Spirits of the Earth

Thump.

Thump.

THUMP.

THUMP!

"It's hot."

"Shut up."

"I'm tired."

"Shut up."

"My joints are—"

"OH. MY GOD. CEASE!"

Many a miraculous sight was bound to be found off the beaten merchant's path of the Moraki desert. The shifting dunes and their wave-like courses across the arid lands revealed ruins of old civilization, shadows of bygone adventures and adventurers alike who'd wandered astray of the protected roads in search of fame and fortune, to never be seen again. It was a tale as old as time; those who did not heed the words of their elders who came before them were destined to repeat the mistakes and failings that they once found.

"Be more careful about your footing. You're getting sand into your greaves."

"But there's sand EVERYWHERE!"

"So be EXTRA careful, then!"

'Siege', as she had taken to calling herself, did not have this issue. See, the difference between a young, up and coming adventurer seeking fame and fortune away from home and a walking, talking mobile fortress of a suit of armor was that the young adventurer eventually left the nest of their elders to seek fame.

THE NEST WASN'T LITERALLY INSIDE THEM, NAGGING THEM THE ENTIRE TIME.

"You think I like being trapped in a half-assed suit of scraps like you?"

"OH MY GOD I DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING!?" What's more was the fact that the nest was also not intrinsically linked to the young adventurer's mind and soul, thereby almost literally letting it read the adventurer's thoughts the entire time.

"How sad for you. This 'nest' could care less about your private thoughts. Keep moving."

The armor sighed. It must've been nice to be a young, reckless adventurer.

Siege and Kiri, the 'nest' trapped within the armor, were journeying south, toward Essyrn... by foot. Why? Because the massive construct couldn't fit on a damn horse, couldn't fit in a damn wagon, and couldn't cross a boarding bridge on a damn ship. It was virtually impossible to get Siege into or onto ANYTHING that could reduce travel times, save a dragon— and most dragons were busy doing the flying thing. In the air. Away from Siege.

So with resounding thud after resounding thud, Siege moped her way toward Essyrn, one heavy footstep at a time, and groaned every time one of those footsteps was too heavy— knowing it would kick up sand and get it in her armor... thereby displeasing her inhabitant.

"Watch where you're going."

"What did I do NOW!? I'm basically tip-toeing at this poi—"

"I meant watch the road ahead of you, Siege. There's a presence ahead of us. A human. A singular one."

If the siege armor had eyebrows, it would've raised them in disbelief. "You... can't even see outside of my armor! How could you possibly know that?" A valid (in her mind) question, exasperated though it came off as. Kiri responded by sighing with the collective force of her entire soul.

"By tuning your senses, you can train your ears to recognize the sound of a human heartbeat. The smell of sweat on their skin. The—"

"Okay, nope, stop. You're scary enough as it is. Don't need the imagery." The armor cut in, returning Kiri's sigh with one of equal and opposite strength. Deciding that arguing any further wouldn't get her anywhere, Siege simply raised a gauntlet above her helmet and used it as a visor, peering ahead into the distance. Who else in their right mind would be out here, alone?

The desert was hot, but Snarg was used to it. He had grown up here. Not here like....in the sand....but close enough.

Sand was in his blood.

Sand was in his soul.

Sand was in his fucking boots.

Stinking, shitty, shitastic, SHIT SAND.

With a growl he stooped down to rip a boot from his foot. His calloused hands rough like strips of jerky - the same color, too.

Snarg was hungry.

With one boot discarged onto the sand, he reached into his pack and pulled out a strip of elephant jerky and tore it apart with his teeth. He washed it down with a gulp of water.

A large, curved sword was strapped on his back and clanked against the seven canteens he held.

He was big. He needed a lot of water.

Grunting in displeasure he glanced towards the horizon to see....

An idiot in armor. In the fucking desert.

"Whaddaya think? A threat? Do I gotta kill 'em?"

"Are you truly so simple-minded as to only know how to kill and complain?"

"YOU are the last person I wanna hear that from!"

Siege stalled. From a distance, it probably looked as though some sort of warped staring contest was occurring, but there were problems with that train of thought. For instance, to stare, you needed eyes... which the annoyed set of armor did not have. Yet she could tell all the same as a sand-thick gust of desert air died down before her that the man ahead of her was looking her way.

The man ahead of it was also packing food, apparently— which was much more important.

"You should be able to sense true hostility by this point, Siege. Had you been in any real danger, you would be—"

"Dead by now, yeah, you've mentioned that a couple thousand times. God, were all Vallyae warriors as annoying as—"

From within the metal confines of Siege's armor, a distinct sound echoed— one that one she could hear. And 'feel'. One that she had horrifyingly become much to aware of. The sound of a blade unsheathing.

"—I WAS JUST JOKING!" The living armor practically screamed in exacerbated fear, knowing what was likely to come next. A moment passed, before the sound of steel slowly receeding into a polished hilt put her at ease. Good grief— mere moments away from being cut to pieces from the inside out. Kiri was horrifying.

Clearly no longer in the mood to chat, said warrior went quiet as Siege took her earlier words at face value— the man ahead probably would've attacked her by now if he was a threat. So, with hopes of getting at least an arrow in the direction of the nearest bar, Siege carelessly began closing the gap between them, gesturing for his attention.

Which, for a normal set of armor, was probably a somewhat reasonable, if not concerning sight in the middle of the desert. Yet as the gap closed between them, the difference in their height became... rather clearer than a distant glance.

Well what the fuck was happening. Was the armor waving at him? Not only that but...it...was a massive suit of armor. Snarg was certainly not a small man and this thing made him look like a child.

"Fuck me." he growled, eyes showing his surprise despite the scowl across his features.

He shoved the piece of meat into his mouth and gave his boot another hefty shake before pushing his foot back inside. There were still grains of sand but there wasn't much he could do about it. The whole fucking desert was made of sand.

A wary hand reached up to grip one of the swords on his back. Normal, sane people didn't just walk around in this heat wearing giant in cans. That in and of itself was pure idiocy and would kill you. But...whatever giant was in that thing was very much alive.

"The fuck you want." he called out, hand on the hilt but leaving it undrawn.

If Siege had eyes, boy howdy would it have been glaring daggers into the now officially ignorant prick in front of her. Inside, however, her 'dark passenger', so to speak, simply sighed in exasperation. For a suit of armor, she had such thin, brittle skin— so easily penetrated by a few words.

"I want you to watch your fucking mouth, first-off," Despite her unfittingly feminine voice, Siege growled right back, matching energy with the strange sand-dweller. What was his problem? All she wanted was a drink and some entertainment— Kiri swore the sandfolk used to hold the biggest parties in her time after all! "Second, point me to the nearest tavern will ya? I'm looking for three things— Wine, Women, and, and... Women!" She proudly proclaimed, an upturned note to her tone— as if she had just been rather pissy with the man before her.

Kiri sighed, again— preparing to tune out the ensuing conversation with some meditation. Thin, brittle skin, and an empty head. Yep— that was Siege in a nutshell.

"You're from around here, aren't ya? How 'bout you show me there, I buy you a drink? Least I can do after wandering in this goddamned desert for the past 2 weeks."

Snarg just stared at the armor in shock, not quite sure exactly what he was seeing or hearing for that matter. And she was talking to him like he wasn't the one parading about in armor in a fucking desert. The sand that must be stuck in her boots probably added another twenty pounds of weight. But she sounded small. The height of her didn't match the voice.

"You....want drinks. And women." He repeated, hand still resting on the blade strapped to his back.

If he were any judge, and he was a bad one at that, her request sounded like a child who had escaped home and was trying desperately to sound grown up. What...the hell...was this thing.

"Sure." He growled, "I'll show you. For a price."

If Siege could blink, she would've in a mixture of confusion and bewilderment. Alas, she was forced to settle for a tilt of her helmet in this case, as she quietly looked down at the brawny man almost inquisitively.

"...I... Yeah. I said I'd buy drinks. You... where were you when I said that?" She genuinely questioned, before receiving the sharp poke of a blade's sheathe at her innards, to her dismay.

"Mind yourself. You're being much too friendly with someone you know nothing about," Warned the familiar voice of her internal guest, ruining the suit of armor's mood overall. Why couldn't she have been bound to something less... asshole-y? Like a hostess, or a priest, or a goddamn dog?

"Anyway, come on. Lead the way, before you dry out like bacon. Gods know you look half-the-part. What are you even doing out here?" Her curiosity unbound, Siege couldn't help but barrage the strange man with questions— well and truly unaware of how ridiculous it sounded for someone— someTHING like her to be asking about.

Snarg couldn't help but peer closer at the monstrosity in front of him. She couldn't possibly be that tall, could she? The voice just didn't match the body. But no matter how long he stared he could not for the life of him figure out what she was.

"A drink isn't enough." He said gruffly, black eyes glinting against the desert sun; mouth set in a firm line.

"Offer something else. Then we'll see if you're worth my time. This is my home, I can show you all the good brothels."

He'd see if it was enough to entice this...oddity. If not?

Honestly he didn't know. He was walking towards town anyways and was perhaps just bored enough to entertain a drink with a suit of armor.

Siege was more than ready to argue over the drink. After all, it was the desert; There were like, NO drinks, and the oddball before her certainly didn't look much like a tall glass himself.

...Of alcohol. Not— whatever, the important thing was that he should've been sold on the drink, no? But here he was haggling; A sand folk speciality if Kiri was to be believed. Scratching the back of her helmet with a massive, armored mitt, Siege pondered on what she could 'offer' the man... before coming up with an idea.

"Okay, okay, I know how men like you think. Well, how 'bout this—" She started, before doing far and away the most reckless thing she'd done all day, and reaching down at the man's waist— gripping tightly at his belt line— before, with little to no effort... lifting him up into the air.

