Continued from The Burden of Sin

Somnia:


Myrnal:


Hakaril:


"You," Myrnal said, pointing at Hakaril. "And you, Somnia.... are going to be the f@#$ing death of me." Leaning on the wagon behind her, she pulled herself to her feet and got her cane under her. Just leave it alone, she thought. He's probably just trying to... keep things light or something.

There was no telling how much success Hakaril would have. While ordinarily Myrnal was immune to such efforts at lightening her mood, right now she was far too exhausted to resist properly. As the sun sank in the sky, Myrnal did her best to convince herself that she would simply be able to ignore Somnia and Hakaril until she was well enough to deal with Somnia's nervous energy and Hakaril's determined social efforts.

Having bribed her way onto the ship's passenger manifest, Myrnal simply dropped the right names and brought her scant belongings with her down into the lower deck. Initially there were sailors and passengers moving in and out and bringing rattling, thumping, crashing belongings thundering around with them. The ship really was reasonably full, but for the amount of money Myrnal had paid, they'd made room for her. Presumably Hakaril had plans to make similar arrangements. Myrnal didn't stay with him to find out.

It wasn't that she was avoiding Hakaril and Somnia. It was that continued exposure to the two of them could quite possibly kill her. Well, I won't literally die, she told herself. But that much contact with people who need my attention can't... I don't know. Can't be good for my health or something. Best to err on the side of caution.

Armed with that rationalization, Myrnal sat down next to a crate in a darkened corner of the deck. Curling up on the floor, she leaned back and tried to get some sleep. If the others needed her they would find her. If they didn't need her, they hopefully wouldn't be motivated enough to start scouring dark corners searching out their ninja companion. In a matter of minutes she'd managed to retreat from the confusing and frightening world her friends inhabited and found refuge in the dark and twisted landscapes of the same old familiar dreams.

...Move.

Somnia's fingers cracked and wiggled slightly, closing the right hand into a fist and slowly pushing her left palm forward.  She exhaled a deep, contemplative gust of breath, her eyes narrowed with the determination of a thousand heroic warriors of the past wandering between each black iris.  It was as if tension burned from her body with an aura of battle incarnate, the rising heat of fighting spirit steaming from her caramel skin. 

I dare you.  Just move.

In front of her was a rat on a bucket set on top of a table, holding a piece of cheese as if he owned the ship.  The rat even had a small blue handkerchief around its neck.  It was adorable.   Somnia was settled in a deep battle stance against her foe near the mast of the ship, surrounded by a few shouting kids and some of the ship's crew, waving about their hands and tossing coin back and forth throughout the crowd.  Someone was even going around with small slips of paper, shouting something about beating some sort of spread or some kind of three round knockout.  The girl was changed into a rather simple white dress that showed two dainty slippers on her small feet, and though the pink scarf around her neck was quite adorable, the steel knight's sword swinging on her back as the ship swayed managed to distract any thought of girlishness.

"Demetri!"  Somnia stomped and pointed at the rat, only getting a whisker twitch in response. 

"Today is your last day as the king of that bucket!  Feel the fury that lies beneath the THOUSAND DUNES of the Haldarac!  Brightness Beyond the Twilight!  TWILIGHT STRIKE!!"

"Squeak SQUEAK SQUEAK!"

Her hands flew towards the rat, pawing and swiping all about while the rat dodged and pounced about with his cheese locked snugly between his teeth and his hands.  Demetri bounded onto Somnia's arm, jumping from arm to arm and skittering all about as she started flailing all about.  It was certainly a good time for the crowd that was fairly entertained, cackling and cheering Somnia's epic battle with the rat that held the fate of the world.  The rat ended u on the hit of her sword while Somnia scratched and swept through her hair to get the quick beast away, bouncing on the medallion pommel a few times in victory.

