Spirits of the Earth

A lone figure wearing plain traveler's clothes and a hooded cloak entered the Rowan Tavern and took a seat near the fire.  After a few moments of rest, he paid the barmaid for a tankard of ale and a hot meal and sat down to enjoy the well-prepared refreshment.  He ventured to draw back the cloak's hood from his jet-black hair as he sat there eating, listening to a bard in the corner pick out a merry tune on a lute.  Every once in a while he would glance out the window at the passersby, as if he were half expecting a friend to join him.  He absently drew the hood back over his features and eased back in his chair, enjoying the evening's entertainment.

Nahar walked slowly down the stairs, unsure of what her next move would be. She had rested a bit and had something to eat. Now she felt ready for todays challenge, but she didn't quite know what that would be. She had quickly found out that people were alot nicer than her village had made them out to be. Or at least the ones she had actually talked to. Perhaps today she would go out and explore the city of Adela. But having enough of being lost, she decided it would be best to find someone to help her. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, and tucked her dark chestnut hair behind her pointed elf ear, and let her green eyes wander around the room, searching for someone who would possibley help her.
Her eyes fell on a dark haired man sitting by himself at a table. Nahar wondered if he was waiting for company. She stood there staring at him for a bit, wondering if it was worth it to even ask him.
Finally making her decission, she held up her head proudly and strided over to him. She cleared her throat to grab his attention.
"Excuse me sir, my name is Nahar. So you live in this city?" she gave him the fainted smile to show him she ment no harm. Not that she even looked like she could harm anything though. But sometimes appearances can be decieving.

"I am...only passing through, milady," the young man answers.  "But I am well acquainted with the lay of the land.  And I am pleased to meet you, Lady Nahar."  He makes a sort of half bow while still sitting and smiles politely, the hood of his cloak still covering his head.  "My name is Tirhion."

This was not where he wanted to be, and not just in a physical sense.

The entire position he'd found himself in these past few days was just...ridiculous. While he enjoyed a good old fashioned game of cat and mouse every now and then, tracking down someone who he hadn't planned on ever having to hunt down simply wasn't his idea of fun. Never mind that his idea of fun was already innately warped by most people's standards; that wasn't the point. This was simply annoying, and not the least bit amusing. And, in a way...it was baffling. He hadn't expected the boy to have the courage to attempt something this stupid behind his back.

Especially since the brat wasn't really free. And no amount of distance could change that fact.

Well, at least, not so long as he possessed the ring that kept him bound to him. Nevertheless...once he found the boy, he'd be sure to think up something that would discourage any future attempts. After all, he couldn't watch him all the time, and he wanted to ensure that the boy was put back in his place. And if that meant breaking his spirit, so be it; he didn't need the kid's spirit, anyway. Just his abilities. Hell, the kid would probably be even better broken. He needed to be reminded who was the master in this "relationship", anyway.

Shifting his cloak about his shoulders absently, Kyras glanced tiredly up at the inn that entered his view. He'd already scoured about half the village, shops and all, and was just generally worn down, weary, and moody from the whole ordeal. And only growing more so with each passing minute. But he wasn't about to stop his search, not until he at least got a lead of some sort. Under his control or not, he couldn't have the boy winding up the victim of some street thug or worse, and he had no power to prevent harm from coming to him. And the boy wouldn't be much use severely maimed.

Well...time to go on and quiz yet another set of people.

Pushing open the doors to the inn, Kyras scanned over the patrons already inhabiting the space quickly as he made his way inside. Meh. Just an elven girl, cloaked stranger, a few drunkards and a bard. Wasn't much different from any other inn he'd been in that day. Every inn seemed to have that combination of strangers, at least. He wasn't really disappointed that he didn't recognize anyone, though, not even his pet. He didn't expect the boy would linger long in an inn if he had any brains in that skull of his. Still, Kyras would expect the boy to make a stop at an inn for nourishment in the least, so maybe the innkeeper would have seen something.

The boy did stand out, as it was. Red hair wasn't all too common, so it did tend to stand out.

Shrugging out of his cloak, as the atmoshere within was substantially warmerâ€"and besides, playing polite was generally a good way to get what you wanted if it was availableâ€"he made his way up to the barkeep and ordered a tankard of ale. He never touched it, though. He wasn't much of a drinker, and he didn't need a reason to feel any more tired than he already was. But it was practically an obligation to buy something, and who was he to spit in the face of tradition?

"Excuse me, but I was wonderingâ€"I know you must see a ton of patrons each day, but I was wondering if you had perhaps seen a man about, oh, six feet tall, red hair, ears like an elf, green eyes? Black mark on his neck, looks like a cross? Maybe you remember?" he asked casually, speaking at a normal pitch. He didn't care if others overheardâ€"in fact, even better if they did, for it meant more eyes to keep on the watch. Well, if they were the watchful type.

The reply he got was a simple shake of the head. Inwardly, Kyras cursed, though he kept his disappointment masked. Though it was a bit tempting by now to empty the tankard before him. Instead, he just kept his hands busy by brushing strands of blonde hair from his brown eyes.

Ugh...for all he knew, the boy might not even be in Adela anymore.

If he was smart, he wouldn't be. Though, something told Kyras he'd still be here. How far could he go, anyway? It wasn't like the by could have much money at all on him. No, no, he wouldn't be getting far at all.

Tying not to sigh in annoyance, he took at seat at the bar and rested his elbows on the table. "Ah...well, if you do see someone like that, hold him for me. He's a damned runaway, and I am offering money in exchange for his safe return." Well, the barkeep knew nothing, but that didn't mean no one else here, did. And a little eavesdropping could often reveal a good bit of information. So, he turned his attention onto the other voices that filled the room.

Tirhion glanced up at the newcomer but quickly turned his attention back to the elvish woman in front of him.  "Are you in need of a guide?  Or perhaps someone to protect you as you travel through this territory...not everyone is as hospitable as this establishment toward those of our kind."  He emphasized his last word by drawing back his hood only far enough to reveal the point of one ear, and covered himself again, smiling kindly.

Jeral walked in, trying to shake off a nawing headache, and because of an advetise ment he saw in the town square. "Man, I need a job, some pipe weed, and a drink. Think I can get one of the three here." He walks torward where there seems to be alot of people, nods his head to the people there, then shifts his staff out of the way. "Excuse me, heard there's job here. Care if I can fill in the spot? Name's Jeral Strongblade, if that helps." he says to the man behind the bar.

"Niver hard of ye," the innkeeper replied good-naturedly.  "But then Oi've niver hard of a lotta ye in this here villige, me bein' newly open 'n all.  So yer name be Jeral Strongblade, eh?  Wut kin ye do, lad?  Kin ye keep a bar?  Or are ye mar fit fer larndry 'n piller-fluffin?"

"Not amazed. I can sling drinks, keep a bar, cook, do odds and ends, mop, be a bouncer if I have to. Perfer to sling drinks, though." Jeral says to the innkeeper. The man's accent throws him for a loop, but Sprian slang would throw everyone here for a loop, so he tries to refrain from using it.  He notices one person react to his name, the elven female. He takes some notice to it, but doesn't make a sign of it yet. "Hey, could be worse, you know."

"Oi cud use anathar barkeep, lad.  Ow bout it; try ye out 'n watch ye a bit?" the innkeeper said.  "Oh, tha name's Sam."  He stuck out his huge hand to shake that of the newcomer.

[Hah! yes, finally got Kyras' character more ironed out. XD Um...I'm altering his appearance just a liiiittle.]

The tavern talk was boring Kyras; nothing new, nothing that he hadn't heard at a hundred other taverns, just the same old stuff. Tending to patrons, hiring new workers...

Typical boring, human things, and nothing like what he was looking for.

He gave a little sigh as he cradled his chin in his hand, one clawed fingertip tapping lightly against his marked cheek in thought, and a lock of wavy black and blonde hair fell across his eyes as he turned only slightly to glance over the other patrons one last time with those strange eyes of his. Indeed, under each brown and red eye, the color of the irises swirling and shifting oddly, were a series of small, black symbols that could easily be mistaken for tattoos, except they were natural. And indeed, in place of blunted human nails were nails that looked more like sharpened claws. Well, looked like it was on to the next location, whatever that might be. As much as his body just wanted to rest for the time being, finding he boy was more important than rest, and his body would just have to deal.

And this inn certainly wasn't revealing anything useful.

Yet, before he rose, there was still one last ditch effort to attempt, though he really doubted it would work; it had failed at all the other inns, and no one here resembled the child. Still, he was always one to leave no rock unturned. It was always best to never discount the unikely.

Idly watching the other patrons as though he really were interested, he muttered quietly to himself, his lips' movement hidden by his hand and words hidden by the myriad voices that filled the space. Get over here. Now. Still, if he were here, even if he couldn't see him or hear him, it should have some effect on the boy, though not a great one.

If he was here.

And so he watched the patrons, watching for any hint that his words had any effect.

And in is left hand he idly rolled a simple gold ring between his fingers, as if out of habit or idleness.

