Setting Foot (Wrenmae, Lyalya, Aerika)

[Massacre]

Setting Foot Timestamp: 12th of Spring, 512 AV Ever since the great storm the wilds had become dangerous, more so than ever before. Massacre could not survive on his own any longer. Though he hated the thought of it, the Zith had no tribe to protect him from the new dangers the wilderness presented, and he knew not where the nearest tribe of Zith could be. For several years he had managed to survive on his own, keeping to his territory and hunting animals and the occasional traveler who ventured too near to his home. But now things were worse. Animals changed, they were more dangerous. Yukman were more frequent, and there were other things, things which Massacre had never seen but knew right away to avoid. The Zith didn't want to do it, but he knew his best bet for survival would be to come to the city. Sunberth... He'd heard the name spoken by those who were about to die. It was home to the lawless, to those who wouldn't care what he was. Well.. they would care, but they were less likely to kill him than the more civilized cities. Massacre knew a little about civilization, from what he'd learned in his travels, and from the half-Zith all those years ago. He knew how to read the most basic of words, and he understood the concept of gold. Gold was something he did have, though he'd never had a use for it. He'd collected the mizas from the travelers he'd claimed over the years. Now he would need them. Massacre had everything he owned with him, his sword, his bow, his arrows, and a backpack full of Mizas and a few random items he'd found useful along the way. His wings carried him into the city, which had no walls nor gates that required him to stop at a specific place. It was night, his time of preference, but not because he was afraid to show himself for what he was. He preferred the night solely due to the fact that the sun sometimes irritated his eyes. But never would Massacre hide what he was. When he finally set foot down among the throng of people milling in and out of the Pig' s Foot Tavern he did not fold his wings about him to cover himself like some of the more tame Zith did, but instead stood proud and tall as he always did, his wings relaxing loosely behind him. Massacre quickly surveyed the area, his eyes easily penetrating the darkness. It was loud, so loud. That was something he would have to get used to, that and all the people. Even with his tribe it hadn't been so loud. They were all coming from one building. Massacre stared at the sign on the outside, recognizing only the word "Tavern." The word meant it was a place to purchase drinks, and sometimes food. Massacre wasn't hungry, and he wasn't a fan of alcoholic drinks, but he was thirsty. From the things he'd learned from Scratch, he also knew that taverns were a good place to seek information. Massacre knew that he would need to find a place to hole up in the city, and the people in the tavern might know where he could do such a thing. When he entered he drew more than a few startled looks. It wasn't so much fear on their faces as surprise, seeing a Zith walking so blatantly into their watering hole. Massacre didn't care what they thought, and he walked right up to the bar. When he spoke his voice was deep and gruff from disuse. "I want a water." Reaching into his pack he withdrew a miza, a silver one. Massacre didn't know how much the water was, but the bartender accepted the miza and a moment later Massacre had his glass of water. The Zith drank the glass in one go before setting it back down on the counter and turning around to face the rest of the room. He did fold his wings in more tightly now, but only to keep people from hitting them, not to cover himself up. Now the question was, who would have the information he needed?

[Wrenmae]