"TCH!  You think this a joke?!  Eat steel!"  Somnia shrieked, twisting the sword from its chain bindings and tossing the rat into the air.  She turned on her heels with her blade cranked back as far as she could, eying the spot on the sun that was her rodent adversary.  Her swords biting edge swung true, though it missed just barely, Demetri plopping onto the deck.  He skittered towards Somnia in a screeching rush just as the girl closed into a defensive stance, pointing her knight's sword to the oncoming pest.  He ran up her blade to deliver a finishing blow, only to have the steel dropped from under him with the flash of a blink.  Somnia's quick strikes swept through the air with enough speed to sing within the wind, though her powerful foe danced in evasion every time the blade came by.  Demetri was bouncing on the blade every time it came close, romping about in midair while Somnia switched her blade from hand to hand, twirling with a sword dance that left strikes fading from sight.

But why was Somnia fighting a rat?

"I," responded the wizard, "have been spending the last several hours creating loaves of bread and explaining to the galley crew that no, I can't make their favorite homemade desserts, just staples. You want bread? You've got bread. You need fresh water? That's not so hard either. I can flavor the bread to taste like something else if I really want, but I can't create a pepper-crusted lamb shank from mana. I didn't exactly major in culinary conjuration. And yes, believe it or not, that's a specific sub-study where I come from."

Hakaril gestured over to a corner of the galley where crewmembers had piled loaves of freshly-conjured bread. "Magic is wonderfully convenient, and this kind of stuff is easy, but it wears me out to sit around doing it all day. It was the only way that I could get them to let me onto the ship, though. You could've told me that I'd have to sell my body to get a ticket."

"I think they're satisfied now, though," added the magician with a shrug. "To be honest with you, I don't think I could go on much longer without a nap. Though a healthy dose of alcohol might suffice. I'll see if I can get them to bring me something to drink." He motioned to one of the galley crew, making a circle with his fingers and "drinking" from it as though it were a cup. The sailor nodded, pulled a glass bottle off the shelf, grabbed a couple of clay mugs, and poured a bit of amber liquid into each before delivering them to Hakaril and Myrnal.

Lifting the mug to his lips, Hakaril took a quick drink, flinched a bit, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Damn. That's some strong stuff. But then, considering our company...it makes sense."

"It's not that I couldn't pay," remarked Hakaril, "but that the ship was full, or so I was told. It is pretty crowded, but hell, it's a ship. I think the primary concern was that they wouldn't have enough provisions for a sea voyage. Something about mutiny. I figured this was an easy way to pay my dues." He paused to take another swig of the rum in his mug, wincing a bit as the liquid burned his throat. "You'd think that if they were really trying to ration their alcohol that they'd have diluted it more. And I apologize for the bread. It's perhaps the most bland food in existence, but it's one of few things I can get right when it comes to conjuring meals. I can summon up some pretty interesting things, but believe it or not, making a seven-course meal is harder for me than calling quasi-living spirits to do my bidding. Blame whichever god invented magic."

Taking a bit of bread for himself, the wizard chewed thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing. It was the same bread that he had been conjuring to feed himself in tight situations for the past eight or nine years, and it tasted more or less the same. Slowly, with practice, he had perfected this particular spell. In the beginning, he had only been able to create bread suitable for making croutons. It was definitely an improvement to be able to conjure bread that tasted fresh, and he could even manage to embed grains of sea salt into the crust for added flavor. Assuming his customers didn't mind the lack of variety, Hakaril liked to think that he would be able to open a bakery somewhere if he ever got tired of adventuring. He hadn't, of course, which was why the primary value of his culinary conjurations was that he could feed himself on the road without having to hunt or gather edible wild plants. Most of his offensive magic being entirely unsuitable for hunting, Hakaril preferred to summon staples.

This didn't mean that eating the same bread never got old.

"Theoretically," he continued, "I can flavor the bread after I've already created it, but that takes extra effort, and it still has the texture of bread. Bread that tastes like beef or cherries or whatever is just weird. I could probably survive indefinitely, stranded on a desert island, but I would eventually go nuts and chew off my own leg just so that I could enjoy eating something that felt like meat." The mage shrugged and took another drink. "I am getting better at rice, though. Grains are easier than meat or cheese. Hell, metal is easier for me to make than cheese. Not really sure why."