Lenrizel was well aware of Kyras' presence, but his attention was distracted by the conversation with the elven woman just slightly enough for Kyras' words to catch him off guard, even though he was not close enough to have heard them over the noise of the tavern.  As he covered the point of his ear with his cloak's hood, emphasizing something he had just said to Nahar, his conscious mind sensed the words being commanded and reacted accordingly.  Before he could deliberately refuse and mask how greatly the command drew every ounce of his being with wrenching power, Lenrizel's hand that was still raised in the act of drawing the cloak's hood back over his "elven" ear twitched with the reflex-like action, coming down inadvertently upon the table knife that was resting half on the table, half on his plate.  Not that the action was all that noticeable or did all that much harm--the wound was not even near mortal, though it was painful enough--but the shock of his hand hitting the knife made the tell-tale words of his actual native language come out of his mouth, and they certainly weren't in the accent he had been using throughout his entire conversations in the tavern.  Realizing what he had said (not out of the horror that he had almost uttered foul language in front of a woman, though under other circumstances he would have noticed that too, but that he had slipped up in his disguise and spoken in his native tongue), his eyes immediately went to those of Kyras, wondering how much the man had heard.

Nahar eyes shifted from side to side, trying to figure out what was exactly going on in this Tavern, but then gave up. She would only confused herself more, something that she didn't need right now. Her whole trip to Adela had been confusing enough for her.
Turning her attention back to Tirhion she replied with a smile, "It is very relaxing to see one of my own kind here! You see, I've only just traveled here, and back in my village we have no contact with any others. I can't read common, I dont know what half these buildings are even used for, and I have no idea what anything is even worth. I would be very grateful if you would just show me around, perhaps explain how this chaos of a town is run." She took a deep breath after her speech. Letting all her problems out at one time did indeed feel good. Taking another breathe she continued on. "I can pay you for your troubles, and as for protection, well.." she open her cloack up a bit, to reveal a sheathed sword, and a knife hanging by its side. "Lets just say I can prepared. Oh, also, what villiage did you come from? Perhaps I may have heard of it." She smiled again at him, flashing perfectly straigh white teeth.

Had he heard?

He most certainly had. But what was more, he had seen. Scanning half-heartedly over the patrons after whispering his command, as though boredâ€"which he wasâ€"his eyes had been drawn abruptly to the sudden sound of a hand slapping a hard table, landing unfortunately on a knife, and he soon saw that the cloaked man was the source of that reaction. And the source of the cut-off but familiar words that followed. All too familiar words and an all too familiar accent.

Hmm.

What was more, the man glanced over at him, as though nervous, and for one instant their eyes met. And Kyras' lips curved slightly in a cool smirk as he took in those all too familiar green eyes, the whites of his fangs just visible as his lips parted a little. Well, wasn't this just fishy? And, now that he thought about it...he should have been suspicious of him from the get-go. The day was warm; what was someone doing going around with their cloak hood pulled up, and in a tavern? Never mind that there were some freaks out there that enjoyed playing "enigmatic" to make themselves seem tough or something. And never mind that this boy seemed to have black hair. Heh. Clever.

But he didn't walk over to the table at which he sat just yet. Instead, he swiveled slightly in his seat and listened openly to their conversation instead, elbow on his knee and hand cupping his chin like the conversation was the most interesting thing in the world. It really wasn't, and he paid only partial attention to the female's monologue, but from the few words he caught, it sounded quite cute. Too bad that little tour guide thing wouldn't happen. However, Kyras really did come to attention toward the end, and his smirk only broadened to a grin when the female got to the part about asking which village the boy came from. Oh, this should be rich. And highly amusing if his guess was correct.

"Yes, what village did you come from?" he spoke up suddenly, innocently inquiring as he rose from his seat finally and stepped a few paces their way. He left his cloak on his stool. "Your tongue sounds familiar to my ears, but I fear I can't quite place it." Then, with a bit of a malicious grin, his strange eyes narrowing slightly, added quite clearly, "Please, do tell me now where you just came from. I'm quite curious and wish to know. For that matter, you look familiar. Tell me, have we met?"

He moved casually, and took a seat at their table univited. Right next to the male "elf". Kyras always was the bold type, and right now, he was pretty confident in his hunch. If he was right...the answer he recieved should be pretty amusing, and hopefully a bit humiliating to the boy, and that would only be the start; oh that kid was in a whole world of trouble, and if Kyras was the empathic type, he might feel sorry for whatever punishment the boy would face. If he was wrong...well, he could just wing it and pretend he really was interested in whatever they were talking about.

Jeral shakes the hand of the Sam, then asks, "Before I start, can I go, like, out back? I gotta write something for someone and, um, need to do it away from people."

"Yeah, tis a'right wi' me," the innkeeper replied, pointing behind the bar.  "Thar's tha mos' direck way ta tha back door.  Outhouse too, if tha indoor facilities be full."  He went back to wiping down the bar.

Answering both their questions as he used his cloth napkin to stop the small trickle of blood from the cut on his hand, Lenrizel said in the accent he had first used before he hurt himself, "I am actually from Serendipity, and that is where I was born, but unfortunately through my travels as a merchant and apprentice to a seller of spices and tapestry, I learned to curse in other lands, and for my crudeness before a lady's ears I do apologize."  He held his right hand in his left for a few more seconds and then checked it to see if indeed the bleeding had stopped, and it had--it always seemed like the smallest wounds made so much fuss.

"I have currently gone on somewhat of a sabbatical at the moment," he continued, "but I am also looking for new wares to add to my stock back home.  That is what brought me here."  He stood and gestured  toward the door.  "I am finished with my meal, and unless you also need refreshment at the moment, we may be on our way, milady."  He made a polite bow of farewell to the stranger and awaited Nahar's response.

His answer didn't faze Kyras. Perhaps he had found a loophole and was able to weasle out of it because the female had asked a similar question. Still, if anything, it was the way the boy was acting that kept the smile on his lips, his sudden desire to get away, even as he maintained his litle act. And Kyras was pretty sure it was an act; there was just far too much coincidence involved: the way he was dressed, his reflexive jerk when Kyras had murmured the command, the accent he'd slipped into, the way he'd kept looking over at him, the way he suddenly wanted to be away now, and now, as the boy stood foolshlyâ€"his height. Far, far too much coincidence...

Kyras stood as well. "Oh, really? A merchant. You know, I might be able to suggest a few places around here to look..."

And that was when the boy bowed. "...If you were a merchant to begin with, liar."

And when Kyras struck.

With a quick, snakelike action, his arm shot out and yanked the hood of the cloak back off the boy's head in a downward motion that bared the full length of his neck. And there it was, standing out plain as day against the boy's skinâ€"a small black tattoo at the base of his neck, a design of strange, geometrical symbols and lines that oddly resembled the marks under Kyras's eyes. Kyras had had the mark put on the boy, inked them into his flesh himself for good measure. And there they were. Just as he was assuming they'd be.

Well, hadn't this visit paid off nicely?

Kyras's fingers didn't release the cloak; instead, he gave the cloak a quick jerk to bring the boy closer to him, and his fingers curled up in he folds of the cloth, holding onto the boy possessively. He grinned mirthlessly, and the full length of his fangs showed clearly. "Well, well, well...isn't that just interesting. Heh, you are in so much trouble, boy, you can't possibly imagine..."

Looked like he'd just have to beat his spirit out of him when they returned "home". No, the boy wouldn't even so much as be able to look him in the eye when he was through with him. He'd gone easy on him before, but playtime was most definitely over, and it was time for him to start acting like the slave he was.

In an act of foolish desperation, Lenrizel snatched at Kyras' free hand, trying to retrieve the ring from his finger, but as soon as his hand touched the gold, such a shock went through him that he cried out in pain, his knees giving way.  He sank to the floor, still in Kyras' firm grasp, a defeated expression on his face.  He had known  that the attempt would be in vain, for while Kyras was conscious of the ring's presence on his finger, it would be impossible for Lenrizel to remove it.  That's why he hadn't tried to take the ring when he escaped several days ago; he didn't want to risk waking Kyras and spoiling what little chance at freedom he had, a chance that now was cut off abruptly.  As long as Kyras was aware of Lenrizel's proximity and remained awake, there would be no escape, not as long as Kyras possessed that cursed ring.

"I don't care what you do to me," Lenrizel dared to say.  "I will still refuse.  You may not have a conscience, but I do."  Not the greatest thing at that particular juncture to be declaring, but he let it out anyway.

Kyras' eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance as Lenrizel grappled with him, but he knew what the result would be, and wasn't disappointed with the outcome. Lenrizel cried out in a pain that brought him to his knees, and Kyras watched him sink with satisfaction; there was no sympathy or even empathy in those odd eyes of his. Fool. Oh well. For the moment, at least, the boy looked defeated, if not submissive. That was a start.

"Don't be so dramatic. Get up. W'e're going home," he said calmly but sternly, and his hand moved to grip the back of his cloak and shirt's collar to pull him unceremoniously to his feet. Though, before they did go "home"...it looked like he'd just have to make a pit stop at the slaver's headquarters in this village and purchase a collar for the boy. If he couldn't behave himself on his ownâ€"and Kyras had given him that chance; not out of kindness, but simply because he was testing the boyâ€"then he'd just have to learn the hard way. Perhaps a few nights and days chained up to a tree would teach him some humility if slapping him around a bit didn't. Though, he imagined the more painful methods would work; if animals could be taught quickly that way, a human certainly could. If not, they were just as dumb as any other beast.

"You will care. Trust me. And I do have a bit of a conscience; I plan on letting you choose what color collar you wish to wear. Perhaps we can even get you a fancy one, like what poodles wear. Though most dogs are more well trained than you. That will change, though. Believe me." He smirked, and cooly brushed a strand of black and blonde hair behind his pointed ears. He could almost pass for one of elvish blood by his looks, if not for the fangs and clawed nails; he was far from elvish. "You aren't really in a position to refuse, I'm afraid.

