Spirits of the Earth

At the time, Nepaket thought she was escaping.

The circus had taken her in Essyrn. She'd been a feral child, caged and little more than a piece to be sold, perhaps a future exotic servant in the North. Fate had been kind to her, though she hadn't recognized it as such. Learning how to speak the common tongue, fighting the entire way against her supposed 'captors', she knew better now that they wouldn't harm her. Yet at this point in her life, an adolescent Nepaket was still wary, and with that lingering distrust came the longing to escape.

So when there was a chance to slip out in Zantaric, she leapt for it without a thought.

The moon loomed over the village streets, its light slipping into the dark alleyway, catching on the edges of Nepaket's four stingers. She'd been lingering from alley to alley, reveling in the dark. All the strange lights and smells egged her deeper and deeper into the city, and it was absolutely fascinating. Yet her nerves itched now, being so far away from the confines of the circus tents. What would happen if they noticed her gone? Would they abandon her completely? Perhaps it had been a mistake to leave them...

She'd made up her mind to return then, but not for awhile. The night was young and Nepaket hadn't felt this free since before the cages! She could do anything she wanted here!

Her mandibles split wide, releasing an excited screech as she began what would surely be a horrifying wonderful night on the town in Zantaric.

 Hadrian was quite pleased to have found Zantaric. From what little he's observed of the place they called Hyoite, he surmised that it was unlikely that he'd find any necromancer there. While there existed villages and communities, they were dispersed and focused extensively on survival. A very tightly-knit group would have noticed such a talent and, either put it to work to the point where it would be impossible to hide, or let their prejudices take over. He should search elsewhere.

Hid comfortably in his closed armour, he joined a trade caravan heading south as a guard. His appearance drew some questions, but there were enough magically gifted people among them that he could make an educated guess about it and take a risk when preparing an answer. He lied about having a skilled wizard grow metal plates on his skin, for protection reasons. It passed and no one seemed to suspect him.

He's heard about Zantaric from one of those guards. He joined the conversation and contributed carefully, making sure not to reveal his lack of knowledge. They described the place as founded and run on the principle of freedom rather than laws, a haven for those who had no other place to practice their art or indulge in their pleasures. Perhaps it would be the only place in this new world where he could conduct his search without having to account for laws and customs he had no way of knowing.

He took a calculated risk and buried his armour before stripping completely in some bushes near the village. He needed to make sure that he could return in disguise, should his attempt fail. He was not about to endanger his search for a stupid gamble. He felt quite naked without it, but he should be able to escape, barring extraordinary circumstances.

Luckily for him, it turned out his fellow one time guard was right. While some heads turned as he walked the streets, the overwhelming majority of people paid him little attention and went on their way. There were no torches and pitchforks, no howling mobs, no panic; while he was seen and noticed, he was not regarded as a threat. One small furry creature leaped from the roof of a nearby house and scratched at his skull with something he later deduced to be a pencil (people kept snickering behind his back, leading him to the conclusion that it has drawn/written something humorous, possibly insulting, on the surface). Some boys wagered who can kick the ball at him and knock the skull off his spine, they followed him for some streets before growing bored. One curious individual staggered out of a suspect establishment and proceeded to rant about what a perfectly shaped skull he had, perfect for drinking blood out of! She tried to buy the rights to own it after his death before slumping down on a street, overcome by some substance. While Hadrian could neither read nor write any of the modern languages, he memorized her face - perhaps it was something to consider later.

After making a round, he decided to return to his hiding place and put the armour back on. It made him easier to hit, but also provided protection and possibly made him look more professional. He decided against wearing a helmet - there was no advantage in hiding his nature here. He ended up holding it under his arm - probably a bait for strong pickpockets, but he was confident in his ability to procure a replacement.

The sun has already set, but it made little difference to him. After all, he had no limited organic eyes, his perception was not affected by illumination or lack thereof. During his first foray into Zantaric, he noticed few promising locations that appeared to be good places for him to begin. While it was mainly a test run, he also gathered additional information that provided some much-needed direction to his search.

As he walked towards a dilapidated building that functioned as a contract broker's office, a screech coming from a nearby alleyway. While Hadrian didn't have ears, he could still feel air vibrations through his bones and interpret them properly - a lot of the officers he answered to preferred to address their troops with their voices. While his reconnaissance trip provided him with a lot of interesting sounds to catalogue, and he had no foundations to believe that it was anything out of ordinary, gathering information was an always vital secondary goal. He glanced over to see a fascinating figure seemingly blending humanoid top with insectoid bottom, the largest he's ever seen. The screech seemed to be coming from the gaping chasm where the face should be - the chasm that quickly closed, rearranging itself. As functional a mouth as any other he's seen.

The source of the sound probably could see him staring, so there was no point pretending not to pay attention. Better to acknowledge his actions. During his brief stint as a caravan guard, he picked up a few greeting forms that hopefully would be appropriate.

"Good morning to you!"

Well, should've known making noise would attract attention. Nepaket was so certain it would be a fellow circus performer. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was for sure about to be a violent affair. A hiss was preparing itself in the back of her throat, body settling into an intimidating stance that screamed she was ready to fight all the way back to her tent. But when she opened her eyes and caught sight of the bag of metal and bones stepping around the street corner, she straightened up.

Alive? Was it alive? Were humans able to survive that? Wait, was it a human? Or just somebody who looked like the inside of a human? Nepaket had never seen anyone in such a state as the skeleton. It was the first she'd ever met anyone undead.

This must be what they look like inside out! The thought surfaced a little too giddy in her head. Interesting! Go see. Tonight you can see!

"Hell-low." Nepaket attempted to speak back. She tried again, "Hello." She was still learning to control her mouthparts to form human language. It was a struggle piecing all her plates so that they flowed naturally. As a result, her tone remained flat and impassive.

The skeleton hadn't run off, so it must not have been afraid of her. Nepaket couldn't help but appreciate that. "Who err... are you? Are you-" She peered very closely at the writing on his skull, "-Get Boned? That ni- not nice."

 Hadrian listened, carefully focusing his attention on the sound. The vibrations seemed slightly different from those emitted by other people, but were still clear enough for him to make out the intended words. The curious individual appeared to be more friendly than the denizens of Zantaric he encountered before - or perhaps she was trying to get closer in order to steal something from him. It was a risk he was willing to take.

It was hard to gauge where was she directing her gaze and her attention, as the curious structure of her head was so different from the faces he was growing used to. But he was not left wondering for long, she spoke up about the subject of her interest. She must have been able to read the script used by that creature. He couldn't guess at how common literacy was in this world, but to be able to recognize the letters in the night indicated enhanced sight at her part.

"Writing on my head is too not nice" he agreed. He had to spare a longer thought about the words - 'Get Boned'? Bones was what he was composed of, but why would anyone think he would need more bones? Perhaps most sentient races evolved radically different skeletons and he should acquire some of those modern bones to glue to himself in order to mask his age. Next time he ended up the vicinity of appropriate corpses, perhaps he should cut them open to see.

For now, there was a more immediate concern to take care of. He pointed to the stained skull. "Is it-" he groped around for a word. "Can it be washed?" Walking around with a silly writing on his head would damage his credibility, so he should get rid of it. Perhaps he should have tried getting some water into his helmet to at least rinse it off, but the colour turned him off any puddles he came across.

The writing was scrawled quite hastily. Nepaket could see it just fine in the limited light. Its lettering was in pretty poor taste, but it was thankfully in pencil and therefore...

