Artora IV's Story

So there stood a not so imposing figure clad in heavy armor, breathing heavily at the edge of the wharf and clenching his fists with a massive crater and a cowering dockworker at his feet. The darkness behind the visor stared down at the man - the man who was considerably taller and bulkier than him - in silence, an aura of anger and hatred emanating from every inch of his plated figure. Frightened into stock stillness by the armored figure, the man held his exact position, waiting for permission to do anything other than breathe and look helplessly back.

"Again? Really?"

A rough voice called out from behind him. The source was a red-haired woman in her late thirties, impatience heavy in her stride as she made her way toward them. She was dressed in light military gear with a few inconspicuous modifications and a pair of metal gauntlets fitted neatly on her hands. She tugged on the armored man's wrist and muttered something incomprehensibly under her breath.

"If they figure out you did that, they're going to make us pay for it," the woman hissed. The suit of armor responded by lashing out with his fist, which was easily dodged. "Look," she continued, ignoring the sudden attack as she walked around behind him, the helmet blankly following her movements. "I know it's not a lot, but these things add up you know? I don't care if you're Rustam's special watchdog or whatever; if you keep breaking everything, we're going to get pulled from duty, understand?" She tapped his helmet with the knuckles of her gauntlet. "Hey blockhead, can you hear me?"

"Do not touch me," Artora growled, swinging his fist at her. It was a powerful, blinding movement that couldn't have possibly belonged to a human, but the woman nimbly stepped back in time to avoid it.

"Just some friendly advice," she shrugged, taking a few more steps backward to keep her distance. Even she understood that she could only push her luck so much. She turned to the dock worker, who was still completely frozen. "Yeah, you can go now." With a slow nodded, the man regained his composure and scuttled off back to work. Her attention returned to Artora. "I mean, this much I can kind of handle, I guess, but if you start going around punching ships until they sink, that's where I start drawing the line, okay?" She pointed to the crater on the floor. "And this shit needs to stop, too."

"I take orders from no one," he snarled, the persistent inhuman growl in his voice scaring away a small flock of birds that had wandered too close looking for scraps on the ground.

"Well, clearly you do because you're wearing that stupid armor," she said, dismissing his threat with a wave of her hand. "Sorry to ruin your fun, but we're setting sail. You can stay here and continue destroying the road if you'd like, don't mind us. Just don't expect any credit when we come back with the lodestone." Artora held his tongue, knowing that arguing with this woman was all but impossible. He wordlessly traced her steps and boarded the ship, ignoring her ramblings and complaints as he made his way up.

"Agnes," he said flatly.

"Yeah?" the woman responded, turning to face him with a hand on her hip.

"Do not get in my way."

"Whatever you say," she muttered, spinning back around and heading up the rest of the way. To anyone else, this exchange might've seemed comical, but every swing Artora had made at her was meant to kill her - and they would have, had they connected. Being the humorless, spiteful creature that he is, he only abides by rules out of necessity and does not know the meaning of holding back. It's not rare to see his charges dropped considering how precious of a war tool he was in the past and would be in the future, even in spite of his frequent rampages. Though he is not one to hold value in anything, including life, instinct drives him and it is by instinct that his character his defined, that he clings to life and crushes any who dare oppose him. In recent years, however, he has managed to keep his temper in check more often, gradually beginning to think more of his future rather than his present, though not by much.

This mission was particularly important, as it granted - at least to an extent - the one thing truly worth anything to him: Freedom. To live unconfined, unordered, and unobserved is all that he desires and every step closer to this goal is worth every corpse, every trail of blood he leaves in his wake. Normally, it would be simple matter to depart his homeland and live free elsewhere on missions such as these, but there was always someone watching to make sure he does not get away. On this particular occasion, that observer was Agnes Aramor, the red-haired woman that had been grinding his nerves since she'd been introduced to him two weeks ago. Despite her casual and joking behavior, she was very much a force to be reckoned with and that was one risk he was not willing to take. Though he was fairly confident that he could easily destroy her, he was not willing to take such an uncertain bet.

Until he is fully aware of her potential, he can't quite make any moves yet. But that time will come, and that time will be soon.

Lounging in a tightly strung hammock, Agnes bit off the end of a thin bread cracker and then pointed the half-eaten end of it at Artora, her passive eyes hinting at none of her usual humor. "I know what you're thinking," she said dryly, turning the cracker over and then popping into her mouth. "And it's not going to happen." She lowered her feet to the ground and dusted off her hands, making a slow rise to her feet. If Artora could scowl, that would be the exact expression he would've responded with. Instead, he curled his hands into fists, taking that as a challenge and advancing toward her. Agnes raised a brow and leaned forward, still sitting in the hammock. "Not on the ship," she said sternly . Taking no heed of her words, Artora pulled back his fist and swung with all his might at the seated woman. She swiftly moved her hand up and caught his punch; the clashing of metal nearly put a dent in both of their gauntlets - Artora could feel the woman's fingers gripping around his hand and while it certainly wasn't enough to crush it, he could feel tremendous power behind it. Judging by her form and her leisurely position as she gripped his hand, it could only have been a fraction of her power. "Not. On. The. Ship," she repeated, this time with more emphasis on each word. Artora growled and wrenched his arm away from Agnes's grip, backing off for now. "You can't win," she said. "The sooner you realize that, the easier this is going to be for both of us."