For the Pig's Foot, reconstruction was an ongoing process. The storm was behind them now, a memory almost two weeks old and still the edges cut among the frenzied citizens it left behind. The death toll was incredible, blood staining the streets a drying brown with splotches of dark crimson. Never before had Shroud seen the streets so bloody, so...slaked. The aftermath of the destruction left looting and violence in its wake, the syndicates scrambling to lay hands on abandoned territory or expanding to pick up the wretched and huddled from where they had been left behind. Shroud rather enjoyed this look of humanity, desperate huddled masses, quaking in fear. They latched to security in the form of violence, sadism, anarchy, madness...the fallbacks of when civilization failed. Ha. As if Sunberth had been the model civilization to begin with. He drank water, slowly, the water cooling on his tongue and sliding gently down his throat. The other selves within him struggled for control, but blood was in the air, he could smell the fore rotting in the spring sun outside. Here? Now? Shroud was the most probable to be in control...and so he was. The Zith that entered was a breath of fresh air, brazen and unintimidated by the fearful and murderous stares leveled at his midnight furred complexion. A newcomer no doubt, a fool perhaps...but a brave one. He walked with the kind of strong stride Shroud imagined Cade to walk with...a self assured superiority few could match, much less shake. Fantastic. Gulping down the remains of his beverage, he shook himself from the chair and table, relinquishing it to the other stragglers, huddling fora place to be. All of Sunberth was this way now. Feral dogs or quivering mice. No snakes anymore, or at least...rarely any. Good intelligence was lost as contacts long hated were dealt with in untimely and brutal fashion. Shaking the dust and splinters from his clothes, he took a seat beside the Zith and reclined, arms back on the bar to prop him. "New to Sunberth I trust," he said, not looking at the Zith, but rather out at the people, "You know how to pick your occasions. Nothing but the savage and the submissive left here...so you'll find bloody nights and lonely days from those who hate and distrust you." He looked over at the Zith then, a smile tugging the edge of his face, "Not me though. I'm not a native, just an extended prisoner of circumstance...with an eye for potential." The bartender shot him a glare, and Shroud popped his arms off the bar, swinging around to face the Zith fully. "If you aren't spoken for, let me offer you a place to stay tonight...a fire to warm beside, and perhaps some food. I have a feeling my compatriots will want to make you an offer...if you haven't been approached yet, and if your presentation is any indication of your ability...I think we'd be the luckier to have you." Closing his eyes, Shroud turned back to the bar, sliding the mug between his hands before letting it go. "My name is Wrenmae, and although we could call eachother 'Zith' and 'Human', I'd like to leave prejudices aside for our first meeting." Glancing up at the warrior, the youth nodded gravely, "So what do I call you?"

[Massacre]

Sunberth had been hit, that much was obvious. The whole of the world had been hit, though of course Massacre didn't know things such as that. What he did know was that the wilds had become too much for a lone Zith, and even with the dangers of the city, humans were an enemy the Zith knew. Humans were an enemy Massacre had fought many times, in many different places. He hunted them and they hunted him, and he was more comfortable among humans than the dangerous wilderness in these new times. Still, being more comfortable didn't mean the same as being comfortable. He wasn't comfortable among the humans around him, many of whom shot hateful glares his way. He wasn't comfortable in the building with it's drunks and it's loud noises, all the more keen to his sensitive Zith ears. But he wasn't afraid. Some might call it arrogance, and surely there was a bit of that in there, but any who took the time to look could tell Massacre had survived a lot. His body was covered in the scars of a lifetime. Massacre was old, for a Zith, though not so old as to be frail. He was, perhaps, just past his prime, though his body was still lean and muscular and full of strength and prowess. In his youth he would never have sought refuge in a city, but with age came wisdom, and Massacre knew he was better off even in a city as dangerous as Sunberth. Still, he found it odd when the human approached and casually began speaking to him. Most humans ran in fear of him, or shot him hateful glares as the many in the tavern were already doing, but not this one. The Zith's mind raced to define the words spoken in a language he'd only used a handful of times over the past few years, and he was slow to respond. The man used pretty words and spoke like one with a skilled tongue, which made it more difficult for Massacre to understand. The Zith was not unintelligent, just not fluent, and any conversation would have been difficult considering the time that had passed since his last. But he understood the important parts. The man had a place for him to stay, possibly food, and he had friends who wanted to make him an offer of some sort. Massacre sighed, summoning the words he needed to say in the language he found so cumbersome to use. "I am called Massacre." It'd been a long time since he used his human name, so fitting for when he was young, but he hadn't massacred anything in years. "I did not come for an occasion. I came because outside the city is worse.." Massacre considered the offer before him. He knew nothing about Wrenmae, other than his name, but at the same time he'd know he would have to trust somebody to help him figure out what he was supposed to do. His lessons on civilization had left out several important details, specifically the hows. He knew what to do, but not how. Wrenmae man offered him a place to stay, so he was Massacre's best bet at not sleeping on the streets or returning to the wilds. What luck that he should find something so quickly. "Alright, I'll see this place and these friends of yours."

[Lyalya]

Lyalya leaned close to the bar, people chatting all around her. She seemed to find herself in this tavern alone quite often, not having a group to move around with. But she was use to it, years of solitary travel desensitizing her to her loneliness. At least there were people here, words she could listen in on. She hadn't even known she would end up in this city, it was a nice break from all the rules and regulations that seemed to follow her everywhere else. Sunberth was definitely her kind of place, maybe she could let herself stay here a little while. If another storm came up, like the one 12 days ago, it would nice finding shelter someplace other than a cave. Lyalya frowned upon the memory of the storm, as most people probably would.