With her right arm holding him fast to her massive bod plate, and her left supporting his rear, she propped the man up with near-inhuman strength, allowing him to lean in a bit toward her breastplate.

Kiri was close to vomiting blood in a fit of rage— The only thing preventing her from doing so being a thick layer of secondhand embarrassment wrapped in cringe, coated in confusion.

"...WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Siege, oblivious to the murderous fury boiling up from within her, shrugged. She was carrying him, obviously? What a weird thing to ask. "How's that? Comfy? I'll even throw in a meal. Can't beat that deal."

The moment Snarg saw movement the blade was in his hand. He didn't care that her tone was pleasant. A pleasant assassin could kill just as fast as any other. He was prepared for the worst and this...this certainly had the makings of being the worst.

He snarled angrily.

Gods she was strong. So much stronger than any human he had ever encountered. Hell, she was stronger than any creature he had taken down. She lifted him like a rag doll and just....

Was she holding him? Like a mother holds a toddler?

It didn't matter. He said nothing as his blade whistled through the air towards whatever the fuck this thing was. Snarg would not die today.

*SCHLANK.*

Impressively, the man's blade struck true. While it did not shatter or pierce the metal fortress that was the heavy platemail it... was, it did find an effective angle that caused it to slip just past one of the small gaps in between her platemail, plummeting into her innermost depths. And what followed, at the blade slid straight through to it's hilt, was a resounding, unnerving... thud.

And then a pause. Silence, as the echo of the blade from within Siege reverberated back out into the world around her.

Siege, full name Siege Armor, was, well... Siege armor. With the exception of whatever items or gold she may have kept on (or in) her person, there wasn't anything physically inside her-- never had been. Even Kiri technically wasn't 'in' her in human form... Much more a shadowy, impossible pit contained inside of it through some forgotten primal magic. Thus, it came as no surprise (to Siege, at least) when, following that attack, and that silence... literally nothing happened.

"...What the fuck, man!? If you wanted me to carry you like a bride or something, then just say that! God, if you damaged one of my straps just now, I swear..."

Snarg growled with vexation as his sword did absolutely fucking nothing. There was no resisted, no grunt of a body being pierce, just Gods Damned nothing.

And he was still in the arms of the armor. Because that's what he had concluded this monstrosity must be - an enchanted suit of armor.

That was both terrifying and intriguing all at the same time.

"I want to fucking walk." He snarled.

She didn't attack back. If she had, how would he have been able to defeat....this.

Gods dammit he was going to have to be polite.

"Please."

Oh, if only Siege could lift an eyebrow. She couldn't. She didn't have them. Here she was trying to be nice... What was worse, he had human feet too, which meant it was probably going to take even longer to get to a tavern than if she just carried him. Was-- was this a guy thing? Was he being a guy about getting carried?

"You've been stupid for about as long as I can stomach in one sitting. Put him down. Please." Low, yet certain, a familiar voice gently echoed from the depths of the armor. A cold, loveless voice that Siege was all too familiar with-- Kiri's 'This is me giving you 3 seconds to choose to live' voice.

"Alright, fine, good grief..."

Attacked on both sides by 'kindness', Siege relented and sat the man back down, a bit disappointed but otherwise as blissfully ignorant of her actions as ever. "Whatever. Let's talk rewards while we walk, I guess-- I'm dyin' to get out of the sun. I've been cooking for weeks, now." She explained, weariness in her voice. Truthfully, she wasn't sure which was worse-- the heat, or Kiri's short-temperedness lately. She was probably itching to get out again... which Siege didn't look forward to in the least.

Snarg didn't know what was happening. First it was a random, seemingly empty, suit of armor and now...now...

Was he hearing two voices?

Fuck.

What the fuck!?

What was even happening? First it was just an insane person seeking a death wish walking around a desert in a can and now this? He didn't like magic. He didn't want anything to do with magic.

He should just walk away.

"What are you? he asked instead once his feet hit the ground.

"I'm Siege."

Honestly, Snarg only had himself to blame for that one. What else was she supposed to respond with? Siege was Siege. The biggest, baddest (subjective) armor mommy to walk this side of the continent. Foes trembled in her wake... if only because she weighed a ton-- but that was part of her allure, damn it!

From within, a familiarly-cold voice let out a sigh of disappointment. "You're an idiot."

"But I'm YOUR idiot, so that makes you a, like, an idiot within an idiot!"

"You dare? You would be rent leather and scrap metal if I could get out of here!"

"W-Well, you can't! So hush!"

This conversation, as is often the unfortunate case, happened right in front of her new drinking buddy. Frustrated (and also the slightest bit disturbed by Kiri's threat), Siege merely shook her head to clear her mind of the nagging before looking back at the muscle-bound man. "A-anyway, drinks?"

Snarg listened to the exchange in a mixture of confusion, intrigue, and, surprisingly enough, a healthy sense of fear. He had already tried to cut the thing and his sword had practically done nothing. Now the armor seemed to be arguing with itself but...it had two distinct voices.

Nothing inside that could be cut was terrifying enough but...what the actual fuck was this thing?

"Siege." He replied flatly after she finally answered. The name seemed appropriate for the giant thing.

"Are you...in the armor or...?" He didn't know how else to form the sentence. He assumed whatever it was was actually inside the armor, maybe a ghost or a spirit or some kind of demon, but he didn't want to box the answer into a simple yes or no.

A loud bang echoed inside and around the giant suit of armor as Siege slammed her right gauntlet against her breastplate in a gesture of pride at a speed normal people would no normal person should've been able to, adding to the collection of incredibly unnatural and unsettling things this 'woman' seemed capable of. "That's me!" She proclaimed, in response to the strange man testing out her name. Heck, dare one say that she almost seemed 'happy' that they were on a relatively first-name basis now?

In response to his question, however, her mood wilted a little-- which, to Siege, was a fair reaction for what the man was seemingly asking. "Fuck no. Ew." Her response was equal parts curt, disdainful, and almost came off with a tone of offense. "I mean, there IS some... thing, in there, but--"

"Thing?" Her passenger spoke up, sending a shiver down the armor's non-existent spine. She didn't backpedal, though-- she had to keep reminding herself that Kiri couldn't hurt her from in there... probably. Not unless the soul-binding spell between them was weakened-- or Siege herself was severely damaged. Which... c'mon. She was SIEGE ARMOR.

"...BUT, that ain't me. I AM THE ARMOR." She proudly boasted, as if looking for praise.

Apparently forgetting that she and her 'friend' were nearly at each other's throats a second ago.

Snarg couldn't do much more than gaped at Siege as she spoke, drawing herself up to her impressive height. He was still close enough to her that even he, at nearly seven feet tall, had to crane his neck up at her. It was an odd feeling he wasn't thrilled to experience. Was this what normal people felt when they came up against him?

Gods that must be terrifying for them. Thank goodness he didn't live his life down there like they did.

"What...who," he clarified, "is in you then?"

Siege felt immediately uncomfortable at the question, scratching the back of her... helmet almost sheepishly as she tried to think of a decent enough answer to his question. "Well... uh... It's... complicated?" She tried to explain, thinking long and hard on the topic. Why? Not because Siege was ashamed of what she was. Not because she was afraid of somehow, some way inciting Kiri with an improper explanation (she was just afraid of her in general, the explanation had nothing to do with it). The real reason was much, much simpler.

Siege didn't... really know how to explain her.

"A... ghost?"

"I'll kill you."

"OKAY WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL YOU THEN, HUH?" If she could've punched the tiny brat of a swordsman through her armor, she would've. Kiri was such a tempermental little shit sometimes, getty pissy over any perceived slight to her pride as a warrior of AN EXTINCT CIVILIZATION. If it weren't for Siege she may as well be a ghost! Shaking her helmet, Siege continued. "She's... well, she's Kiri. She... she's usually harmless, unless she gets out somehow. Normally she can't, though-- she's sorta... trapped in there, I guess?"

"Warrior," Kiri's voice, now rather resolute and practically filled with bloodlust, echoed outward from the armor with the biting edge of a seasoned commander. "If you would face me, destroy this armor and free me. I will answer your blood-red steel with my own. Yours will be the greatest notch on my blade in my quest to restore the Vallyae clan."

"...Just ignore her, I think that's how she says hi to new friends." Siege explained in a less than amused tone, though in some aspects relieved that she didn't actually have skin... fairly sure that she would be as pale as a frog at her 'partner's' words.

Snarg blinked, face blank of all emotion as the words from the thing inside the armor penetrated his overall feelings of annoyance towards Siege. This one...this voice was different. It was cold, calculating, and would clearly take his head with her should she be given the chance.

Well that complicated things. Originally he was thinking about finding a way to destroy Siege and go on his merry way but...that would release this Kiri.

He waited silently for a few seconds once her speech concluded before looking up at the eight foot talking armor.

"So...drinks then?" And he turned and began the Gods awful trudge back to the town he'd just left. Hopefully people weren't going to chase him out after the last job he'd completed. It wasn't his idea to burn down the factory, he was just the one who took the disgruntled workers coin and did what he was told.

"Hell yeah! Now you're talking my language!"

A powerful, padded gauntlet swung forward and patted Snarg right on the shoulder as he turned to lead the way, with Siege only afterward mentally reminding herself that he was human-- she couldn't exactly go around swatting at humans as if they were also suits of armor-- or inside them. "Knew I saw some good in you. You can't BEGIN to imagine how much my last client talked up you sand folk and your hospitality-- and your dancers!"

Human figures fascinated Siege. She was built with a... less than agile form, but most humans were more bone than meat, in her eyes. And the slimmer they were, the more flexible and agile they tended to be. You could practically squeeze them and they'd pop like cute little water baloons!

