Myrnal listened helplessly as Hakaril decided on his own the terms of some sort of bizarre employment by which he intended to extort amusement from her.

"So we're settled, then."

The hell was she supposed to say? The alternative was to tell him she didn't want him coming with her if all he was going to do was make sure nobody looked sideways at his poor crippled friend. Then again, it was likely she wouldn't even be able to dissuade him then.

Come to think of it, I don't know how to manage him at all, she noted with some surprise. It was true that Hakaril was one of two people she'd ever misjudged, but unlike the last and most recent incident the reconsideration had been in his favor. She'd initially thought him an arrogant prick with a condescending attitude and a clumsy way of trying to worm his way into her pants. She'd eventually learned that there was a more serious side he was careful to keep from his casual acquaintances, and at a time in her life when she'd hated herself most... she had found understanding and compassion from the last source she could ever have predicted.

So she'd been wrong about him. It meant that now she was on somewhat less certain ground. She didn't want him protecting her, but she didn't want to chase him off (on the off chance that such a thing were possible). She didn't know how to communicate to him that she wanted him around without the complication of him... knowing she wanted him around. So she decided she just wouldn't say anything.

Then someone was screaming at her and a creeping dread at the base of her spine accompanied the instant recognition.

Myrnal let her face fall down into one palm as she whispered, "Damn it, Faelyn. You get more like Daidlin every day." She looked up from Somnia to Hakaril, and back again. "Don't worry about it, Somnia. I've already heard it all from this jackass," she said, jerking her thumb toward the offending archmage. "Somnia, this is my friend Hakaril. Hakaril, this is Somnia. She bailed me out last night when we got attacked."

Oh,  f@#$. "My friend Hakaril?" Maybe he didn't notice. I did call him a jackass. It probably evens out.

To know one’s self is powerful, but to know one’s enemy is devastating.

Knowledge is power in the hands of the wise and by coming to understand someone’s strengths; you can quickly discover their weaknesses as well. Whilst Minshara was ushered towards the injured student, with more haste than courtesy,  B’esctra let his eyes wonder onto the remaining pupils and watched in quiet fascination as they practiced the steps of their unique martial art. He knew that each step had purpose, each twist held meaning because by repeating these motions you programmed them into your body’s ‘muscle memory’ and, with time, reacted instinctively to dangerous situations.

Once they had finished their routine the students paired off into groups and started sparring with one another, honing their skills and laying the intricacy’s of their style bear to the assassin's watchful gaze in the same testosterone charged moment. Far more interesting than their technique however, was the bravado that one teenager sported when he defeated slower and less talented adversaries, almost as if beating people below your level was impressive in this culture and worthy of praise. With each opponent he overcame, he gained more cheerleaders until half the dojo were jeering at his foes for being stupid enough to fight him.

Now personally, B’esctra couldn’t care less if children were slaughtered in their sleep and so had no compassion for the boys victims, but it was the arrogance that interested him and he began to wonder if this child was ‘holding back’ his true abilities and just toying with his peers for his own amusement. Overconfidence was a sentient that the Drow could never experience because his mind didn’t work in the way most creatures did, he assessed someone’s advantages and then circumvented them so that victory wasn’t just an assumption, it was an inevitability.

Perhaps this then, was the reason he emerged from the shadows when the boy began a fresh series of boasting. “ Hahaha is this the best Sakamoto’s school has to offer? My ancestors would put up a better fight. Come little babies, come and face Mokubah and watch as I beat you into the ground”. Approaching from just outside Mokubah’s field of vision B’esctra announced his presence with words so soft one could have been forgiven for thinking he whispered them” I accept your challenge, don’t hold back on my account”.

Mokubah’s initial surprise was quickly replaced by a confident smirk as the stranger removed his talons and tossed his sword-belt aside, giving him an edge that would let him humiliate this insolent Gaijin. ‘Clearly he relies on weapons and has no concept of unarmed combat; this should be a breeze ’ he thought as he advanced upon the Drow and began the battle with a few lightning-fast kicks towards the strangers face. The crowd that had been egging the bully onward, up till this point, suddenly fell silent when B’esctra nimbly bobbed back and forth, eluding the formidable kicks as if they were the strikes of an amateur. The assassin was a merciless creature though and didn’t allow Mokubah so much as a chance to adjust his stance before he retaliated, dealing the boy's leg a vicious blow to its joint with pin-point precision so that the entire force struck the side of the knee-joint and expertly broke it.

