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!
[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.
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?"
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.
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.
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?"
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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?"
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.
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."
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."
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.
"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."
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.
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.
When she finally chose to answer his questions, Drakmor's scowl went away. Yes, she wasn't the nicest of people, but she seemed...alright. For now, at least. Now, she was saying something about a life debt. He hadn't expected any kind of reward, but he certainly wouldn't pass up the opportunity, especially if it was offered to him! Now, to decide what he would actually want...
"Indeed. Give me a moment. From what I remember, life debts are a grave thing. Not something to waste." He noticed her tone near the end, but said nothing of it. He figured that it probably wasn't the most thrilling thing, being in someone's debt.
After a minute or two of silent thinking, Drakmor spoke. "I have decided what I want. My life is dedicated to ending the injustices in this world. A lofty goal, yes, but one that I plan on accomplishing. I want you to travel with me, and help me with this. It would not be for long, perhaps a month at most. However, I believe we can do much in that time." Together, the pair could root out the thieves, murderers and slavers that pollute society. Drakmor crossed his many arms, waiting for the mage's response.
Oh sweet stars preserve her.
"You want me to—?!" For the first time since waking, Neria's cool, imperious exterior cracked to reveal something very like petty irritation and truly baffled indignation. She gaped at him for a moment, then quickly school her expression back to that distant frown.
"Your wish," she muttered through gritted teeth, "is that I accompany you on this—this asinine crusade. And that is all you ask."
Fuck. She almost would have rather dealt with waking as a proper slave.
As though every word pained her, Neria tipped her head back to meet his eyes and ground out, "To fulfill my debt to you, I here agree to travel as your companion on your...quest, and to offer what aid I can, for one cycle of the moon." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Does that satisfy, my lord?"
Though it was technically an honorific—and the appropriate one, considering he could have asked much more of her and she did still technically owe him her life—the words "my lord" sounded like a spat insult rather than proper deference.
"Asanine, eh? I do not appreciate you insulting my goals. I have devoted my life to accomplishing them, and they will be completed. Even if it takes me hundreds of years, I will do it." A slight hint of menace crept into his voice as he spoke. He truly had spent his entire life going on this 'asinine crusade,' and he wasn't going to let someone insult it.
However, the moment she agreed to help him, a large smile appeared on his face. "Yeah,that'll work! Don't worry about the honorifics. I have a name, and I would prefer you use it." He held out a hand to her, more as a sign of peace than anything else. He wasn't the most intelligent person book-wise, but even he knew it was a good idea to not hate the person you're travelling with. "I am..."
What came out of the tall man's mouth can only be described as a series of low rumbles, clicks and a few other sounds that seemed physically impossible for an average person to recreate(also, as I found out, difficult to come up with!). Truly, Drakmor's language is just as strange as he is. "...You may call me Drakmor, though. Who are you?"
At this time, the giant seemed to have either not noticed or not acknowledged her clear insults and annoyance over this entire situation. He could take care of that later. Right now, it was time for introductions.
Names were powerful things, even to a creature who was only half Fae. Neria really didn't see much point in learning Drakmor's--she'd only be in his company for a month, and as far as she was concerned "hey, you" would work perfectly well as a form of address--but he gave it to her freely, so she learned it anyway.
You may call me. She couldn't tell if that was guile on his part, or simply coincidence. Either way, the familiar cadence of the words almost brought a smile to her lips.
"You may call me Neria," she replied on a sigh. She was only half-fae, it wasn't as though her true name would offer him real power over her. Not as long as she didn't give it to him.
She'd only done that once, and nearly paid for it with her life.
The memory erased any softness from her expression--or any expression at all really, her face settling back into an impassive mask. "That is not at all who I am, but I suppose it is a start. Now, we should probably be on our way. I cannot hold this glamour forever, not for someone other than myself, not in my current state."
She needed to rest. Or, preferably, find someplace where she could rejuvenate her power. She knew where plenty such places were further north, but here...and she supposed it may depend on just how long she'd been in that coffin...
No matter. A month was barely a blink to an immortal lifespan. If she needed to, she could simply deal with all that once her debt was paid.
For the Karvach Ichtis, names were nothing more than a way to address someone. So, Drakmor did not mind giving out his true one. The tall man withdrew his hand, crossing his arms once more. "Pleasure to...not meet you, but know more about you, Neria." A frown appeared on his face as she spoke. He was not one for riddles or trickery through speech, so her words confused him. However, he pushed it aside for now.
