene and calm. The first time in his life. Unfortunately, he had a schedule to keep with Altair and no matter how much he needed Julien's soothing voice, he would have to go."I am sorry. I cannot. Life beckons for me to live it." Demetri gave one of the rare smiles that came to his face. The best anyone had ever seen on him was a smirk.

"I understand." Julien led Demetri out of the monastary,"Daidlin smiles on you, Demetri Ferrinex. Live."And Julien was gone. Demetri took a breath away and the calm he had felt was gone, the comforting voice of Julien disappearing from his mind. He had done something very much not like him back there. He would not repeat a mistake like he had just done. Such weakness he had shone, in confiding such deep thoughts to a complete stranger! Sometimes, it's best to tell secrets to strangers than to friends. His mind told him. No doubt, but he should have been strong enough to deal with his problems by himself.

Sliding onto Ele, Demetri clicked his tongue and started making his way back to the Tavern. Priests who relied on faith could never be trusted after all.

((something to tie our characters together in some way))

Myrnal would be a fool if she pretended she wasn't glad to see Minshara taking refuge in a public place, particularly one allegedly under the patronage of a deity. Whatever Myrnal had heard about people within those walls, she knew that as long as Minshara stayed there, the ninja had much less to worry about.

Hell, Myrnal thought. I've even gotten a little sleep.

Myrnal's grandmother had often made the complaint about her husband and grandchild that they could take down an army with nothing but a reliable blade, but they could never be trusted to take care of themselves, to eat or sleep when they ought to. Myrnal was willing to run herself down a little to keep an eye on her new acquaintance. She would likely regret it later, but she'd regret it more if she lapsed and anything happened to Minshara.

It wasn't just the pay, although the pay helped a good bit. In the times when Myrnal was honest with herself, few and far between as they might be, she had to admit she was genuinely worried about the woman. She watched from the shadows when Minshara sat outside under the stars, and Myrnal couldn't help but wonder what was really wrong.

She'd have approached Minshara if she could, but there were two things in the way. First-- and least pressing-- was Papilonn's demand for secrecy. The real problem was that Myrnal had no idea how to express concern for other people without betraying her rough and apathetic exterior. So she settled for the same role she'd always played. She watched from the darkness outside the monastery walls and tried not to interfere or draw too much attention to her. Like so many people Myrnal had known, Minshara was safer for now without Myrnal by her side.

One night, late in Minshara's expected time at the monastery, Myrnal's introspection was jarred aside by the presence of other humans on a nearby rooftop. She pulled a dagger and waited, unwilling to make any assumptions about the audacity of these men. Would they attack here? Her eyes narrowed as she watched one address the other, as crossbows were lowered and they continued to lie there in silence.

Myrnal glanced into the courtyard where Minshara occasionally spent her evenings. No good. Minshara was out there. Even if Myrnal could manage to do something about the men tailing Minshara, if the physician caught on to Myrnal's presence, things could fall apart. This would have to be done quietly or not at all.

Well, am I a damn ninja or am I not? Myrnal thought, scolding herself for her own indecisiveness. There was an easy solution to this, and there was no good reason to shy away from it.

Myrnal crept along the back sides of the nearby rooftops, her path to the other side of the monastery slow and deliberate. Like so many assassins, they were too caught up in their own observations to consider the possibility that someone was hunting them in turn. It was a mental block that Myrnal herself had had to overcome, and the lesson had been a hard one to learn. If nothing else, Myrnal thought with a smirk under her mask, she was passing on hard-earned wisdom to people following in her path. These two would not make this mistake again, so Myrnal needed to take advantage of it while she could.

She touched down on the roof behind them. She was close enough to hear the younger one sigh with impatience. Myrnal understood his feelings; she had been suffering from the same apprehension since meeting Minshara. It was a feeling Myrnal had learned to overcome, but as she noted distantly while she approached, the young man would likely never have the chance to do the same.

Myrnal tensed as the older man turned, bringing his field of vision dangerously close to where she stood. No time, then. In a single motion quick as a breath Myrnal drew her returning dagger from her belt and sent it sailing through the air toward the younger man. He was the one with the ranged weapon in hand, and therefore the most pressing threat to Minshara. With the muffled sound of bone splitting, the dagger drove down through his ribs, dropping his limp form down to the tiled rooftop. His companion turned as the dagger tugged back up into the air and slammed back into Myrnal's open palm.

