Snippet #2054915

(Post written by Tiko, quizzicallyquixoticand Script)

Out in the vast sandy expanses of the Shimmering Isle, a small campfire burned away, offering warmth from the chill night air. The pair of fugitives had taken shelter for the night near some abandoned mines west of Volary. Natural caves dotted the mountain range, interwoven with networks of abandoned mining tunnels that had been long since plundered of their natural resources.

The mouth of the cave opened to the desert beyond and the dim glow of their campfire could been seen from afar. It would have been safer to go without the fire, but Adriaan wasn't about to suggest they bed down together to conserve body heat against the soon to be icy temperatures. Over the fire a small desert rabbit was roasting on a spit, filling the enclosed space with its aroma.

“So, tell me about this Maradar place you want to get to?” he asked Klo. The woman was being as quiet as ever, but Adriaan never lacked for effort in attempting to break the long silences.

Klo glanced up from her focus on the dagger she held. She hadn't let it go yet since they had made their way out of the avorian city, and the crystals that formed on the blade had only begun to multiply and coat it further. Her lips parted and for a heartbeat she looked as though she were going to answer, but as expected, by now, they sealed closed again. He deserved a warning, if he were really planning on playing her knight the entire trip.

But.. the city itself did not matter. Dagon was there. Her fingers clamped down a little more tightly on the poison encrusted hilt. Dagon was there and that was what mattered.

"Maradar.." The words came soft and hoarse. "Humans need not.. fight.. scrounge.. struggle.. Guards will only cart -us- away to death.. and darkness.. and sometimes worse.." And she hated them all for tearing her flight and the one person that mattered from her. Fangs that had sharpened behind her lips through that speech clamped down and she pulled her gaze back to the fire.

“Huh. Seems like it's not exactly the best place to be. Why are you wanting to get back there, if it's so bad?” Adriaan asked whimsically. “There's some coteries out west. They're loyal to the Queen, but it's unlikely word would have reached that far. We could head that way, find a safe place for you until the northerners give up trying to find you. Or you know, maybe longer. My people may not be perfect, but from what I've seen, and from what you tell me, they're a fair lot better than where you're looking to head.”

"A promise."

That was the answer she would give him. He would have to accept that much from her, before the fey fell into silence again. She would not go elsewhere, but the expression that shifted back to him was questioning. Would he go, knowing the persecution that waited any kind other than humanity?

Whatever Adriaan's response to that might have been was left unspoken, as the familiar sound of beating wings became audible from outside the cave. Looking out, a figure was visible descending towards the fire's glow. He held a glaive in his hand, and it was just possible to make out the outline of a bow on his back as he descended. He landed softly a short distance from the cave, folding his wings and looking inwards at the figures within. "If you were looking to avoid detection, I would have advised avoiding such an obvious fire. I saw you from at least a mile away," he called, stepping forwards a few paces to bring his features into the light, "I'm here for Adriaan. Queen's orders."

“Hey, you try touching her,” Adriaan replied with a nod of his head towards Klo, “Then see if you would have gone with a more practical means of keeping warm,” Adriaan remarked with a wry grin. “And I'm Adriaan, but if you're looking to drag me back to Volary, it's not happening. The girl wouldn't last three days out here by herself.” He glanced past Ira, expecting more men, but when none came he raised a brow questioningly.

Adriaan earned himself a glare, then, but her features almost immediately receded to the passive mask that had become the norm. Her fingers curled all the more tightly around the dagger, and steadily she pushed herself to her feet. Adriaan was no Dagon, but he was hers. That alone was cause enough for her to place herself between the two avorians, if only so that she could glower a bristled warning to the one that had come for him.

"I'll pass," the new arrival said, "And I'll have to disappoint you on the second front too. I can't just take no for an answer, turn around and go back. You can imagine her majesty would be far from pleased with that. It's nothing personal, really, I've no love for the humans myself but I honestly think you'd rather be found by me than by them." Leaning to the side on his glaive, the man glanced over his shoulder, "They're following you, you know, still. I can't say I like your chances given their resources put against yours. Is there to be no persuading you to leave the girl and return to Valory for a slap on the wrist as opposed to a horrible and painful punishment exacted by your pursuers?"

“Afraid not, I'll take my chances out here with the girl. At least I have a chance, she doesn't if those men find her. You haven't seen what they do to people out there. Besides, the Queen would have sent more men if she was too serious about wanting me back,” Adriaan remarked with a lopsided grin.

Klo only watched, tension creeping into her form all over again.