"I suppose so. If you can maintain this...this glamour of yours until we are out of the city, then our escape should be simple. If not, we may have to crack a few skulls. Either way, now seems like it would be the best time to leave, as you said already." He began to leave the alley they were hiding in, but stopped at the edge(assuming they hadn't left already), waiting for Neria.
Maintaining a glamour for herself wouldn't be an issue. The problem arose when she had to keep attention off not just a blue woman with blood red eyes and a penchant for murder, but also a six-armed giant able to summon explosives seemingly at will.
She didn't feel the need to explain that, though, or to mention just how exhausting that kind of prolonged magic use was going to be in her newly-wakened state. She just nodded, following him out of the alley and glancing around as she attempted to get her bearings.
She'd been to Essyrn before, once, but that was...a long time ago. Things had changed.
Hating the fact that she didn't know something, she tried to keep her tone even as she murmured, "Which is the quickest way out of the city, then?"
While the two walked, Drakmor didn't say a word. Instead, he simply stared at the woman near him, then at himself, and so on for a couple of minutes. He was clearly planning something, but it wasn't revealed until another minute passed.
"The only route I can think of is through the main entrance, but we would be in danger of being seen. However, I can think of a different way out...if we can find a low enough part of this wall, I could throw you over it." As he told Neria about this...this insane idea, he showed no signs of joking. If she allowed it, he would probably try and toss her right over the wall.
He wanted to--?
"What." Technically it was a question, but Neria's voice was utterly flat with disbelief. "You want to--what?"
Where in the name of all the stars had he come up with that plan?!
"And how, pray tell, do you plan to get over once I have been thrown?" she demanded in exasperation, planting her hands on her hips and tipping her head back to glare up at him.
She wasn't used to being quite so much shorter than someone else. She didn't think she cared for it.
"I want to throw you over the wall. It will be difficult, but far from impossible." Even though it was probably a rhetorical question, Drakmor took it literally and repeated himself. Just like before, he was dead serious about this plan.
"I will climb over. Just like throwing you, it will be difficult, but not impossible. If I cannot find a handhold, I can make one. If I start to fall, I can catch myself. Now, will you go along with it, or should we take our chances with being seen?" He had spent a while thinking about this, and it was obvious. The worst part of it? He probably was strong enough to toss her over one of the lower parts, but whether or not he could climb up would be decided by luck alone. He was confident in his skills, but confidence can only get you so far.
You know what? Fine.
If this insane plan went wrong--as she was sure it would--she would likely be fine. Her companion was the one who would wind up detained by the city guard.
Or possibly dead.
Either way, she'd be free of her contract. If he was arrested, he couldn't very well go on his little "save the world" crusade. And nothing in their deal meant that she had to go so far as breaking him out of prison.
That didn't make the idea any less humiliating.
Jaw clenched, she glowered up at him and hissed. "Fine. Fine. Do as you will."
A large grin appeared on his face once she agreed to his plan. He cracked his knuckles, all thirty of them. It was loud, to say the least. "Alright, that's what I want to hear! Follow me, let's find a spot that's lower than the rest of the wall." He slightly increased his pace, assuming that Neria would follow.
With the power of a determined strong guy and plot bullshittery, Drakmor found a section of the wall that was rather low, around thirty or forty feet tall. After confirming that this would be a good spot, he turned to face the half-fae woman. "You ready for this? I should be able to toss you over, but how you get down is up to you. You've got this though, right?"
He silently waited for her confirmation, not wanting to begin until she was ready. Even though Neria already agreed, he wanted to at least TRY to be polite.
Neria eyed the wall with no small amount of trepidation, but she figured she’d rather get this over with as quickly as possible.
“Very well,” she ground out, jaw tight. Her eyes flickered over his hands, then back to the wall. “How precisely are you going to go about doing this?”
His smug grin seemed to grow even further, if that was even possible. "I'll just do this!" Without any warning, Drakmor picked up Neria with all of his hands, then backed up a bit. His grip was firm, but not painful, which was probably nice. He didn't want to hurt her of course, just toss her over the wall.
After getting a running start, the giant threw her into the sky, were she would begin to soar over the wall. His strength was just barely enough to get her over, and landing would be the half-fae woman's problem. "Alright, the rest is up to you! I'll be over soon!" Assuming nothing went wrong, Drakmor began to climb the wall. As he said before, he made some handholds if he couldn't find any. Of course, his method of making them was to forcibly create holes in the wall. He would probably have a few broken fingers, but they would heal in time. With all of that taken care of, he continued to climb.