"Now, you better start walking. You don't want me to drag you, and you know I will if I have to," Kyras warned, and without even looking at Nahar or making sure the boy complied, he started toward the tavern doors, still gripping the collar of Lenrizel's shirt and cloak firmly.

Let nobody tell you that a little eavesdropping is a bad thing, especially around a tavern. Sellion had paused to one side of the door of the "Rowan Tavern", and, setting down his oversized backpack, he listened intently to the sounds of a struggle within. Luckily, it was brief, and the cry of agony didn't seem death-like. Sellion was about to enter the tavern again when he overheard the brief comments which followed. At the mention of "collar", he lost his temper completely (coming after all from a half-animal race). He supposed he shouldn't interfere, but...what the heck. Pushing his thick glasses up on his narrow, sharp nose, he shouldered his backpack once more and paused in the doors of the tavern.

The slaveowner was evidently a vampire, or something like that. The elven appearance and fangs made that clear. Sellion had never actually met a vampire before; he assumed they were just "nursery bogies". Still, he held his ground.

"Sir," he said with the most irony he could muster for his 12 years, "don't you think slavery is a rather reprehensible and heinous practice?"

Kyras was often mistaken for a vampire, and he wouldn't have minded the association had the new boy voiced his thoughts. People seemed scare of vampires, whatever they were; he'd never met one himself. And fear kept people from bothering him. He might like to meet a vampire one day, he imagined, just to see what all the fuss was about and if they were all they were claimed to be, though he doubted they were anything next to his own race; he'd yet to meet any that were. Yes, Kyras was an elitist, and proudly so. Just like the rest of his scattered race. Elitism was in their very blood; there was no mercy for the weak, who were either killed off or, in rare cases, set up as slaves for their own amusement. At least...until they grew bored with such a slave.

But Kyras didn't plan on killing this one. He wasn't among his race any longer, and this boy did indeed amuse him; he was a handful, and no matter how frustrating that was at time, he had to admit that, in retrospect, hunting him down and capturing him was vastly satisfying. His kind were natural hunters, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

In any case, even whe he finally broke the boy, he couldn't grow bored with him. He had quite an interesting ability, and Kyras planned on taking advantage of it. And that aside...the boy was, in and of himself, rather exotic and fascinating in his own way, and Kyras' kind had an innate love of that which was unique or beautiful. Though, they were never content to just look and observe. They had to own. That was simply how it worked in his culture, but in his culture, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. For some weaklings, if they were beautiful, their lives would be drastically longer and gentler, even if it was in bondage.

His multi-colored eyes moved slowly to the new child, and a look of sheer amusement replaced his cool smirk. That was an interesting question, and a perfect example of stating the obvious.

With a soft sigh, he looked to Lenrizel, then back to the new boy, and gave something of a dramatic sigh. "Do I look like I do, boy?" he asked deadpan, one clawed finger absently stroking the back of Lenrizel's neck where he held him. "Save your ethical lecture for someone who cares. This is nobody's concern, especially not that of a whelp who has no real knowledge of how the world works." And with that said, he reached out to brush the whelp aside.

"Well, technically, that was a rhetorical question," Sellion commented as he avoided being brushed aside and stepped inside the bar. He wasn't stupid enough to get into a fight with this guy, but he still felt he should say something. As he sat down on a nearby stool, he recited something from a speech he had long ago memorized: "It is my duty to stand up here tonight and bear testimony against slavery. I have seen it -- I have seen it. I know it has horrors that can never be described. I was brought up under its wing: I witnessed for many years its demoralizing influences, and its destructiveness to human happiness. It is admitted by some that the slave is not happy under the worst forms of slavery. But I have never seen a happy slave." All this he muttered semi-audibly as he allowed the imposing figure to leave the tavern. Sighing, afraid of having made a fool of himself in public, but certain he had been in the right by taking the moral highground, he walked over to the bar and asked the barman for a good drink; never mind his age.

Sam gave the newcomer a hard look for his audacity but then smiled, chuckling to himself and going for the keg of ale.  He promptly filled the tankard one-third full and topped off the other two-thirds with water, sliding the tankard down the bar to Sellion.  "Oi dunnit know ye, if ye kin hald yer likker,  un till oi do, oi ain't givin' ye nathin' stronger," he said with a wink.  Coming closer and leaning down so that he could lower his voice and still be heard by the lad, he added, "Tis best nat ta meddil in tha ways a'magic, lad.  B'sides, ye ain't eld anuff ta tak on one sich as tha' one thar."  He gave the youth an encouraging pat on the shoulder and went back about his work of cleaning the bar, waiting on the new barkeep to return from the back.

Lenrizel took this opportunity to shake himself free of Kyras.  "I can walk as well as you can, Master," he spat out, the last word dripping with an emotion that is best left undescribed.  "You needn't drag me as if I would run from you."  He made a quick gesture of half frustration, half despair, and the color of his hair lost the artificial hue with which he had dyed it, returning to its natural fiery red.  "I'll follow you.  But only because I have to."  He made the same half-bow he had made before, but this time it came across much more mockingly.  "And I wish more than anything else in this world that someone manages to take that ring from you."  He knew inside that he was only digging himself deeper into a hole, but he didn't seem to care at least for that moment in the tavern.  Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

Kyras paid the younger boy's little speech no mind save to chuckle quietly to himself. Happy slave? Why should he care if his slave was happy (and he highly doubted any save could be happy, not that it matter the least bit to him)? Oh, sure, a more content slave worked better, they said, but when his mere word could induce his particular slave to act, he didn't have to worry about disobedience. At least not while he was around. But, that was also why he was going to have Lenrizel fitted for a collar, both as a way of degrading and humbling him and to make sure he behaved himself even when he wasn't looking.

Lenrizel weasling out of his grasp brought his attention back to the slave, and he gave another smile at the boy's heated words. Heh. Yes...he would be fun to break. He'd put up a fight, surely, but Kyras always enjoyed a challenge. "Very good, boy, you've finally recognized who here is the master!" he praised patronizingly, as though to a child. "Though...that tone of voice simply won't do. It's not becoming of you, I fear. Such a tongue you've got...shame. I really do hope you tame it; I would hate to have to cut it out."

His tone gave no indication that he would dislike doing just that.

"Oh, and you're bowing, too. Very good. Bow deeper next time, though, and be sure to keep your eyes down at all times. Now that you know what to do, I expect no less in the future. Now, come. We're going to get you that collar I promised. Have you given any thoughts as to what color you'd enjoy?" he went on conversationally as he existed the tavern and started in the direction of the slaveing block, trusting the boy would follow. But even if he tried to bolt, it was easy enough to stop; he didn't even  have to bother exerting himself. "I'd think carefully, for you'll be wearing it quite often."

Another chuckle was given. My..those words just kept flowing, didn't they? And, indeed, he was only digging himself a deeper hole. Kyras kept a mental note of everything he said, and tsked to himself softly. The boy was going to be punished...the collar wasn't even part of that.

"Keep talking, boy. But keep in mind...you're going to feel each word later. I'd be careful were I you. I have a good memory."

But despite his warnings, Kyras really was enjoying this. Like other Cerenai demons, violence and sadism was bred into him, so much so that even romantic flingsâ€"if you could call them romanticâ€"were often violent and bloody. And he couldn't say he didn't enjoy the sense of total control he had over another life.

"Thank you, sir." Jeral tells the man. And with a quick step, he walks around to the back, outside.

Once outside, he shifts his grip on the Rune Staff and looks behind him. "Oh....my guardain angel and the Elder's not gonna like this...." he mumbles as he grabs the staff in two hands. With a quick look behind him to see if anyone is watching, he jams the staff into the ground, whispering in Common, "An Angel to guide me, for an Angel's Calling." And from the sky, hidden as best he can, comes a man with great black wings, and a great black scythe, arrowing straight for Jeral. "I'm sorry to call you for such a menial task, my Guardian Angel, but can you deliver this for me?" Jeral holds up a bag, stuffed with cloth, drink, and a letter to the Elder. "Give it to the Elder, he'll understand. You are dismissed after that, got it?" The Angel bows his head, then takes off torwards the forest. Jeral looks once in the direction he took off in, then pulls his staff out of the ground. He gets his 6' frame walking back to the tavern, to his new job.

Lenrizel waited for Kyras to step out of the tavern before he ventured to speak again.  He had heard all that the youth had uttered, for his ears were quite capable of picking up even the slightest sounds; he hadn't missed a single word from the boy.  Not a single, mortifying word.  When Kyras was out of sight, Lenrizel looked the young Sellion full in the eye and said with broken voice, "You have seen it, perhaps even witnessed it firsthand, and yet you cannot possibly comprehend what it is to not have freedom of sleep to soothe your wounds both of the body and of the mind.  Can you even imagine what it is to remain awake night after night with no repose?  I would trade places with even the worst off of the slaves you have described.  At least they have the freedom to disobey any command they choose."  He doubled over slightly as he felt Kyras' presence grow farther away, compelling him to follow according to the ways of his kind, knowing that he could not refuse a summons made with full knowledge of his whereabouts, not if he wanted to retain any semblance of his sanity or pacify the agony of a refusal.  After a pause, he continued, "At least they can eventually die.  I cannot have even that.  My life lies with the possessor of the ring, and it is he whom I must follow."  He turned away from the sight of the brave-spoken youth and stepped out the tavern door.