"Heh," the man smirked, "I imagine the Queen doesn't much care whether I succeed or not, but I wouldn't be doing myself any favours by coming back having given up when you said 'no'. I'm royally expendable, you see, and I mean that literally. Sent to appease the humans because I have a fancy title, but no big deal if the outlaw gets the better of me. My name is Ira. You've probably heard enough of me to get some context." Stepping forwards again, Ira drummed his fingers against the haft of his glaive, "We appear to have reached an impasse that, sadly, I can only see ending one way."

Moving up beside Klo, Adriaan gave her a wink. “Ease up there. There's no need for any of that. You can be kind of... well, fatal,” he said with a chuckle. “I don't think that's going to be necessary to settle this.” Interlacing his fingers, Adriaan gave his knuckles a crack. “Isn't that right?” he asked Ira. Adriaan like most, knew Ira by his unusual reputation, but as a monk he knew Ira for his martial prowess more than anything. “Shall we?” he asked. His remarkable sense of joviality had hardly been dampened by the situation, and he was as cheery as ever.

"Fatal is simpler." And the fey stepped back and out of the way to watch.

Ira nodded his head, readying his glaive and moving forwards, "If I didn't have some idea of who you were," he said, "I'd feel bad about going against you armed. As it is, I feel it somewhat evens the playing field. I'll try and avoid stabbing anywhere important."

“Important, eh? Well, if my sister's words are anything to weigh, best aim for the head,” Adriaan retorted as he stanced off.

Though he smirked, Ira didn't wait for Adriaan to finish speaking before he was in motion. A burst of force propelled him towards the monk like a blur, his glaive slashing for the other's legs in an attempt to sweep them out from under him.

Skipping back, Adriaan nimbly evaded the sweep of the glaive, but Ira's aggressive momentum swiftly narrowed the gap. Propelling himself backwards, Adriaan aimed to leap clear of Ira's reach.

Using the momentum of his strike to keep moving forwards, Ira spun with his weapon, leaping forward a step before slashing downwards at the edge of his range with an attack at Adriaan's torso.

Aiming to get inside Ira's reach, Adriaan raised his gauntlet up up to catch the glaive against his forearm, but as metal struck metal, a pulse of force burst from the contact point to deflect his arm. Skidding back, dirt and rock were kicked up as Adriaan dug his feet in. Thrust his arm up he shoved the Glaive high, and with a powerful stroke of his wings, Adriaan swiftly propelled him forward to meet Ira head on.

With his weapon shoved aside, Ira hastily stepped backwards to regain his stance, regaining a solid grip just as Adriaan charged. With the distance too low to get his glaive into position, Ira instead mimicked Adriaan's tactic of using his wings to propel himself backwards, landing solidly before thrusting the tip of the weapon forwards for the other man's upper leg.

The weapon sliced cloth as Adriaan twisted aside with a shift of his wings that carried him past Ira. Regaining his footing, he wheeled about to face off against Ira once more, hands at ready. With Ira's initial momentum gone, the playing field was leveling out.

Rather than moving in to strike again, Ira instead pulled backwards, eyes narrowing with focus before launching a jab of force aimed to upset Adriaan's balance enough to make his footing unsteady.

Acting upon instinct and intuition, Adriaan drew his arms and crossed his gauntlets. Braced for the impact, the pulse slid him back, but his balance was impeccable.

Noting the monk's retained steadiness, Ira reconsidered his next move. Another burst of force shot for the man's side, then another to his front again, and a third aimed for his legs. Each blast struck in quick concession, pushing Adriaan back along the rocky floor as he stood his ground, but ebven as the third strike was landing, Ira had launched himself forwards for a second time that fight, rocketing towards the man. This time, however, rather than ending the charge with a slash, it was with a blast of force aimed to catapult Adriaan from his feet entirely like a shoulder barge on steroids.

As Ira closed in upon Adriaan, the nimble monk twisted to the side, scarcely avoiding the charge by more than a hairsbreadth. Fluidly pivoting to follow Ira's movement, Adriaan caught the haft of the glaive, and used Ira's momentum to bring him close and throw him down to the ground on back.

Taken by surprise, Ira was pulled from his feet and over Adriaan's extended foot to land hard on the ground with a grunt. He knew that a grapple wasn't where he wanted to be, however, and during the fall brought his leg up to catch the monk's midsection with a foot as he jerked on the glaive they both held, throwing him over his head to free himself before he could be pinned, allowing him to regain his feet as the brawl continued underway.

Klo.. may very well have picked that rabbit from the spit to munch on as the fight proceeded. Nonfatal was boring too, but at least she was out of the way as she watched.