"So. What the hell are we going to do when we get to Tarsis? You know I don't have any particular plans at the moment, right? I'm just following you around. I've never been to Tarsis. Are you planning to give me a tour?"

Hakaril drank deeply from his mug and slammed it on the table. "You're going to take me to Tarsis and then you're not even going to escort me on a tour? That's just f&$#ing rude!"

The mage leaned over the table, trying to stare Myrnal directly in the eyes. He doubted, in his just-now-starting-to-get-inebriated state, that she would be so good at evading her opponents that she would be able to evade being stared at. If she averted her eyes, his plan involved some elaborate twisting of his body and neck so as to move to a more sound location for an ocular assault. He would stare her down if it required him to flip upside down and tie himself to the ceiling with his bootlaces. He wasn't entirely sure why it was so important that he do this to her, but it seemed like a good idea right now, and if he waited until later to do research on the matter the opportunity to make direct eye contact with a ninja might slip away.

"You're going to introduce me to all of your family's friends, because it's just f@#*ing polite, damnit!" No one batted an eye at the string of profanities Hakaril was spewing. The man was on a boat, surrounded by sailors. "You're going to show me the best restaurant in Tarsis, and we're going to take all your friends there, and I'm going to buy dinner for everybody. Then I'll have to sell my hat to afford lodgings, we'll get stuck in the city because of a hurricane, and we'll be forced to cook and eat Somnia to survive."

Cautiously, Hakaril peered into his drinking vessel. It was empty. Damn, he thought. I'm just getting started. He wasn't entirely sure where these strange visions of his future with Myrnal in Tarsis had come from, but right now they seemed reasonably plausible, even the bit about cannibalizing the peasant girl with the huge weapon. She would require pepper, he decided. He didn't trust himself to conjure pepper. Perhaps Myrnal would know where to find a good spice vendor.

Hakaril just shrugged at Myrnal's reaction to his unwillingness to let her evade his gaze. "Sounds like you don't really want to go. Which, I might add, makes me curious as to why you're going anyway. I really doubt you have some social obligation to old friends of your family that you would be willing to travel all the way back to Tarsis to meet, especially considering that I haven't ever known you to be particularly concerned about other people's opinions regarding that sort of thing. Otherwise," he said with a smirk, "I think you'd probably have been fitted for a wedding dress by now, and you're still wearing the garb of an assassin."

"Maybe you aren't wearing it now," he noted, waving his hand dismissively, "but even when you're dressed like a Nijonese peasant, there's the possibility of a subtle knife bringing a swift end to an unsuspecting enemy at any time, isn't there? That doesn't sound to me like the type of girl who goes to visit her family's friends without a good reason, and she certainly wouldn't go against her will, unless she knew she could turn the situation to her advantage."

Somewhere in the middle of his speech, Hakaril's mug had been refilled by a thoughtful sailor. The wizard gestured briefly to the man in thanks, took a huge gulp of slightly watered-down rum, and grinned darkly at Myrnal. Maybe Somnia was right, somehow. The magician's expression was the sort usually seen on the most twisted and mischevious of fey.

"But then," he added, his face dropping back to a deadpan state, "perhaps I just talk too much. I could always be wrong."

Nijon. In all her adventurous years she had not imagined a place such as this.   The cultures of this humid land were more peculiar and alien than those of the despicable Dark Elves.  She was met at every turn with judging looks and bewildering customs.  Some of the people were eager to offer her assistance in her plight.  Others shunned her as a lesser being and threat to their customs. Had she not been so overwhelmed, she may have studied and come to appreciate this dose of new culture.  Even as she turned to leave this mysterious place, she vowed to one day return and explore the streets as a visitor and not as a seeker.

