Need a hand....or six?

[CounterfeitFish]

Drakmor was not having a good time. He had spent all day trekking through the desert, just to make it to Essyrn. After finally arriving, he had to say that it wasn't that good. Oh, the place was beautiful, as were the people and the goods they were selling. However, it had some problems.

Firstly, he had gotten many odd looks and muttered comments due to his appearance. Of course, he had to expect it by now. With his long white hair and eyes combined with his height, he was already a rather odd fellow. Oh, and there was the fact that he had six arms. Can't forget about that. Luckily, he hadn't had any true trouble with anyone, so that was nice. It still irritated him, though.

The worst thing, though, was the crime. He had seen multiple slaves throughout the city, along with a few people attempting to sell them to others. Every time he saw a slave, his fury grew even more. How could this happen? To force someone to work for you, to hold them against their will. Plus, some were even worked to death! He managed to keep his anger under control, but he knew that he couldn't do anything about it, and it pissed him off. If he had the chance, he would have killed each and every one of the slavers he saw. For now, though, he could do nothing. Not without drawing the attention of others. His methods were far from discreet, but he would rather not get any innocent people involved in this.

The city had some upsides, however. Drakmor hadn't seen any thieves or murderers, and the people themselves seemed to be alright, if you ignored the gladiator pits, slavery and the like. For the time being, Drakmor simply wandered the city, ignoring most of the people. He was left alone, so he saw no reason to not do the same. He kept an eye out for anyone trying to sell or transport slaves, though.
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OOC STUFF: Aaaagh its a mediocre starter post but I think it works for now, just lemme know if I gotta add or remove anything!

[DragonSong]

[Lol, you're good!]



Normally they would have brought their take to one of the bigger markets toward the center of the city, but this time...well. There seemed to be some unique circumstances.

"Careful! Don't break the damn thing," a tall, gruff man who seemed to be leading a group of just over a dozen others barked as they unloaded a large, awkwardly oblong shape from the back of one of the caravan wagons.

"It didn't break all the way here down from the mountains," one of his workers grunted as he hefted what appeared to be a gilded glass coffin. "It's not gonna break in the last ten paces. I think the damned thing is enchanted."

He had no idea how right he was.

In the coffin itself, Neria was eerily still. The only thing that betrayed she was not, in fact, an incredibly well-preserved corpse was the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest beneath her folded hands. The magic laid on her body and the glass and gold that imprisoned her had been jolted and eroded more in the three-month journey to Essyrn from the Thunderblacks than it had in all the rest of her imprisonment, but it still held strong.

Though not quite strong enough that the barest flicker of her own power couldn't find a single crack to squirm through: the faintest glimmer of blood-red light that pulsed like a brief beacon as the slavers nearly dropped the coffin and their leader started shouting at them once again to be more careful.

[CounterfeitFish]

After what felt like hours of wandering this desert city, Drakmor was starting to consider coming back another day. All of the criminal activity was too...public. He knew some of the native language, and by now had figured out that slavery was just part of the culture. So, he couldn't do anything without drawing the ire of any nearby guards. His mind made up, Drakmor prepared to leave Essyrn.

That was, until he saw a group of what could only be slavers carrying a large...coffin? It seemed to hold just a corpse, so he didn't know why the slavers would have any interest in it. However, he noticed something odd about the body inside. It seemed to be alive, but just barely. So, this was no mere coffin, but a prison.

Finally, Drakmor noticed a faint bit of red light pulsing from a crack in the coffin. He didn't know what that meant, but he was going to find out. The six-armed man approached the one who appeared to be the leader.

While he didn't normally solve things with words, Drakmor wanted to get a bit more information before he attacked. So, he attempted to look as nonthreatening as possible. At least, as nonthreatening as the scar-covered man could be.

"Hey Salnvecht, interesting coffin you have there. Who's the lady inside it?"

[DragonSong]

The lead slaver straightened up from bending to grab for the edge of the coffin while cursing out his subordinates and turned to face the new voice. His yes widened—briefly—ad then his face set in a confrontational sneer.

“What’s it to you, stranger?” he barked, waving one hand behind his back to indicate to his men that they should keep moving their prize. He looked the six-armed fungus and down and his lip curled further. This man was there to buy, he could tell that at a glance, so no need to be polite. “You might wanna consider moving on, friend. Essyrn doesn’t take kindly to nosy foreigners.”

Behind him, one of the other slavers snorted quietly. Their group was no more native to the city than this stranger, but that didn’t seem to much matter to the boss.

[CounterfeitFish]

Upon noticing the lead slaver's initial reaction, Drakmor smirked. However, it was replaced with a scowl as the slaver spoke to him. Looks like this wasn't going to be easy. "I am far from your friend, slaver. As for why I care, you are clearly doing something wrong. What you are doing is vile and abhorrent, so I'm here to stop you. I suggest you run, unless you wish to die."