With a wave, another jug of ale was brought to her. She brought it to her lips, peeking over the rim at her neighbors. The taste was friendly, one she sought out whenever she felt tired and in need of a little excitement. There was a newly aquanted couple fairly close obviously trying to get eachother in bed, and a few men a little down the bar making nice. It was an interesting contrast. Which would she prefer now, she thought. A friend, or a lover. She didn't know which would be better, but luckily, she never seemed to have control over those sorts of things. They always just happened...

Lyalya kept sipping her drink, perched on the stool as she gazed off distantly with watery blue eyes. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, brushing against her dress. It wasn't that she seemed threatening, she didn't, it was more that she seemed unattainable. However, she wasn't.

"Drinking by yourself, how classy," she mumbled to herself humorously. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed at herself.

[Aerika]

Aerika was still in awe of her new mark that took her shoulder and side. The white cloud shifting slightly as the snowflakes on her right danced from her arm and side. The sight was beautiful, she had never seen anything so grand nor so mysterious before. The little girl did not fully understand how art on her body was able to move but she was gracious for the second chance at life and the reminder that now took her right side. Only three of the snowflakes danced about on her arm while the others were hiding underneath her dress. Wandering about, Aerika found herself in familiar streets, the sounds of the Pig's Foot Tavern was already audible even though she could not even see it yet for it was too far away. She began to think to herself, thinking of the storm that had nearly taken the tavern and herself off the face of the land. Suddenly, the little girl found herself thinking about the strange winged man that she met, how his wings were silky soft, his fur just as soft. She found herself nearly drooling at just the thought of being able to touch something so wonderful once again. Luckily, Aerika managed to catch herself before drooling too much and simply whipped it away using her bare arm. The fox girl started walking once more, her feet slapping across the blood-stained streets, and a drink of milk filling her thoughts now. Reaching the tavern was simple enough, a straight walk with a turn to the right and there it was, the still half destroyed building. Merv was the type of man to always run his tavern, regardless of the repairs needed or the fights occurring just outside his doors. Aerika reached out with her right arm, noticing the flakes dissolving to move to her side, still trying to stay underneath the cloud on her shoulder. With her arm slightly elevated above her shoulder, she pulled the door toward her, revealing the awful smell of the old drunken people inside. A sudden boost in their voices seemed to occur as she took her first few steps back into the old building. Eyes began to follow her as she made her way past the tables. Whispers of her nickname drifted into the air, barely audible over the continuous yelling. Aerika walked no differently, acting as though she could not hear a single person, and headed toward the bar, where Merv was getting onto a man for leaning on his counter. Only then did Aerika notice something, another man sitting next to the leaning one, this man had wings just as the man from the storm did. His fur was darker and his wings were larger, but Aerika's eyes where still large, unable to believe that there was another winged man. The small kelvic had only ever met two before, and she was always fascinated with them, their unique fighting styles, their unique appearances, and now, even more than everything else, the softness of their wings and fur. The excited little girl approached the bar, slightly slower than before, attempting to act as though she did not even notice the new winged man. She climbed onto a stool and looked over the bar, Merv noticed her right away and was quick to toss a glass of milk toward her. Aerika grabbed a hold of her drink with both of her hands, she noticed the snowflakes disappearing again and she brought the drink to her lips and took a large gulp. Her eyes drifted toward the dark winged man with the wish to touch his wings, his back turned toward her, she would have no trouble doing it. Her hand reached out, wanting to touch his wings, but before she did, she withdrew her hand, remembering how angry the man before became when she touched him without his permission. Instead she continued her drink and listened to the two men talk, hoping his voice was as wonderful as his body. OOCTechnically, Aerika is still not a member of the Crimson Edge, so perhaps this could be her introduction thread too, since she has never been formally introduced the the CE before.

[Wrenmae]