His hand flew to his waist and he drew a short sword of Nijonese make from his belt. Longer than a dagger, so he had a range advantage. It was also good for defense, meaning that Myrnal would have no choice but to stay away from his middle range. She either needed to be close enough to hear him breathe, or far enough away that he couldn't reach her. She replaced her chosen dagger in her belt as the two stood and silently appraised one another.

He'll know that my best option right now is to be as far away as possible, so he'll get in close if he isn't stupid. Better to be ready when he doesn't expect me to be and sacrifice one advantage for another.

Myrnal laid her left hand down on her belt, her fingers touching the expanding katar she generally used in her off-hand. It had limited range, but if she had no choice but to deal with close combat, the katar could punch through armor and flesh, more than making up for its limitations.

She took a step backward, baiting him, daring him to approach her. Content to make the first move, he rushed at her across the rooftop, his blade flashing as he drove it toward her in a strong horizontal slash. Myrnal stepped backward and in the same fluid motion slipped around to his left, her dagger cutting through the air and missing his torso, cutting deeply into the flesh of his left arm. As she turned to whirl away from him, he flipped the blade around using his one good hand and dealt her another blow right across the injury Minshara had treated, reopening the wound and aggravating the damage.

Her opponent held his sword in both hands, his weakened left barely holding onto the hilt. "Stranger, I have something to confess to you." He switched the blade over to his right hand. "I'm not left-handed."

She grinned under her hood as he reached out with one arm and cut through the air in front of her once again. "I guess it's only fair..." she muttered as she ducked away from another slash and switched her katar to her right hand. "...to tell you..." Myrnal flattened herself against the roof, rolled to the side of her opponent and reached from the ground to slash across the back of his ankle. "....I'm not left-handed either."

He dropped to one knee, knowing he was already compromised. Permanently. Even if he defeated her, it was highly unlikely that the tendon on the back of his foot would ever heal properly. She was mocking him. Wait. She? "You are a woman!"

"Good eye, friend. Tell your boss that Minshara has a lot of friends, and it would be best if you and your allies..." Myrnal glanced down to the fallen bowman, lying with his eyes open in a pool of spreading blood. "...consider... heh. Cutting your losses while you're ahead."

"He was my kinsman," the assassin hissed as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, sorry about that," Myrnal sneered. "We're even then. Consider it payback for the cat."

Enraged at her casual attitude toward his ally's life, the assassin rose on one bleeding foot and stood his ground. "Come then. If you are so confident that you can defeat me."

Myrnal sighed and shook her head. "No, I don't think I will. I'm not as dumb as I look, not usually." She had the advantage of mobility, and the range of his weapon was useless without that. She could fight this battle as she pleased now.

He stepped forward on his good foot and Myrnal dodged around to his bad side. "You fight like a coward!" he spat.

"So do you, mister nameless rooftop assassin," she replied, taking a swipe at his back with her katar. He lurched forward, putting his weight on the leg that could hold him. She missed and stepped back again. "I want you to remember this," Myrnal said. "You are not the only people following that woman, and no matter who your boss hires, you will never be the craziest. That honor is mine, and you will regret testing me again. I strongly suggest you hike your ass back home where you belong."

He smirked. "I am sorry, but your request falls on deaf ears. I am bound by honor to my task, and I will not be driven from it. I don't expect some hired ninjutsu-zukai to understand that."

"When I am defending a friend from a man who seems willing to attack unarmed women from distant rooftops, I won't be lectured about honor by him before I kill him."

The clouds parted for a moment the sky was clear enough to see every star straight up into heaven. The light of the moon illuminated briefly the two dark-clad figures locked in combat on the nearby rooftop. The figure with a sword advanced and retreated with a limp, but the smaller figure seemed unable to attack with one arm, preferring to dodge incoming attacks and wait for openings as they came. The cloud cover returned, and the rooftop was dark again.