Nahar watched the epic unfold infront of her with wide eyes. If she wasn't confused before, she certainy was now. One thing for sure, this boy was that mans slave. Stepping after the pair as they walked out of the tavern, she took a deep breath before she spoke. "Excuse me.. uhh. sir," she started, sutmbling on what to call this hellish man. "It seems to me that you have just taken my tour guide." She said, knowing quite well that this boy was infact the propery of this man, but desperate for any way to stall him for a second before she perhaps thought of a plan. Slavery of any creature was wrong in her mind, and she would be damned if she jus stood there and let it slide. The elven morals taught to her built up inside her and felt ready to burst. Never before has she seen such cruelty. Slowly she drew in hand inside her cloak and held the hilt of the handle. She didn't know what was going to happen, and she didn't want to be unprepared.
"So I would ask you to uhh.. return him to uhh.. me so he can uhh.. give me a tour." she finsihed lamely. Stupid, stupid! she thought in her head. With one last shread of hope that money could buy this man off like it did with so many others, she added. "I am well prepared to pay you."

[Taking a break from the homework from HELL. I need a reprieve. ;_;]

Kyras paused a little, waiting for Lenrizel to hurry up and catch up to him, and as he turned...he saw that the boy was still in the tavern, speaking to someone within. For a second, a flash of annoyance shot through himâ€"damn, had he been talking to himself the whole time, then? Ugh, he really must be tired, both to not realize the boy was stalling and to have allowed him to walk on his own like thatnever mind that the boy had to follow; he'd forgotten the boy could stall just a little.

And as for the boy stalling and talking when he wasn't supposed to, he'd just add that to his growing list of things to beat out of him. He really didn't mind that at all.

In fact, he might as well start now, seeing as how the boy was going to stall as much as he possibly could all the way to the slaver's.

But then, on that thought, another thought soon entered his mind. A more dangerous thought. What was the boy saying? If he was just pleading for help and sympathy, that was one thing, and after all, the law here was on Kyras' side; no one but bleeding-heart good samaritans that thought the world was nothing but sunshine and dewdrops cared about a slave. However, there were other things the boy could utter that were...not good. Kyras didn't fear the danger that such words could bring to himâ€"after all, his kind were violent and enjoyed a good fight. Rather, it was simply that, at this moment, Kyras simply didn't want to be bothered. He wan't in the mood to deal with complications.

Lip curling to bare his fangs, he rounded around and began to stride over in their direction, just as the boy walked out of the tavern. Kyras had just made a mistake, but he wasn't going to make that mistake again, and he roughly seized the boy's arm with one hand, and cupped his chin firmly in the other, forcing him to look at him. "Do you want to keep your tongue or not?" he hissed quietly. "If the answer is yes, do not talk to another person again without my permission and presence, do you understand me, boy? If not, then open your mouth and we'll settle this little problem right here and now, because if I catch you again, that will be the result andâ€""

It was at that moment that Nahar walked up to them, and Kyras would have ignored her and continued with his verbal, and possibly physical, assault on Lenrizel, except that she spoke up, her voice cutting off the flow of his words. Glancing slowly over at the elvish woman, he offered her his most level stare and slowly released Lenrizel's chin. His other hand didn't release the boy's arm, though, and in fact only tightened on the appendage.

"I am disinclined to accept your offer. You'll just have to find yourself another 'tour guide', I'm afraid. This one is out of commission." He gave the boy's arm a tug to start him again in the direction of the slaver's, and this time, by the feel of his grip, he would not be releasing him.

Sellion was so surprised by the slave's comments that he had forgotten to finish his 'ale'. "Wait...did he say 'the Ring?' Not THAT Ring...?" A memory came to him--himself, younger, listening to his grandfather's stories. Once, he had told him something about a magic Ring that corrupted all possessors. Even in the peaceful lands of the Menenolde, that story, which he assumed to be true, lurked like a shadow of the past. Strange...

He was still pondering when Nahar went up to Kyras and, lamely, tried to get him as a 'tour guide'. He could hear her outside the door. Unfortunately, he couldn't make any comments, as it was all he could do to keep from laughing. However, he had an idea of his own. He was thinking of his older brother...Bjorn. He could do something about this abominable practice. However, Sellion didn't even know the way back to his homeland from here. He sighed, and went back to drinking his 'ale'.

Lenrizel drew a sharp breath when Kyras took such a grip on his arm, wincing at the pressure.  He fell silent as Kyras commanded, but he said plenty with his eyes; perhaps it was best that he had been ordered not to speak--what would have come out directed at Kyras would probably have been worse than what he nearly said when he accidentally jabbed his hand with the table knife.  Kyras must certainly have been enjoying every moment of this humiliation--dragging Lenrizel along as if he were some animal, speaking to him as though he were a little child even though Lenrizel probably had a few millennia on him, knowing full well that Lenrizel could not lay a hand on him to harm him.

Lenrizel listened with not even a half-hope to Nahar's request.  When he saw her hand go to the hilt of her weapon, he looked her in the eye and shook his head slowly, glancing at the gold ring Kyras wore and back at Nahar, telling her with his eyes that it was useless.  He knew in his heart that if she were to attack Kyras, Lenrizel would be obligated to come to his defense, whether he wanted to or not.  That was part of the curse of his race.  

And so he went with Kyras, offering their steps no more resistance except that which existed solely in his mind and in his eye.

Jeral gets back in, drops his bag off under the bar, and walks over to Sam. He looks around, and asks Sam, "What you want me to do? And, what's up with them?" He points to the other partrons, including the elf who reacted to his name.

"Well," Sam began, "If ye be knowin' how ta run tha av'rige bar, than ye be knowin' most all ye need fer here."  He tips his head toward Sellion.  "We dunnit giv tha kiddies none of tha spirits 'ceptin' wi' a lot a water, till we be knowin' tha ones tha can hold their likker."  He gave Jeral an encouraging smile and said, "I'll go over thar and have a listen at our young bard-friend.  He's a reg'lar--loikes 'is ale wi' a bit a vodka, don' know why, but 'e does.  Let's see how ye handle things on yer own fer a bit.  All the kegs 'r labeled, and all the parrafernellia's in plain soight."  Sam strode over to where the bard sat strumming a merry tune, and planted himself nearby, tapping his foot along with the jig.

"All right, thanks." Jeral says to Sam, then gets to looking at what he's got to work with. Water benith the bar; ale, mead, and other liquors in kegs and bottles along the way; mugs and glasses across the shealves. Hmm...guess I'll have to get re-used to kegs again. is all he thinks, glad to have a job again.

Sellion drained his mug and grinned at Jeral. He felt like talking now, despite his usual total reticence; he imagined it was the combined effect of the exhilaration of the 'argument' and the little bit of ale. "Not bad," he said. "Little watery, though. Ha." He mildly overpaid the barkeeps (Working odd jobs for a well-to-do person could be profitable!) and requested another drink. As he sat there listening to the bard, he pondered what he could do now. He decided to track down Kyras, the slaver, and get someone to give him what for...not to mention get the Ring. He was happy; now he had a purpose for the time being.

Jeral takes the man's mug (and money), and refills it, half water and half alcohol. If Sam complains, oh well, that's how he did it in Spira. "hey, you know what that agument was all about?" Jeral asks the coustomer as he drops the drink in fromt of him. "I missed over half of it."

"Nothin' we can do anything about, lad," said a man at the bar as he held out his empty pint tankard and some money for a refill.  "And I certainly ain't gonna take on a demon-creature just to have a genie on my hands.  He can have 'im.  But I do rather feel sorry for that kid--'scuse me, he ain't no kid; he's probably older than all of us put together--'cuz long as he's got a master like that he's probably not gonna have the most pleasant experience when he gets home.  Too bad he can't lift a hand against the man; he could probably crush him with one finger."  Gesturing at Sellion, he said, "And ye'd be best saving yer Olaudah Equiano or whatever they are speeches for the slaves that abolitionists might actually be able to do something about; no matter how many times you free someone like that genie there, he'll still get stuck with another master sooner or later.  You can't change the laws of nature--or magic.  It just ain't done.  His very essence is bound to that ring, and even if it were destroyed, another one would appear to take its place."  He smiled at what was probably going to be at least a mild surprise on the faces of his listeners, and added, "Well, sometimes I actually do my homework from the mage's academy instead of spending all me free time in the tavern."

"A genie?" Sellion hadn't thought of that. "Well, that explains a lot." A genie, or genius, or djinn, depending on who you asked, was usually bound to some object, often a ring or lamp, and the owner of that was able to control them, unless they were set free. Now he really wanted that Ring. "But," he added, "Genii only grant three wishes--or so I'd been told. There were rumours of others that granted as many wishes as the owner desired, but those were supposed to be less common."

"Fairy tales," the man at the bar replied.  "This is Earth, not a children's story.  What magic survived is much older and much more arcane than any of those yarns--and is best left alone by those not prepared to face it.  You'd better stay away from demons, boy, unless you've got some heap of a bodyguard.  That genie is able to do something that demon-kin wants very badly, and whatever it is, it's out of your league."

"Sir, this may be ... Earth, but you'll be amazed what childern's stories can tell." Jeral tells the other man at the bar. "Sure, there exaggerated in some detials, but are close enough for thouse who read correctly."