"Yes." The excited nodding she responded with didn't match her voice, but the exuberance was there. She crept closer towards the 'Boned' guy, stingers waving in the air. He seemed alright, though with that pencil, he would probably attract more unwanted attention than anything. But how to take it off? Nepaket remembered seeing human wounds. They would rub alcohol on anything that needed to be cleaned. Maybe this was sort of like the same thing.

An idea was starting to sprout in her mind. This was the first person outside of the circus she'd spoken to. Somebody who could assist in her 'escape'.

She gestured to the armor. "Are you exrrr... explorer? If clean skulled, can I go too?" Her eyes, embedded deep under her facial plates, seemed to be glittering. "I think I know what to do."

 Hadrian has met 'explorers' before. According to what he understood from the few information sources he could find (the people from that caravan, conversations he overheard, amateur observation), he deduced that explorers are people who sought knowledge of the world through experience - just like forward scouts for an army. He considered adopting this moniker for himself in order to explain his ignorance, but there was no need for it so far.

"Go wear-where?" he quickly corrected himself. There were a few sounds in this speech that he was not used to producing. Unlike words and sentences, it was rather hard to practice - alone, he would have no one to correct him if he got something wrong.

Then again, the individual's destination could matter less than he believed. So far, he was led to believe that Zantaric was a haven of freedom where one could do whatever they desired, without the oversight of the laws or tribal customs. What little he's heard of the contemporary world, there were no separate mention of any countries or areas where the art of death was practiced. If it survived, this town might be his best shot at finding a new master.

At any rate, there was no point closing off alternate routes. He should not pin all of his plans on a single promising city, it would be good to have at least a lead. If nothing else, he would hear her out.

A confused whistling noise came from somewhere inside the gaps of each faceplate.

Where? Now 'where' was what Nepaket had hoped the skeleton would provide. What did she want to do? The night was young and she was free! Free to do whatever she liked, whatever caught her fancy. Zantaric was to be a playground. But how was she supposed to know what to do? What did people do when they had the world at their fingertips?

Some people went drinking right? But what did that mean? Drinking water was not exactly a celebratory occurrence. So what about festivals? She could latch on to festivals. Those sounded fun. And so many people attended those. They'd be singing, and laughing and-

"I want to go..." What had to be the equivalent of eyebrows for her knotted together as if in deep thought. "Dancing." Nodding with all the reverence of a sage, she seemed set firmly with that answer. It was all she really knew to do.

"If I hel-help you," She pointed at his head, "You help mrr... me see dancing!"

This seemed like a completely feasible trade off to her. Absolutely.

 Hadrian cocked his head at the strange noise. It was a rather useless quirk - the position of his skull had no effect on his ability to process the environment. The spectre commanding his squad said it must have been a postimprint from the time he was alive - plenty of people in the army had one.

Fortunately, the individual didn't seem to expect him to understand the noise, as she spoke again, this time in a way he could roughly understand. She wanted to go dancing. He did remember dancing from his observations as a part of customs and rituals in some Hyoite villages. She didn't look anything like the people of the tundra, but his surveillance was far from comprehensive. Did she want to go all the way to the frozen north?

There was of course the possibility that this custom spread across the contemporary world, not unlike the way his lost master's armies slowly crept across all continents in the past. He decided to stick with this hypothesis - it was a simpler one, and would not require him to alter his plan. He nodded, mimicking her gesture. It would be good for him to get in the habit of adapting body language typical to this era.

Zantaric was meant to be the town where everything was allowed - there should be at least one place for them to find. And even if they failed, their search should yield a lot of new information. His first walk around the town was by no means a wide-range reconnaissance - and he was never a member of the scout squads to begin with.

He recalled that one of the customs to be observed in this time was exchanging names when meeting for the first time. "I am Hadrian" he carefully pronounced. He still felt a tinge of pride at the sound - only those who distinguished themselves in battle were given separate names. He would not discard it, not without a direct order.

"Haa-drr-ee-aann." Nepaket articulated her facial plates to repeat back, "Hadrian."

She gestured to herself, the plates around her mouth perking up into a smile before she spoke. "I am Nepaket." A name that the circus had given her, as her old name would be very difficult for those with the common tongue to pronounce. It was a name she liked better than the old one anyway. The old one was what the abandoners had called her.

Hadrian did not seem like a threat at all. If he was willing to take her dancing, then she would try her best to help him. Looking down the alley, buildings upon buildings lined the village streets. Some lights were on in the open windows above them, but for the most part the rooms were dark and closed off.

Except for one window, which stood open, yet remained dark. A place to start searching maybe?

"I can help you there. Find water or al-alcohol?" Nepaket pointed to the window.

 Hadrian took a moment to match the sounds to the letters. Nepaket seemed perfectly willing to give him a second, as he didn't have good enough grasp of how her head worked to deduce from the arrangements of her faceplates that she was looking around. As he processed, he remained in a state of half-alertness, ready to refocus his mind on any new input. A soldier was not raised to ponder: even when working through information, he was paying attention to his surroundings.

He followed the direction of her gaze to the dark window, as his mind was presented with a solution. He was familiar with using water for cleaning purposes, but never heard about this application of alcohol. The people he's watched before would be very offended at it, perhaps even try to take it away to pour down their throats instead. Was Nepaket trying to play a trick on him, or has the art of writing turned to using such diverse media that simple water was not enough to wash it off?

He nodded. "We go."

To say the scorpion lady appeared to suddenly spring forwards like a wound up toy would be an understatement. Indeed, her monotonous voice had done well in masking an exuberant, energetic youth. She moved swiftly to the building, all four of her stingers hooking forwards.

One stinger, two, three and four plunged their needle points into the surface. Doubled with her arms and legs, Nepaket very easily scaled up around 6 or 7 feet of flat wall.

Thankfully the cover of night did well to mask all of this from prying eyes. Clambering over the ledge, she turned to look down at Hadrian.

Although she didn't say anything, it was clear she was waiting for him to follow.

In the back of her mind, she was dimly aware that perhaps breaking into someone else's lair might be wrong. But it was all in good intentions. Surely anyone living here might understand.

 Nepaket moved with a speed of lightning, charging forward so fast, Hadrian's sight barely could keep up with her. What incredible skill she possessed! His warrior instincts couldn't help but admire her raw power, even as he fought down the combat reflexes. She was not an enemy right now, and while he should acknowledge and respect her ability, there was no need for him to strategize on how to deal with her.

  It was clear that she was waiting for him to follow, and he never was the type to lag behind. He didn't have any useful stingers, but his bones were held together by powerful magic that made up for the literal lack of muscles. He pulled the gauntlets off, casually sticking them inside the armour - there was quite a bit of space that was meant to be filled by flesh, and provided him with a good container to keep necessary items.

He utilized the tiny holes left by her stingers as she scaled the wall. He stabbed his fingers inside the small space, heaving himself up. It was a feat a flesh and blood human would not be able to execute - their fingers did not have enough strength to pull their entire body. While the lack of muscles, fat and meat made Hadrian significantly lighter, the plate armour more than made up for it.

He kept pulling himself up until his hand closed over a rather thin windowsill. He heaved himself up and over, as effortlessly as he made the climb look. He glanced outside one last time, but it seemed like no one has noticed their climb - or simply didn't care. The window appeared to have a lock on the inside - they were rather fortunate to find it open. While he was willing to try and see if a bone finger could double as a lockpick, he preferred not to depend on unreliable skills.