Wide-eyed with shock, Mokubah howled with pain as his knee was broken and, against the wisdom of his teachers, leapt forward in a blind rage instead of taking the time to assess his quarry and decide if it was time to surrender or not. Inhumanly detached, like a surgeon studying a cadaver, B’esctra waited until his foe committed himself to his manoeuvre and then sidestepped the punch so that it soared harmlessly over his shoulder, rather than colliding with his jaw and countered by planting his own knee firmly into the boy's gut.

A tremendous “OOF” escaped Mokubah’s lips as the wind was forced from his sails and his body mechanically crumpled, almost as if it was the natural response to receiving such a blow whilst B’esctra circled around behind his crouched form and applied a ruthlessly efficient stranglehold on the outclassed boy. Transitioning smoothly from one position to the next, the assassin placed one hand beneath Mokubah’s chin and the other on the right side of his skull in preparation for the fatal twist, but before he could apply the necessary pressure the voice of the headmaster brought him to an abrupt halt. “ THAT’S ENOUGH! Whoever you are, you’ve proved your point. Let the boy go please. He is a bully but he doesn’t deserve to die for it, I think he will have learned his lesson now. “

Turning to Minshara once more, Sakamoto hopefully inquired “ …Perhaps you could treat Mokubah there, in return for our hospitality and continued friendship?”. Once he had made his request he glanced back at the grotesque creature and thought ‘I wonder…is this the answer to our prayers?’. B’esctra considered the weathered old man’s request for a few moments after he had said it and then released Mokubah, shrugging lightly because he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about really, surely someone as stupid as him was a detriment, if anything, to the reputation of the Dojo.

‘Strange people, and even stranger customs ’ he reflected as the boy thanked the man he had been badmouthing a few minutes before and dabbed at the tears that creased his cheeks while the headmaster himself toddled over to him and quietly whispered “ Please spend the night here stranger, I might have a proposition for you if you do”. Offering Sakamoto another shrug in response B’esctra strode over to his weapons and collected them before following the headmaster out of the training room and across the quaint garden beyond, crossing over a miniature bridge and eventually arriving at the calligraphy room.

” Since you seem to be from distant lands, I thought that this calligraphy might interest you, after all there is just as much elegance in the tip of a brush, as there is in our martial art”. Normally B’esctra would have ignored the headmaster’s comments and demanded he watch the remainder of the students training session, but he had developed a burning curiosity about Minshara’s language ever since he first heard it and reasoned that studying its written form might provide further insight into its structure.

Sakamoto left the Drow amidst a mountain of scrolls and returned to the training room to find out how Mokubah was fairing under Minshara’s delicate touch. ‘ Sometimes evil is not fought by good, but another kind of evil instead ’ he recited as he remembered an ancient Nijionese proverb, concluding finally that “maybe the Yakuza won’t shut us down afterall!” as he separated the paper door and passed into the training room once more.

"H--hello...ah.  Um.  Battle partner...I suppose you could say that."  Somnia meekly mumbled, more confused than shy at the fellow Myrnal introduced as Hakaril.  He seemed nice enough.  As long as he didn't try to talk too much, or sell her anything strange it would be alright.  Gasping in a breath with her mouth wide open and sighing with her hand against her chest, the girl slouched with most of her angry spirits puffed out.  She looked at Myrnal's cane again, nudging it slightly with the tip of her boot.

"I see.  I see.  You went out to get a cane!  How wonderful!  Now you won't be putting on so much stress on yourself when you walk about.  I MEAN I DON'T MIND YOU USING MY SHOULDER FOR SUPPORT NOT AT ALL I LIKE IT ACTUALLY."

Somnia gasped, her caramel cheeks getting noticeably more red as she stared to the ground and poked her fingers together, shuffling in her boots.  "B-b-but n-not in any wuh-weird kinda way no!" she barely stuttered out twisting from left to right.  While the embarrassing thoughts of beautiful summer lakes with High Elven slaveboys and super built barbarian butlers fanning them with giant leaves and some strange pixie delivering ice cream fell out of her head, she looked at Hakaril again, switching her eyes back and forth nervously.  Another stupid display of social failure in front of a stranger.  Squinting her eyes tightly and turning to Myrnal, Somnia huffed a great deal of displeasure in her general direction.

"MAAAH!  You wouldn't BELIEVE what just happened?!  The guy who I was working a bounty for just forced me AGAINST MY WILL without my consent to GO OVER TO MIRIEL!  What?!  Waste of my tiiiime!  He only paid me 5 gold rods that probably aren't even WEIGHED properly, a sack of gold, and these crappy amethyst cuts that probably came from the LAST time I worked for him."