Myrnal licked blood from the corner of her mouth, a small concession to her injuries that she was glad her mask was able to hide. She disliked toe-to-toe fighting. It forced her to wait too long for an advantage that would make it a safer fight. Her enemy was panting through a clenched jaw, also unwilling to admit defeat. They were reaching that critical moment when they must make one final blow, stake their effort on one chance at victory. They were still, and tension stretched through the air between them. One of them was about to die, and each was determined that it be the other.

Myrnal watched. She watched him carefully. He was going to move. His weapon gave him a defensive advantage, but he was going to lose that when he moved. He had to, but she couldn't afford to miss it.

He struck, blade held out before him, ready to respond to the slightest movement from her. Could she dodge? She had no idea. Even as her body began to move on her own she wondered if it would be enough.

When the blade came close to her, she turned to the side like a fencer, reducing her profile. She lunged foward and the two warriors passed one another in their charges. But he was injured, and Myrnal had always relied on speed. She swung her arm back, punching her katar through his back and clenching her fist, releasing the trigger that split the blade open like a claw. The assassin gasped and blood poured from the wound.

He crouched on the ground, bracing himself up on his sword and staring at her defiantly. "Well?"

"Well nothing," she replied. "You want an honorable death in battle? I don't have to give it to you. I want you to return to your employer. You will be an example to them of what happens when people hunt that woman. You and your poor dead friend here."

Myrnal took a step backward, her split-toed boots gripping the tiles of the roof. The man was silent as she stepped away, knowing he was too wounded to follow for now. "I'll be watching you."

And then she was gone.

Damn the vulgarity of drunk men. Demetri thoughtfully inquired to himself to his own mind as he slid to a stop outside the Jade Dragon. The tavern that had been his home for a little while. It was a wonder how Demetri slept in such a rough and tumble place as this. A smirk came to his face of even contemplating in even sleeping in any place, wether it be the clouds above his head or hay in a barn. Of course, you can't sleep. With every time your eyelashes fall, you are awakened to a world of nightmares where you are ripped apart by the guilt of losing a mother.

He needed a drink. Badly. Something that didn't involve chewing on herbs as if they were grass until the effect of comforting bliss took part. They tasted like grass dipped in deer piss, but Demetri choked it down nonetheless. It wasn't like he had much of a choice in the matters of that fact. He was quickly running out of herbs that he had bought in Narim, and he doubted if anyone else had them. By his nightly consumption of herbs, he would be out of them in about a week. So long to peaceful and quiet encounters with people. In with the anger and fear that shone bright in his eyes after a night of no sleep.

“THAT HE COULDN'T HOLD HIS BALLS!” Was with what he was greeted with when he walked into the tavern, having already taken Ele to the back of the tavern and in her stall in the tiny stable, giving her a bit of hay that the young stable boy had gave him. Demetri walked through the crowds, mindful to keep everything close to him lest some pickpocket had the idea of trying to steal anything. Not exactly a good idea with Demetri. Coming to the bar, he sat down and smiled weakly at the barkeeper who had just spoken to a woman who, by her dress, was from the Daidlin Monastary. The Gods do not play with dice, and there is a reason behind this sight of this girl.

As he contemplated this idea, he spoke evenly with the barkeeper,"Ale." And the barkeeper came back soon with a mug. Demetri was not a drinker, rather having the joy of watching the stupidity of drunks while he kept a majority of his soberness about him. However, on this occasion, he was in the mood to drink himself in a stupor but even as he took a gulp of the foul tasting ale, he knew that drunkened sleep was not going to stop the nightmares, but make them even more frightening and even more longer.

Putting down the ale, he was only free of something out of his hands when someone slammed into his back. Demetri's coolheadedness snapped and he shot up, knocking over whoever had slammed into him. Turning around, he saw that it was a man in sailor garb with the look of insanity and being drunk written all over his face,"Hey pal! Watch where you were walking!" The sailor barked out of him, barely able to form the words. Demetri was not a small man, taller than the sailor by two inches. Demetri's broad shoulders sent a shadow onto the man and the sailor quietly gulped as Demetri stared him down, the anger in those stone gray eyes clear as day.