Well.
That was every bit as humiliating as she'd anticipated.
Catching the edge of the wall with one hand as she tumbled over, Neria just barely managed to twist and get her feet under herself as she dropped do the earth--well, sand--and had to stagger a few paces not to just collapse entirely.
"We are not," she muttered to herself as she tipped her head back to peer up at the top of the wall, "doing that again."
As she looked up towards the wall, Neria would notice Drakmor barely making his way over the top, before proceeding to soar through the air. Well, by soar, I really mean jump down into the sand. He got some decent air time, though. "Look out below, mastrak!" With a thud, Drakmor connected with the ground, steadying himself with his extra hands.
He looked somewhat bloodied, and seemed to have an arrow protruding from his left leg. "We should probably get going, and quickly. A guard saw me climbing, and he might have gone to get his friends. I left them a....a surprise, but it won't keep them away for long!" From within the walls, the sound of an explosion reached the pair. Drakmor had dropped a couple of bombs once the guard saw him, though the distraction likely wouldn't work for long.
Yanking out the arrow, Drakmor gestured for Neria to lead the way. "Well? If you know any places for you to regain your strength, lead us to them. I know a spot for us to rest, but it is far from here." He seemed to not care about the rather large wound from the arrow, but he did occasionally wince from the pain. It stung, but it most likely wouldn't hold him up too much.
Oh, for the love of--!
"Idiot," Neria hissed as she stepped briskly to the side, giving him space to land. The sand shifted uncomfortably under her feet and she bit down another curse. She eyed the bloodied arrow in the sand between them, then him with a glower.
"None of the places where I may properly revitalize my power are in easy reach of this...desert." She said the word like it tasted bad. "Wherever we may rest will suffice for the moment. And that--" she gestured to the wound in his leg-- "needs to be addressed."
He would only slow them down like this.
...Damnit.
"Do not move," she ordered briskly, and knelt in front of him. Still glaring, she leaned forward and blew gently on the arrow wound. Crimson light spilled from her lips like a puff of fog, knitting flesh back together and sealing skin. It wasn't completely healed--she'd always been better with combat magic than restorative--but it looked as though several days had passed in the healing process.
Standing, she screwed her face up disdainfully as she dusted sand from her clothes. "Now. We should move."
Doing as he was told, Drakmor did not move while she healed him. After seeing what she had done, he looked somewhat impressed. "Is that healing magic? I could never understand how that worked. It is easy to destroy, but not so easy to fix things. That's just my opinion, though."
"Indeed." He looked back at the city of Essyrn, glaring. He did not accomplish much today, but he would be back eventually. "We will be going to La'marri. When I am not travelling, I live in a hut near the edge of the town. It isn't perfect, but it will work. That is, unless you can think of something better?" He knew it would take several weeks of walking to reach his home, but it did not bother him. He already trekked to this blasted city, he could handle walking back. Of course, this arrangement likely would end before they reached La'marri, but it was the best choice he could think of.
While he waited for a response from the mage, Drakmor decided to ask about Neria. It was going to be a very long walk, and the giant would rather not have it be silent. "Tell me, Neria. You said that you were a soldier, yes? What cause did you fight for? What battles have you been part of?"
La'marri. How far were they from the forest?
She supposed it didn't matter--one way or the other, she was stuck with him for the next cycle of the moon, at least.
"There are gateways I could use to reach those woods faster, but I know not how close any of them are to our current location," she replied briskly, and that seemed to be her approximation of a "No, I don't have a better idea, but I'm not happy about this."
She began walking, already squinting and hating the sun--but strangely leaving barely any tracks in the sand behind her, as though she weighed no more than a blown feather.
Her shoulders stiffened when he asked about her fight, her cause, and her jaw clenched on a tirade against his arrogance for evening thinking to pry. One month. It's just one month.
"I am a soldier," she corrected once she could confidently speak while keeping the ire from her tone. "I fought in no battles you would have heard of, mortal, and my cause is none of your concern. Or even your comprehension, most likely."
He didn't exactly seem like the kind of person who would take an answer like "ancient blood feuds between warring factions of Seelie and Unseelie Fae" in stride.
"You seem more than willing to profess your convictions to all you meet," she added lazily, glancing sidelong at him. "Do not presume I share your attitude. You may ask questions and I may not choose to answer. So long as my silence places you in no danger, our contract is upheld."