"Fantastic." Sliding off the bar stool, Shroud set both feet solidly on the ground. He stood for a moment, as though the floor was rolling on an open sea, before striding toward the door. Inside, Wrenmae fought against the control. Zith, to him, were enemies. They'd been feared in the Kalea ranges, well renowned for slavery and savagery. The last thing he wanted to do was bring such a monster anywhere near people he had begun to grudgingly care about. Shroud wanted to introduce him for the same reasons. Massacre was the kind of force the Crimson Edge needed. The zith exuded a potent sort of terror and confidence that always drew the eye. He'd be useless during the day, too flashy, but the night would be his lover, his ally. Pausing at the open door, just to assure the Zith was following, Shroud took a quick stock of the occupants. Mostly the rough and tumble of Sunberth, the sort of refuse that clamored for a place in the sidestreets and Temple. Not a one of them sported clothing without tears, and few looked back without dirt or dust clinging to their skin. A woman sat lonely at the bar and while the seducer within him strove at the chance to take advantage of that weakness, he had more important tasks to accomplish. Perhaps strangest was the little girl drinking milk near to Massacre. Milk? In a bar? Nearly as unique as walking in naked. Not ideal. Any one of them would sell out information of the meeting to the syndicates for a miza or two. Little could be done, of course, nothing short of a... Ha. Nothing short of a massacre. Shaking his head, Shroud stepped into the street and down the main road, skirting around the rubble and debris. Sunberth was ruined, and the city hadn't been pretty to begin with. Taking a deep breath of the afternoon air, Shroud stole down a side road in a roundabout direction toward the Crimson Edge camp. The day was still young, so it was anyone's guess who would be there at this time. He smiled, surprising returns indeed. At a corner he swiveled his head back, nodding at the Zith to walk beside him. "Zith aren't trusted, and I hear in some places they're hunted. You won't find things much different here...just equal." He took a moment to lean against a wall in a slanted ray of sunlight. "The strong live and the weak die...doesn't matter if you're pale, black, or..." he paused, looking the Zith up and down, "Blue-ish. To be honest, part of me doesn't want to trust you, wants to call you a monster. Society has that funny way of labeling slavers and cannibals that way, but petch em, not like we humans are any different." He threw his arms out wide, as if presenting all the city. "We petch, we kill, we enslave, we extort, and we struggle...and we all speak, we all live, we all breathe." Snorting, he pushed from the wall and continued walking again, his footsteps stuttered, angrier, "If you can fight, have a desire for comrades or coin, I couldn't care less if you were a rabid bear. Everyone in Sunberth is equal, everyone level...and we could use one or two strong willed petchers to put some of the haughty Berthians in their place." He was quiet, more excited than he'd wanted to become, louder than he'd wanted to be. "We're all savages," he murmured, "No matter how many words or causes we create to justify the bloodshed."

OOC :

Hey, girls, I'm sorry but Wrenmae is pretty one track minded about getting this guy back to the CE camp. I invite you to take an interest and follow, but I'll need a tad bit more to work with in order to force my character to notice you guys over the big blue winged man

[Lyalya]

Finally, something interesting! A zith and a human talking, neither one shedding blood, well, not yet atleast. In all her years of traveling, she had been told that the Zith were to be feared. Their blue skin transformed them in the night to invisible predators, cold and ruthless. Not that they weren't as vicious in the day, they were just easier to see. But this was something new, he obviously wasn't out for any sort of blood or he would have waited until night. Lyalya knew she should be hesitant, scared even, but that was never her strong suit. This, she had to see.

She chugged her last bit of ale, tossing a few coins onto the bar. With a smirk, she found her feet and quickly followed the two out the door. She listened, they would surely know she was following but she didn't yet care. The Crimson Edge, yes now she had a reason to follow. She really wished Cade had introduced her to more of the others, but only time could do that. So that's what the human wanted! A ruthless Zith fighting for the Crimson Edge. Lyalya was so far only a prospect, but she was fully intending to bump that up to a new membership. The blonde-haired beauty wasn't sure about the others, but she would love to have that man fighting at her side.

Of all her traveling, this had got to be the most interesting thing she was about to see. But, she supposed she didn't need to threaten them either.

"Going to camp boys?" She asked, not really expecting an answer. Lyalya knew where they were going. she quickened her pace to set herself a yard or two away from the two. Not wanting to disturb them, she kept her eyes forward, they needn't talk to her. Not unless they wanted to . She was content with watching.

Her mother had always told her that she was a thrill seeker, she supposed it was tue. Lyalya had left the Suvan Sea where there was only one future ahead of her. She had wanted more. CE was just what she needed.

If she could only remember what this human's name was. She must have heard it coming out of Cade's mouth, Wrenmae?