The room was rather dark and small, barely large enough for them to stand comfortably without having to huddle limbs and tails around their bodies. Hadrian's sight distinguished some furniture - a chair on three legs, some pile of fabric in the corner and a small cabinet. The last one piqued his attention - he headed towards it, moving carefully in case the place was trapped. He slowly pulled the door open, to his relief finding no suspicious strings or mechanisms. There were a few boxes and containers inside, including some bottles. He's learned that they are used for holding fluids in this time.

He extended his arm to hand the bottle over to Nepaket. "Water or alcohol?" He couldn't tell - both fluids were transparent, and he had no sense of smell.

Close-quarters was a bit of an understatement. Whoever lived here didn't often visit much. A stale odor hung in the air, dust clinging to fabric piled up in one corner. Something about this picture didn't sit right with her...

She couldn't dwell long on that though, as Hadrian produced a bottle. The clear liquid inside looked a lot like water. Nepaket took the bottle carefully in her claws and sniffed.

If the arachnid had a nose to wrinkle, she would've done so now.

"Alcohol?" She winced, "Strr-ooong."

This would work very well to help wounds! At least Nepaket believed so. She'd watched an injured man use a clear alcohol to clean blood from a flesh cut. Maybe it'd work on the skull to rid him of his 'wound.' Clearly Nepaket knew how medication worked. Clearly.

"I'll rrrub it on your he-head! Fix skull!" She reached to one of the fabrics, intending to pour some of the alcohol out, but paused.

Oddly enough, the bottle seemed quite fancy compared to the rest of the tiny 'apartment.' She peered over Hadrian as the room was so small, noting the remainder of the bottles were just as well kept. The boxes appeared to be labeled in another language than Common.

A bit strange. Nepaket took one of the rags, her plated brows furrowing again, and she began dabbing some of the alcohol on the cloth. She spoke a little quieter. "This room... Feels weird."

 Hadrian watched as she began to soak the fabric in alcohol. Perhaps there were some other properties he could notice to later distinguish the fluid - viscosity, texture, thickness... His observation was interrupted by Nepaket's words. Was there something wrong? A part of him was paying attention to the room, but he hasn't noticed any suspicious movement or change. Then it would have to be something that was out of place to begin with, ever since they entered.

He focused his artificial senses on the dark room. There were no suspicious sounds for him to pick up on - most of the auditory input came from the outside. If it was a sound, it must have been too faint for him to pick up on. His physical sensations were restricted only to his bones, so he could not rely on it. Visual, then? He glanced up - once raised, he did not retain the same limiting preconception and blind spots a living being would. There was little of interest on the ceiling, only some spots and cracks.

Of course, he was at a disadvantage to begin with. He had no idea how a room in this contemporary world should look like - all he had to compare were memories of a past so distant, it had no bearing on the present that he could tell.

His hand reached lower, resting on the grip of his sword. "Yes? What is it?"

Reaching out, Nepaket gingerly began washing the writing from the skull. The alcohol left a somewhat distasteful scent, but hopefully the skeleton couldn't distinguish it. At least it wasn't as strong as the bottle.

"Don't knn...know." She muttered, "Jusst... bottle is new, but rrr-room looks..."

Bad. The room looked old, but it was as if someone had intentionally made it so. It was so small and nondescript, it felt off. Yet the bottles were brand new, and even with her limited knowledge of the outside world, it seemed valuable. Something desirable. So why was it here?

The writing easily scrubbed off. If one looked very, very closely the faintest grey lines might be visible, but otherwise 'Get Boned' was no longer there. Nepaket stepped back, satisfied with her work.

It was then that the creak of a door opening below became audible, followed by loud footsteps echoing from beyond the room, down a hall. She caught bits and pieces of dialogue. A raspy, harsh voice mostly, though it appeared to be speaking with someone.

"...Had it coming to him. Poison's probably nicer than what he deserved honestly."

"Do ya think he's got any left?"

"Of course he did. I reckon a whole store is sitting in his stash. Just wouldn't share."

"Pity pity... Should've been a little more considerate."

 Hadrian stood still. With no restless muscles, it was yet another field where he excelled over flesh creatures, although it was a rather minor and highly situational ability. He focused his senses on the room around them instead. If there was something wrong, he would have to find it - if not to recognize the problem, then at least to be able to summon this memory in the future, and learn from it.

The problem seemed to be ages that did not match. There was dust and no signs of maintenance or upkeep in the room, that Hadrian noticed, but simply chalked it up to Zantaric customs. With no law to enforce hygiene or orderliness, it was to be expected. He recalled the shape and appearance of the bottle, categorizing it as 'new'.

The sounds from the outside grew too close for Hadrian to just classify them as ambient noise. Nepaket seemed to have noticed as well. The skeleton focused on locating the source more than the words spoken. Two voices, one louder and more domineering. The rhythm of the footsteps suggested that they were bipedal, and most species with that characteristic had their speech organs on their heads, without whom they could not survive. He could locate it by detecting the source of the sound to prepare for a strike.

His soldier mind was already preparing for the encounter. Even in lawful places unlike Zantaric, trespassing and helping oneself to what was inside would not be welcome. The two voices spoke of poison in a dismissive and flippant manner that suggested a familiarity with violence. It wasn't likely that this could be solved peacefully.

"Flee or fight?" he asked quietly, his finger bones wrapping around the handle of his sword. He could get in position to take their heads off before they even enter the room, but they should also be able to climb down in time to escape. Nepaket was very fast, and Hadrian would not be harmed by falling from this height.

Only as he awaited her response did he realize that he instinctively deferred to Nepaket. He was a soldier, not a leader - he followed orders.

In that time frame, Nepaket was in a frenzy, grabbing a couple of bottles.

Why? Well, she was not really thinking much about it. Honestly, it was mostly because the bottle tops were very shiny! A big amber-colored gem was attached to the top. The idea of them being valuable had struck her, and so now, under pressure, she was scrambling to take a few. But as an after thought, she dunked some of the liquid on the floor, creating a puddle.

"Flee!"

Turning to the window, she began crawling out about as quick as she'd made her way inside, carrying a couple gold bottle caps. The voices were getting louder, the floor thin enough that a few fallen bottles caught their attention.

"Hey, what was that?"

"Damn it no way do you think-"

Heavy boots thundered up the stairs, the door knob jostling and keys rattling from the hall.

 Hadrian didn't even try to reach the window first - he knew he couldn't match Nepaket's speed, and he was confident in his ability to handle whoever came through the door. He gripped his sword tightly as he heard them pick up the pace, ready to defend himself if they came in. He noticed the puddle created by the fluid spilled on the floor, shifting his position slightly to avoid it - he might not have known what he was dealing with, but preferred not to have to find it out directly.

He waited one beat - for Nepaket to get away from the building wall so she wouldn't get crushed under his armour - before turning on his heel and dashing away. Behind him, he heard the scraping of key against the lock and hurried whispers - they must have caught some sounds, or just had very good gut instincts. He charged across the floorboards, all but throwing himself through the window.

CRASH

Nepaket scrambled clear of the wall just as Hadrian spilled out behind her, the two of them landing in the alley once more. She'd thrown herself the rest of the way down, hitting a refuse pile before skittering further down, trying to find shadows to obscure herself.

Above, the two men trying to get in had managed to finally unlatch the door. The first immediately slipped on the exposed puddle, nearly dragging down the other. Their curses could be heard from ground level.