As he walked with the half-fae woman, he was almost her polar opposite. He made deep imprints in the sand, and seemed to enjoy the heat and sunlight. Forests are nice and all, but they can be dark and boring at times. If it didn't take so damn long to get there, he could probably live in the desert for a bit.
He said nothing while Neria spoke, only nodding from time to time. However, he did scowl for a moment at what he assumed were insults. This language was strange to him. He could speak it well enough, but he occasionally had trouble understanding the finer points. Drakmor was silent for a while, even after his (temporary)travelling companion stopped talking.
However, he suddenly stopped walking, facing Neria. "You don't like me, or my presence, or having to be here. I get it. If you don't want to tell me about yourself, fine. If you wish to be....mysterious, so be it. However, can you at least tell me what I have done to piss you off? Clearly I must have done something."
Drakmor didn't know what he had done wrong, but he planned on finding out. He never expected sunshine and rainbows, but for someone who had just been freed from slavers, Neria seemed quite upset about the whole situation.
Neria gritted her teeth.
Then, slowly, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders relaxed slightly, dropping at least a fraction away from her ears. She glowered at a patch of sand somewhere to his left.
"You...have done nothing," she admitted after a moment, sounding irritated about it. "I am...uncomfortable, existing in debt to another." He clearly didn't know just how devastating that could be to one of the fae, and she wasn't exactly interested in clarifying it for him. Just because he hadn't harmed her so far didn't mean he wouldn't. "The fae do not thank one another, we pay our debts back. Thank you is an attempt to remove debt. And as I have yet to pay mine back to you, I am left...at a disadvantage."
She pursed her lips, arms folded tight in front of her body, then suddenly snapped her eyes back to his face. "How much do you know of the Folk?"
It should have been a question, but it came out rather more like a demand. She at least seemed to notice this time, though, and closed her eyes before clearly making a conscious effort to soften her voice, then continued, "If we are to be traveling companions, for a time, it may help to have a better understanding of one another." It could at least hopefully prevent him from asking awkward questions three weeks from now when she had her full powers back and might not be able to stop herself from blasting him.
Ah, so that was the problem. After finding out he wasn't the true problem, Drakmor's mood seemed to improve slightly. "I see. I am not the issue, it is the debt owed." For a minute, Drakmor considered absolving her debt to him. However, he figured it couldn't be that simple. If the life debt was such a problem, the solution couldn't be as simple as saying Neria was cleared. So, he pushed that thought away for now.
His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Neria had asked him a question. At least, it was probably a question. After she finished talking, Drakmor's grin returned. Things were going well, so he was happy. After thinking for a few moments, the man finally spoke.
"I know little of the Vaet, the Fae. I know of the Duulvaet and Liivaet, the Dark and Light Fae." In this context, one could assume he was referring to the Seelie and Unseelie courts. "I know they wield magic, or some form of it. From what I have learned, they are harmed when they touch iron. Finally, they should rarely be trusted. That is all I have learned of the...the Folk, as you call them."
Drakmor seemed somewhat proud of his knowledge, limited as it was. Though he knew almost nothing about their history or culture, he knew enough to fight one. For the giant, it was all that truly mattered. "If we are learning more about each other, I suppose I should ask you something. Do you know of the Karvach Ichtis?"
Well, none of what he said was wrong, though it certainly wasn't very comprehensive. She honestly found that the idea didn't bother her too much though--while there was a small chance his lack of knowledge about her people could be a detriment, it was much more likely that she'd be able to use it to her advantage.
She sighed and shrugged in response to his question. Which, really, she supposed she should have seen coming.
"From context, I will assume they are the people you hail from. Beyond that? No, I know nothing of the Karvach Ichtis." Perhaps surprisingly, she managed to mimic the cadence of his voice almost exactly when she repeated the words, her own accent nowhere to be found. While she couldn't speak a language she had never heard--unlike some of her kind--once learned, she could emulate a native speaker with fairly little effort.
This entire time, Drakmor seemed incredibly confident in himself, his wordd and his actions. Even if his plans seemed impossible or flat-out stupid, he went through with them, determined to succeed. However, upon hearing Neria mimic him so easily, Drakmor seemed truly surprised.
Though it was only two words, it was still more than he had ever heard a non-native speaker say properly. When he spoke at last, his accent had thickened substantially and his voice was tinged with nervousness. To him, what she had done was not natural, and it reminded him of why the
Vaet were treated with suspicion. "You claim to know nothing of us, and yet you speak like a true
Kav. I know not how you accomplished this, but it fills me with unease. You are a strange one,
mast-Neria."