"Creep."

"That's your fault. Stop listening to my thoughts!" She fired back at her occupant, right back to being annoyed. "Anyway, I don't think I caught your name, guy. Unless you don't care what you're called-- I can call you honey-roll, if you want, guys like that kind of talk, right?" Siege jokingly suggested, one-sidedly deciding that she and the man who'd just made an attempt on her armor were now on fairly good terms. Buddies, even!

Kiri inwardly cringed. No amount of torture as a prisoner of war equated to having to be present for any of Siege, ever.

Snarg stumbled forward with the smack to his shoulder and only years of disciplined training kept him from being completely toppled. His shoulder ached and he knew there was likely to be quite the bruise underneath his leather paddings. That was the bad thing about leather - it didn't provide the same protection as steel, but is also didn't encumber its wearer either. Generally speaking it helped deter arrows and a swipe of a blade, but he felt every blow.

"Snarg." He growled back, "Not honey roll. Fuck."

He wanted to take a swing at her just for that. Perhaps Kiri would be the better option between the two. Perhaps Siege was simply guiding him to have the other spirit just run him through so he didn't have to deal with her anymore.

With his mind made up, he kept his blade sheathed and continued to trudge through the sand. It would take them some time to make it back, but Gods he wanted to be drunk if this was now his life.

Siege couldn't help but let out a bellowing laugh in response to Snarg's venomous disposition— which realistically sounded less like a bellowing laugh and more like a fit of girlish giggling, completely unsuited for the massive suit of metal that she was. "Snarg! I love it. Your name sounds like how you look, like me!"

It was a compliment, even if it didn't seem like one. Siege took just about all of the world on her sleeve— insults about how she broke doors on her way in them, how she sake to the bottom of the seas whenever she took boat trips. She was who she was, and she was damn proud of who she was. Her skin was as thick as steel.

"You look like a fool."

"Fuck off. You look like nothing, so ha!"

"That... what?"

"You don't. I mean, like, no one can see you, so you don't really look like anything. Right?"

"Haven't you seen me? Haven't your foes, whose heads I've taken in your moments of weakness, seen me?"

"Well... yeah, but they're dead, and I technically don't have eyes, so..."

It was going to be a long, long walk to the city.

Snarg didn't know what else to call it – bickering? The two spirits acted like siblings who had been fighting and their parents forced them to wear the same sweater until they could get along. But...well...they were stuck together a lot longer than kids in the same shirt. Fuck how annoy must that be?
 
But listening to them made him pause – mentally, not physically, he wasn't about to stay out in the sand longer than he needed. Sand was terrible. Sand got everywhere and he could already feel the scrapes and blisters forming on the back and sides of his feet from chafing. The entire process was fucking awful and now, being so close to one of his many caches in the desert, he was forced to turn around and go back.
 
But this Kiri...she had been unleashed before and destroyed Siege's enemies. Did that make them friends? Could Siege regenerate and then Kiri was back in her prison? There were so many questions that he didn't even know how to begin to answer – he certainly wasn't going to ask.
 
It also likely meant he needed to be nice to Siege.
 
Like fucking stupidly nice.
 
"Faster. Need a drink." He growled again and picked up the pace while ignoring the burning in his legs that sand-walking gave.

"You can say that again. Ugh, I could put down a damn brewery right about now-- this heat is insane. Dunno how you sand folk do it, day in and day out!"

Kiri eventually gave up on arguing with Siege, having remembered that the singular brain cell she had developed after eons of climbing out of that pit, had a tendency to do incredibly stupid things while distracted. Like... fall into a pit. Instead, she decided her time would be better spent continuing the training of her mind and body-- and so she quietly began to meditate, blocking out the outside world and focusing on the refinement of the magics that she'd created over the many years she'd spent in solitude.

Siege could feel this, in her own way-- Whenever Kiri started doing her mental training, she got this weird, wooshy, wibbly-wobbly feeling, like butterflies were fluttering all throughout her suit. Deadly butterflies that could decapitate a dragon with a single sword stroke. It served as both a stark reminder to the armor not to truly, deeply antagonize the warrior within her, as well as a 'green light' for her to relax-- When Kiri did her meditations, she blocked just about everything out, even Siege. She could chat in peace now.

"Thank armor god-- I think she's meditating now. Phew-- I can always tell when she's getting pissed with me, and she's been particularly pissy today, hahaha!" The giant suit of steel and straps was far more relaxed in his voice and gestures on that note; As if a great weight had been lifted from it's shoulders... Or pauldrons? Whatever. "I think she gets excited when I meet new friends; all the head-chopping talk doesn't really come up when we're alone, y'know? Like she's waiting for the perfect opportunity to break out of me and kill folks-- isn't that weird?"

Siege Armor, expert at making people feel comfortable in her presence.

Snarg listened intently while doing his best to stay seemingly aloof and annoyed. This was by far turning out to be the most interesting day of his entire life - and that was saying something for a man of his past and profession.

"How do you drink?" He decided to ask the easy question first. He wanted to know more about the warrior trapped inside, but this felt like a topic more easily broached once they were more familiar with each other. Also he didn't know if Siege truly knew what she was talking about. For all Snarg knew, Kiri was still there listening...

Waiting...

He kept walking as he waited for a response. The city was growing bigger by the minute, though the desert was still dangerously hot. He took a swig from his canteen and brushed the sweat from his brow.

If Siege could raise an eyebrow at the question, she would. Alas-- no eyebrows. Because no eyes. "The same way you do? With my mouth. I hope?" She explained, a bit confused as to why she even had to explain such a thing. At least, she was for a little while. It wasn't until an uncomfortably long silence had passed between the two in transit that the giant suit of armor remembered that she was, in fact, a giant suit of armor-- the question wasn't weird at all, from his perspective!

"Oh, shit! You mean, like-- Oh, I gotcha. Uh, hm. I uh... I dunno? Like, I dunno where it goes." She had to admit, this was the first time she'd even considered thinking about it. She just liked drinking-- primarily with friends. It was fun, and who didn't like having fun?

She tapped at the face-guard on her helmet and cheekily continued. "I'd give you a peek under the hood, but I'm not that easy-- you'll have to work for it." It was uncanny how unfitting the voice behind the armor was, compared to the... well, walking metal wall that was the armor. It wasn't even a battle-hardened, world-sharpened voice-- it was that of an average young woman with a little too much energy to spare-- like a spoiled wife-to-be or a middle-class lass who'd not known the horrors of reality. Which made it even weirder when she cursed up a storm. "Ohhh-- Is that it, up ahead!? Fucking finally-- I thought I'd melt before I found civs again!"

Like so.

Again all Snarg could do was stare. Well, not at Siege, but rather at the sand in front of him that made way for the city that was steadily growing as they approached. The whole idea of a suit of armor drinking...

And then it going nowhere? Or somewhere? Or...just...where?

"So...do you get drunk?"

Well that was a question. He sincerely hoped not considering the crazed warrior held within her.

The sand was giving way to paved roads. They had arrived. Now just to find a tavern. He could already feel the eyes of the locals on him, hear the whispers chittering up and down the streets.

"Hah-- it might surprise you to know, but I have a pretty high drinking tolerance. In fact, I could probably drink you under the table if I put my mind to it! Or, uh. Stomach?" It was as confident an answer as Siege could muster, given the fact that even SHE didn't exactly know the truth. Sure, she'd passed out once or twice before while drinking-- but she couldn't remember what either happened or lead up to that happening, so who was to say! Maybe it all went to Kiri, and she was the one that got drunk in her place!

She was almost positive this was not the case, but maybe!

As Siege's heavy metal greaves finally collided with paved stone, she almost felt like she'd burst into tears. How long had it been since she'd been in a city? Probably not since... what, Ketra? Too damn long, however long it was! She, unlike her drinking buddy to be, was completely oblivious of the odd looks they were getting-- primarily because when one looked like her, you kinda drew gazes everywhere, every time.

"What do you drink, anyway? You an ale guy? Fine wine? Basilisk blood? Oh-- don't try that if you've never tried that. Gross as all get out. It'll knock you right on your ass, though!" She paused for a moment, before continuing with a oddly cheerful "Might actually kill you, though?" At least, it didn't kill her. And as far as she was concerned, that meant it probably wouldn't kill anyone else. Probably.

"I wouldn't expect some of your....size....to be a light weight." He grunted back as she continued to regale him with lists of her past drinks.

This was crazy. She was armor! And yet here he was talking to her like she was a fucking normal human or...or something. He didn't even know anymore! What had his life become? He couldn't fight her or risk unleashing the Kiri warrior, but also she was literally just armor. There was no way to stab and kill something that was empty. He was also certain she'd either squish him beneath her thumb or he'd be so mortally wounded after defeating her that fighting just wasn't fucking worth it.

"There." He pointed to a little drab establishment, only just now wondering if the stares they were attracting had less to do with him and more to do with her, "Cheap. Keep their mouths shut."

He ran his eyes slowly from her feet to her helm, "....outdoor seating..."

"Good idea! A few drinks in the sun, what's better than that!?" Siege replied quite cheerfully, completely misreading Snarg's... 'suggestion'. Or ignoring it. She was so happy to not only find a pub, but to have a drink with someone at that! So happy that she had nearly forgotten that drinks cost money— which she hadn't yet provided.

Not a problem though! Wasn't like she was some broke bish. Instead, as they made their way toward the outdoor seating of the thankfully-quaint pub, she collected a nearby large, clay pot filled with soil on the street leading toward the pub— without really asking anyone if that was okay— and proceeded to drop it off right in front of one of the pub's tables, knocking the chair that was in it's spot aside rather clumsily.