Kyras didn't release the boy even as he offered no resistance, and he didn't look back as they walked, though, inwardly, he hoped they were not followed. There were too many nosy people around here, and right now, he didn't want to fight. Oh, sure, he loved a good battle, but just like anything, sometimes he liked to do other things with his time or just wasn't in the mood. Now was one of those times. And besides...a fight with any of the people around here would be boring. The boy would jump to his defense before he even got a blow in himselfâ€"that had happened beforeâ€"and it didn't look like it would take much to dispatch any of the people here, with or without his litle pet.

When Kyras fought, he liked to fight, he liked a challenge. When it came to tormenting someone...well, he also liked a challenge thereâ€"though it didn't mean he would enjoy spilling blood any lessâ€"as well, and despite all his heated thoughts, now that he had the time to cool down, he really hoped the boy wouldn't break too easily. In fact, he hoped he wouln't break at all, at least not completely. He liked the boy's defiance, that little spark he possessed, liked that he fought against him, resisted him. It made things interesting for Kyras, and truth be told, it was for this reason alone that the demon would never actually relieve the boy of his tongue, though he would certainly threaten and perhaps even grow dangerously close to carrying out the act. A docile slave was a boring slave; a docile slave in Cerenai society was a slave without any purpose at all, a slave that was soon killed.

Cerenai loved a challenge, a fight, in every aspect of their lives. This was no different. And besides, Lenrizel didn't have to be tame for Kyras to get what he wanted out of him. Kyras could order him around just the same, and he'd have no choice but to obey. And he wouldn't have to worry about him running off again soon enough, anway.

It was, however, unfortunate for Lenrizel that all this was true, as it did indeed mean his life would be quite miserable. And Cerenai demons had extremely long lifespans. Kyras himself was a mere twenty-five years old, and for a Cerenai, that was young. Which meant all the more time for Kyras to exploit the boy's coveted abilities, and more time for the poor genie to suffer the brunt of all of Kyras' aggressions and...insecurities.

Before much longer, they had reached the slaver's block, and a few words from Kyras to one of the slavers sent him to retrieve the objects Kyras asked for. Before too long, the slaver returned, various collars looped over one arm, all different designs and colors. Kyras gave a smile, seemingly benign though his eyes were empty of any such kindness, and looked to Lenrizel.

"Well, which one would you like, boy? Speak up." He was not being the least bit kind in letting him pick his own collar; in fact, he was being openly cruel, just like in the past when he'd allowed a victim to choose by which method they wished to die.

Back in the tavern...
"Mmm, yes," said Sellion. He was starting to enjoy this, now being slightly sodden. "There is some truth in many children's stories. After all, who made up the stories in the first place? Take dragons for instance. I don't know if they exist, but if they don't, then they must have some basis in reality, right? Someone had to see something like a dragon. However, you're probably right about his being out of my league. I think I can take care of that, though. Heh, I do have some useful friends...and some of them may be able to take on a demon." Under his breath he mentioned something about "Ahriman" and "Azathoth."

"I've never heard of a childern's tale about a dragon, but I have seen a Half-Dragon." Jeral responds, noticing no one wants a drink right now. "Don't know where he got to, though." Jeral catches the names of two people, but doesn't know who they are, and doesn't care. "Friends that could take on a Daemon? Let me tell you, kid, it's not easy. They don't like to die, much less be banished."

"It is not a servant's place to say what he wants," Lenrizel said through clenched teeth, looking Kyras straight in the eye, his own eyes narrowing.  "He is to have no will but that of his master."  If there were a moment in all of time where someone meant the complete opposite of the feeling that should have been conveyed by such words, that was it.  "I will defer to your judgment, my lord."  Did ever two words drip with such venom?  "After all, what could one like myself possibly know of such matters?  You clearly have more experience."

A grin flashed across Kyras' face, his white fangs flashing dangerously. He didn't seem at all upset by the boy's outburst, and instead just made a mental note of it. Indeed, the boy likely wouldn't be able to walk by the time Kyras was finished with him, and Kyras would enjoy every second of it. "You're right. I do know better. But I am a kind master, so I thought to give you this chance to use your own little brain for once. It makes me pleased to know you wish not to have this choice; you are a good slave indeed, boy, to know your place so well!" And then Kyras ruffled the boy's hair with his free hand, like one would pet the fur of a dog. Except his touch was rough, and he wasn't mindful of his claw-like nails as they raked through the boy's hair and against his scalp. "I do indeed have the experience, that is true, boy. And that is why you are turning out just so well."

Turning back to the slaver, he pointed out the plainest, most uncomfortable-looking collar he could spot, a brown leather collar that was sure to chaff the softer flesh of any wearer's throat. The boy would regret playing the fool and passing up this chance to choose his symbol of bondage. At the very least, he could have picked himself a good collar that wouldn't rub the flesh raw.

Funny thing was, Kyras doubted the boy would choose, anyway. He was simply toying with the slave, and he shook his head as he paid for the collar and accepted it, turning the rough material over in his hands. Ah, the wonders of mind games. The boy had his one chance to assert some aspect of control in his life by making a decisionâ€"a negative one at thatâ€"but he had passed it up, as Kyras expected, and would now suffer all the more for it.

Fun stuff.

The collar came with a sturdy chain leash, but Kyras only lifted the boy's chin and snapped the collar around his throat for now. "There. How does it fit? Too tight?" Kyras asked, sounding genuinely concerned. But he wasn't. He was only mocking the boy, and the collar was supposed to be uncomfortable.

Although countless centuries had taught him what could and unmistakably would come of such responses, somehow Lenrizel's true feelings frequently tended to outrun his expressions of propriety, as they did at this moment.  Oh, he knew from experience the many different kinds of punishment for a disobedient slave that had evolved during the world's existence, yet still he too often clung to the reactions he felt in his heart, whether they had been provoked by a sense of moral obligation to refuse an order for conscience's sake, or perhaps by what scraps of personal dignity he still had remaining after many masters' attempts at taking that from him, at breaking his spirit.

Maybe it was because he knew that no matter what was done, he would live through it, but that part of his existence also had a flip side: he would live through it, even the moments where most people would have succumbed all too willingly to the oblivion of unconsciousness or death.  And his lack of need for sleep did not help matters much, either...he couldn't even sleep if he wanted to.  No, it was part of the curse of his race to stand guard over all time, whether the world slept or walked about.  And it was also his curse to face his allotment in life anew with every possessor of that ring.  Such a little, tiny thing, to control the course of millennia.

Lenrizel then said something he didn't care whether Kyras understood or not: he cursed Kyras in his true native tongue, the one he had learned when in appearance and in years he was a young child.  Not the "curses" people said when half-drunk or that time had filled with meaningless profanities and expletives, but one where the speaker meant every single word and wished what he said upon the hearer.  Lenrizel knew that no one around here would understand what he was saying, except maybe Kyras himself, or one that was used to studying arcane linguistics, but even if they would have known, he'd have likely said the same, but would have had less opportunity of time if others had known the dark words.  

In the speech he had known since his earliest days, he released every drop of hatred he had been holding on to.  Better to get it out and over with all at once than to further delay the evincement of what he really thought of the demon.  Oh, how easily the obscure words came!  To the untrained ear or one that could not see Lenrizel's expression they might have even been called somewhat musical, spoken with such a unique accent.  At least for that small moment he felt free, though he knew what consequences he would bring upon himself.

Crack!

As soon as the words left the boy's mouth, the back of Kyras' hand connected with Lenrizel's cheek hard enough to knock the boy off his feet. Kyras didn't understand the actual words, but he understood the tone well enough, and as much as he would enjoy punishing the boy later, and as much as he didn't want to make a public scene here with so many nosy people around, impulse kicked in. And besides...he had had enough of the boy addressing him in that tone in public, where he was supposed to be in control of the slave in all areas. A misbehaved slave did not reflect well on its master, and as much as he enjoyed Lenrizel's defiance, there was a time and a place for it. Now was neither the time nor place. Not really because he cared about what other's thought, but just because he rather enjoyed humiliating the boy in public.

And, impulse or not, it was still thoroughly satisfying.

Silently, Kyras snatched Lenrizel by his slave's collar and, similar to earlier, began to haul him along with him, not caring if he choked the boy a little here and there. He'd live. "I'm so sorry you had to hear that," he told the slaver as he left. "He's usually so well behaved. Looks like I'll just have to 'retrain' him. Good day."

Kyras had already let him get away with far too much in public today. Yes, playtime was officially over; they were going to head "home", and he was going to have his "fun".

[gyah, sucky post! >.<]

Lenrizel did indeed fall from the blow, and when Kyras grabbed the collar to drag him along again, he gagged at the strangling pressure against his throat until he could get to his feet once more.   How easy it would have been to have said I hate you at that moment, but that seemed too mild, especially after what he had said to merit being struck.  

He well knew what would likely happen to him when he and Kyras got home, and to be honest he dreaded it, but more so because it was at the hand of someone like Kyras.  True, he had been in the possession of heartless and cruel masters before who were intent on breaking his spirit so that he offered no obstruction to their evil schemes, and it had been akin to enduring hell itself to keep his sanity against their wickedness, but at least that was all most of them had been intent on doing: forcing him to their will, not utterly humiliating him in the process.  How many hundreds of years had it been since he had been summoned to a master like Kyras?  Too long ago, apparently, for here his fate had brought him again.  Well, this time, he would not let himself be humiliated without a fight.  Even he had some self respect left.  And even though he was aware of the certainty of consequences, he was going to hold on to what dignity he still had, even if it meant suffering more for his resistance to whatever evil Kyras had planned for the genie.  He could not let himself lose what made him who he was.