Drakmor took a moment to compose himself, then spoke once more. His accent diminished, sounding more like his speech from earlier. However, the tension in his voice remained. "We of the Karvach Ichtis are old...incredibly old. None but the eldest of my race know exactly how old, but none who are an outsider shall know. That is one thing I am unwilling to reveal. We are a peaceful folk....most of us, at least. As you can probably tell, I am not like them. That is all you must know, and all I am willing to share."
Unlike before, the giant was quieter and more reserved when it came to this topic. Despite his willingness to reveal
personal information, he still held a deep respect for the laws and tradition of his people, and he was unwilling to give away his people's secrets.
Spoiler
Heyo! I couldn't really come up with a unique accent, so I took the classic route of "look to the media." His accent is pretty similar to that of Carnan from Shadow of War. Here's a video in case you wanted to know what Carnan sounded like! (https://youtu.be/YJ5X8e0F53g) Finally, if Neria ever decided to use her neat glamour mind-control thing, prying into his secrets could be a possible reason! Alright, I'm done with the OOC STUFF for now.
Neria smiled wryly, though the expression somehow seemed more for her benefit than for his. "I need know nothing of you to speak your language," she replied blandly, and didn't bother to elaborate and just how that was, exactly.
Partially because she didn't actually know. It was simply...part of being Fae. Or at least it was for her, she couldn't exactly speak to every faerie's experience.
She shrugged when Drakmor offered the bare minimum of information and then went quiet. She hadn't exactly given him much more, and she didn't really expect her "savoir" to offer up more than she was willing to.
Her smile widened a bit when he called her strange, and there was suddenly a new glint to her eyes--something that wasn't bloodlust or anger, something almost...playful. "I make you uneasy, do I?" she asked archly, head tipped in an almost predatory fashion as she eyed him sidelong.
"That is what worries me the most. To do such a thing...in the wrong hands, the potential for harm would be immense." Her lack of elaboration made him even more nervous. Though he certainly did not fear his travelling companion, he was wary of her. After all, who knows what else she could do?
While he was wondering about what Neria could be capable of, he noticed that her expression changed. There was a look in her eyes that the six-armed giant did not like. Playful or otherwise, it seemed more unsettling in this context. "Yes...that is what I said, is it not? Especially with that...expression of yours."
He tensed up slightly, unsure of what Neria was planning. She was unreadable to him, which was worrying when he wanted to know what she was going to do. His colorless eyes narrowed, but he did not look away from the half-fae woman.
"Good." Neria smiled innocently--or at least as innocently as her face was capable--and continued on seemingly unbothered. "It will keep you wary. Wary keeps you smart."
If they were going to be traveling together, he should at least be aware of that much.
Carelessly, she added over her shoulder as they walked, "It will also keep you respectful. Which is a very good thing."
Yes, she was having far too much fun taunting him. But as far as she was concerned, she was due--she hadn't had much reason for "fun" of late. Even before being imprisoned in an enchanted sleep and buried in a glass coffin.
Instead of responding, Drakmor lapsed into silence. He had to think, and did not want to be distracted. Even when Neria mentioned him being respectful, there was no response. Perhaps he did not hear her. Or, he might have not cared at all. Whatever it was, he still said nothing. He did keep walking, though.
Could he trust this woman? At this point in time, Drakmor was unsure. While Neria had not been outright hostile, she had not been particularly friendly, either. After a little while, he decided it was too early to form an answer. So, he pushed yet another thought to the side. However, he did have one thing he wanted to ask before he forgot.
"Mastrak. If I had not freed you, if you escaped on your own, what would you have done? Where would you have gone, had you not been in debt to someone?" He expected to get a poor answer to this, but he had to ask it anyway. If he failed, he gained nothing. If he succeeded, however, he may gain a glimpse into who Neria was as a person.
Some of the playfulness bled from her eyes, and she was quiet for a very long time as they continued to walk.
She didn't owe him an answer. Nothing he had asked for in her repayment of the lifedebt she owed him had meant that she would have to answer his questions fully, or at all. But...
Perhaps she was tired. Or perhaps it was truly starting to sink in that...she really didn't know how to answer his question. It was that realization more than anything else that spurred the words from her lips, and by that point she had been silent so long that it seemed as though she wasn't going to answer at all.