In her defense, better knocked over and aside than suffering the full weight of her fortified bakery.

"Alright! Flag someone down, I'm ready to drink until the sun sets! Barmaid— ales, whatever you sell! Gotta warm up!" Oh she was positively brimming with excitement now, "seated" at the table and gesturing for Snarg to do the same. It was... almost cute? If she wasn't... Y'know. Death knight siege armor.

Snarg had been in the city long enough, and to this establishment more often than not, that he didn't even need to order anything before a cup of hard spirits was placed in front of him. He barely grunted by way of thank you before raising the cup to his lips and downing it. It had to be at least five or six shots in that one gulp, but he didn't care. Snarg was literally sitting with a giant suit of armor about to share a few drinks. If he wasn't completely wasted in the next twenty minutes he was doing something wrong.

The server took the cup with a blink before running off to get another.

Another cup was placed before him and, as we went to raise it to his lips again, the barkeep himself came out and pushed it away from his face.

"Calm down, Beast." He growled, "Can't have the savior of our little city dying of alcohol poisoning."

Snarg blinked.

"What did you just say?"

The burly bar keep turned towards Siege and eyed her with a raised eyebrow, "If you're a friend of Beast, you drink for free."

"BEAST!?"

Oh, that did it. Siege practically doubled over in laughter, slamming the table with her fist-- thankfully not hard enough to cause any damage to it. "Beast! What a nickname! It's so perfect for you, now that I think about it!" She somehow managed to get those words out in the form of something resembling a sentence in the midst of her gigglefit, before stopping to take a few deep breaths. Which... Like, why would armor need to... whatever.

"Well I appreciate the hospitality, 'keep! I'll have what he's having!" Ever the bad influence, Siege had no idea what exactly was in Snarg's cup in the first place. One would assume it was pretty strong, given that little alcohol poisoning quip, but that just made her all the more excited, in truth. Maybe he was pretty good with his ales and alcs after all! "Hell, double it-- If it can't knock him on his ass, then it probably can't knock me on mine!"

A low growl grumbled in Snarg's chest. This wasn't...he wasn't...Hakeshna he wasn't a fucking savior of anything. He took a job and he got paid, that was how life worked. He didn't make any big decisions and didn't question the instructions. He was hired to burn down a factory so he fucking burned it down at the exact time he was told and didn't even check to see if it was empty.

He probably burned people alive.

How the fuck were they calling him savior. He was a monster.

He grabbed the mug back from Ian - the barkeep - and slammed it down in defiance.

"Another."

"Well, hold on a minute-- don't just gloss over it!"

Siege leaned over a bit, the plates of her armor making an uncomfortable grating sound as they shifted accordingly. Now she was interested even more-- Snarg was CLEARLY not a fan of the nickname, or seemingly even the reverence he was looked upon with. Aww, was he really one of those shy, goody-two-shoes hero-types deep down?

"Now I wanna know the story-- What's Beast? How'd you get that nickname-- You some kinda monster? You beat up a bunch of guys all at once? You fuck animals, or something?"

Depending on the human, that probably would warrant a title, right? She'd once heard a tale of a man and a pair of dragons-- but it was always hard with people, telling if stories were true or not.

"Fuck off." He growled again, face in a deeply embedded scowl that would add more lines to his already heavily lined features. Another drink was in front of him, and Siege, and it was gone in a swig once again.

He was drinking too quickly. He knew he needed to slow down, but he was pissed off and alcohol helped deaden everything.

"Ask me again and I'll rip you limb from limb, go it?" He wiped his face with the back of his arm.

"He helped get rid of the factory." Ian had returned and replaced Snarg's cup. He took a massive swig and then coughed and glared even more angrily at the barkeep.

"Water." Ian informed him, "drink up or no more." Then he turned back to Siege, "Said he was only in it for the coin, but no one jumps on that kind of job so readily if they don't believe in it. Wasn't much coin, either. Y'know? We've been trying to force these merchant folks out of our city for years and they keep coming back. Now? I think they'll think twice and us normal folk can finally live in piece with our livestock and textiles."

"...Wait, him?"

The incredulous expression on her non-existent face could just as easily be heard in the armored... armor's voice as she shifted her gaze toward her drinking buddy. "You're kidding! He's some kinda goddamn hero? Well what the hell, I'll drink to that!"

And drink she did— the cup in front of her quickly lifted and knocked back as if it were apple juice. In that same motion, Siege lifted the visor of her helmet, revealing... well, it was hard to tell what it revealed. There was naught but darkness there— intense, pitch-black darkness, as if the sun refused to shine inside. The faintest trace of what almost seemed like a human face might've possibly been visible— a ghastly silhouette, or a shadow of a person... but given how many cups in Snarg already was, and the quickness that she downed the cup with, who could say for sure?

"Mmm— that's not bad! A little light on the kick, but it goes down easy enough!" She complimented the bartender, gently (for Siege at least) setting the cup back down— a stark contrast to her HEROIC friend. She giggled a bit at the thought— here she thought she had the guy all figured out!

"Kicking merchant asses and taking names— all altruistic-like, huh? But Beast is a heck of a weird nickname for that, yeah? I'd have called you, I dunno, Snarg the Savior! Or the Merchant Masher! Or Ted!" She paused for a moment before laughing again. "Bahahahahaha! Oh, fuck, you could never pull off Ted in a thousand lifetimes, sorry."

Ian laughed and Snarg seethed through gritted teeth, lifting the water to his lips like it pained him. He had already had a good amount to drink and knew it was about to hit him like a ton of bricks, but water just wasn't doing anything for how he was feeling now.

"Oh, Beast was given by a little girl who lives a few streets over. Took one look at him and didn't care about his actual name - said he looked like a beast the way he scowls all the time and the scars and such. But what really sealed the deal..."

Ian leaned in like he was about to tell the best secret of all time.

"Beast here refused to tell her he didn't like it. She heard he was upset by the nickname and came to apologize and he told her it was ok. Big ol' softy this one!"

Snarg couldn't take it anymore. He dumped the rest of the water onto the ground and shoved the now empty cup into Ian's hand.

"It's gone." He growled, "Bring me another."

Oh this was going to be a long day.

"NO!" Siege practically screamed in disbelief, nearly falling out of her 'chair'. If she had eyes, they'd be boggling out of her helmet at this point-- halfway across table, pointed directly at her curmudgeonly companion. She was well and truly, as the young adventurers these days said, shooketh.

And how could she not be? This guy? The fella that tried to kill her a little while ago!? HE was a pushover!? The might've fainted, fallen right apart at that revelation had she the ability to. Granted, that would probably also mean releasing Kiri, who would probably kill everything in sight, and THAT would mean no free drinks... she had to hold it together.

"Oh my god! Awwwwwwww, that's the cutest thing I've heard somebody as crazy as him do! You're actually a little softy!" She practically cooed, somewhere between maddeningly amused and genuinely surprised. She didn't know whether to laugh, question his mental health, or steal the next drink the bartender brought out from him and down both-- Then again, just from the look on his face, she could tell he probably needed it more than him. That didn't mean she was going to let up in any way, of course! "Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place? I would never have so disrespectfully asked to share a drink with the great MR. BEAST! Savior of children everywhere!" She proclaimed, bending over the table a bit in a mock-bow, showing her deepest respects.

He knew he needed to slow down. He knew Ian was right and this was going to make him sick, but he just couldn't take it. He needed to not be himself anymore and just block out everyone around him.

He could just stab the barkeep, but...that...was wrong. No, it was free. He wasn't getting paid to kill anyone today so no one would get killed. Instead he would sit there like a fool until the alcohol consumed him and dropped his sorry soul into the depths of darkness.

The drink was gone.

The world spun dangerously with the simple movement of throwing back his head.

"Shut Th'fuck up both o'ya." He slurred, the first shots all hitting at once and he held his cup up again for another refill. He was still standing so he wasn't done yet.

"So let me get this straight."

By comparison, Siege was having a grand old time. Honestly, the most fun she'd had in recent memory. Snarg was an absolute hoot of a human— And that was before she learned all this incredibly silly, yet adorable backstory behind him. The barkeep, who seemed to be having about as much fun as she was, kept them well and truly lubricated-- and while Siege was very much enjoying the blended beast of a concoction, she could tell that her drinking buddy was only just hanging on by a few threads-- which was even funnier. Having just put down another cup herself, she carried on with her new favorite pastime of making his day worse.

"You protect the innocent, you love children, you have adoring fans-- Aren't you, like, some kind of modern-day super hero?" She couldn't help but ask, leaning back in her 'chair' a bit as the sound of two kids-- two boys, she guessed-- echoed through her helmet. She couldn't see-- they were behind her a ways-- but it sounded like they were playing with a ball. Or whatever human children did.

"WAIT-- Is the big meanie-face thing an act so that people don't get too close to you 'for their own protection'? Oh, dude-- you're literally like a super hero, aren't you!? Bahahahaha!"

This was fantastic. Kiri would've loved this guy! Probably. It was hard to tell with her; She killed the things she liked, from what Siege knew. She... also killed the things she didn't like, so maybe that wasn't a good measure.

Snarg couldn't take it anymore. None of this was going how he wanted it let alone how he expected. Today was supposed to be: collect bounty, deposit bounty, leave town, next job. With some quiet alone time to nurse some drink.

Fuck! Facility fucking shit!

He downed another cup, ignoring the concerned glances Ian shot him, but to his credit he didn't try to stop him anymore. And so he glowered, and drank, and drank...

And then, when he wouldn't remember a thing in the morning, Sebastián started to sing. He held up his mug and grinned at Siege as the world lurched and let his rich bass voice rise in a lewd bar song that would have made his grandmother blush.