"What the h-"

"It's a mess! Someone got here before us!"

"Are you kidding me?" A loud bang, most likely one of them slamming their fist into the wall.

Soon the two popped into sight at the window, leaning out and shouting at the dark angrily. It didn't appear they had really seen them, but the sentiment was all the same.

The noise was attracting a few curious people in the street, a few candle lights turning on in the windows of houses bordering them.

 Hadrian didn't have time to find a hideout, and wasn't fast enough to get clear. Fortunately, his nature could work to his benefit here. He quickly slumped under the wall, craning his spine and staying as still as no living creature can. When the people still inside the building looked out, their gaze quickly moved over a corpse underneath the window, searching for the culprits.

Some of the onlookers found him - or rather, the contrast of a still useful armour with the bones inside. "What do you think?" a lizard looking person asked her companion, a strange creature that seemed to be on fire but perfectly healthy. "A minion left behind by a necromancer, or a victim of some kind of a flesh-destroying spell?"

"My money's on the spell" the creature responded, its voice composed of crackle and hiss. The lizard woman sauntered closer, peering at the armour in search of straps she could undo to take it off. She leaned over, cutting off the line of sight for anyone above. That was enough.

Hadrian discreetly pulled his hand out of the glove, as it was out of everyone's vision now, then jabbed it under the woman's throat before she could react. The way she went still told him that the anatomy of bipeds has not changed much since his time. "Pretend you found nothing, the armour is rusted" he commanded.

Clearly not willing to risk a nod, she blinked purposefully instead. Hadrian removed the finger bone and waited as she peeked around, then theatrically groaned. "Ugh. It's so rusty on the inside, I'm surprised it's still holding together! What a waste of time."

 "Excuse me, have you seen a woman with four scorpion tails?"

The imposing Kulshedra warrior stared at Moryandal as if he grew a second head. "Haven't the foggiest."

Clearly, she was at the limit of how much time she could pay to strangers. Without further words, she pushed past Moryandal, almost shoving him to the ground. He swallowed an apology - she was out of sound range anyway, and the best recourse would be to just let her on her way and continue his search.

He turned around, combing the crowd of the passers-by. There was no sight of Nepaket, and he was still as much at a loss as he was when he began. He hoped that he could find her quick - she could probably escape from most predicaments, but additional caution never hurt. What if someone tried to capture her for their own nefarious gains?!

He had to hurry. As he headed towards the large building, presumably an inn; a dirty-looking elf in tattered leather whistled at him. "You. Yes, you. You're looking for that scorpion creature?"

Finally, a lead! Moryandal breathed a sigh of relief, jogging up to him. "I am! Have you seen her?"

The elf tittered, folding his arms. "That'll cost you, kid. Nothing is free here in Zantaric."

Right. That sounded fair - he was familiar with the work of information brokers. He reached for his purse, but his fingers just grasped at empty air. Confused, he looked down, only to see it missing. Of course. He should have listened to advice and left it at the circus - he couldn't even recall when was it that he could have gotten it stolen.

The broker let out a disappointed sigh at his pathetic scrambling. "Figures. Bye, kid."

Moryandal almost felt bad for taking up his time. He muttered an apology at the elf's back before awkwardly shuffling away. Perhaps he should stop asking locals for help - now he didn't even have anything to offer.

A sudden crash nearby alerted him. He was so startled he almost jumped, but the people passing him by on the street didn't even seem to have noticed. Was it commonplace here in Zantaric?! He couldn't imagine why would Nepaket want to take a stroll around here - or why would anyone choose to live in such a dangerous town!

It could be not related to their runaway, but Moryandal couldn't just let it be - someone could be hurt! He justified it to himself easily; maybe if he helped out, people would be willing to give him some information without payment. He quickly headed in the direction of the sound.

Nepaket was flat against the wall, hidden by shadow. They had wound up in quite a predicament; Two angry rogues chucking glass into the alley (she supposed that was one way to express one's irritation quite succinctly) and now some of Zantaric's denizens had come across Hadrian. The only way this could get any worse was if-

She spotted someone outside the alley, walking purposefully towards the commotion. Although she wasn't certain if she recognized him from afar, an ugly, crawling paranoia let her know that she needed to flee.

For of course the circus would have sent someone to look for her. She was a runaway currently, even if it was only meant to be temporary. But to have the night end on this note was... depressing to say the least. Nepaket had made up her mind to enjoy the night on her own, free to do as she pleased. If someone was going to attempt to take it away from her now, it would spoil everything.

So she inched across the wall, looking towards Hadrian. Her tails waved, trying to catch the undead's attention and trying to gesture that they needed to go. Meanwhile the rogues upstairs had disappeared from the window, most likely heading on their way down to investigate where their alcohol had spirited away to.

 It looked like the passers-by have wrung all the entertainment they could from this situation and began to leave. Hadrian waited a moment, registering the movement of Nepaket's tails. They were under a tight time frame - they needed to go before the people upstairs made it outside, but also probably shouldn't arouse suspicion by sudden or furtive movement. At least a skeleton getting up and walking around the town would not be seen as anything out of ordinary.

He rose as soon as he deemed it safe and crossed the alley, heading towards Nepaket. He would not claim to be good enough at reading contemporary body language (let alone of someone with a body so different from others he's encountered so far) but he could suspect she wanted something - and this something probably wasn't for him to leave, otherwise she could just make her exit.

Yes! Hadrian was heading her way. They could get out of here quickly, before the circus-folk noticed. They had a shot-

The door swung open, followed swiftly by two men that smelled strongly of alcohol and anger. "Alright alright which way did they go ya think?" They seemed to be humans, or at least human-adjacent. By the grime clinging to their clothes and the one fellow's black and yellow teeth, they were probably not the most well off rogues here in Zantaric. Yet the one in front sported a few pieces of dubiously-acquired jewelry.

Wild eyes roved the alley, but they never did find the skeleton nearby.

Nepaket struck from the shadows immediately. Two stingers hit the front rogue in the back, sending him off-balance and tumbling into the trash next to the door. The second man only realized what had happened a few seconds later.

"Wh-what the hell did you do??"

It didn't seem like her appearance had caught the rogue so much off-guard as her act itself. In response, Nepaket hissed, her faceplates opening up fully and exposing many, many teeth. The rogue backed into the doorway, eyes wide.

The incapacitated rogue appeared to be in some sort of state of shock, unable to move. His back was spasming every so often.

 Barely did Hadrian reach Nepaket when the two men scaled the steps down. He quickly made a correction on his estimate of their speed as his hand fell to the hilt of his sword. But before he even pulled it out of the scabbard or assumed battle stance, she's struck one of the rogues and her tail was whizzing towards the other. Her speed was truly impressive. He glanced at the twitching man. Was there some sort of venom? She seemed to relax after her attack was complete - clearly, this poison she had at her disposal would either kill the target or at least disable them to a point where they were no longer a threat. He was willing to defer to her expertise in this matter and relax.

"I assume they won't be a problem?" he asked, just out of formality. "Good." He wondered whether they should fear retribution - from what little he saw of Zantaric, a skeleton and a four-tailed scorpion were uncommon enough to make them recognizeable. Then again, so far neither of them have displayed anything that would make them a threat.

He was willing to consider this problem solved. "Now then, I believe we have a dancing place to find."