There it was again.  Somnia's angry, pointing face and ears that could have been puffing steam.  The hazy aura of annoyance that rose from her body like a cloud of perturbed sprites wasn't all too pleasing, either.

"And...how...are...you...two?

Myrnal had certainly found an interesting person to travel with. Hakaril simply stared at Somnia as she spoke, processing her words in silence. The woman was evidently prone to bouts of extreme excitement and frantic shouting which punctuated shy verbal fumbling. In short, she was highly erratic, and Hakaril had to wonder whether or not it was entirely safe to be travelling with someone whose demeanor fluctuated that way. On the other hand, Myrnal's comment about Somnia "bailing her out" suggested that perhaps things were different for the girl on the battlefield.

Perhaps, thought Hakaril, this was some sort of secret identity. Competent swordswoman as necessary, remarkable spaz otherwise. It certainly would've caught him off-guard if Somnia had run around babbling incomprehensibly and then suddenly attempted to cleave him in half with that gigantic weapon she was hauling around. Pretending to be completely helpless was a valid strategy in some circumstances, though it didn't mesh with his earlier assessment of the woman as one of those crazed barbarian marauders.

The visions of topless highlanders returned briefly before Hakaril was able to wrest control of his brain away from his imagination and firmly plant both feet in reality.

"Well, as you can see," began Hakaril, "I'm having to make a drastic change to my original vacation plans. I had intended to return to Nijon for a brief stay, just to see how things've changed in the past few years, but as it turns out, they won't let me in without a pass. I haven't got one, and I'm not particularly interested in filling out a bunch of paperwork. If they don't trust a man of my integrity, which they should quite honestly be able to assess simply by looking at me, then I simply can't be bothered to f*$% around with their nonsensical procedures. I f&*#ing hate paperwork." The mage bristled a little bit as he spoke, words fueled by no small amount of righteous indignation.

"In any case, I fortuitously encountered Myrnal, here, who heard my cries of distress and convinced me of an alternative course of action. I'm going to go with her across the Sailor's Bane and back to Tarsis. We've got a bit of catching up to do, and it's a hell of a lot more entertaining than standing around here and trying to get the natives to understand my Common by speaking very slowly and using small words." The magician shrugged and sighed. "It's so difficult to get anything to go my way lately. And I still can't get those damned barbarian women out of my head." He turned to Somnia, eyes squinted appraisingly. "I have to settle the issue once and for all, or it's going to drive me crazy all the way to Tarsis, especially if you're coming with us."

Hakaril paused and inhaled sharply. "Do you fight topless and covered in war paint?"

Myrnal watched helplessly as Hakaril's words ran away not just from him, but from all proper logic and decorum.

"Do you fight topless and covered in war paint?"

For a moment there was total denial. It was a nice moment, denial being a familiar and comforting thing to Myrnal. Hakaril hadn't asked that. Why would he ask that? Nobody said things like that and it was a good thing Myrnal was mistaken because... no. No he'd really asked.

Then in a flash Somnia was crouched beside her and whispering fiercely in her ear. "What?!" Myrnal exclaimed. "No, what the f@#$ are you talking about?" She twisted around to address Somnia directly.

"First of all, I don't know what all that s@#$ about fae and jars and... and seamstresses was all about... but no. Also no kidneys, no breaking my hips and whether he's wicked or not he is NOT adorable, he is HAKARIL!" She shook her head in frustration. "I don't-- I don't even know how to address all of the s@#$ wrong with that theory."

Suddenly her mouth shut so hard and so fast she heard her teeth click. There was a good chance that Hakaril hadn't heard what the crazy mercenary was whispering to Myrnal and she'd probably given him-- no. It was impossible that Hakaril would have learned anything new from the exchange because Myrnal herself wasn't sure she understood it, and it had been directed at her.

"I... uh..." She attempted to recover. "Look. I'm glad you're looking out for... for something. But ...I... it's fine. Promise. No blades. No... no jars or... or anything either. It's fine. Just.... gods, woman. Just sit the f@#$ down."

And then all in a rush the full horror and weight of the situation descended upon her.

Wait. Wait, Somnia is headed to Miriel. She's... is she.... oh, no. She's... taking the boat, isn't she. I'm going to be stuck. On a ship. With them. She swallowed. I'm going to go insane. I'm going to lose my mind and by the time we reach Tarsis I will... have... convinced myself I'm a sunflower or something.

There was no avoiding it. There was no stopping it or delaying it or changing the course now. Everything was insane, and it was going to get worse; she could feel it.