"Yera good armor..." he said mid-phrase, leaning across the table to knock on Siege's arm, "real good armor!"

Naturally, Siege was having the time of her life. She couldn't remember the last time a human had done so much-- gone so far-- seemingly just for the sake of entertaining her! So beside herself with glee was she that she hadn't even stopped to consider the negative effects that the alcohol might've been having on the man-- and why would she? She didn't really have a frame of reference for what, exactly, a stout drink did to a mortal vessel-- she kinda just enjoyed the taste, herself.

Mind you, this was before Snarg got up and started singing-- which only caused the already bellyful laughter from Siege at his earlier antics to intensify, her slamming her fist on the table mid-gigglefit as he went on about 'a buxom young widow who still wore her weeds' and so forth. Siege was near-helpless at his hilarity; Practically smitten with this comparatively sillier side of her drinking buddy.

"I AM a good armor, aren't I!" Her sentence was an attempt at defeating her giggles-- they subsided, but didn't leave her be entirely. Progress! "You're the funniest human I've ever had drinks with-- I ought to keep you!"

It was a weird sentence-- one that Siege didn't think about before it came out of her mouth. She was having so much fun-- and he seemed a good enough sort. Honestly... Kiri probably wouldn't mind, would she...?

Snarg let out a drunken laugh at Siege's pure glee and took another swig of his most recent drink. He was nearing dangerous levels but was hardly at a point where he was making good choices or understood that he needed to cut himself off. Thankfully, Ian was keeping a wary eye on the day-drinker and had started diluting his drinks, but that only went so far and the mercenary kept going.

"Ye couln't handle all this," he gestured to himself, but it was more of an awkward flail than a true purposeful movement, "An I don' belong t'nobody. Essept th'women." it was an odd brag considering Snarg wasn't really one for romance, even at brothels, but Siege had mentioned wanting drink and ladies so it was clearly on his mind.

"So where y'from, M'lady Armour?" he slurred, learning sloppily across the table towards his companion, "Married t'a nice helmet? Or...or....or scabbard? A visor?"

"Pfffft-- Hahahahaha, oh gods, you are adorable!"

Siege was in tatters-- figuratively, not literally, she was basically fort knox literally. Figuratively. Snarg's antics, however, had carved a niche into her non-existent heart, and she couldn't get enough of it-- clapping and cheering him on with every amusing set of antics he pulled, and goading him further and further with every mug of drink that he downed. If it wasn't already clear, then the next round or two would more than prove that despite his 'aggressive' behavior, the living armor was the real bad influence here.

"I don't belong to anybody, either, big guy-- I haven't met a helmet, a scabbard, a visor, a man, who could handle all THIS." The armor raised a metal-plated gauntlet, and slammed it with force against it's own body-- a loud, somewhat empty thud ringing out as she did so.

Snarg wasn't a light weight by any means. In fact, just looking at him would tell you he'd be able to throw back a large number of drinks before things got questionable. And he had, many times before. You didn't have his life or be in his line of work without drowning your questionable life choices in copious amounts of liquor. Most nights he fell asleep nursing a bottle or something or another.

But now? This? This was different. The sun was still high, the heat of the day only just over its peak, and his eyes were so unfocused he had a hard time leading his hand to lift the drink to his lips. The voice that would normally tell someone to stop had long since quieted.

"Ye'd make a good suit o'armor fer sum'un." He slurred, continuing to pat her hand, and then he started singing again, but this time his words were so mixed that it didn't sound like anything more than odd groans with a hint of pitch. He hadn't even noticed that the last cup he'd been brought was simply straight water, or that Ian and his staff watched warily from the sidelines. They had been in this business for a long time and recognized the danger signs.

At Ian's bidding, a woman came over with a plate of crusty bread and sat it in the middle of the table. She glanced at Snarg, then at the towering siege armor with more than a little trepidation.

"Can you try to get him to eat this?" she asked Siege quietly, "Please? And...maybe find a place for him to sleep it off safely."

With a bright, wide grin... or what would've been a grin on an actual face, Siege fanned at her helmet, positively pleased with the compliment from her new favorite human. "D'awww, I'm sure you say that to all the full suits of armor you see! But hell, sweet of you to say all the same!" Cooed the massive Iron Maiden, before swatting his hand away playfully.

Siege wasn't particularly used to compliments. More often than not, she was attuned to fear, death threats and the like. And with good reason— despite the feminine voice of the living armor, she was a brutish, heavy-handed monster of a mercenary typically, likely not too unlike Snarg himself in her mind. The difference was that there wasn't a face to her to humanize her in the eyes of others— no "man" behind the mask, so to speak.

Perhaps that was why she was having so much fun— this was one of the first times that someone, anyone, had treated her the way she was being treated.

Likewise, as she turned to take the bit of bread from the woman who'd approached their table, it was also the reason she didn't want their fun to end. "He's fiiiiiiiiine," she reassured the bar maiden, setting the bread on the table, her forearm guard resting with a heavy thud, "He's having a good time! Don't worry, I'll take goooooood care of him. Now— MORE DRINKS FOR MR. BEAST!" She exclaimed happily, her declaration echoing through the nearby seating area.

By the point they had brought over the bread it was most likely too late for much to be done for Snarg anyways, but anything would have been better than nothing at this point. His eyes were glassy and gazed unseeingly at the world through hooded lids while his lips were pulled in a lopsided smile within his tanned and leathery face. He spoke frequently, but none of the words even sounded like words at this point. Even as he reached forward to once again pat Siege's hand, he missed and ended up tapping the table with his fingers and muttering something incoherent.

None of this would be remembered in the morning and, if the fearful look of the waitstaff meant anything, perhaps he wouldn't even wake after the amount of alcohol he had consumed in a desperate attempt to pretend like he wasn't even there anymore. It wasn't like he was being purposefully belligerent or drank so much before it was something he was wont to do, no, he had only kept drinking as a means of coping. How many people could say they'd handle a giant unkillable suit of armor any better? But not just a suit of armor, a suit of armor that also was a prison from something potentially more terrifying.

Snarg couldn't kill this thing without being killed in turn.

So he drank.

He drank so much that everything went black and he ceased to exist for a time.

Unfortunately for dearest Snarg, Siege-- though admittedly aware enough of her poor influence on the heroic mercenary-turned-drunk, was comparatively less skilled at toning down the fun and excitement of a party gone off-the-rails than she was at riling them up. Indeed, the longer Snarg drank, and the more she goaded him on in turn, the further out of control their little daydrinking venture went-- With the armor only remembering to make sure he ate something after the second time he'd tripped over his own feet and nearly planed himself into the sun-heated stone bricks beneath them like some upside down flower. Really funny to watch, admittedly!

Funnier still was his incessant and somewhat belligerent defiance against her as she tried to get him to eat. It got so bad-- at least, to the good folk who happened a passing glance-- that Siege eventually had to pick him up off the ground, and hold him tight to her breastplate with one arm, and fight him over shoving the previously-given bread into his mouth with the other. Honestly, highlight of her day, that.

Granted, him spitting most of it right back out didn't seem to help the situation much, but Siege, who still held him in her arms, didn't seem to mind it-- Not as she bid farewell to the barkeep, nor as she went on to wander the small city with the crazed madman of a merc still stuffed under one of her arms-- to make sure he didn't escape and cause trouble, of course. Not because she always wondered what it would be like to take a human for a walk or anything. Besides, after the second or third hole in the wall tavern that she'd dragged him into, he seemed either far more coax-able and docile... or unconscious on his feet. It was really hard to tell with humans.

Such a fantastic day couldn't just end there, though-- Siege wouldn't have it. Good food and drink could only be rounded off with one thing, and one thing only-- KILLING! And thus did she, with a near-unconscious Snarg in hand, bid farewell to the town and it's incredibly worried (for an obviously good reason) people, before heading back out into the desert sands.

---

That was a day ago.

Fortunately, and true to her word, Siege had indeed found a safe enough spot for Snarg to rest, and sleep off the... remainder, we'll say, of his blackout. There was shade, provided by a dilapidated stone rooftop. There was warmth-- after all, the desert sands which had buried half of the abandoned buildings nearby made for fairly good sleeping digs, as long as your head was elevated enough, which she was kind enough to ensure by setting his head up on a makeshift cloth bag of yet more sand that she'd fashioned out of some skeleton's cloth-wear she'd found. There was even water nearby-- though 'nearby' was probably something close to a quarter-mile away, and 'water' was a small lake, seemingly man-made yet ages old with no real maintenance to be seen.

Yes, Snarg had it all... minus one thing. Or, one 'person'.

Instead, were he to wake up at all, he'd be met not with the towering mass of armor, but the cold, predatory gaze of an entirely different 'companion' from across the room... one who's blade stood drawn, and ready to strike in an instant.

Oh, it was good to be back... if only for a little while.

The ground was hard and cold. It was always that way. Very rarely did Snarg wake up in a comfort so none of this was unusual. What was odd, however, was the splitting headache that threatened to rip his face in half in addition to the chills that wracked him and the pains that churned in his stomach.

What had happened? Had he been in a fight? Was he disemboweled?

His head wasn't working properly. Even his eyelids were heavy and fought against him as he tried to open them. An unwelcome and uncontrolled groan escaped his lips and he rolled to his side on the hard floor. His elevated head slipped from where Siege had laid it and clunked onto the ground. His stomach churned and whatever remained in his stomach fell to the ground.

It wasn't much. He didn't know it at the time, but he had been sick multiple times during his black-out and there wasn't much left.

Then he pushed himself up shakily and began scanning the area.

Where the fuck was he? How had he gotten here? Why was there a suit of armor just plopped int the middle of this dilapidated place?