She turned to Hadrian, faceplates neatly settling back into place. "N-Not dead. Taken... care of." The scorpion lady's stingers wavered, two of the tips now gleaming dark red.

With an excited step, she began heading off, dreaming of dancing that would certainly take place.

---

...It just so happened that Nepaket hadn't the faintest what the dancing would look like. Her limited pool of knowledge regarding 'parties' and 'social hotspots' being incredibly vague. She had some doubt her partner knew what to look for either. He was something different, not exactly the regular fleshy, blood-filled and endoskeletal creatures she was used to interacting with. Something separate from the circus folk, which made him all the more interesting to her. But as a trade off, he did not seem to be familiar with the area, which made searching for a dancing place a new challenge.

She wouldn't let it impose on her fun though. They would find the dancing and they would find it soon!

Keeping a careful route and avoiding major roads seemed the best idea at the time. Avoiding crowds meant that less people would notice the two of them, less people could point out in case someone was tracking her. Yet she couldn't shake off that somebody was tracking her, and their location was growing narrower and narrower. She'd seen somebody back there during the scuffle with the rogues. She'd sensed that he would have recognized her.

"There must be rrr s-someplace!" Despite the monotonous voice, Nepaket seemed frustrated. The odd clicking, growling noises that punctuated her voice were growing more frequent.

 Searching for a place to dance was frustrating. Hadrian was shock troops, not a scout, he was never meant to gather information. But failure was not an option - he didn't want one of the first assignments received after the long wait to end badly. Once he found a proper master, he didn't want to have just a string of defeats under his belt. No, he should use this opportunity to learn more about this world.

He was pleased to find out that money remained the universal constant. Little as he had to do with it earlier, he's heard enough to form an impression that coin was as effective a solution as violence was. He really didn't need it for himself - he had no mortal needs such as nourishment or sleep to spend on. Zantaric seemed to be quite a breeding ground for pickpockets, but he wasn't concerned - he kept his pouch safe in the armour, tied to the tibia of his left forearm.

He didn't know how rare dancing places were in this town, so he resolved to just questioning people they passed by on the streets. Nepaket insisted on taking the longer route, and he acquiesced without a word - with the speed and venom she had at her disposal, it was unlikely that anything she wanted to avoid could be vanquished by the strength of arms alone.

Most of the mortals he asked just waited for an opportune moment to try and swipe his money. One took a few coins in exchange for directions to a "well, Madam Irene's has dancers too if you're into it". The establishment she indicated turned out to be populated by scantily clad people, some of whom were indeed dancing. They were, however, less than willing to let Nepaket step onto one of their places, claiming that it was their job and that they cannot until the shift is up.

One of them insisted that their workplace was not the only area in Zantaric where someone could dance, even was willing to give the names of some inns that couldn't afford more tables so they designated the empty space as the dancing floor. It could have been just a ruse to get the annoying two out of their hair, but it was something to go on.

 The elf he asked just turned around and walked away, clearly unwilling to entertain questions from someone who hasn't paid her. Moryandal wished he could compensate people for bothering him, but even if he went back to take more of his savings, he would probably get robbed again. Wiping the apologetic smile off his face, he hurried after the next person who passed him by.

  "Excuse me, have you seen a scorpion woman with four tails?"

The man's eyes widened in recognition, but he quickly masked it. "What's it to you? Nothing's free."

He expected that, but this flash was all he needed to confirm that she passed through. He almost felt guilty for getting information this way - it was almost cheating. He wasn't reading the man's mind, but he still learned it without his consent and through a suspect means. It didn't feel right.

While he couldn't ask where Nepaket went, that little was enough for him to chart the course just by reading people to check if they've seen her. It was slow, but it was clear to him that his co-worker didn't have an aim in mind that would require him to act quickly. She was just probably enjoying her freedom. He kind of felt bad about having to find her.

"Excuse me, have you seen a scorpion woman with-"

"-With that bonehead in the armour?"

Surprised, Moryandal turned around, only to gasp in shock and quickly look away. Heavens above! How could this woman wear so little in the cold of the night?!

Nonplussed by his reaction, she continued. "Your little friend made quite a scene. She came in, demanded to dance, almost frightened poor little Lisa into unconsciousness... Second weirdest person to come by on this night."

Oh no. What was he going to do?! He couldn't go back and say that Nepaket... attempted to pursue alternative employment! He ardently hoped that she was just playing a trick on him!

The night felt as though it was slowing to a crawl.

Nepaket had observed quietly while Hadrian asked local after local to point them in the right direction. Many of those locals smelled vaguely of the alcohol she'd taken a whiff of earlier, and their chatter made her ears ring. Probably due to the slowly brewing annoyance rising with each and every minute. Was Zantaric not capable of having anywhere to dance? Had she picked a terrible place to pursue a night of freedom?

Each attempted theft to Hadrian's coin purse didn't leave without the threat of a stinger to their back. Nepaket would hate to see any of their things stolen. She held on to the glittery bottle caps she'd collected with an iron grip. Sure nobody wanted random bottle caps, but these were hers now. They meant something to her.

Eventually they'd arrived at a very strange location. What did those people mean that she couldn't dance while they very well could? Her frustrations had reached a fever point back there, blowing up in a minor temper tantrum that caused one girl to scramble into a corner while the others ordered them out. Nepaket was still scathing over that one.

But there was a ray of hope. It turned out that an inn nearby was hosting a small party of sorts, and perhaps there would be dancing there...

 Hadrian was never an expert on reading people, but even he could tell that Nepaket was getting frustrated. Their search was starting to drag on, and Hadrian sorely missed the scouting and reconnaissance corps. One of the people he's met told him a proverb from her nation: you will never truly appreciate what you have, until you've lost it; and it was quite fitting for their situation.

He checked the landmarks around twice to make sure they were in the right place - Zantaric was quite a confusing town to try and orient oneself in. The building the scantily dressed woman (Hadrian had to admit that choice had its advantages, letting any prospective general inspect the body for muscle mass, scars and troublesome deformities) pointed them to looked just like another gathering place for the fleshlings. He cautiously approached.

The door swung open and a large orc woman strode through. She was holding a scruffy man by the collar of his jacket, arm stretched comfortably to avoid his drunken flailing. She took a few steps forward before effortlessly tossing him out. The bouncer blocked most of the view inside, but Hadrian managed to see a few people there gibbering in an erratic manner. That suited the description of dancing quite well. He pointed at them to draw Nepaket's attention. "We found it."

It was a ramshackle joint, as far as taverns went, but that appeared to be the style of Zantaric. Its architecture was not the kind to boast about, but functioned well enough. Nepaket wasn't impressed by it, so used to the colorful patterns of tents and the big top, but it was the energy from inside that piqued her interest immediately. It was not at all like what she'd seen in that place with all the scantily clad humans.

Hard to imagine how an insectoid face could articulate joy, but she managed it. Nepaket could hear music, a band playing a mixture of violin and steady drum. It was unlike the music played during her performance practices, but it rang well in her ears. A familiar feeling despite an unfamiliar source.

We found it.

Nepaket was already drifting inside.

The music grew louder, and an eclectic bunch of faces greeted her. Humans, dwarves, gnomes and an assortment of unidentifiable peoples were dancing to the music. Mugs clattered as groups toasted one after the other. They might not have been the typical folk that Nepaket danced in front of, but they were happy and it was all that mattered. Those exuberant faces, punched red with drink, laughing and talking and smiling...

This is what she had searched for. She was already starting to sway, beginning to go through the motions even without fans.

