Check, Please!

by **Razkar** on March 6th, 2013, 1:03 am

1st Day of Spring, 513AV
The Sea Gates
22nd Bell

Razkar had never seen Riverfall by ship at night. When he had arrived from across the Suvan Sea, it was during a bright, brilliant day, and that was beautiful enough. Taloba would always be the standard he measured majesty by, the seat of his people and their Goddess-Queen... but as far as beauty went...

Riverfall had been a white beacon he could make out almost from the time the sloop had passed Black Rock. It grew with every bell, more radiant and illuminating with each passing bell, until it was a scorching second sun on the horizon. And then they were close enough to make out buildings. Marble towers. Sandstone structures and dozens of shimmering waterfalls.

It was... awe-inspiring. Not to mention a wonderful cure for his sea sickness, so astounded and entranced was he by the sight.

But he had not seen it by night. Now, two seasons later, he left by night on a different ship heading a different direction, and it was by torch, moon and star light that he gazed upon the city of the Akalaks.

He thought it wonderful. He knew he would not see it again.

The Myrian stood tall at the stern of the Cuttlefish, listening to the lap of waves and the babbling mix of Common and... what was it called... Fratava? Yes, that was the name of their sea-tongue, the strange, staccato dialect that came with hand gestures and facial tics as much as words. Razkar knew the journey would be long, and he would study this speech.

But for tonight, under the moon and stars, he had this view.

Countless torches, from handheld faggots to raging bonfires, lit up seemingly every building and spire in Riverfall. The towers and arches that defined the city's architecture rose high and seemed to shimmer in the artificial light. But that was only part of its wonder...

What was amazing, truly amazing, was how every beam and brick had a mirror image in the water. The tide was fair tonight, and not so choppy that it broke up all reflection. It looked to Razkar that an underwater city had been hiding under the coast the entire time, a flickering twin to the air-breathing metropolis.

He sighed. Never again would he see this. He held onto the sense of loss and regret, but not for long. The world was full of wonders, and he was still young enough to see his fill of them. Riverfall had been... a good start. He had accomplished and learned and seen much.

But that had changed after the Arena, and the consequences of his actions.

"It is a good sight, yes?"

His reverie was broken by the voice close behind him, and as he turned his hand went instinctively to his blade. The smile on Captain Tonio's face fell at the gesture, and Razkar dropped his hand to placate him. He gave the Svefra a tight smile and nodded.

"Yes. It is very good. I have not seen Riverfall at night."

Tonio sauntered up to him slowly, breathing in the sea air with some relish. He had seen Riverfall by night, day and in-between countless times, and the shining city still made him smile every time.

"The color skins make a beautiful city."

"Yes, they do."

Tonio glanced at the Myrian with a quick, calculative look. He was still undecided, in some ways, about his decision to grant the Myrian passage on his vessel. Only his vouching by that scoundrel Kevlar had swayed him... that and the fifty gold mizas pressed into his hand. Not a huge amount, perhaps, but fare was fair, as he always quipped.

And where they were heading, they would need not just fighters, but warriors. This man from the Jungle reeked of one.

"You might want to get some sleep," he said, smelling the air and sensing the winds that would kick up. The sails would need to come down and his crew would be busy, so he didn't want a passenger cluttering his deck. "We will wake you in the morning."

"I am sure. Thank you again, Captain."

Tonio just nodded, and watched the Myrian take in the view one last time. He moved his head left to right, as if trying to capture the city one more time in detail, to be squirreled away in his memory.

Then Razkar turned away and walked to the stairs leading below deck, where his meager lodgings (was that even the nautical term? He would have to ask...) were waiting in the belly of the saique.

He did not look back.

by **Razkar** on March 6th, 2013, 10:23 pm

81st Day of Winter
Gideon Combat Arena
9th Bell

Technically, Razkar was free and exonerated, but like all freedom, he knew that it was conditional. His victory in the Arena was sound; hard-won and worthy of both he and the warrior he had faced. But he knew the Akalaks would never allow the death - no, murder, he corrected himself with an internal roll of his eyes - of two of their precious citizens to be decided purely by a martial contest, even if it was a Knight of Sylira acting as their arm and blade.

He was no longer welcome in Riverfall. They had all but demanded that he leave, and the Myrian was sure as he stepped from the looming Arena into the street that by now, the entire city (or at least it's multi-colored-skin population) would know his story, his crime and what to do with him.