Armor.

Armor!

Bits of his memory before the drink overtook him began to come back. That was Siege. He had spent the day with her, deciding to drink instead of fight because of the more terrifying spirit that was imprisoned inside of her. And Gods he had drunk a lot. But...he wasn't dead. And she hadn't left him.

"Siege?" he croaked, pushing himself backwards so he could rest his back on the crumbling wall and press his head against it in an attempt to quell the spinning and the headaches, "Th' fuck happened..." it wasn't really a question. He knew what had happened, to an extent, but his memory cut off halfway through the 10th drink and then....nothing. Not even flashes. When was the last time he'd felt like this before? Never?

Shit.

"Silence."

The voice that answered Snarg was not Siege's, he could at all remember it properly after the night he'd had. It was not a voice of warmth, mirth and boundless naivety; By contrast, it was a cold, almost unnervingly controlled tone. Just as youthful, yet with such a depth of innate bloodlust and hatred that the single word near seemed to cut the air no different than a blade would've.

It was a vaguely familiar voice, which at long last had a face to match it— the voice of the one who resided inside the armor.

Snarg had seen true; Armor lay sprawled across the sand-coated ground , some plates of it half-buried in the shifting sands, the rest too large to meet the same state. Scattered and discarded as it was, no doubt Snarg still recognized its massive scale and familiar design. Yet there was no life to be found in it; the armor was properly empty now, and collapsed accordingly.

The sun's glare shifted harshly in Snarg's direction. It didn't suddenly shift; the steel of the blade poised at him from across the room tilted slightly, as if the young woman holding it was calculating the best possible angle from which to cross the room in a single flying step and take the disoriented man's head with. Hypothetically.

"Gather yourself. Catch your bearings. Do not raise your voice, or I will kill you." Her voice was little higher than a whisper, but it was crystal clear all the same. Somehow, regardless of the words she spoke, regardless of the volume of her tone, one thing was clear— the wrong move, the wrong word, the wrong look— anything would be enough for the swordswoman to strike at the moment.

Snarg must be dreaming. He had drank so much the previous...day? Week? Night? How long had he fucking been down? It certainly felt like he was dying so that must mean he was still alive at least, or perhaps his life was so horrible that his afterlife was going to be one of pain.

He opened his eyes just a slit to try and figure out what voice he was hearing. It wasn't the same jovial timbre he was used to from his unfortunate drinking buddy, but he couldn't understand who else it would be unless they had been beset by bandits or something. But the armor wasn't moving. It was just...a pile of dead metal. If this was the voice of a bandit, siege would have never let them get this close.

So...

He jerked up, eyes flying open as realization slowly dawned on him. He had heard this voice before!

The movement was too much. His head spun dangerously and another bout of nausea coursed through him with such intensity that he slumped to his side and retched into the sand once more.

This was bad. Bad bad fucking bad!

Yet he didn't move. The drink had ravaged him completely and even if he could muster up the strength somehow he knew he would be no match for some anxiety warrior spirit.

"Go on, then." He groaned, getting a mouthful of sand but not even caring. At least if he was killed now he'd feel better.

TW: Vomit


"You dare challenge—"

Her words alone likely could've taken his head, but they fell short— just barely reaching his neck before the unexpected happened; The woman's blade, pointed clear at Snarg, faltered.

No, that wasn't entirely right. It was more accurate to say that she faltered; dropping the sword entirely and stumbling forward into the sandy cobblestone... and emptying the contents of her stomach all over the floor. Very little of it was of any color— as if she was having trouble holding down water... or liquid otherwise.

She heaved once or twice more, before scrambling for her blade once more— retreating backward into her corner. The sunlight gave clarity to much more of her features— her comparatively flawless skin, unsuited to the persona of a 'cold-blooded killer'. Her long, raven-black hair which she nearly got tangled in as she retreated. And perhaps most important to the current situation, her unfocused, weary gaze— like that of someone who'd suffered sea sickness for an entire night straight.

...That, or like a hangover.

"...Th-that damned... ugh... cursed armor..." She muttered, trying to avoid the sun's light. Her eyes couldn't take it, not at the moment.

Snarg must have been incredibly lucky that day for the warrior spirit lady thing to be seemingly just as ill as he was. He had honestly thought this was going to be the end of his life. But no, the Gods still had punishments in store for their least faithful servant so of course his life wasn't about to be cut short any time soon. Instead, they would leave him to suffer on this forsaken Earth until he was shriveled and couldn't go on any longer.

Hell, they'd probably find a way for him to live forever so they could torment him even more.

And he deserved it.

The fact that the spirit was affected by Siege's drink was fascinating and in any other instance he might have taken some time to ponder those implications, but instead he just felt bad for her.

A quiet chuckle that turned into a moan escaped his lips and into the sand that pressed against the side of his face.

"Not fair." He rasped after catching his breath from the last bit of nausea, "That you get the negative effect of your prison's bad choices....Why th'fuck did I drink so much...."

This was what dying felt like. It had to be.

"I'll thank you not to... ugh... patronize me..."

Kiri, under any other circumstance, would indeed have reveled in her current freedom. The Siege Armor that confined her was a work of art— an opus of her family's magical arts, now lost to time— it was unyielding, undying. It never decayed, never rusted, never relented even when it wanted to. It was truly her prison eternal— her soul not even spared from damnation through the wages of time, keeping her preserved in that very moment she had been locked away.

Had she been a coward, or any less of a warrior besides, she'd have taken her own head, or pierced her own heart the moment she was free. Yet here she was, crouched and curled up into the corner of the half-destroyed room of a ruin probably a little younger than her— her blade never leaving her hand even as she attempted to block out the sun with her knees and forearm.

It wasn't working.

"Was this your plan...? Hers? Why would you—" A dry heave forced its way out of Kiri, who did everything in her power to hold herself together. Truly, this was her lowest. "...Willingly poison yourself... Like this? Have neither of you heard of 'moderation'?"

Snarg groaned again, not feeling up to the task to make this person...Kiri? Was that her name? Fuck, he didn't really care at the moment...he didn't feel like making whatever her name is feel better about being hungover. Maybe he should have felt bad for her since she was feeling the effects of something that wasn't her choice but....

Fuck all he felt like death.

"Never drink before?" His voice was muffled by the sand and was getting into his mouth. Not that it mattered, his mouth was already dry as sandpaper so what was a little more sand?

"I'd think you'd do it all the time being forced to live with that can."

"'That can' is..."

Kiri shuddered, another wave of nausea overtaking her before she turned away-- preferring not to so disgracefully show her weakness again. No, this time she managed to puke her guts out onto the wall behind her, and the floor of the corner she'd been sitting in, rather than out in the open. Truly a marked improvement-- she only slightly felt like the cold of death had embraced her in the middle of this sotted desert, this time.

Wiping the undesirable taste-- and texture-- of her own stomach fluids from her mouth, she continued in a slightly calmer tone-- less disheveled, slightly more spiteful. "...'That can' is the reason I will never touch such swill. Why should I, when it so graciously lets me experience it firsthand... Every chance it gets?" There was a seething sarcasm beneath her words. Well-deserved, one might think, given the annoyance that was her circumstances. She paused, and turned her gaze back on the mercenary-- seemingly sizing him up, as if judging his worth in some regard... before sighing. Her blade, which had not left her hand since she'd gotten her bearings, lowered a bit before ultimately being sheathed in it's holster.

And then she began to walk, directly toward Snarg. Her pace and gaze gave an unnatural sense of urgency, considering how weakened and flimsy she seemed earlier, stumbling about. It was a brave face, to be sure; But after reaching the man, and grabbing him by the belt around his waist with her dominant arm, the 'bravery' seemed like less and act, and more a... well, just who she was.

Why?

Probably because with that one hand, and that one, dominant arm, Kiri-- a young woman of 5 foot and 4 inches with a fairly thin frame, hoisted the dehydrated man up and over her shoulder by his belt-- letting him dangle over her right shoulder like the human equivalent of a duffle bag. A duffle bag larger than the person carrying it. "Come," She 'ordered' in a disgruntled tone, still reeling from the effects of the alcohol poisoning... though she began walking away from their shared 'room' and away from the ruins. "There is a river near to here. You'll not die such a pathetic death as 'self-inflicted poisoning' in front of me."

Snarg had closed his eyes, no longer caring that the warrior was in front of him and could easily take his life. In fact, he secretly wished that she would. At least then he would be able to rest – truly rest. He didn't like to admit it out loud or even to himself but he hated this life. He hated who he had been forced to become.

But he deserved it.

And if he wasn't going to die now, that just meant more suffering was required of him in this life and he would just have to keep pushing through. No one would mourn him if he died. No one could care if he lived. He just existed and that was his lot in life.

He groaned and dry heaved as strong arms lifted him up and tossed him like a bag of grain across shoulders. His eyes opened a slit, expecting it to be some other person coming to destroy them both but...no. It was the woman he had seen before somehow miraculously pushing through her own pain to carry him. To carry him! He towered over her and weighed at least twice as much as she, probably more, but she just hoisted all of him up and over like he was nothing.

And then they were moving. He wouldn't have been able to sleep if he tried as each bouncing step sent another wave of nausea coursing through him. He tried to talk, but found his voice came out as a tiny rasp and nothing more.

Dammit he wasn't going to drink ever again. At least not with Siege. No. Not with anyone. He would drink be himself from his little flask in his own room with the door locked from here on out. Drink just enough to dull the senses and find sleep.

"Why....why save me?" he finally mustered up the strength to push through the sand in his mouth and speak.

"You are a warrior, are you not?"