"We'll see," Artora said in a low tone, turning away with both a hint of disgust and frustration. He still didn't buy it. He knew he could absolutely crush her - the timing just wasn't right yet. He was not used to being overpowered, but the military was very good at picking out individuals who were as strong as - if not stronger - than him. If that wasn't enough, she wasn't the only one, either. A handful of soldiers on the ship were well renowned in their field but thankfully enough, none of them were charged with keeping watch over him and he imagined that they wouldn't give a damn about a scuffle between him and Agnes, even if it ended in death. The higher branches would certainly have something to say, but he would be long gone by the time that mattered, whether that meant long gone in another country or long gone under the dirt.

Agnes dropped down below deck and greeted a few of the other crew members before bumping into a less familiar face. Hiring mercenaries was not a good habit, she knew, but this one had a strong rep and she accepted the job for cheap. Any other mercenary would've demanded at least eight or nine times as much as she offered. Well, that's if she was indeed who she claimed to be, at any rate, but even if she turned out to be an imposter, at least her observable skill was nothing to laugh about and that was good enough for them. The girl - no, woman? It was hard to determine her age upon further inspection. Her features were youthful and childish, but the strong air about her, her demeanor, and most of all her eyes told a different story. She wore dark clothes and wore two single-edged swords at her side, one noticeably shorter than the other. It was a leap of an assumption to make as Agnes wasn't familiar with her culture, but it didn't seem like the swords were intended for simultaneous use.

"You, new girl, I don't believe we've formally greeted each other," Agnes said, extending a hand. "You can call me Agnes." The woman responded with a soft smile and took her hand, giving it a pleasant shake.

"Nice to meet you, Agnes," she answered without giving her own name. Oh. Well. At least it seemed like she was more open and polite than she first let on. Just by looking at her she seemed like the dark, brooding type, but her demeanor was actually kind of cute.

"So how does an adorable girl like you end up on a military vessel like this?" Agnes asked, leaning with her shoulder against the wall. "Pardon me if this comes off as rude, but you don't look very strong."

"No, you're right," she shook her head. "I'm not very strong."

"Then you're fast?"

"As much as the next sword-arm."

"You're making a real guessing game out of this," she laughed. "So what are you good at, then?"

"I am very tired from my journeys," the woman smiled again as she excused herself from Agnes's presence. "I would like to rest."

"By all means," she nodded, letting her pass by. She watched her with a curious eye as she vanished behind the next corner. "What a weird girl," she muttered under her breath. "Is she really here for the money or the lodestone? I'll have to look into her case later." She paused a moment after a sudden realization. If I recall correctly, the last open room was...

Artora looked up from his bunk, lifting his head at the sight of a figure in the doorway. A woman dressed in dark clothing stepped in and wordlessly set her things down. She undressed out of her traveling gear and slipped into something more comfortable and for a flicker of a moment, he wondered if she realized that she was sharing a room with an iridan - but not before he noticed that her body was ridden with scars, almost too many to count. Even he was mildly surprised by the extent of the injuries she must've endured and briefly took note that some humans might be more deceptively difficult to kill than others. It didn't look like it would be possible for anyone to survive with all of those wounds, but she seemed to walk in just fine, not to mention that she carried two swords on her.

It wasn't often that his curiosity was piqued, but he found himself starting a conversation, which was very much unlike him. It wasn't that he rarely spoke, however, he rarely spoke to others as an initiator.

"How do you still stand, human?" Artora asked, the usual unintentional violent growl clear in his voice even though there was nothing hostile about his question.

"I don't know," she answered, turned away from him as she lied down. "Ask the dragons." The living fleshbags called humans were usually very easy to read, but he couldn't discern if she really didn't know or if she simply did not feel like answering. There was a mysterious aura about her, but he couldn't quite put a name to the source. It was bizarre for him to be thinking such a way about anyone else, but there was a strong sense tugging at his instincts when in the presence of this woman. He ignored the lingering feeling and turned away, waiting for the ship to depart. Once they reached their destination, none of this was going to matter. He'd find away, and when he did, he could say goodbye to his life of servitude once and for all.

Requinn listened as Nimba went on about cooking specialty meals, occasionally slipping into her native tongue. Requinn had not bothered to learn the language of the Yi Aba, as the group that had taken him in was relatively well versed in the vox altus, though now he wished he had, as it could have proven useful.