She turned to Hadrian. "Dance?"

 Hadrian quickly got out of the way as his companion headed inside. It was more of a courtesy - he's seen several times that she clearly had him beat in speed. He wasn't the only one - a few of the establishment's patrons noticed the scorpion creature charging through and had the common sense to move away.

While Hadrian was definitely glad to see their search for a dancing spot come an end, he could not call it a satisfying victory. The way he heard that woman speak of the place, it didn't sound like a secret, and wasn't hard to reach by any means. It was more likely common knowledge, one that he lacked due to being out of time. While it meant that there was a solution he could easily implement, it would also cast shadow on all his attempts to understand the world around him.

He followed inside, taking a moment to close the door behind him. There wasn't a lot of free chairs, and practically no free tables, but he had no need for rest, and only leaned against the wall to mimic what he's seen others do. There was a lot to learn from observation.

Nepaket's question took him by surprise - but it shouldn't have, it sounded like a natural progression. "I've never danced before" he admitted.

Her swaying paused for a moment, a little caught off-guard by his answer. Never danced before? Surely once he had danced, if only for a minute at least. Perhaps he just didn't remember it. Nepaket had never met anyone who didn't enjoy dancing. Well, she'd rarely asked anyone to join her. Usually she simply performed. But she wanted Hadrian to be happy too, having helped her like this.

Nepaket's dancing was slowly attracting a crowd. Her tails incorporated into the routine, undulating like extra arms and moving to the rhythm. It was a natural talent. Despite her mutation, they served well as both defense mechanism and performance pieces.

Outstretching a hand towards the skeleton, Nepaket clipped a little closer. "Try?."

 Moments like this made Hadrian glad for the awareness enchantment that managed his senses. He could keep tabs on the patrons while observing Nepaket. The amount of coordination between her tails couldn't have been just idle waving - it spoke of practice and skill.

She paused at his words, but he couldn't tell whether it was surprise or wariness that gave her pause. Was dancing so common in the contemporary world that his ignorance made him suspicious? If so, he should take this chance to learn. It couldn't be too difficult - while his listening sense was tuned to searching for quiet enemies rather than following musical cues, most of the patrons were content to wriggle in drunken confusion.

"Very well. Dancing is... moving to the music?" Like marching? That he could do.

It was a rare event for Nepaket to dance with a partner. If she'd had spare fans available (or any fans at all really) she'd have handed him a pair. But as it were, they would merely mimic the motions of fan-dancing. A better turnout than the inebriated locals bobbing around them.

"Ss-something like that. Little mrr involved." Nepaket nodded. How would somebody without skin or muscle navigate dancing? She wondered, taking his hand.

She lead him into the 'dance floor', dancing light steps so that he'd have an easier time following her. "Enjoy m-music and rrr... Think... moving with it. Beat, sss-rhythm... Move with that. Sway first, then a-add limbs on top."

One-step, two-step, the scorpion bowed and watched to see what he'd do.

 Hadrian did his best to follow her movements, at least as much as it was possible. He had no tails or equivalents thereof, but could match her step. His experience marching was of use; she did not make use of her unparalleled speed and instead moved slower, and he could follow. He wasn't sure if he could hear this music Nepaket was speaking of, at least the way she could; but nevertheless tried to move his arms to match what his legs were doing, and what she was.

Just when Hadrian thought he almost had a hang of it, something changed. He focused his senses, trying to catch the subtle change - it was Zantaric, after all, someone might be trying to ambush them for a suitable reason. But one glance at Nepaket was enough to find the cause: the musicians simply began to play the next song. And now he had to start all over again! He could not fathom what was it about dancing that she found so appealing, it was a most puzzling endeavour.

With that musical change, Nepaket followed suit, adjusting to the new tempo. For such a different style of music, she found herself reminded of the circus once more. The melodies used for her dances exemplified what little she knew of Essyrn. Although lacking the authenticity, it painted what she imagined her first home to have looked like, so the dance came naturally to her. Her kind she knew were meant to perform, if only for a while before striking... The first times she had practiced dancing for the circus had ended in disaster because of that.

This music was friendly, and it required a partner. People around them never moved alone. Small groups of friends, the odd duo who circled around the room. Happy and heady with drink.

The both of them were being swallowed by a crowd of onlookers. It wasn't easy to tell if their intentions were favorable or not. Some of the rougher Zantaric citizens chewed slowly, eyeing her tails and Hadrian's armor. Some still seemed punch-drunk, sitting and clapping their hands for more. But still a few seemed more coherent.

Nepaket watched Hadrian's attempts to follow her lead. An odd chittering sound escaped her, like a dry, dusty rattling - her equivalent to a laugh. "You rrr doing fine. See?"

 With little else to do, Hadrian once again tried to adjust to the new dance and follow Nepaket's movements. The scorpion's patience was truly impressive, with her speed and grace she could probably achieve more, but it looked like she was holding back for him to be able to match. He kept at it until he got into enough of an acceptable rhythm to hopefully satisfy Nepaket.

Dancing was no excuse for foregoing his vigilance, and so even as he moved, he sharpened his senses, keeping watch on the room. Some of the patrons were engaging in acts of maintenance and sustenance, namely partaking of the food and drink. A few were resting on the tables in a manner that implied fatigue, an all-too-common flaw of living bodies. And there were of course other dancers, whom Hadrian could not properly classify. Perhaps he should view it as some form of exercise or sport that they engaged in to keep themselves ready for battle? Truly, the ways of this contemporary world were bizarre.

Time flowed by as the two continued to dance. Many of the patrons were leaving or passed out on the floor, with only a couple of eyes on the bizarre arachnid and skeleton duo. The event was in its closing stages, though Nepaket seemed content to simply continue dancing the night away.

Across the room, someone tipped his head, red eyes on the dancing with a smug look on his face. A dark elf dressed in expensive clothes seemed rare in Zantaric, but there may have been good reason for that. None had managed to take them away from him, or pry the jeweled sword at his hip.

Nepaket may have glanced in his direction, but without a sound the elf seemed to disappear through the wall. She never noticed the odd visitor.

The music slipped slower, perhaps a final piece. A few members of the band were beginning to pack their instruments.

 "Excuse me? Have you seen a woman with scorpion-like tails?"

Moryandal has all but accepted the futility of his search. He had hoped that Nepaket's unusual appearance - one of the very aspects  that made her such a good fit for the troupe - would make her stand out more, but Zantaric was a host to far stranger beings. Some of the people he questioned mistook him for some kind of a hunter of exotic creatures and tried to sell him information on certain truly bizarre beasts: a scaled serpent with four muscular legs, seven snakes growing out of its neck and a mass of feathered wings bearing it in the air; a monster covered by bone carapace whose arms were transformed into rays longer than its entire body; a massive insect whose lower body was that of a fat snake, covered in carapace of pure glittering diamonds and shaped like spring leaves... Perhaps he should have memorized their names to later make suggestions to the Ringmaster!

For now, he was just asking for his own sake. Once he's made peace with being laughed at by the others in the troupe, he would be content to return- wait, what was it that this man said?

The dark elf advanced on him, red eyes shining dangerously. Moryandal instinctively took a step back, but the man seemed undaunted. "You seek her too?!" he whispered, grabbing the human by the shoulders. "She who walks in side with the harbinger of death?"