She had traveled to this far off land with the impossible hope of meeting a cure.  Surely these strange folk could not be any less successful than those of more traditional practices. If there was to be a time for high adventures, it was now.  This past winter had been light, and the summer had been uneventful. Her joints required popping, and her legs yearned for use.  Whether or not her gashes were closed, some part of her would be rewarded.  With her optimism in full swing, she had set foot in the Imperial City.  She was, regrettably, unsuccessful in her search.  Yet even she boarded the ship, there was no sadness or regret in her heart.  Her toes tingled with the anticipation of another adventure.  A petite pouch of Dark Savant, the rich and exotic tea, was tossed into her satchel.  For all the pains and twinges caused by this expedition, she could not be deflated.

The sun dove into the shimmering waters.  Surely Ana’e had seen such things before.  Yet for all her striving, she could not recall ever seeing such a sight.  A blazing orange bird sliced through a purple azure forest.  Its tail left bold streaks of dying light trailing behind.  The Gods were good to give mortals such things to gaze upon.  That thought kindled a smile on her remarkably well-kept features.  A glimmer of a beautiful woman had been unearthed for the first time in decades.  In these latest travels, she had combed and brushed quite regularly.  The woman clinging to the rail was approaching a state of loveliness.  It was still, as it always was, her eyes that carried the sentiments of her soul.  Tonight they glistened like polished stones.  The beauty she had taken in was far greater than anything she could have fathomed; so much of it was simply reflected back.  A small portion of it kindled an inner light that shone out for the first time in a long time.

She was hesitant to face the monstrosity of sailors and travelers below decks.  This crowd was not her particular cup of tea.  When you are a poor traveler, you take what you can.  The vessel had been in her price range and was leaving soon in the right direction.  Those standards were the only ones she could be demanding about.  The smell and the swearing she would need to accept.  The pile of bread grabbed her attention immediately.  Simple, basic and filling were her requirements, and those looked promising.  Her walking stick tapped the wood with no rhythm.  The entirety of the room moved at a different pace than her.  If the haphazard layout of the room was not trying enough to navigate, chairs scooted in front of her, men bustled past and not a single person seemed to notice her.  She was grateful for not having to carry her satchel about, and for the good night’s rest she had received in a proper inn this past yet.  Even with these comforts, the task was beyond her.  More than once she drove the point of her stick into the toe of a careless man’s boot.  Her grip would tighten as she accepted the insulting blow that ensued.  Never for a moment could she relinquish her goal of food.  After an eternity of this trying struggle, she flopped into a chair near to the loaves.

A fine trickle of sweat moved down her chest, tickling and irritating the scars that lay hidden beneath her loose fitting blue blouse.  A healer had managed to decrease the inflammation just the night before.  Her ribs could expand and compress further than they had in ages.  Catching up to her breath was easier now than ever.  She pressed her palm against the bone that lay between her breasts and inhaled slowly.  The bruises were already quickening and swelling back to their previous state.  These adventures may be fun, but she could not handle many more of them. 

“Excuse me.”  Her voice was cracked and scratched, like a piece of fine woodwork left in the rain.  She addressed the peculiar wizard who sat so close to the loaves.  Earlier she had seen him making them, and so assumed that they belonged to him.  “Might I have a piece?”

No doubt he would scoff and wave her sweet manners away.  Even as she looked at him, awaiting his response, another man strode over and snatched up two loaves.  Her eyes fell away.  The intensity between the pair had been revealed after a moment’s consideration.  What’s more, they seemed rather peeved with each other.   They were hardly the sorts to be tickled by a charming disposition.  A flinch crossed her cheek.  She was not excited about the prospect of insults or degrading remarks from the seasoned pair.  She knew, better than anyone, the derisions and disappointments of daily life.  Yet, she bore some childish impulse that caused her to meet every obstacle with a smile.  This frivolous cheer was hardly shared by her current company.  Her lashes, against all better judgment, rose upwards, and her gaze again met with the wizard.  Her teeth captured her chapped lower lip, as a child’s would.  With her hand she smoothed back her ebony locks and placed them securely behind her pointed ear.  She would allow him to make whatever remarks he would, but she would not lose her calm countenance.