"I'm talking abo- ..I'm.. talking again, and getting carried off." She sighed, and Requinn gave a soft smile. "Sorry. Again. I tend to do that..." Her voice died down and she took a closer look at Requinn, who pretended not to notice, though he saw the exact moment that she realized he wasn't a sea elf, the surprise glinting clearly in her brown eyes. Requinn nodded, halfway a response to her apology, and halfway an acknowledgement of her realization. As annoying as she thought she was being, Requinn felt her tendency to ramble was endearing, like a child blissfully babbling about anything and everything. He made a mental note to strike up another conversation with her during the journey. She cleared her throat and continued: "Uh, anyway,a ssuming the Cap'n ever gets around to giving you the okay - I mean, why wouldn't he? - I don't think you're really gonna be a problem. Not too sure 'bout that one." She motioned to the Naraga and shrugged. "Oh. We've.. actually got several more, now." She voiced Requinn's thoughts almost exactly. Despite the two narans, the lumbering bosphorean approaching the ship that he had clocked just moments earlier during Nimba's rambling, the barbarian woman on the docks scoping out the ship, and the two mercenaries, the newest arrival, an elderly human in dark grey robes and a pointed hat, was absolutely the most interesting.

The man was a wizard, there was no doubt. Even from this distance, Requinn could smell the magic on him. It radiated from him like light from the sun, and it flooded Requinn's senses when he turned his attention to the man. Partly because the high elves were not the only species capable of magic,and partly because they were so naturally good at it, the Pax Alma trained in the detection of magic and effective ways to fight against it, but Requinn had never before encountered a human with this man's level of mastery. Then the wizard spoke, and, judging by Nimba's expression, his words had a similar effect on her as they did on Requinn. He didn't even hide his intentions like the rest of the group assembled. Requinn half expected the captain to kick him off or cut him down right there, but to his surprise, Adrian chuckled.

Time for a new strategy.

Still keeping his attention on the captain and the group, Requinn turned to Nimba and spoke, his tone steady and serious.
"He's the smartest out of all of us. He's the most dangerous person aboard this ship now and they all think he's an idiot. It'd be ironic if it weren't so frightening." He furrowed his brow put his hand gently on Nimba's shoulder and leaned back onto his cane. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I owe your captain some money. For my sake, please be careful around some of these passengers."

He turned from Nimba and made his way towards the captain, but stay back just a bit. The bosphorean had made it's way onto the ship and silently paid it's way. Nothing had been broken yet, so that was a good sign. Requinn had encountered bosphoreans twice before in his life, though he had read a great deal about them. The first time he was forced to resort to killing the brute because it insisted that he had stolen it's coinpurse. He had taken it, of course, but no amount of maneuvering could get him out of that situation. Luckily, that one was without any armor, so all Requinn had to do was leap up and deliver a swift strike at the base of the neck. The second was more reasonable, taking three chests of Requinn's gold and two of his agents as slaves in exchange for it's services as an enforcer. This one, however, appeared neither particularly chatty nor lacking in armor, so Requinn decided he would simply avoid it altogether.

The Naran's had apparently pre-arranged a passage, and from the arrogant way the Naraga carried herself, along with the fact that her Naralin bodyguard did all the talking, Requinn deduced that she was nobility. Disgusting. Svaris was one of the few places Rexia deigned to trade with simply because the Narans were not humans, and were thus looked upon more kindly. Requinn felt the exact opposite. While he disliked the human nations to a certain degree, he preferred them over the Narans, especially the Naraga, who would enslave or kill all the other races and nations if they had the ability. He had no qualms with using people to achieve his own goals, but at least his goals were in the pursuit of prosperity and peace. The suffering of others was acceptable if it advanced the greater good, but in Requinn's experience, the Naragans enjoyed watching others grovel, and that was unforgivable.

Next on Requinn's mind were the two mercenaries, who introduced themselves while he was conversing with Nimba, but he didn't bother to listen. They posed little threat. Even if they did manage to best everyone else and get the stone, he was confident they didn't actually know how to use it, and then there were a number of ways he could retrieve it from them. He wondered how loyal they were to each other, toying with the idea that he could turn them against one another, or possibly hire them against one of the other parties. If they didn't die on the upcoming adventure and if they proved skilled enough, Requinn could always use more sword arms.

Adrian asked for 800 gold coins, a paltry sum really, as Requinn had expected nearly twice that. He turned his back to the crowd and palmed a small glass container with a note inside that he'd prepared to signal his agent in Saridur, leaned against the railing as if he was looking out to sea, and casually dropped into the lapping waves below. After they had set sail, his agent would collect the container and read the note inside. Then he turned back and removed two small coinpurses from his robe, checked their labels to insure they had the proper amount of coins, and looked to Adrian. The captain looked almost swamped by the amount of passengers, though unsurprisingly, he appeared content with the amount of gold he was pocketing. Requinn decided to give the man some space, and waited patiently. After all, the captain wasn't going anywhere without collecting everyone's money.