Elinsha had just recently gotten into town that evening after an evening of walking somewhat aimlessly in the forest. In her bag were several fresh pelts and some meat from a few rabbits she had encountered, and now it was time to sell them. Feeling lost in the town she wandered around looking at the signs and just generally feeling; well, apathetic sort of to the fact that she had no place to stay. She was a creature of the night anyway; she wouldn’t need to sleep for hours anyways even though she had gotten up earlier than usual to get here. Checking her face veil she pressed on, very well aware of the fact that she was a stranger among men.

The worn shoes on her feet made a cracking sound against the stones, but a sudden loud crack cause her to stop in her tracks. Turning her head in the direction of the sound she saw what appeared to be a young boy fallen to the ground and a man, presumably his master, standing over him. At first she was going to stay away but something caused her to change her mind and as if her feet had a mind all their own she was headed in their direction. For some reason acting the martyr sounded good at the moment, so she placed herself in the middle of it, between the master and slave.

The face veil had fallen away from her mouth and she hissed at the man, rabbit blood still dripping from her teeth. “What seems to be the problem?�

Any satisfaction Kyras had gotten from slapping the boy quickly evaporated when yet another person decided to poke their nose where it didn't belong and attempt to get between he and his possession, and it took a great effort not to hiss in frustration. What was with these people? Then again, he had to remember that human culture was vastly different from Cerenai culture, and though he knew that, in this human village at least, slavery was legal, not that that really mattered; he'd do what he pleased anyway, but Cerenai weren't stupid, and survival was their main concern, and his kind were rare, now. If survival meant playing by another culture's rules to get what he wanted, he had no qualms about that.

Still...hrm. Legal or not, perhaps humans treated their slaves differently in public, and that was what was causing the uproar? If so, that seemed kind of stupid to Kyras. didn't humans know how effective public humiliation was? Probably, but it was probably nosy brats like the people he'd run across that discouraged the practice.

"You seem to be the problem," Kyras answered darkly, blunt as usual, his grip still unyeilding on his slave's collar even as the woman tried to move between them. But he held his ground easily, and would have otherwise gone around her and hope, for her own sake, that she wouldn't decide to tag along and make him do something she wouldn't like very much, but then his eyes took in the sight of blood dribbling from her teeth. Fangs?

And she had hissed.

Kyras paused in mid-step, and a flash of curiosity mixed and mingled with his mask of annoyance as he looked at her, loose blonde and black curls framing his youthful face. Yes, regardless of how lowly he viewed everyone else, referring to them as thugh to children, he was really no olderâ€"or perhaps not much olderâ€"than anyone here now, at a mere twenty-five at most. "What the hell are you?" he asked in his typical disinterested way. More just as if he expected an answer.

"I hope she is the problem," Lenrizel muttered half to himself, though he didn't seem to care who heard.   He cast a bitter glance at Kyras' ring, and wondered at what chance there was for this stranger to overpower Kyras.  More than anything he wished that he weren't obligated by his very existence to protect his master if at all possible.

In response to Lenrizel's flapping tongue, Kyras simply gripped the excess part of the collar and squeezed it together a bit, thus tightening the collar around Lenrizel throat in the process, almost to the point of it bing a strangle-hold. At best, it would certainly make breathing rather uncomfortable and still any more defiant words. And if the boy dared speak anymore, he'd just tighten his hold even more. He knew good and well that he couldn't kill the boy, but he could certainly make his life miserable, and he had yet to meet a soul that didn't panic just a little from having their air supply shortened. It must be even worse for someone who couldn't die or even pass out.

Even with the option of unconsciousness, it was bad enough.

Kyras would know.

[evil short post! >.<]

“I am what I am,� she muttered as she fiddled with the veil around her face.

For a moment she had forgotten herself, Elinsha was not the type of person to get in others affairs. Maybe though, she figured, it had been the kill not that long ago that had set her on edge and still had her there or maybe it was seeing someone being attacked that had triggered something in her. Of course before she even rushed in she managed to figure out their relationship to one another but there was a tiny ray of hope that maybe she would be protecting someone from a fate that had befallen her. Immediately at the thought her hand reached up and touched her belly where the long scar was, hidden luckily in the darkness.

Then the boy made a stupid comment, perfect for pulling her out of her thoughts.

She rounded on him, “You’ll speak when spoken to,� she shouted before turning back around.

If the boy wasn’t going to be grateful for her saving him from probably what was to become a brutal beating then there was no point in her being kind to him. She saw the man tighten his grip on the boy’s collar, but this time she didn’t care, the stupid idiot deserved it. That’s probably why he had been slapped in the first place, for some stupid out of line comment that sent his master into anger; obviously this boy had not been trained at all.

“Obviously your boy has yet to be broken in, excuse me for the intrusion. I had figured that you were just attacking someone at random,� she folded her arms across her chest. She had always hated admitting she was wrong.

Lenrizel's heart sank at the Carpathian's words, but he tried not to let it show much on his face.  Had she not realized what he had meant, then?  Did she not know that he was reaching out toward the only hope he could think of at that moment?  Or that if she were indeed a problem to Kyras, that his days with such a horrid creature as the Cerenai were even more numbered?  He gagged again at the grip Kyras took on his collar; well, if he were going to explain himself, he'd better do it quickly or he would no longer be able to speak.  His words game in gasps.  "I am--a genie, and if you take that gold--ring--from his finger, you'll--"  At this point any mortal would have succumbed to the blackness of unconsciousness, but this was denied Lenrizel--yet it did not spare him the weakness, the throbbing pain, of what would have been felt through such an experience if full consciousness were retained.   He sank to his knees once again, bleary-eyed from the intense pressure, too weak in that moment deprived of oxygen to keep his footing.

"Mm, I see," Kyras replied simply, not seeming upset that she didn't answer. It was a mere curiosity on his part; after all, she had fangs and a rather feral feel to her, so he couldn't help but wonder if she was one of those "vampires" he was sometimes compared to. It was namely when his own fangs were visible that he'd heard the whispered word, so he just figured that was probably the most important feature concerning the species.

What the woman did next took even Kyras by surprise. He had been expecting her, like the other bleeding hearts, to make some emotional speech against slavery, blah blah blah, he'd have to explain that he could give a rat's ass, and then she'd either back off, or persist in being a nuissance. So far, that had been his experience since reclaiming the runaway. But instead, she rounded on the boy and told him to behave. Kyras' two-toned eyes widened a few increments; it took a good deal to surprise him, but this did it. As did her following comments.

Well, in that case...Kyras could afford a little "niceness".

"Yes, apologies for his behavior. He's a fresh one and, no, not yet broken in. He will be soon enough though. Heâ€""

And that was when Lenrizel decided to speak, making Kyras hiss in anoyance. Immediately, the grip on his collar tightened enough to close the boy's airway completely, and he roughly heaved him up to his feet, holding his weak body up firmly and mercilessly. He would have never treated a mortal slave like this, for fear of killing his investment, but Lenrizel was no mortal, so it mattered not. It even made things better, because he didn't have to worry about getting a bit too rough. "He's growing delirious, I fear. Lack of oxygen will do that, but it is his own inability to save his breath that warrants that I teach him to," the demon explained calmly. "Still, I fear I must be going. This is about the third crude outburst he's had today, and, frankly, I've seen mongrels behave better than this whelp. He has to be...trained."

Finally, his oxygen-depriving grip relaxed, but instead of letting Lenrizel go to sink to the ground in all the weakness and light-headedness that choking must have brought, he stooped slightly and slung the boyâ€"who in reality was not much shorter than heâ€"over his shoulder like a sack of grain. At this point, he just wanted to get out of this village and get "home", and dragging Lenrizel around, no matter how amusing, would slow them down, especially if he was currently too weak to struggle along. Kyras was tired of distractions. And he couldn't say he was too fond of human habitat in general.

"You will be silent unless spoken to. Just like the lady said," Kyras told Lenrizel levely.

[gonna be gone 'til Monday or Tuesday! See ya guys!]

Lenrizel did not respond this time; he was too weak to have done so, and his breath still came in gasps as he tried to regain a normal breathing pattern.  He only moaned slightly once or twice from the headache of suddenly returning blood and oxygen.

Eve certaintly was surprised when she saw what was happening. Now, as she watched the slave go limp, she wish she had acted sooner. Of course, as a Guardian Angel, she would have been expected to step up sooner, but as a citizen of Earth, she was also expected to let some cruelties like slavery slip through the cracks.

The girl was now surprised when she heard the slave moan in pain. For sure he would be unconcious by now. Eve kept hidden across the clearing, but watched the scene intently. Her magic was powerful, but against a man who would act like that, she should probably wait until it was really necessary to fight.

She placed her hood on her head, and grabbed her staff that was leaning on a nearby wall and walked over to a quiet alley. The angel whispered a small spell in hopes of sending the slave a message that she was going to try and help.

Lenrizel received the message; it was as a cool breeze against his tormented spirit.  But he could not respond to it; though his powers were vast, they were at Kyras' mercy for the time being, and what little magic he had learned on his own was useless without enough strength to speak.  All he could do at that moment was allow himself to be carried.  After a while, though, when he actually heard his own vocal cords make a sound when he coughed, he whispered what little he could to let the kind soul know that he had heard, the few words of learned magic that he knew.