The tavern had got quiet, waiting for Demetri to strike, as if they were holding their breaths. Demetri took a step forward and the man took a step back falling over a knocked over stool and to his back with a loud thump. There was a huge swelling of sound and a laugh from most of the people and Demetri took his seat back on the stool."Fool." He whispered under his breath as he took a sip of ale. No. Tonight was not the night to get on Demetri's bad side. And with Demetri's temperament, that involved any conversation that was aimed his way.

Such a priceless moment.

There he was, the sword in his hands as his prey stood up from behind his desk, his eyes screaming in disbelief. The chase had been long and hard without any real direction but it was worth it. All those irritating moments of suspension culminated into this pivotal instant where the pursuit has finally come to an end.

Altair threw the servant gown off and approached the polished rosewood table slowly.

“How far the mighty has fallen. You used to be a king of kings. A killer of killers. And all of us were united under your banner. You lead and we followed in your footsteps. You were the greatest of us all. And now, I find you here, cowering behind your wood and ink in this grand ‘palace’ laden with complacency but without the conviction to carry it through,”

He ran the sharpened tip of his blade along the table, carving a long thin line on it’s surface.

“Tell me, Markus. Did you really think I would not seek you out?”

Draco collided with this kingly chair, toppling it and nearly falling over with it. He gripped the table for support, pushing himself away from the advancing Altair.

“What do you want? Leave me in peace!”

A small smile crept across Altair’s face. He sheathed his sword and began to pull at his gloves, tightening them around his fingers.

“It seems money has bought you the peace you required. Tell me Markus, how many of us did you backstab and left to rot? Whose fortune did you steal for yourself?”

Draco, had by now, backed himself up against a wall where his fingers curled around the golden hilt of a ceremonial sword as his eyes stared directly into the raged filled ones of Altair. The emerald eyes shone with more rage than anyone Draco had ever seen. It had been years since he last saw this man, since last he cast him out of his house and forced him into the cruel world without so much as a hope in his heart and now, out of the darkness, he has returned, like the grim reaper, to reap what he has sown.

“I came here, for one reason and one reason alone,” Altair began, “Where did you send Talia Raven?”

Draco’s eyes widened.

After all these years and you have the gall to approach me about her?

“You sought me out for this information which you think I will accord you? Why? Out of fear, that after all these years, you are the assassin and I am merely a man, withered by the days?” Draco began to laugh, “You’re still as predictable as ever Altair Dusk. Your petty quest for revenge has been your paramount focus all these years and it’s fueled by the weakest emotion of all; love. You were my greatest, most trusted student and you had to throw it all away and now, you come asking for that great truth which will set you free,”

Altair stepped forward towards Draco quickly and the former assassin guild leader retaliated by bringing the sword up but Altair was quick and anticipated that. He grabbed the wrist that held the sword and twisted it, forcing Draco to his knees, dropping the weapon at his feet in the process. Altair leaned in close, his every breath a seething malice.

“In case you had not’t noticed, Markus, I’m not here for your moral posturing. I don’t need to be lectured on ethics. I need an answer Markus. Where is Talia Raven? Tell me or you are going to die,”

Altair breath was on him and despite once being a powerful and imposing man, Markus Draco had turned from that life and chose wealth as his new bedfellow. As a result, he lost more than he knew. At this moment, he recognized his losses and momentarily yearned for them with a bleeding heart.

One of Altair stiletto blades found its way to Draco’s neck, etched firmly onto the tender flesh but not breaking it. Yet Draco knew, from experience, that force wasn’t what was required to cause a gaping wound. The silver blade glistened under the light from the roaring fire Draco had going.

“The clock is ticking Draco. Tell me where you sent her or this blade will be the last thing you see,”

Many things passed by Draco’s mind, particularly the events leading up to this night.

“For betraying my trust and conspiring behind me, I sentence you, Altair Dusk to death by burning!”

How one terrible mistake could make its way back here to haunt him.

“No Markus! Please don’t do this! He’s innocent! I did it! It was my fault!”

“Talia no! I will not have you punished for this! We committed no crime, he is a madman!

And now, a choice was give to him, the same choice he had given long ago.