That was quite a flowery manner of speaking, but Moryandal understood, or at least he thought he did. Scorpions were always known for their venom; most people upon seeing Nepaket would consider her deadly. "I do" he confessed. It was likely they meant the same person; how many scorpion people could have visited Zantaric today?

The elf's face split into a glorious smile. "Never have I lain my eyes upon you before, but by your words I know that we are brothers, united in faith and purpose. Come with me."

After the music had faded, Nepaket slowly came back to her senses.

The band members were finishing up packing their instruments, and the dancing subsided. Partiers were either passed out or beginning to say their goodbyes to fellow friends. Bar tabs were paid, though a few shiftier characters simply evaporated from the room before the innkeep had noticed. Or maybe he did, as he looked up from the glass he was cleaning and narrowed his eyes at the door. Several more patrons were traipsing upstairs, a few sharing bedroom eyes at each other as they did so. All in all, the event had gone as well as an event in Zantaric could.

Nepaket took a moment to breathe. Somehow she'd managed to end up leaning against an empty table. She attempted to give the barmaid cleaning it a smile with her faceplates, but the lady simply swept her rag across the tabletop even faster and zipped away, a nervous look on her face. Nepaket shrugged. They'd been dancing for a long while and the exhaustion was settling in. But it had been a long time since she'd felt that much joy. It was hard to read how her companion felt, but she didn't regret this journey in the slightest.

Stretching a bit, she approached Hadrian, stifling a yawn that threatened to pull the whole geometry of her head apart. "Th-at was frrn." Gazing around the emptying bar, she sighed. "It's ov-rr already?"

 Hadrian took a little longer to realize that the music stopped. He turned his attention to the musicians to confirm it; they were putting their instruments away. They were probably tired, or were only paid to play a specific amount of songs.

Fortunately, it appeared that Nepaket was very satisfied. Satisfied, and... strangely changed. Was it fatigue? He made a mental note - while her speed was incomparable, it looked like she possessed no enhanced stamina to speak of. "It is over" he confirmed. Should they seek a place for her to rest?

He approached the bar manned by a grumpy-looking woman of species he did not recognize. "Do you have any rooms free?" he asked.

She gave him a look. "Oh, it's you. Listen, if you want to have a fight, this isn't the place for it."

Hadrian would beg to differ - the inn room had just enough space for him to swing his sword comfortably, but was not so large as to allow foes wielding larger arms the same. And even if he was attacked by a larger group, they would lose their advantage in numbers and be forced to come after him in trios at most. The tables and chairs strewn about could serve as makeshift fortifications or even improvised weapons. It was a good place for a skirmish, but right now the question was why did the woman think her workplace was about to become a battlefield.

She was not willing to answer. Her face became even more clouded. "It's closing time. Please leave."

She clearly knew more than she let on, and information was more precious than gold in the times of war. But Hadrian was never a reconnaissance unit, and knew little of how to deal with skittish civilians. He turned towards Nepaket, in hopes that she could assist.

Nepaket sidled up next to Hadrian, catching bits and pieces of the conversation they were having. Something about getting a room upstairs? What for? She would obviously find herself comfortably at rest in her caravan back...

Oh, that's right. She'd snuck out hadn't she? Of course she wasn't planning to stay away for longer than the night but she'd never informed the skeleton of that fact.

Unless he was seeking a room for different reasons than sleeping. Perhaps something upstairs had caught his attention? Or was it simply a matter of the lady being rude? Her thoughts turned to the rogues from earlier... Her stingers lazily pointed towards the barkeep, in case it was the latter.

"Iss something wrr-ong? You can tell uss. Not here to hurt. Just danced."

Of all things, Nepaket was not exactly the master of diplomacy.

 The barkeeper made some noise that barely registered to Hadrian's hearing. "Well, someone was giving you the look earlier. Didn't you notice? Pro'ly not, if you were busy dancing. I don't know what that guy wanted with you, but it can't be anything good. Not here in Zantaric."

Seeing that her words were of no use, she chose another angle. "He left, probably to bring friends. If you're fast, you can be gone from here before they show up. That's a chance to lose them, if you don't want to fight."

Hadrian didn't mind testing his skills further, and would attest that Nepaket was more than capable of defending herself against the local rogues, but it was not only his choice to make. "Do you want to... lose them?" Preferably not to be found again. "Or fight? We can fight outside" he quickly added to reassure the barkeeper.

She brightened a little at that, retracting her stingers to point away from the barkeep. "No need to fr-ight." The circus must have been on her trail. Now that she'd had her fun, it was high time she returned home. Certainly this shifty fellow was probably one of her co-performers, and that meant they'd be meeting up with her shortly.

Her thoughts were swiftly turning to inviting Hadrian along. Would he enjoy the circus? The question had only just slipped into her mind, and now it was fumbling for purchase among her general feelings of tiredness.

"Muss-t be friend. Makes sense-ss to me."

 The bartender seemed to have reached the limit of attention she was willing to give them. She turned around and began arranging the bottles on the shelf. The sound of clinking glass was slightly disrupting Hadrian's auditory sense. It was nothing serious, but he would nevertheless prefer to fight in a different environment - if it came to it.

Nepaket sounded adamant about this man being a friend of hers. Was she earlier so absorbed in dancing that she would not notice someone she knew? Or perhaps there was something else at play, a limitation to her sight? Well, the friend in question probably had a reason not to approach her here. Whatever the truth, there was no longer a reason to remain here.

"Will we go look for your friend?"

"Yes." The scorpion nodded, turning for the door.

It must have been at least 3 or 4 in the morning by now. High time for Zantaric's nocturnal citizens. The town still seemed ever alive as in the early stages of nightfall. Only a few businesses, their tavern trip included, had closed for the night. A few previously dead buildings were now alight, while some simply operated 24/7. Nepaket brushed past a bat-like humanoid on the way out the door.

She wasn't sure where to start looking for her friend of course. Was he not after her? Should she just stay in place until he'd tracked her down? Or perhaps stick to the alleys where he'd most likely be looking? Opting for the latter, she took a backroad away from the hustle of the town.

As she moved, she spoke to Hadrian. "Friend is looking for me. I... rr-meant to tell you." She paused, trying to figure out which way to turn. Deciding left, she continued on. "I was... not w-wanting to be found. Felt rr-trapped. Ssso, I left for the night. But I did not want to leave for-r-ever."

 Hadrian turned more of his attention towards his senses. If there was someone after Nepaket - a friend or a foe - he should be able to notice them before they approached. If not, it would be a lesson in what the people of this new world could do.

He listened to Nepaket, trying to make sense of her words. It seemed like she went absent without leave, but from the nonchalant way she spoke about it, he inferred that there probably wasn't any sort of sanctions for it. She seemed quite willing to meet with her friend and return. Hadrian tried to use this information as reference to gauge the nature of a unit she belonged to, but to no avail.

"Your friend... look like what?" he asked. He could be more alert if he knew what to be on lookout for. As they moved through the streets of Zantaric, he assessed every alley they passed for tactical advantages. If this person turned out to be not a friend, Hadrian would be prepared. If not, then it would be good practice.

A small, whistly series of chittering noises replied. Nepaket was trying to work that out herself. She walked the length of an alleyway, listening out intently, her head sometimes tilting as if to try and orient herself to some specific noise.

"Could b-be... Human?" She murmured, "Or not. White -rr- maybe black hair. Maybe... ringmaster? No... Someone else. Hypnotist? Hmm..." She didn't seem too certain. Trying to remember the face she'd spotted back during the fiasco with the rogues was difficult, if only because she'd simply sensed him on his way, without a visual to back it up.