Drakmor took a step closer to the lead man, whom he most likely towered over. If the slavers were going to be difficult, Drakmor felt no need to be pleasant, or hide his true motives. He planned on beating the shit out of all of them, but he still wanted to give them the option of running. Scared people are easier to crush, after all.

He took a moment to check on the other slavers. There was a lot of them, but some seemed occupied by the coffin. Hopefully he would be able to take some out before the others caught on. Though, given how his abilities worked, it wasn't likely.

[DragonSong]

Oh, great. Another do-gooder. These types never lasted long in Essyrn--particularly not here.

The leader snorted and turned his back, trying to show that he wasn't intimidated--despite the way he'd paled slightly when the stranger stepped closer and it became apparent just how large he was in comparison to the human--and began barking orders at his men again.

"You should move on, friend. Crusaders tend not meet happy ends around here," he tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Then: "Oi! Watch it, that thing's glass!"

"Ah, boss, if it didn't break the whole way down from the Thunderblacks, it's not gonna break now, is it?"

[CounterfeitFish]

This was all that Drakmor needed to hear. While some may find his violent methods unnecessary, he didn't really care. A fist worked much faster than trying to persuade these slavers. Plus, the leader had pissed him off.

The fool truly sealed his fate when he turned his back on Drakmor. His eyes narrowed, and he sent three punches directly at the man in front of him. "You'll meet your end far before I meet my own, scum!"

For a moment, Drakmor considered using his bombs. However, he figured that it wouldn't be necessary, not with these pathetic slavers. His fists should (hopefully)work.

[DragonSong]

The band of slavers may not seem to like each other all that much, but they'd been doing this long enough to understand the concept of "strength in numbers". Where their boss yelled, knocked back on his ass by the blow, the rest of the group rushed to his defense--over a dozen men converging on the stranger.

Leaving the glass coffin haphazardly tilted on its side against the wagon. The body inside hardly moved, but that faint light streaming through the cracks in the glass pulsed once, briefly.

[CounterfeitFish]

As the men converged upon the stranger, they would see a very odd thing. Instead of running like a sensible person, Drakmor seemed to be...relishing this fight. He was either an idiot, very brave, or very confident in his abilities. Probably a combination of those things However, for Drakmor, this was a chance for him to prove his strength, and there was no way he was going to flee.

He thought about using his bombs once more, and decided that one or two probably couldn't hurt. Yeah, it wasn't really worth the energy, but the six-armed giant didn't really care. Sometimes you need a few explosions to make a point, y'know? With that in mind, two mid-sized spherical objects appeared in Drakmor's lower pair of hands.

While he may be slow in terms of movement, his attacks were the exact opposite. If you spend your entire life practicing something, you usually get pretty fuckin good at it. "Let's see how strong that coffin is, eh?"  He dropped one of the bombs near the slavers, throwing the second one at the coffin. The ensuing explosions would be violent, yes, but hopefully the coffin would protect the sleeping woman from the worst of it. The slavers, on the other hand....they would have to have some pretty good reflexes to get away.

Of course, the stranger would likely get hit by his own blast, but he was used to it. He would have to worry more about the shrapnel than the explosion itself.

[DragonSong]

With the introduction of explosives, what had otherwise been gearing up to be a not-uncommon--if rather large--brawl between slavers suddenly became a spectacle. Other groups in the market were either fleeing the blast or calling encouragement to one side or the other, regardless of their own business in the lower slave markets; no loyalty amongst the wicked, it seemed.

The first explosion was met with an answering pulse of blood-red light from the thin cracks in both glass and enchantment. And, for the first time in centuries, Neria stirred, just barely--a twitch of her fingers, a slight hitch of her chest.

Then the second explosion, and an enchantment that had been crafted to withstand all known weapons and magics of its time shattered along with the glass lid of the coffin as the whole thing rocked sideways.

Neria was thrown into the dirt, and she came awake from a three-century-long slumber with a snarl and a surge of battle magic so wild, uncontrolled and angry, that it knocked anyone within thirty yards of her off their feet.

She could barely focus through the noise and confusion of her abrupt awakening, but Neria was sure of two things.

One: considering how long she'd been asleep, and how desperate she'd been when she wrapped the protective enchantments around herself three hundred years ago, she highly doubted she'd be able to summon any true battle magic for quite some time. That first burst had been just as much the excess magic from the broken enchantments as her own will.

Two: she was furious. And someone was going to pay.

The half-fae woman drew herself up to her not inconsiderable height, eyes the same shade of deep red as the magic sparking at her fingertips gleaming with some combination of power and bloodlust.

"How. Dare. You."