“Because we have loved each other Talia, I feel that I should at least, exhibit some kindness on your part. God knows how disgusted I am with you but my heart is breaking. So therefore, you shall be banished forthwith from the city of Míriel and no longer shall you return or come in contact with this betrayer ever again! It is your choice my dear; Exile or death by my blade,”

He closed his eyes as if in a silent prayer as the images tormented him. Tears streamed down his face and Draco knew that this was his moment of reckoning, as Altair had said. Now was the hour in which he had to face his sins.

“Nijon…,” Draco muttered, “I sent her to Nijon,”

Altair glared at him in disbelief, the anger welling up in him. He yanked Draco up by the hair.

“You sent her to a place in which she would most likely get killed on sight? You worthless pile of-“

“She’s alive!”

“What?”

“She’s alive, Dusk. I had scouts ensuring her arrival in the Imperial city. She has more subtly than we all give her credit for,”

“This had better not be a trick,”

“I gain nothing from deceiving you. As you can see, that old life is behind me now,”

Altair released his hold on Draco. The man immediately scampered towards the wall, hugging it in fright. For the first time since he entered the room, Altair actually saw the new Markus Draco in the light he chose for himself.

Old. Vulnerable. Weak. Human.

 “Indeed, how far the mighty has fallen…”

He turned around, his back facing Draco. He paused for a moment as if he was actually daring his own time mentor to walk up behind him and stab him. Nothing came and Altair proceeded forward, towards the doors.

“I had never thought I would see you return Altair. A man of honor-“

The two stilettos flew through the air with amazing speed, piercing Draco in his heart. He had not even seen Altair spun round to deliver the killing thrust.

“Why…you promised…”

“Consider this a lesson learned. I once, not long ago, allowed a one time kin to walk free out of compassion and he saw fit to stab me in the back. What can I expect of you to do, lord of backstabbers? That is one chance I am not willing to take,”

Draco’s lips moved in uncertainty, his hands clawing at the blades as his life’s blood poured out and his heart paced slower until it all fell to a dull beat that rang no more.

Looking down at the man, Altair removed his dagger, wiping the blood off on Draco’s robes, sheathed them in their compartments. As an added gesture, he closed Draco’s eyes and placed a silver coin on both lids.

“For the boatman whom would take your soul straight into the bowls of the burning pits,”

Standing up, Altair felt a sense of relief. His chase now came to an end and thus begins his quest. Tarsis was no longer an important place. He yearned for Nijon and suddenly the anxiety was too overwhelming to bear.

She’s alive!

The possibility of Talia Raven being alive brought such joy and at the same time, a deep sense of melancholy in him. He longed to see her, to touch her face. But he was afraid that she would not want him.

He had spent all this time searching for clues to her whereabouts, but has she moved on? Has she forgotten about him?

Shaking his head, Altair walked out of the doors and quickly made his way out of the estate through the way he came in. The guards would soon find Draco’s dead body but no one would be able to connect it to him. And even if they did, there was no way they could find him. He could disappear if he so desired it.

Draco had thought him that.

The man at the counter was beginning to irritate her. She didn't have an easy time sleeping the night before. Dreams of the two children continued to plague her during her rest.

"If you're going to Elenion," he said slowly as the tobacco rolled about in his mouth, "Then, I suggest the straightforward journey by ship to one of our private ports here," he pointed onto the map that she had. "And I'll throw in two day's worth of a free tour around the city and one night's stay at the Merchant's Inn and Tavern, good place... and, here's the best part, it'll only cost ye...." The agent scribbled the amount on a piece of paper.

Min's eyes narrowed into slits and she immediately stiffled an urge to commit murder, "What?!" She almost spluttered, the sheer outrage at being attempted to be taken advantaged of forced the words out of her throat before she was ready. "I don't want a trip to your private port or whatever free stuff that you throw in! I just want passage to Narim, by barge... You told me that you provided that a week ago."

"Well, that was a limited time offer," the man smiled. "Are you buying? No? Next please... Good afternoon, sir. Might I interest you in..."

Min raised a warning finger at him before putting it down abruptly and storming off. The nerve, she thought. Now, there was a problem. She had depended on the heavily discounted package to get herself to Nijon. It seemed that a change of plan was in order. Resolutely, she took a deep breath and walked over to Brigand's Narrows, a place where people in their right mind wouldn't even go near. She had heard some of the mercenaries talking about it at the Jade Dragon, the strange night before. As always, she made a mental note in case the information would ever come in useful.