Elinsha caught the last part of what the slave had to say before his air supply was cut short. Quickly she glanced at the master’s hand to notice the ring but obviously she could do nothing at the moment, she’d have to play a waiting game if she wanted to help the boy out more. Her brow furrowed as she began to formulate a plan on the spot, obviously not a well thought out one or even one that was guaranteed to work, but it was a plan none the less and despite her natural behavior there was a tiny voice in the back of her mind telling her that she ought to just do something nice every now and then. Also that she needed friends.

“I’ve been known to train weasels like him, and I offer you my services for my rude outburst,� she said sweetly curtsying down low. “All it would cost you is a place to stay.�

Behind her veil she gave a toothy, yet pleasant smile. She hoped he’d take the bait; it’d give her a place to at least to stay the night and possibly get a good meal as well as hopefully help this boy out. Maybe, if she was even luckier, new clothes would be thrown into the deal if she could get that out of him. Of course all this would be possible if he didn’t suspect her.

“Oh,� she exclaimed remembering how her teeth had come out, “I of course promise not to harm any of your property, if you know what I mean.�

A response came. It was quiet and hard to decipher, but a response all the same. Eve was surprised though at the reply. She hadn't expected anything from her own message. Fortunately now though,  she knew that the slave must be magical in some way. But, magical being or not, Eve still wondered how the boy had survived such a choke.

The angel kept her mind busy as she walked away from the eye catching scene and toward the library. Some studying up couldn't do too much harm. Eve stopped in her tracks and turned around to look at the struggle one more time.  She raised her palm to the sky, where a small ball of light emerged from it. It floated off her hand, and closer to the slave and his master. The ball flew across the clearing undetected, only seen by Eve's eye. When she was gone researching, she didn't want to loose them. The angel turned away once more to head to the library.

Once there, Eve went strait to a section titled "Magical Creatures". Nothing interesting was there. Next she went to the "Slaves" section. For a while, it seemed useless. Only books about proper training methods and useful items. Then, finally she came across a book called 'The Rare and Unusual'. At first glance, Eve thought it just happened to be in the wrong place, but when she opened it, she found descriptions of all the magical creatures who could be enslaved. Almost immediatly, her mystery of the concious boy was solved.

Cerenai did not trust easily. Trust among a species that would kill its own offspring if it had the slightest flaw was virtually nonexistent, and what alliances were formed were shaky at best, and lasted only as long as it benefited both demons. Those that trusted, died. Let your guard down, and you were vulnerable. That was just how it went, and that was a worldview that Kyras had yet to shake. He probably never would. He had no reason to trust, others had no reason to trust him, and he rather liked it that way.

Of course, in addition to the lack of trust, it probably wasn't so much to assume that Cerenai weren't exactly the most hospitable of creatures...

So when Elinsha offered up her "services", Kyras simply paused in midstep, shifted Lenrizel a little, and ran his oddly-colored, almond-shaped eyes over her quickly as though looking at her for the first time. But it was more that he was sizing her up. He didn't actually believe any of the creatures here would pose much of a threat to him, but it was another habit, and a good one to have at that. One could never be too sure, and he certainly couldn't say he trusted her motives. But, the same was true for everyone in Kyras' eyes.

Considering what he'd been through and what culture he'd come from, and considering how he himself was...it would be foolish to be any other way.

Hrm...well, Kyras certainly couldn't say he was experienced with training slaves, at least not on this side of the fenceâ€"he knew what it was like on Lenrizel's side all too well, but that wasn't the same. Especially since he himself could admit that he wasn't really trying to train the boy so much as use him, in more ways than just his powers. He didn't want the boy to be completely trained and obedient, really...

Like hell would he ever say the real reason why. Not even to himself.

But, in any case, a little more punishment couldn't hurt. And he couldn't help but be curious about this creature; she certainly was not human, which was...well, in an odd way, a relief. Humans were boring. And even if he didn't trust, and even if he viewed these non-Cerenai as lesser, it didn't mean he didn't get bored, and despite their violence and distrust, they were rather social. As long as you were tough, useful, and possessed no natural flawsâ€"scars did not countâ€"you could count yourself as relatively safe if you were careful. It didn't mean others wouldn't try and knock you off and take your place, though, if they felt they had the capability to do it.

"...I expect you'll keep your word, otherwise I'll kill you," Kyras finally replied, voice nonchalant and gaze steady. He meant every word of it, and killing her would be to him about as bad as killing a gnat. But it was also a test to see just what kind of being she was, if she was easily intimidated or what. Perhaps even a chance to back off, a warning. This, for Kyras, was being rather civil. "I don't care how you treat himâ€"he cannot dieâ€"but I expect you will forget everything the whelp was spouting a few moments ago. As for a place to stay, I hope you're not expecting luxery or maid service. My home is very...humble. You can sleep there, but as for everything else, you'll have to fend for yourself."

He was no host, after all.

And he meant everything else. Even if he didn't say it, so long as she "behaved", she would be unharmed. He had no reason to kill random people here, because he was outside of his own society, and things just worked differently hereâ€"different laws, different culture, different everything, and he was a minority here, and he accepted that. So, unless she managed to piss him off, he had no reason to hurt her. And, just as he found Lenrizel beautiful in his own way, this girl was rather exotic and unique, herself, and beauty was prized among his kind, as he knew all too well.

She wasn't a Cerenai, but Cerenai ways only worked among other Cerenai. Or when Cerenai were the majority in a land. But his kind were few, now, and he accepted that. He was adaptable.

And, though he'd never admit it, proud of his race though he was, he was also a little glad it had been torn apart.

For his own reasons and own benefit, of course.

Sellion had slipped out of the tavern after paying the bill quickly, regretting the little he'd said about his "friends". They weren't going to like it. He started to wander again, unknowingly following the slave and master.

Not watching where he was going, he walked into Eve before he saw her. He tumbled to the ground and badly banged his shin. The book which he had been reading--which was why he wasn't watching where he was going--also tumbled to the ground. It was an old one, and the cover was nearly gone, but the author was still visible--a one "H.G. Wells". Reaching to pick it up while hastily muttering an apology, his attention was caught by the other book, which had also fallen. It was open to: "Magical Creatures-Slaves-Rare and Unusual-Genii". "Long header," he thought to himself, then he realized what it was talking about.

For the first time, he looked up at who he had bumped into. His first thought was (of course) "angelic". Not that he cared much; he'd never been one to believe in visitations from Heaven or Hell. Not even seeing a demon changed that. "Hey," he said, as he handed Eve back her book, "are you after the slaveowner I'm after? Tall? Demonic? Has a genie? He said something about a ring..." All this was barely audible, as the effect of the ale had worn off, and he was reverting to his natural shyness.

Eve continued searching through the chapter for more about her genie. For being an angel, Eve sure was behind on her history. As she stood reading her book, a boy ran into her, knocking the book out of her hands, and her to the floor. He fell also and scraped himself.

The angel couldn't say she wasn't a little annoyed, as the boy hadn't apologized, but then again, some people out there went through tis kind of treatment all the time, so she let it go. The boy handed her book back to her and must have noticed why she was reading this book.

"A ring eh?" An idea formed in her head. Eve put her plotting aside though, when she realised that the boy was asking her something. "Oh, I guess so," She closed the book and held it gently in her hands, "Now that I read this, I really feel sorry for that genie. Tell me, do you know what this ring looks like?" She walked over to a shelve and put the book away as she said this, and then returned to the boy.

He nodded, wondering exactly who this was. "Yeah. Mr. Demonic there's wearing it; just your average plain gold band. A ring to ru--oh, by the way, my name's Sellion. I'm kind of an abolitionist, even of magical slaves." He held out his hand, wondering if a stranger would shake it or if he'd just wind up looking stupid.

[Dang! Short post]

Eve shook Sellion's hand, and added a slight bow, "A pleasure to meet you Sellion. My name is Eve." She paused for a second, "So, I don't think you'll mind helping me out then?"

At first, the angel hadn't intended on asking the boy for help, but he seemed to know more about this slaveowner than she did. He must've run into the demon to know about the ring, so he couldn't just walk right up to him and go along with her plan. Surely this slaveowner will recognize him. All the same, this could easily be changed with a twitch of her finger. But before all this, she first needed Sellion's consent.

As per usual in social situations, Sellion felt rather awkward. He decided not to return the bow, but inclined his head respectfully. When Eve asked him for help, he pondered it with both relief to have found someone who seemed like a friend, and a slight twinge of nervousness. Help her how? Did she expect him to help her take on Kyras? Hopefully not. Of course, he could call upon A. and A., but he kind of reserved that for emergencies. Somehow, he figured that the price for carelessly calling upon them would be very great, indeed.

"Help you?" he repeated. "Sure, but, uh, ho--how exactly do you want me to help?"

~Janx burst through the doors to the tavern and stumbled in. He finally regained his balance and walked towards the nearest empty table where he took off a cloak he had found on his way to the village. His tail wrapped around his waist like a blet and he sat down and looked the tavern over. his eyes looked like pools of blue smoke and he smirked as he pulled out a deck of cards. he started to play a game of solitare, but didn't seem that interested in the game itself. he set a flask down on the table and leaned back, slowly playing the game~

(Yeah! My first post ^_^)

Eve examined Sellion quickly, wondering what he would actually be willing to do. She couldn't force anything on him. "You don't have to, of course, and I don't want you to fight him or anything. More like...distracting."

(Grr..short post!)