[Massacre]

LyalyaActually it is night time. I say that at the beginning of the thread. The Zith didn't fail to notice the women watching him among the sea of faces all shooting daggers his way with their eyes. Two beauties among a sea of filth, it was hard not to notice. Had he been a younger Zith his lust for them would have been rather obvious, due to his lack of pants, but in his later years he'd learned a bit of self control. It wasn't for any lack of interest or that he could not engage in such desires, he wasn't that old yet, but he was more focused than he once was. Massacre needed a place to stay first, before he sought out random women to satisfy his lusts. Wrenmae led him out the front door and back into the night. It felt good to be out of there, he could stretch his wings again. He heard the footsteps before Lyalya ever spoke up, but when she did be turned to acknowledge her, his eyes sweeping over her exotic form before shooting his companion an inquisitive look. Massacre had a thing for human women. They were delicate and soft, yet their appearance was often misleading. Human women could be just as firey as a Zith if they wanted to be. He wouldn't mind indeed if this one came to their camp as well. "Is she one of your friends?" When Wrenmae later went into his speech about Zith in the city Massacre only smiled and nodded. "I've been hunted all my life, but I have hunted as well. More than one of you humans have called me a monster, maybe I should make that my name. But what you call being a monster, I call surviving." Massacre shrugged. He wasn't there to discuss the lifestyle of his people, he was there to escape the real monsters of the wilderness. He could still hear the shrieks of the strange earth creatures, Yukman though he didn't know that was their name. But those were thoughts for another time. He was still following Wrenmae, and the man seemed to want to hold a conversation with him. Considering he was giving Massacre a place to stay and food to eat, the Zith figured he could at least try to hold up his end. "So... who are these friends of yours, anyway?"

[Aerika]

Aerika nearly panicked as she watched the dark winged man walk out of the tavern, following another male, and to her surprise, one of the women sitting by herself followed the both of them. Trying to make sure she did not lose the only other Zith she had known, Aerika pulled her bag to her chest quickly, pulled out the first coin she could find, and tossed it to Merv. She jumped out of her stool and yelled back, "Thanks for the drink!" as her bare feet darted out the doors. Outside, she managed to see them turn a corner onto the roads, the moonlight offering little light, making it slightly difficult to see everything. Instead, Aerika trusted her ears, hoping to hear their footsteps, listening to their voices, fascinated by the shuffling of his wings. Regaining her focus, she kept her feet quiet, following only a few buildings back, close enough to her their words, but not close enough to allow them to hear her feet. When suddenly the group of three stopped, the human man began some kind of speech, the things that happen in the city of Sunberth, and the things that humans do. Her interest in his words was minimal, but when the dark zith finally spoke, she jumped on her toes in excitement, his voice was wonderful, dark and deep, yet inviting. Wanting to take a moment to enjoy the words themselves, she turned herself back to the wall that would keep her hidden. Her konti-like appearance making the wall reflect with a certain amount of light, and her hands wrapped together, admiring the words that came from the man who calls himself Massacre. She managed to calm back down as she focused on the men and woman, trying to listen for their feet to start once again, hoping to follow them further, maybe this zith would be kind, and maybe she could enjoy his soft wings.

[Wrenmae]

The street was becoming crowded. Irritably, Shroud turned his attention to the woman who spoke, noting her beauty but finding the content of her speech far more enticing. Camp, then. She was a prospect. He didn't know her, would no doubt have remembered such a pretty face. "I don't know her," he answered Massacre, "But..." he raised an eyebrow toward Lyala suggestively, "She seems to know our route...another comrade, perhaps?" He walked back towards her, hands slack, eyes cold and gleaming. She didn't look like much more than a pretty face, but pretty faces often kept their poison behind painted smiles...it would all be just as well. "The Crimson Edge is an organization of mercenaries, thieves, manipulators, planners, and killers. We watch our own here in Sunberth and are always looking for new recruits." He glanced back at Massacre, "The storm shook a lot loose here in Sunberth. People are scared, terrified. They want control and structure, but would never ask. Safety in numbers and that's what we aim to create." The glow of moonlight off Aerika's hair was enough to alert him to her presence, the milk drinker tucked away against an alcove, following them. He hadn't the time to deal with children, and if her interest led her into dire straits...let it. He was not her parent. "I don't know much about Zith, really," Turning back to Massacre he jerked his head toward Lyala, a clear indication to continue with them, "Hunting, killing...sometimes for meat, sometimes for coin. We aren't really so different, I suppose." He was quiet a moment, pensive, "Had you a tribe? I heard that Zith traveled together and you are most certainly alone." Massacre stood over him, membranous wings catching the cool winds, Shroud looked up at him, "May I ask what happened?"

OOC :

I was thinking of giving us some scared and armed Sunberth people from the bar who would rather see a dead Zith than a hired Zith. Ya'll ready for some combat in my next post?