Brigand's Narrows was a small connection of narrow lanes and small nooks and crannies where the worst sort of deals were struck. Mostly involving those who had to get in and out of Tarsis undetected but hadn't the means to do it by themselves. Men and harlots clung to the walls where the moss covered cobblestones provided them with shade. Nothing seemed clean here and the air was damp and dank, being the stuff one would expect a place such as this to be made out of.

"What's a sweetheart like ye doing in a place like this?" leered a scrawny rat-eyed man, teeth as yellow as horse-piss.

One of the women came by, her eyes dull with anger, "Yeah... stealing business, aren't you? Get off... the Narrows belong to Bardan! You stupid..." She didn't get to finish the sentence. The ratman slapped her hard across the face.

"Go back to getting yourself laid, bitch," he growled at her.

"But Bardan, she'll steal the business..." she whined.

He raised his hand once more and Min watched as she scurried back to the desolate shadows, throwing dagger sharp glances at her as she did so. "Forgive my... employee," he smiled deviously. There was nothing good about this man. The vibes she got off him screamed at her to run back where she came from. Min entertained the thought as she did every possible solution. No, she decided, she had to try. Steeling herself, she gave Daidlin an honest prayer.

We both know that I don't like you very much but you seem to have this plan for me and I don't think it involves me dying in this place. I don't know how to address a trickster god because I don't share your sense of humour but I really am sincere in asking your for help here. Please, please let me get through this... Thank you, she thought, then hastily and uncomfortably added, Lord.

"Oh, lovely... Such smooth unblemished skin. And that mouth... bet you could make someone come... and do whatever you want eh?" he purred over her, coming so close to her face that she could smell the rancid ale that he had been drinking. "What say you join my girls, eh? You make good money... for me that is," his hand went to the knife that was strapped to his waist. At the corner of her eyes, she saw Bardan's men closing the only way out with their large frames.

Without thinking, Min's right hand went to her kaiken. Pressing her left thumb on the handle, she drew it halfway quickly without damaging the scabbard. Punching Bardan in the solar plexus, she took advantage of his doubled over frame by kneeing him fluidly on the chin. This man was vermin, her head screamed, there was no other way to deal with him than to speak in his own language. Bardan's head snapped back and for a moment, Min worried that she might have broken his neck.

But the man only spluttered, blood flowed down the corners of his mouth. He seemed dazed, as did his men who seemed to do nothing.

And they had good reason for in the moment Min was worried about breaking his neck, her body had moved of its own accord. Her right hand pressed the bare part of the blade against his neck while the left was furiously slamming his hand against the wall, making the scum release his weapon. It fell to the ditch with a mute clang.

"Baka! Tell your men to back off," what had to be her voice commanded, snarling in every syllable. She brought her face close to his ear and whispered threateningly. The mouth that he praised mere seconds ago, curled itself into a rather malevolent sneer. "Unless someone wants a promotion... at your expense,"

Choking and gurgling, he yelled at them, "Get away, you idiots! Back off!" He turned his gaze back upon her, breathing hard. "Please... tell Lochland I'll pay him back the money soon."

"Lochland's very displeased with you. Now, he's willing to lengthen the window if you provide me with some help," Whoever that is, Min mentally commented. She decided to press her luck. "I was told by some sources that you provide passage to Narim... at an affordable cost." A part of her felt that the whole situation was unreal as the voice went on talking. Centuries of command and power was hammered into every syllable.

Bardan didn't reply, his eyes mere shifted from left to right. Instinctively, Min pressed the kaiken a fraction harder against the cartilage. "Yes! Yes, I do," he whimpered, afraid to nod for fear of severing his own throat.

"I know you run a merchant ship, carrying smuggled items and you do transport as a sideline. I want a seat on your boat," she explained, meeting his rodent eyes with her own, which had hardened into cold, cutting sapphires. "What time does it leave tomorrow?"

"A little after midnight," he choked, "Come to the docks, I'll be there,"

Min pressed the knife closer still. Why do they make it so easy? All I did was figure out the chances of what they were involved in!