Noticing the newcomer as soon as he walked in the door, Sam gave Jeral an encouraging look, a grin, and a big thumbs up, before starting to sing along with the bard's current tune.

~Janx saw the signal and looked confussed~ Hmmm...... ~Janx got up and put his cards in his pocket. he walked over to the bar itself and looked at the pair singing~ Good song. Do you know anyothers? If i might ask of course........~Janx blinked twice as if to ask them what was going on~

Sellion was still drawing a blank as to what Eve meant by that. But he was relieved that she didn't intend for him to fight Kyras. There was bravery; then there was suicide. Chances were, if he even helped in a fight, he wouldn't live to see his thirteenth summer.

Habitually, he took off his glasses and polished them on his waistcoat. "That's a relief. Distract him? Sure, I already did that at the inn...I could do it now. But, uh, wouldn't he recognize me?" He didn't guess anything about magic.

Sam grinned again as he left the bard in the corner and approached the newcomer at the bar.  "Oi suttinly do, lad, that Oi do," he said merrily.  "This here's me new barkeep Jeral. Sorta takin' a test run, eh.  Ow bout ye arder an test 'im out, see ow he does.  Hey, bard, ow bout that war song from back in ainchent histry them Irishmen useta sing."  When the bard responded, he took up the tune.

"As oi wus walkin' down tha street,
Feelin' noice an larky oh,
A recrootin' sarjint said ta meee,
Yood look foine in khaki, oh.
The King he is in need of men.
Here read this proclimmation oh.
A loife in Flanders far ya then
Wood bee a foine vacation owe.
Ah, but hail er rain er snow er sleet,
Oim not gawwin out ta Flanders owe,
Thar's fightin' in Dubbalin to be done,
Wouldja sarjint's and cammanders go?
Let Anglishmen fer Angland foight,
It's neerly toime they started oh.
Then oi bade tha sarjint a noice good-bye,
And there and then we parted oh."

~Janx smirked a little and nodded as to say he understood. Helooked to the new bar keep and looked at the others in the tavern~ So, i'm lookin for a good job meself. mind if i apply for one?

Sam stopped singing as the newcomer asked his question.  "Oh?  What're ye good at?  Oi've got sev'ral ope-nins."

Was a bar tender for quite some time. I can't really speak about my past employer, because there was an accident.... but that happened a while ago. If i may, i'll give you a demo....~Janx hopped behind the bar~ What can i get for you? If your not human, try some of this. ~he set his flask on the counter~ It's strong enough to put a human into a coma or even kill them..... trust me... i found out the hard way... but that happened a while ago. it's alright if you aren't human.

Jeral looks over at the new comer. He watches him stumble over to where Sam is, and ask him for a job. Jeral walks over to the man just as he gets to his mock serving, and taps him on the shoulder. "You look like you've had one too many, kid. What's the stuff you got there?" he asks

~Janx shakes his head a bit to stop his stumbling~ I'm a demon, i can never get drunk... or at least i haven't yet....... Any ways, it's called Demon brew its a mix of about forty of humans strongest liquirs mixed with ten of demons strongest to make one hell of a drink. It'll make you stumble a bit, but it's mostly harmless.

The angel circled the boy slowly, trying to think of a suitable image to distract this...Kyras. The more she thought about it, the more she started thinking of something better to go along as her plan. Eve stopped, "Does this demon know that you know about his genie?"

She pulled him into a darker corner where no one would really listen to what they were saying. Ater his answer, she would have to tell him her plan.

Sellion was now rather alarmed. The most unadventurous part of him was saying "Don't be a fool! You can still back down!". Yet somehow another part of him was leading him on half unwillingly. "Well," he said, dropping his glasses, "He knows I know he's a slaveowner, of course. But as I recall he left the tavern before anyone mentioned the part about his slave being a genie to me." What in heck was she planning on doing?

~His ears perked up~ Come on. Please? i really want a j......ob.

~Chaot burst through the doors and took off his cloak and smiled at Janx~ Oh Janxy Poo! I'm home!!!! ~he smiled wickedly~ Did you miss me? I really missed you......

~Janx stared at him as if he were a ghost, which technically he was....~ How did you.....

Ah, to many questions to answer, soo little time to do it in..... All i can say is, i'm here to get my revenge........

ooc:  eve and sellion are not in the tavern. i think they're in a dark alley somewhere. so unless janx has ueber-hearing..... :D

occ: Sooooo sorry. i didn't know...... it was my mistake...... won't happen again......

ooc:  Tis all okay.  Making you put a Sinn Fein campaign poster in your siggy made up for it. ;)

((ooc: I'm alive! Sorry it took so long, I got caught up in so many things.))

Elinsha raised an eyebrow to his comment about killing her. She had never been scared of death, not since her first brush with it, and since that point she had grown wise. Naturally since that point she wasn’t a trusting creature and despite the fact that she would be staying in his home she would still keep a knife under the pillow, even for her own satisfaction because she knew, just by looking at him, that there was little chance a dull knife was going to do anything to hurt him.  Of course that wasn’t the only precaution she would take, she thought herself as nimble and cunning, but that wasn’t going to save her neck for long against him so training herself to be alert when he was around and even when he wasn’t was probably going to do more good than harm. So now in her mind the matter was settled, she’d go along with him and just play the waiting game.

“I don’t fear death,� she stated in a calm and controlled voice. It was best not to show fear, even if she had any.

Standing tall she waited on him to make the first move towards where-ever he was going. If it was one thing that she knew it was to never turn your back on someone stronger than you, you could end up regretting it later. A hand slowly made its way to her stomach and she let her fingers gently trail across her scar, it was always sad that somehow in some way she had learned that lesson from that moment, yet it didn’t come as a shock to her at all anymore, it was just painful to remember. So shaking her head she took a few steps towards him hoping to encourage him on so they could leave this place.

Then there was a pause, she hadn’t said anything to his other comment about house service. “I certainly wouldn’t expect you to clean up after me, since I can do that myself. In fact I would quite hate it if you did.�

Behind the veil a smile had quickly graced her lips. She didn’t need to be cleaned up after for one reason, she never made a mess that needed to be cleaned. After a time she had perfected her killing tactics so that they never needed to be cleaned and they couldn’t be followed, not that she had the taste for human blood, but still some people can’t tell the difference between the sweet and yet bitter taste of human to the rich taste of animal. Of course these were only things a nomadic Carpathian would really understand and know, it was almost a trade secret.

“I do hope that you’ll allow me to sleep into the night, since I work best then. Also, are there hunting grounds nearby, I should like to train the boy in the simple joys of night hunting.� Once again behind her veil she smiled, this was going to be fun.

A small grin flickered across Kyras' face at her assertion that she didn't fear death. "Good. We're going to get along just fine, then." Be even better if she didn't fear killing, but if he scared her off, well, he wasn't concerned. He was really only letting her come along to sate his own curiosity, anyway, but it wasn't like he'd lose any sleep over offending her.

Except...

He raised an eyebrow as she continued on. Hunting grounds. Hmm...maybe he had underestimated her slightly in that aspect, though not much. He had a feeling hunting grounds in her sense didn't refer to his own idea of what was acceptable to hunt. Which, in a Cerenai's case, was a very diverse range. Nothing was off-limits, not even their own kind, though in the case of their own kind, actual consumption was limited only to the heart. Everything else was, literally, fair game. Of course, since coming here, he'd had to crop his habits a bit, as he was starkly outnumbered. What was considered natural and appropriate to his own kind was considered murder anywhere else, and he wasn't stupid enough to think he was a match for a mobâ€"but there were still many uninhabited areas where the rules could be bended quite a lot.

And that, naturally, was where he made his home.

"Yes, plenty. It's not an actual range, if that's what you mean, but a forest. As for your rest...I won't bother you." As for her taking the boy hunting...oh, that wouldn't go over well with the boy. But Kyras imagined it would provide some good amusement, and, in fact, he had a little something prepared on the way home. If it wasn't dead by now...he'd encountered it on the way here and, of course, he'd had to take care of it. But dead or alive, it should be amusing nonetheless.

He'd never before had the chance to fix the boy a traditional Cerenai meal.

"Now, if we are ready..." With a final glance Elinsha's way, and still carrying Lenrizel, he started off away, out toward the main gates of Adela that would lead out from the village and into its surrounding territories, including the wide expanse of woods. He did not yet waste time with introducing himself to the girl, nor would he bother until they reached their destination, just in case she backed out along the way.

[Continued in this thread (http://spiritsoftheearth.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1293)! ^__^]

~Janx continued to stare at chaot~ No... you died. I watched you die! YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!

Chaot- But I'm not, now am i? I told you, i want my revenge.... Iand i'm sure these people will be happy to die near you also, now won't they?

Janx- Leave them out of this!

Sam's usually jovial mood turned dark at the conversation between Janx and the newcomer.  "Now Oi've got no intinchin a'meddlin' in yer affares, but Oi'd thank ye ta take 'em elsewheres and keep 'em away frum me tavern, ya got me meanin'?" He looked prepared to back up his statement if need be.

~Janx turned to Sam~ I apologize..... Since you have been wrapped up in this tale of the macabre. You see, a while back i made a technique to create different frms of myself. It worked, but he was the only regret. To make a legend short, they all died, including him. How he lived is truely a mystery to me...... but he shouldn't cause any harm......wait, do you have a Yin-yang anywhere in here? if so, we shall be fine. the ones on my pants won't work....