Kiri frowned. As they wandered out into the open sun from the 'protection' of the old, crumbled walls, the sun assaulted her in full force; The squinting glare that she was forced to make-- both from her radiating headache as well as her overall disdain for how bright the sun's light was after... gods, had it been years? Decades, since she'd last seen it? She was so used to heightening her senses through magic to visualize the world outside of her animated shell of a prison-- she had yet to fully adapt to actually 'seeing' once more.

The poisoning didn't help.

With a slight shift of her shoulder, she adjusted Snarg's weight a bit-- making it a bit easier on her hand as she continued carrying him along. "A warrior dies on their feet, on the battlefield; A dog dies destitute, in the street." Her tone was almost lecturing-- almost. More than anything, she sounded grumpy... which made sense, given the circumstances. "I know not what rhyme or reason you had for indulging that... thing, but I'm neither a judge, nor jury-- I'm a warrior."


The trek wasn't particularly long, but it was grating all the same. The sand-crested wind hit her bare skin-- the course pebbles scratching at her arms and midriff, irritating her further. Yet onward she walked, Snarg in hand-- and before long, the two of them had reached said river-- which reached a solid half-mile across, and stretched from one distant gaze to the next. Having reached their destination, Kiri gazed about, verifying that there were no threats in the immediate vicinity.

And then she unintentionally tried to kill him.

"Drink," Was the only warning she gave. With the same show of nonchalant force that she'd carried the man thus far, Kiri lifted him somewhat slightly off of her shoulder... and then tossed him into the lake.

Not far into the lake, to be fair. Just far enough that he wouldn't die from slamming into the riverbed unceremoniously. After which, Kiri herself stepped a few steps into the river herself, before kneeling gracefully and taking a drink from her cupped hands.

Snarg didn't even have the chance to reply, whether because it was just that quick of a transition or because he had blacked out for a moment, he couldn't be sure. All he knew was one moment she was asking him if he was a warrior, the next he was being flung into the river. A large river, at that. One that, one a bad day, had currents that could sweep someone away faster than an arrow flew. Today, it would seem, Snarg was in luck because the water was calm and the banks lower from drought.

And so, Snarg sunk beneath the surface but stayed generally in the same location where he had been thrown. The water was cold and pushed the nausea away as clarity returned. He felt awakened and alert where before he had been dull. He still felt horrible, to be clear, and let himself simply exist beneath the surface where silence reigned. It was peaceful. He could just remain here on the silt bed and let sleep take him and it would be a gentle way to go in his estimation. Silence that begot silence. Calm and opened the door to serenity.

Yes...he could just let it all end here. Gods knew it would take more effort to swim up than to just exist.

And so he remained there for a time, not terribly long, but certainly longer than anyone would do by choice after being thrown in against their will. Perhaps Kiri would think he was too sick to swim? Perhaps she wouldn't even notice.

Snarg was a decent swimmer and could hold his breath for a few minutes with a nice gulp of air. He could probably hold it longer than most, even now when he hadn't been submerged with full lungs.

You don't deserve peace a familiar voice broke through the silence. And Snarg knew it was true. He would never make amends. Once he died he would be tormented in the afterlife.

And so, he needed to live.

He shifted beneath the water and pushed himself up until his head calmly broke the surface and he stood, for the water wasn't terribly deep where he had been tossed and he was quite tall, and scooped some of the water into his hands and drank deeply.

If he was to die, perhaps the warrior would be the one to dispatch him. She was right, dying on your feet was a much better end.

A pause. Another sip.

This moment was far more important to Kiri than simply rehydrating after the night of vicarious self-indulgence she'd suffered. As she sat at the bank of the river, legs crossed on the ground, sword settled on the ground at her side, she allowed herself a few moments to truly acknowledge where she was— or perhaps more impactfully, WHAT she was.

Free.

How long had it been, truly? She could only recall having been allowed out of that abhorrent darkness— that cage of enchanted metal which her very soul was bound to— once. The circumstances... what were they? If her memory served her truly, the armor which bound her had taken some sort of severe damage. A battle... with a wolf? No... a man. It was a wolf-like man, yes; She could remember brandishing her blade against him in self-defense only moments after tasting sunlight for the first time. A fearsome opponent... one she was much too disoriented at the time to kill.

She'd have to rectify that, one day.

Alas, just as then, Kiri knew she could only enjoy this 'freedom' for a short time. The magic which bound her soul to that... 'thing', was still in tact. Even as she tasted fresh water for the first time in an uncountable number of years, and felt the warmth of the sun on her skin in kind, she could still feel the 'pull'. The compulsion of her very soul to return to the cage in which it was destined to remain.

The Vallyae family's magics were fearsome, indeed. A shame, then, that she was all that remained of it.

As she opened her eyes, and wearily watched the fool of a warrior seemingly come to— or closer to— his senses, she could merely wonder for how long she would be allowed to walk the earth this time. A day? A season? A calendar? It mattered little, in the grand scheme of things. Eventually, the armor would recover— it always did— and she would be locked away once more.

"You are awake, then?"

As for the time she had...

The water was revitalizing and he found himself thinking clearly despite the nausea that remained and, would probably, remain for some time yet. He had been stupid to drink in an attempt to chase away his problems and even stupider to think a giant suit of armor would have a shred of understanding on how human bodies worked. No, drinking with armor was never a good idea.

At least he was alive to learn that lesson. Fuck, when did that become a good thing? His life meant nothing. He was nothing.

With a sigh, he trudged back towards the shore where the oddly corporeal looking spirit now sat next to her blade. She was intriguing, far more so than her prison - at least to him. She had a code of honor it would seem, and expected others to live by it as well.

Foolish girl. She had been imprisoned and yet still saved someone who might try to kill her in the future. That kind of honor was deadly. It was the kind of honor Snarg had nearly two decades ago before everything had fallen to shit. He was no longer honorable. He was a mercenary who killed without a thought, followed orders without question, and was lost when there weren't clear instructions. He made poor decisions, that was the whole reason his life had become what it was. He couldn't trust himself. The wind decided his fate, now.

He was on the bank and sat, soaking wet and without even an attempt to dry off, next to Kiri, probably closer than he should have, and stared off across the water without speaking.

He didn't need to say a word.

The tranquil flow of the river against Kiri's bare legs, the sound of the current as it flowed free and transient toward the ocean's edge-- Despite the calm that she displayed in presence, the young woman couldn't help but acknowledge the foreignness of it all... if only to herself. Time passed just as slowly within the cage that was her true 'home' as it did outside of it. There was no breeze, there. No earthen dirt to feel beneath her feet, no grass to run betwixt her toes, no bubbling river brooks to occupy her ears... No sun to illuminate her sight. There wasn't even sound-- not truly. For years, she could be simply 'exist'; Her very senses cut off from the outside world. Only her thoughts remained-- perhaps a result of the hastily-cast soulbinding, and perhaps a curse meant to drive her to madness with time.

A curse which nearly took hold... very many times. For what was a life without sight? Without touch? Without smell, taste, or sound? What was an eternity, with neither a body to grow restless within, or proof that you yet lived? That you ever lived? Yet her willpower persisted-- originally out of a soul-borne need for vengeance, which eventually faded to mere mindless hatred, through the depths of despair, and even periods of despondent nothingness. It was... humbling, in a sense; the realization through time of how very little truly mattered, when cursed with eternity itself.

"You sit and stand like a warrior, now. But you carry yourself like a dog." Her eyes paid him no mind. Neither the unwarranted odor of booze that yet tagged her nose, nor the closeness of his body to her own deterred her relative peace of mind as she continued to meditate on the flow of the river. "Indeed... you have grown from dog to man, yet much within you is still dog. Once, all men lived like beasts. Yet it seems in this age, man has become more beast than the beasts themselves." It was a pointed statement, an insult, and an inquiry. And in her mind, it was a fair assessment of the madness of this era. Who could blame her? Kiri was a stranger to the... 'customs'... of this time, and this place. She would admit that readily if asked, and learn from mistakes if pressed-- but she would not apologize for what was blatant to her.

"You have yet to overcome yourself. You've yet to even try. Is that normal, in this era?"

If she was expecting some kind of deep conversation with explanations and understanding, she was speaking with the wrong person. He knew the evils that inhabited the world. Not only was he one of them, now, but he had looked pure evil in the eye and been consumed by it.

They were all dogs. Every single person on this gods forsaken earth were dogs, were beasts as she put it. Even the good ones were liars of the worst kind - the kind that couldn't admit it to themselves.

"If you're looking for a philosopher, you've saved the wrong dog." He growled harshly, still looking over the water and not making any indication he planned to move either for himself nor against her. He was just existing with the sun against his leathery skin and the nausea in his soul.

"Is this how you would use your freedom? Saving assassins and realizing that humanity is doomed?"

Surprisingly, Kiri sat on his words for a brief period of time— seemingly considering them quite genuinely. Whether she felt slighted, disappointed, or even disturbed— it was hard to say. But the pause she gave in response to his words was meaningful— or at least, seemed to be to be from the outside looking in. "I have my answer," She eventually responded, staring out into the opposing river's edge— perhaps beyond it.

Skittering footpads echoed quite gently through Kiri's attuned ears. A tiny, insignificant lizard passed behind the two of them, as they continued to take in the cooling river's current, and the warmth of the sun above. Eventually, she lowered her hands back into the current— cupping another drink of water.

"Whatever meaning there is to be found in life or death must be found by you, and you alone. If that is to lay down and die like a dog, then by all means— walk back into the river."

Perhaps the words came off as aggressive— they weren't inherently meant to. Much as Snarg had no patience to play the 'philosopher' as he so put it, she could not validate— nor invalidate— the man's will to live... or lack there of. Instead, having finished the drink of water, she closed her eyes once more, and fell into a state of pseudo-meditation.