The guilty always think that they are at the center of every action made against them. It clouds their judgement and impairs their thinking. Guilt makes you weak. It makes you afraid and it makes you no different that a rat that scurries from granary to granary. The words played to her like an answer.

"I'll make sure you get on the boat," he closed his eyes and began to cry. It was so pitiful, Min started to feel like a bastard but she was so far into the role that she almost began to enjoy it. "Just don't kill me."

"One last thing..."

Bardan gulped.

"How can I get passage to Nijon from there?"

The mention of the place made Bardan realise that this was big trouble. He spilled the information like a sieve holding water. "Go to Hirst. He hangs out at Jade Dragon on every other night. He can make arrangements for a coach to take you there."

"How do I know you're not going to double cross me?"

"I can't promise you about Hirst. He's legal but.... I'll be there the docks when you come, right there... I swear on my mother's grave,"

"I pity your mother," she spat and removed her weapon but did not unsheathe it.

The henchmen looked at her nervously. They threw their gaze from Bardan to her and back again. One of them betrayed a look of amusement in his eyes. Yes, Min thought, Who doesn't like to see their boss being threatened like that.

"How do I know you're really working with Lochland," Bardan wheezed, fingers making sure that his head was still attached to his neck.

"Do you want to ask him yourself?"

"Erm.. no," he answered. His weight shifted from foot to foot.

Min repressed her sigh.  "He's not unfair," she replied. "I will pay you half the usual price,"

Bardan seemed to tally up the proposition in his head. She didn't kill him. He was alive. He got extra time to pay off his debt and he still made money. Dumbly, he nodded his agreement.

"Miss?" she suddenly heard him call out  to her as she began to leave the Narrows.

She merely turned her head to acknowledge him.

"Could you... you know," he shrugged, still a little frightened but trying to regain his composure and what shred of dignity in front of his men. "You're a wee lady... and I'm..."

"Not much bigger than me," she told him coldly. "But you have my silence," With that she walked out, keeping her pace steady and at just the right speed. The last thing she wanted was to betray her discomfort. She had established herself, and that the whole objective.

Still, what the hell went on back there? The sun shone brightly, reminding her that she was a completely different person back in the Narrows. For a really amateur fighter, that was smooth. She smiled at the thought but remembered her prayers and decided to make her thanks at Dadilin's altar when she returned. For now, she had to find Hirst.

Thankfully, the man was a much more pleasant individual to deal with. "The carriage takes four to five people," he explained. "If you have your own horse, you can either follow us for a discounted fee or allow your ride to be harnessed and help pull the coach, while you sit with the other passengers. Either way, you pay cheaper if you have your own horse."

"I don't have my own ride," Min replied. "But your price sounds like a fair deal. I'll take it."

"You pay half now," he called for his secretary, "And half when you get off the ship at Narim."

"All right by me," she said taking out her purse and accepting the proof of sale. "You are running a legal business right?" she asked before standing.

"Yes, ma'am. But it's a sideline I don't really publicise here in Tarsis. I was surprised you knew of it."

"I have friends in places. That's all I needed to know anyway," Min thanked him again and walked the lonely midnight streets till she saw the familiar outline of the temple.

As expected, Julien greeted her as she came through the gates.

"Lyra," he called. "Where were you the whole day?" The brown eyes conveyed a genuine worry. "Look at you," he exclaimed, "The bottom of your tunic and cloak are drenched with mud! And your hand!" He grabbed her left hand, turning the palm downwards to reveal a row of bruised and bleeding knuckles.

The skin must have split when I punched him through his armour, she recalled. "I fell," Min tried to find a suitable explanation. "I tripped into a ditch and skinned my knuckles on the pavement."

"We'll have someone take a look at this," he said. "I'll call for a physician."

"No, you don't have to..." she looked over her minor injury. "It just needs a wash and some clean bandages. Nothing that we don't have here."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, really..." she assured him.

"if you insist," he relaxed. "Did you manage to get your boat to Narim? It wasn't too difficult, I hope. I heard that most of the agents have changed their packages and prices."

Min smiled Papilonn's all knowing expression unconsciously, "I had to bargain a little but nothing I can't handle."