She was trying to do that now. Follow the instinctual feeling of being watched. Instead of running away she was trying to move towards it. If only there was a sign of where they were.

 Even considering his lacking knowledge of this world, Hadrian found Nepaket's words to be not very helpful. While he doubted not that she attempted to provide accurate intelligence, clearly there were too many possibilities for her to settle on just one. He would have to be on his guard.

There was also the matter of his companion's state. Hadrian remembered naught of being a creature of flesh, and his knowledge came only from his experiences and memories of the foes he fought. He was thus aware of specific weaknesses of the living, and hoped to learn to identify them once more. The bizarre sluggishness and lack of focus on Nepaket's part concerned him.

Alas, concern was all he had to offer at this point. He could barely notice that something was afoot, let alone identify the problem and conceive of a solution. He was aware of his limits, and recognized that the best course of action was to rendezvous with this friend of Nepaket and entrust her to them. They should be wiser in the ways of flesh care. She spoke without a care for sanctions for going AWOL, therefore it should be safe to leave her with them.

Movement drew his attention - too regular and continuous to be dismissed as the commonmplace comings and goings. His hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword - a rather natural position to take in this town, not something that would draw attention. There were people gathering. He indicated one discreetly to Nepaket. "Your friends?"

Indeed, she'd seen it too. Any tiredness was traded in for being suddenly on guard, as the figures approached in a semi-circle from the alley.‌ They'd reached an intersection, and it seemed almost planned that the figures chose to step in this way. Nepaket was certain now more than ever they'd been tracked all along.

Except, none of these faces were those she could place. And many of them were wearing some kind of strange robe... The majority of them had faces which were oddly blurred, as if magic was in place to keep their identities from being seen. Only two of them didn't have this disguise.

One of them was a dark elf, who did seem oddly familiar. He wore a smug smile, standing in more ornate dressings than many of his peers.

And of course, by him, was someone she did recognize.

"M-Mentalist?"‌‌ A circus member, but what was he doing with this crew?

 Moryandal breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Nepaket. The silent skeleton at her side was puzzling, but not even the strangest being he's seen in Zantaric that night. "I was looking for you" he hurried to explain. "We've been worried. I know you can take care of yourself, but-" he stumbled over words. Was there a way to express his thoughts without making himself into a fool in the process?

Gasps and sounds of drawn weapons rang from behind. He quickly turned around, almost stepping on his cloak in the process. Were they being attacked by some of the local lowlifes? His eyes widened in shock as the men who led him to Nepaket now turned their arms on him. What was this all about? His words may have been poorly-chosen, but surely this was no cause for violence. "What's going on?"

"Beware, brothers!" the elf called, pointing at him with a gloved finger. "'Tis no worthy ally, but a treacherous viper in our midst! Look how readily he betrays us to the enemy!"

"The enemy?" He did not understand what was going on. What was the enemy they spoke of?

The elf seemed unwilling to explain, gesturing instead to his disguised allies. Without a word, they reached for their weapons, some notching arrows on their bows. Why were they so eager to resort to violence? Surely, there was an agreement to be reached, if only they talked things through!

The skeleton accompanying Nepaket didn't seem to share his opinion. It (he? Moryandal should ask the skeleton about preferred form of address later) drew the sword, ready for battle.

Leaning down, tails raised, Nepaket hissed.‌

Commotion erupted from the alley. Daggers gleamed silver in the dark, the whistle of an arrow loud as it whizzed past her head. She moved immediately, ducking away in one swift arc, a stinger aiming for cultist throat. It missed, but she flicked her tail to the side, managing to slap the archer into the wall next to him.

The fight was so sudden, and her mind was racing as she moved automatically to defend herself. They had blades; She knew it'd be death should they manage to pierce her. She had to be cautious, dodging as quickly as she could, trying to spot Moryandal among the chaos. Why was he with them?‌‌ Was he in cohorts?‌‌ Why were they attacking her?

Metal flashed in the dark and she only just managed to block the blunt edge of the sword with another stinger, trying to hold her own against another robed man. The dark elf in the meantime seemed to be stalking around the perimeter of his ambush, awaiting a moment to slip in.

"Hadrian!"‌ She wasn't sure if she could take care of this many attackers at once. There had to be at least five, with a couple moving towards her while the others focused on Moryandal and Hadrian. And of course, their leader.

 Hadrian was content to leave the talking to Nepaket and the others. Even if he considered his vocabulary adequate, it was between Nepaket, that man she called mentalist and that strange elf. He was a soldier, not a diplomat.
Once the talks inevitably broke out into violence, he was ready. He drew his sword, immediately charging at two nearest enemies. One of the foes wielded a two-bladed axe, one that she used with practiced expertise and to great effect; catching Hadrian's weapon between steel and shaft whenever he attacked. Even once he changed his target and went after her club-wielding companion, she intervened. Such a well-practiced pair they were, with her intercepting any attacks and him pressing on the offense. He caught himself looking forward to the aftermath of the battle, where they would be raised to join the great army; the heat of battle making him forget.

He spied three more fighters closing in on him. It was time to end this. He charged forward, letting his sword be caught between the blades of her sword, moving into the range of the club. The man swung a fierce blow, aiming to crush his skull. Hadrian twisted his head to the side, to an angle that would break the neck of a living man. As the club landed on the armour, denting the steel, the soldier brought up his knee between his enemy's legs. The axe-wielder struggled to get her weapon free to cover for her ally, but failed. The skeleton hooked one leg around his and swung him to collide with her, sending both enemies flying. He pressed the advantage, charging after and striking with his sword when they could not recover.

An arrow whizzed through the air, finding the mark between the plates of his armour. It flew through, between the gaps in his illium, just to make a dent in the inner steel and clatter harmlessly down inside one solleret. The archer must have realized his mistake in firing upon a fleshless enemy, for he swore quietly and aimed at Nepaket instead. Hadrian doubted not that his companion could dodge an arrow in flight or strike it out of the air with her tail, but it went against the magic that moved him to let an attack on an ally go unintercepted. He picked the axe the woman was wielding off the ground and hurled it at the archer. He didn't exactly expect it to hit, just to keep the man from firing. It worked - he quickly ducked to avoid the blow. As he struggled to his feet, some of his comrades moved in to protect him. No matter - Hadrian faced worse odds before.

Having managed to distract the archer and drawing several attackers from her, Nepaket found an opening. She rushed the archer now that their backs were turned. Two stingers found his back and leg. As she withdrew them, he had mere seconds to reach feebly for his dagger, until his leg fell numb and his spine seemed to collapse. He fell to the floor at an odd angle, one arm still trying to reach her.

Seeing the other two cultists still distracted by Hadrian, Nepaket turned to face them-

And the dark elf rushed her instantly. A sharp pain laced one side of her face-plates, where his blade had swiped. It chipped one of the pieces off, leaving a small dark gap in place.

An odd noise came from Nepaket as she reached her face, taking a step back. It'd been awhile since such pain had come to her. It brought back memories of the desert, of those people who had once caged her...

She attempted to strike the elf, hissing, but he seemed to flicker back into the night, out of reach. Nepaket growled lowly, trying to figure out which direction he'd gone. The cultist at her feet had gone still, though his breathing was shallow. His face seemed much clearer now, revealing a half-elven face now that the magic keeping his identity hidden could no longer keep.