'Pseudo', it seemed, because despite this, she was very much aware of her surrounds... including the skittering footpads once more. 

They had guests.

Snarg didn't respond. He didn't feel any need to say anything. All that she got with a soft grunt in reply simply to acknowledge that he was, in fact, listening. At the end of the day he didn't care what this trapped spirit said or how she decided to view the world. His life had ceased to be his own after that day on the road.

He had been weak and now he was strong. He had been honorable and now he knew that honor meant nothing if your own decision making was flawed. Fuck, she had been trapped in that armor for who knows how long – she had to know that same truth on some basic level of understanding. She had clearly made some questionable choices which had landed her in her little prison.

Just because his prison didn't have walls didn't mean he wasn't in the exact same position.

So he sat there. If she wanted to fight, he'd fight. His blades were still attached to his belt, though he made no move to retrieve them. His lot in life was to do what others wanted, earn coin, and then sleep until the next job came along. There was nothing else to it. One day a job would kill him, or drink, or old age, or whatever Death himself decided was good for him.

At the end of the day it didn't matter. Honorable deaths didn't matter. Life didn't matter. He wouldn't take his own life, that was too good for him, but he wouldn't shy away from death when it came knocking to claim him.

A silent gloom fell over the duet of warriors as they sat; The midday sun as radiant as it was oppressing. Essyrn's heat was ill-mitigated by course of the river, soothing though it was. Despite the heat, however, Kiri felt not a bead of sweat run down her brow... A likely side effect of the transient state of her soul. Curious-- if a little disturbing. An ever-present reminder of her circumstances, that she was no long truly an inhabitant of this world... Moreso a stranger in a strange land, or a figment of history's imagination.

"Down there!"

She took a moment to take in a long, deep breath, expanding her lungs and revitalizing her body. The skittering footpads had gone from a distant echo to a very noticeable clamor, and now were accompanied by the tell-tale jingle of tempered metal against metal, and the  flapping of leather against skin. Those weren't random animals mucking about in the distance-- they were camels, with leather straddling mounts and-- as was typically the case-- leather-clad men and women doing said straddling on mounts.

The stink of the animals was already more or less upon her heightened senses before they even closed in; Thankful was she that she thought to savor the last bits of air before they drew closer.

"Scumbag! Thought you'd escape us after the stunt you pulled last night, huh?" The accusation was thrown like a foul, month-old fish at the back of Snarg's head, as four hooded figures hurriedly approached the two resting souls at the riverbank, dismounting their camels and strutting toward the two resting warriors. They were an intriguing lot; the leather armor they wore was fairly uniform, with a few deviations between one another out of preference. All bore the same insignia on their right shoulderpad; That of a front-facing lion's head, with wings seemingly sprouting from behind. They were all armed, as well-- though that wasn't surprising in this world, all things considered.

Kiri didn't move, in spite of their proximity and hostility. They weren't talking to her-- surely they weren't. She was right, of course-- though not because she somehow knew the future. Moreso did she sense the tension and intent of the scimitar-wielding strangers long before they so much as opened their mouths.

"Thought you'd make a fool of our boss and run off with that bitch of a giant, huh!? Where's our fucking gold!?"

Of the four, two men-- the particularly mouthy one, as well as one other-- were the closest. Neither'd drawn a blade yet, potentially out of concern for scaring off the resting Kiri near to him, or from a show of patience. Granted, the latter seemed particularly incredulous in the circumstances, as not even moments after he'd come in barking as hot as he had, the mouthy man had placed a boot to Snarg's back, rather disrespectfully nudging him to stand up. "Can't fucking believe we had to track you down-- Can't even find that other piece of shit-- But if you don't cough up what you did with our fucking gold...!"

"Tanner, calm down-- you're gunna scare the girl." His nearby compatriot chimed in.

"FUCK THE GIRL! IF I DON'T GET THAT GODDAMN MONEY BACK EVERY LAST ONE OF US IS FUCKING DEAD!!" 'Tanner', apparently, replied in kind.

Said 'girl' finally exhaled, having had a particularly calming meditative breathing session. She could feel her mind sharpening and her awareness heightening with every passing second, as she willed the effects of the poison out of her very being. Good grief-- what a relief to be able to think clearly again. She almost smiled-- but settled for a contented face faulting instead as she opened her eyes and got a proper view of the situation they... or, well, mostly the dog, had gotten into.

Snarg didn't move as the group approached. From the outside if might seem like he was dumb and oblivious to their ire, but, in actuality, he just didn't really care about the group. They clearly didn't know who he was or what he was capable of or they might have decided against trying to strong-arm him. He didn't know what he'd ended up doing with Siege and maybe part of him should be worried about that lapse in memory, but mostly he just felt awful and was annoyed. Annoyed at himself for not just sitting there and glaring at the giant armor, annoyed that he had let himself get so far, annoyed at waking up to this mess.

Then the boot pressed against his back and he groaned. Not the kind of groan that one might expect from someone working through the worst hangover ever, but the exasperated groan of someone who knew what was coming and wasn't happy about it. And they wouldn't be happy about it either.

Since it probably would end up with them dead.

"You're gonna have to be more specific." He growled, still unmoving on the riverbank. He hadn't even turned to look at them or made any indication he felt anything about their presence.

He didn't want to fight them, but if they were stupid enough to make him defend himself, they'd be ripped asunder faster than their little minds could comprehend. Snarg was a giant of a man both in height and muscle and his current attire did nothing to hide the fact from any of them. His shirt had been lost at some point and showed numerous scars along his arms and back that were intertwined with black ink that stretched up the back of his neck and dispersed amongst shaved hair on the sides of his head. He was still soaking wet, but the sun had already dried his skin and his loose linen pants would dry quick enough. The only thing that really pointed to him having just come out of the river were the drops of water that trailed down his back from the braids tied to the top of his head.

"And you should re-think touching me." He added.

There was a dead-tone silence-- even the sound of the river was drowned out by the deafening drumming of the thugs' heartbeats as Snarg 'barked' back at them, dogs that they all were. Everyone seemed to freeze in place; even the loudest of them, fueled by the sweltering heat and prior evening's humiliations shut up for a moment's time. Eventually, however, everyone seemed to find their voices again... and unfortunately, that included the mouthy man. "...SPECIFIC!?" Rang out his loud voice, as he now trembled with adrenaline-- his body walking the fine line between 'fight' and 'flight'. "You want fucking specific!? I'll give you fucking specific!" He practically roared, kicking his foot off of the resting beast of a man, before drawing his--

"Enough. Put that toy away."

The desert thug paused-- the curved blade at his waist half-unsheathed. The voice wasn't Snarg's, nor did it belong to any of the other bandits-- twas Kiri's, who, feeling well-enough rested, finally decided to speak up. One of the men, the one closest to her, tensed a little as she slowly began to stand, the river water draining from her legs and thighs as she did so. Close as he was, the thug nearest Kiri took a proper look at her in the process; His eyes naturally drawn toward the curves of her body, tightly compacted by bandaging and little else. He glanced over the blackened metal gorget and tassets on her person-- odd choices of rainment given that she was practically in the nude else-wise, before grinning to himself a little. She had a little fight in her, it seemed! He liked that. Too bad for her that she didn't think to pick up that sword before she stood, he thought to himself before reaching out to grab her by the face with his right hand.

"Hey, hey-- easy there, lil' lady. Wouldn't want you to--"

His hand didn't even make it to her face. Hell, it didn't even make it near to her face. The few fingers that were closest— the three fingers of his right hand— plopped to the shallow river below like little pebbles, staining the waters with thin streams of red. The poor guy didn't even see it happen; Perhaps no one did. The moment his mind caught up to the scalding, throbbing pain in his hand however, he let out a sharp, horrified scream of pain.

"That was three fingers." 

The man stumbled backwards into the river proper— fear flooding his mind and blood spurting from the lumps where his fingers had been. He hadn't seen her move. Her goddamned sword was still on the ground! What the hell just happened!? "In my era, you'd have lost the entire arm— but as you are but a dog, a light scolding will suffice. This one time."

The woman nearest to the camels paled. The calmer of the three men's eyes shifted from his brash companion to the still-seated Snarg, and then to Kiri, who only now knelt down to collect her blade. It was an odd thing; The truth of it was hard to say, but the fallen bandit could've sworn that moment her hands touched the sword's hilt, the very air around them all seemed to still... and grow colder. Magic? Or madness?

"...Wha," Began the 'brash' bandit, eyes wild as they darted between Kiri and Snarg now. "What... what the fuck did you—"

"You are all dogs; Every last one. Dogs riding camels. Dogs barking at resting dogs. Theiving dogs. You are like children... Making noise, biting at one another, stumbling about without reason. Without order. I grow tired of it— and so I will put an end to it." Her tone couldn't have held more disdain if it were a top athlete in a Thanati Weightlifting Competition. Her gaze passed tastelessly over the five dogs in her presence, before landing on the most 'clean' of them... physically. And only because she'd thrown said 'clean dog' into the river earlier. "Speak. What petty theft does this hyena speak of? Do you even know?" She probed, her tone relatively even— if you could call her general RBE (Resting Bitch Existence) 'even'.

Shuffling in the distance alerted the three men to the fact that while Kiri spoke, the woman with them— the apparent 'smartest' of them— made good her escape from the entire situation, having mounted her camel haphazardly as quickly as she could and rushed off in the opposite direction without so much as a word to her comrades. "P-Parkha!!" The bleeding man screamed after her, half enraged at the apparent betrayal, half fearful that she was leaving them to their deaths at the hands of the two warriors. Kiri spared but a single glance toward the escaping bandit before frowning— her mood souring at the sight.

"Feckless mutt."