"...I would seek out my own people," she replied slowly, quietly. "And I would learn how long I was...away. And then I suppose I would have been given my next command."
Because that's all she was, really. A soldier. One who suddenly had no orders to follow, save those she had submitted to in repayment of a debt.
He nodded, expecting something similar to what Neria said. "Had I been in your situation, I likely would have done the same thing. Discovering how long I was asleep, that is." The part at the end, however, would elicit a separate response.
"You would be given new orders, even though you just escaped a group of slavers...interesting. Unfortunately, I know little of a soldier's life, of your responsibilities. And yet, I cannot help but wonder...are you not bound once more? Bound not by chains, but by war...forced to fight a battle because others command you to do so...but, those are only my thoughts. Do with them what you will."
His speech completed, Drakmor returned to silence. He had spoken his piece, and nothing more needed to be said. Soon, the only sounds coming from the giant were footsteps in the sand and the low humming of a somber tune.
Neria was quiet for several long moments, the only sound their footsteps in the shifting sand. At last, she replied shortly, "You're right. You know little of a soldier's life."
Despite the heat of the desert, the temperature of the air around her cooled considerably for a moment. Unfortunately, her magic was still too weak for it to last long--she would have welcomed constant irritation if it meant a chance at keeping cool.
She didn't want to think about what Drakmor said. Mostly because he was repeating her own words to her mother back to her. And she'd never had a chance to finish that argument.
After a while longer of silence--truly it might have been minutes or hours, she was honestly unsure--she finally muttered, "We should camp soon. And it may do us good to begin sleeping during the heat of the day and traveling in the cooler hours, if we wish to quicken our pace."
The giant walked in silence. He had received his answer, and he had no more questions. His earlier happiness, the energy he had...he lacked that now. His face was a mask of neutrality, a stark contrast to his openness from before.
Drakmor barely registered the change in temperature, focusing on the 'road' ahead. However, when Neria spoke to him, the giant looked over at her. "If that is what you want, then so be it. We of the Karvach Ichtis do not require sleep. Rest if you need it, and I shall keep watch."
Spoiler
Aaaaah sorry for taking so long! Apologies if this makes no sense, by the way!
Neria quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you do not need sleep, but I imagine it is still healthy for you to rest." She shrugged and set about scanning their surroundings for a suitable place to make camp. At this point, she'd take a reasonably friendly-looking dune. "But by all means, if you wish to take watch I will not stop you."
Her tone was blithe, but honestly she didn't know enough about this desert to know just what dangers she should be watching for—though she didn't see a reason to share that piece of information.
He nodded, appearing to only notice this fact now. "Clever. I had not considered that- I would have pushed on. I will rest, then." He did not mind walking for days, if necessary- he could endure plenty of punishment, and his stamina was high. If it was necessary, he would have walked for as long as it was necessary to reach his destination.
"Do you have any supplies for setting up a camp? I do not." As usual, his sentences were short(ish), to the point- even as travelling companions, it seems Drakmor's attitude towards Neria would not change. For now, at least.
The Fae warrior gave him a very dry look. "I was in a cursed glass casket little less than a morn ago. I have nothing with me but the clothes on my back." She spread her arms wide as though to emphasize the point. Frown deepening, she glanced to the side and added with a quiet scoff, "I do not even have my blade. Or any blade."
The thought seemed to visibly distress her, and she began unconsciously flexing her fingers at her left hip, where he scabbard normally rested.
"I asked out of curiosity alone. I know little of the Liivaet, and I know even less of their abilities. I would ask that you do not fault me for inquiring." He nodded once, seemingly content with this explanation.
"You lack a blade? I suppose that much is obvious...I find such a weapon unnecessary, but if you need a replacement, we could find one elsewhere. If we are to be travelling together, I want you to be able to fight at your best." Personally, Drakmor did not see the appeal in blades- they were hefty, unwieldy and took far too much time to learn. Personally, he preferred to fight bare-handed, but he would not prevent Neria from arming herself, if it mattered that much.
"I can fight well enough without one," Neria said quickly, dismissively, though the edges of her mouth had gone tight.
Truthfully, she should have had more of her abilities at her disposal. Battle magic hardly required a blade, after all. But her time asleep seemed to have drained her; she could feel her magic as little more than a flicker.
"I am unfamiliar with desert terrain," she said abruptly, trying not to think about how helpless she felt. "Without supplies of our own, we must rely on the land. I presume you know how to do so?"