[CounterfeitFish]

He certainly wasn't expecting THAT. Even if he had time to prepare, it probably wouldn't have done much. Before he was able to react, Drakmor was blown back by the wave of war magic. He soon recovered from the attack, though, which was fortunate.

Using his extra limbs for leverage, Drakmor quickly got back up, fists raised in preparation for a fight. However, he noticed that he was only few people who were still standing, including the newly-awakened mage.

He wasn't sure as to who exactly she was angry at, but he definitely hoped it wasn't him. "Oi, I'm the one who freed you! If you want to fuck someone up, the slavers are...well, around us." He gestured to the group of slavers, some(or all?) of whom had been knocked away by the explosions and/or Neria's magic.

Conjuring four more bombs, the six-armed giant began to approach the remaining slavers. "If you want to help, now's your chance. Otherwise, be careful for who you hit with your attacks, mastrak!" Of course, he was still wary of the woman. For all he knew she could be a horrible person. However, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

[DragonSong]

Neria snarled, and the slaver who had been struggling back to his feet just to her right decided that maybe playing dead was safer and slowly lay back down.

It didn't help. She didn't need magic to crush his neck. Her foot came down on his throat with a sickening crunch, and then she walked over the body like it was little more than a pebble in her path.

Her eyes locked on the leader, huddled back against the wagon, one hand pressed to his side as he stared at her with wide eyes. He'd likely broken some bones between her magic and the six-armed man's explosives tossing him against the wagon.

She may not have been fully aware of what went on around her while in her enchanted slumber, but as the general confusion of waking began to resolve itself into some semblance of understanding, she knew she'd recognized his voice. Ignoring the other slavers--and the crowd that had started to gather, some shouting to call the city guard--she knelt in front of him and traced two fingers gently along his cheek, down to cup his jaw.

"You." Her eyes searched his face, examining him. She nodded, as though finding something she'd expected, and let her thumb stroke over his throat. He went still, breath halted in fear.

Neria smiled at him, sharp canines flashing. "I belong to no one," she purred. And with a flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck.

[CounterfeitFish]

A small smile appeared on his face as Neria slaughtered the slavers. They were the lowest of the low, nothing but filth to be scraped away. Truly, Drakmor's hatred for criminals was endless. He seemed a bit annoyed that the woman had killed the lead slaver, but it soon vanished. There were more of them, more for him to destroy.

Pinning a slaver to the ground, Drakmor punched his stomach so hard it penetrated the flesh, embedding itself within the poor man. He let go of one of his bombs, which now rested within the gaping hole. Drakmor stood up, moving on to the next target. While he proceeded to pummel the criminal, the bomb went off in the previous man, reducing him to little more than a stain. After confirming the second man was dead, Drakmor moved on to the next, and the next, and so on for the remaining slavers. Some were killed with explosives, others were beaten into the ground, and one even had his limbs torn off.

After making his way to one of the last few slavers, Drakmor grabbed him by the head and lifted him up to eye level. Upon making eye contact, the giant spoke. "You brought this upon yourself, Salnvecht. Take peace in the fact that no more lives will be ruined because of you." Having said his peace, Drakmor crushed the man's skull in his hands, killing him.

After doing all of this, after killing most of these slavers, Drakmor turned to face the recently-awakened battle mage. There were still about two slavers left, but he assumed they wouldn't be any trouble. Not after the massacre that just went on. "Hey, mastrak. Are you doing alright? What was with the coffin, too? Did those slavers put you in there?"

[DragonSong]

With the leader dead, Neria seemed entirely uninterested in the humans around her. She cast her eyes around the now screaming and panicking crowd that fled Drakmor's onslaught, a slight frown tugging at her brows.

...Where was she?

When the stranger spoke to her, she snapped her eyes toward him and they flared with an unconscious burst of defensive magic. She tipped her head to the side, looking him up and down for a long, slow moment before she responded.

Rather than answer, she simply said, "It was you who woke me." It should have been a question, but it wasn't. It was a confirmation of fact.

Well. Fuck.

With a heavy sigh, she glanced around at the panicking humans once again, then rolled her eyes and strode forward to step around the six-armed man. "Come." It was a command, and her tone indicated clearly that when she made them, she was used to being obeyed.

"More will be coming soon, I do believe you've set the guards on us," she added, bored, conveniently leaving out her own part in the massacre. Her voice lilted with an accent that wasn't quite Serenian, but was close. A little more musical, maybe. Or just...older.

[CounterfeitFish]

Drakmor took a step back when Neria's magic flared. He wasn't hit by anything, but he still didn't want to risk it. He'd seen what she could do, after all. He had no fear of the woman, but he DID respect her strength.

He nodded once, confirming her statement. Not that it needed confirmation, but whatever. His eyes narrowed once more as she told him to follow her around, but he did so anyways. He figured that he should probably stick around, at least until she was safe. As safe as you can be in this city, anyway. He took a quick look at the few slavers that were still here, and smiled as they began to run away. Looks like they won't be any trouble.

"I'll go with you, but don't think you can command me. I owe you nothing, and you are not my ruler. As for the guards, they should not be a problem. If I must, I will make them leave." By make them leave, he meant beating them into submission. Drakmor respected those who upheld the law, but if they got in the way, the giant would have no choice but to remove them. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with irritation, along with his own accent. It seemed like he was unfamiliar with this language as a whole, but he managed to speak well enough.   

"Keep in mind that I am not the only one who killed those slavers. You helped me, mage."

[DragonSong]

Neria seemed to be ignoring him, beyond a single glance back when he told her she couldn't command him.

We'll see.

The commotion behind them had grown to a full-blown panic as the realization that nearly a dozen people were in fact dead spread through the crowd.

With an annoyed sigh, Neria stepped easily into a gap between two low, stone buildings and waved for her "rescuer" to follow.

Strangely, no one seemed to pay her much mind--it didn't seem to matter how eye-catching she was, or that she had just strolled away from a massacre. Well, she may have been too weak to summon proper battle magic just yet, but a simple glamour was as natural to her as breathing. She needed Drakmor to stay relatively close for the magic to hide him as well though, hence the moment of hesitation and impatience as she slipped further into the shadows between buildings.

"Do come on, would you? Or I'll leave you to the justice of the mob."

[CounterfeitFish]

Drakmor nodded once more, still a bit miffed at how she believed she could boss him around. However, he had noticed the panicked crowd, and figured that it would be best to follow her. She seemed....okay, at least from what he had seen so far.

Unlike Neria, Drakmor was not able to glide through the buildings without any trouble. He was tall, and his extra limbs made it difficult for him to move in the small space. However, after a few moments, he continued to follow her without too much trouble. It wasn't fun, though.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you! Even I'm not this impatient..." Really, what was with this lady? He never expected a reward or thanks for freeing her, but she was beginning to annoy him, and he had only just met her! "I don't see a problem with the citizens. In fact, they don't seem to have even noticed us." He kept following the mage, speaking up once more. "Where are we going? More importantly, when will we be out of this space?" His tone of voice made it obvious that he was incredibly uncomfortable within the shadowed gap between buildings.

[DragonSong]

"Hush." The half-fae woman glowered at him as he squeezed into the narrow gap between buildings, as though it was his fault his size made the space suddenly so much smaller. "They have not noticed us only because I have not allowed them to. But if you draw attention to us with your shouting, I will not be able to redirect it so easily."

A glamour to ensure that people's eyes glanced off them, treating them as part of the scenery, only worked so long as they were not deliberately making some sort of scene. Hence her carefully  unhurried pace, despite her evident impatience, and the forced control of her voice.

Thankfully, the narrow alley widened slightly as it neared the entrance to an apparently not heavily trafficked side street, and she stepped closer to the wall to give him a little more room before she turned to fix her eyes on him with a slight frown, arms folded over her chest.

"Now. You will tell me where we are, mortal, and how exactly it was that I came to wake."

[CounterfeitFish]

He scowled at the woman, growing even more annoyed. Drakmor still lowered his voice, though."...Fine. I do not know what you have done to hide us, but I do not wish to break it." It was true, Drakmor had no clue what was hiding the pair. It was most likely magic, but beyond that, he knew nothing. It worked, though, so he wasn't going to disturb it.

As the alley grew wider, the six-armed man let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than before. He took a moment to look her up and down, similar to what she did to him earlier. Her skin was blue, and she had what appeared to be some sort of tattoo on her face. Truly, she was not from Essyrn. His examination was halted when she spoke to him once more.

"As I have said before, do not think you can command me. If you want to know something,  you need only ask. We are in Essyrn. You were in some kind of glass coffin, and being transported by a group of salnvechti- slavers. My explosives destroyed that coffin, which must have freed you. You know what happened afterwards. Now, my turn. Who are you? Why were you even in that thing?" He lapsed into silence, his pure-white eyes focused on the woman in front of him.

[DragonSong]

Think she could command him. If she'd had her powers back fully , she could have glamoured him into walking back out there and confessing to the massacre himself if she wanted.

But she didn't, so she chose not to point that out. Besides, he had freed her--much as that galled her--and in so doing he had placed her in his debt. She didn't even think he had meant to, which made it all the more frustrating.

"I am a soldier," she answered his question briskly. She supposed she owed him that much. "And why I was imprisoned is unimportant. What matters is that I am trapped no longer--thanks to you, it seems." She said the last with a sour twist to her mouth, then continued through gritted teeth. "Which means I owe you a life debt. So. What would you ask of me?"

It had been a long time, but she was sure mortals still understood deals with the Folk.