"Wonderful," he muttered, filling his pipe as he found Mrrko at his hitch. The black gelding whinnied in greeting. "Nothing like being a pariah to end the year with-"

"Talking to yourself, now?"

He knew the voice before he saw the face. Or what was left of it. Yacob, the Burned Man, sellsword and healer of Haev Provedan, leered behind him, mounted on his own skinny nag. His burned, twisted and permanently reddened face made the simple gesture of a smile demonic. Razkar finished his turn and snorted in mild surprise.

"Come to get me back to camp?"

The smile stayed in place... but only after flickering for a moment. Razkar saw a nameless emotion swim behind the human's eyes, some doubt or... something worse. He wheeled his horse to the side and jerked his head down the same direction down the street.

"Not exactly. Mount up and follow me."

"Where we going?"

"Where I lead you."

Another flicker of unease went through Razkar, but he knew that there was little choice in the matter. Yacob would not have the confidence to order him so unless he was, in turn, under orders. The why, who and where, though... that was a mystery.

But he didn't expect violence. Provedan was far too careful to commit overt bloodshed within the walls of Riverfall, lest the Council connect his name to it, jeopardizing his business. Wherever they were going, it would be to talk.

Not that Razkar didn't keep his hands close to his weapons, anyway.

The Blue Bull Tavern
10th Bell

But as it turned out, he knew their destination. He knew it from three streets away, frowning minutely as familiar sights and smells assailed his senses and by the time Yacob dismounted in front of the quiet tavern, he was a little more at ease.

He hadn't seen Kevlar for a while.

Razkar wanted to ask if that was who they were meeting, and why. The gargantuan Akalak was a known trafficker of information, and it didn't take a stretch to guess that Provedan made use of him. His tavern was almost as notorious as he, tolerated by the Council because, well, better to have all the rotten eggs in one basket than cracking all over the roads.

"You know this place?"

"Yes."

The Burned Man opened the front door and this time no riot of noise and smell smacked Razkar in the face. It was morning, after all, and the Blue Bull only really got to boiling point when the sun went down. Musty... that was not just the smell, but the whole ambiance now. Quiet and abandoned, spilled ale and blood from the night before congealing on the floor, scrubbed at ineffectually by the staff.

Except one.

Kevlar was behind the bar, arms like long barrels crossed, head only an inch or two from touching the ceiling. Eight-foot-tall and half as broad, Razkar was always stunned by his sheer size... and what he knew the centuries-old brawler was capable of. Kevlar could take apart a dozen men if he wanted to, and taught Razkar some neat tricks as to how

But now he just stroked his stubble-covered chin... and pointed briefly with that hand to a corner booth. Yacob saw the motion and started walking, leaving Razkar to stare at the Akalak, who just nodded slightly.

Razkar saw the look in his eyes, though. Something... solid. Reassuring. Something that said that no matter what was said in here, nothing would happen to him. If only because he hadn't been paid enough for that. So the Myrian followed the human, seeing a shadowy figure in the booth. A large one. With a beard.

"Tortuga."

Haev Provedan's third-in-command put down the tankard and wiped at the ring of foam muddying his thick beard. Dark brown eyes turned upwards to regard the Myrian and he gestured to the seat opposite him. Razkar slid into it, Yacob taking the one next to him, remaining silent.

Tortuga took his time composing his words, and Razkar let him. He watched his face, seeing the discomfort obvious on it. Finally the bulky human sighed and placed his palms on the table, grimacing as if what he had to say was distasteful.

"Look, I've got no fine words or bullshit in me, so I'll just say this plain, Myrian." He said, eyes fixed on Razkar's, doing him the compliment of not shirking from his gaze. "Provedan says that you're too visible, after the Arena and word getting around Riverfall. You're too well-known for us to use you, so... that's it. You'll get no more work from us. Starting right now."

Silence. Tension. The two humans exchanged glances, as if expecting the Myrian to lose control and start swinging at them in outrage. Razkar had to admit, the thought did occur to him... but he was not an animal. He understood the why now. His breathing was slow, but steady.

Unemployed. Few others would take him in this city, not the savage. His face in the ranks of a merchant's underlings would be the kiss of death for any business that man attempted with the Akalak.

The solution came to Razkar in a flash of light... thought it was not through the smoked windows of the Blue Bull.

Time to leave.

He stood, noticing the heavy pack occupying the rest of Tortuga's seat. He smiled thinly, wryly. The human had at least bought his belongings with him, what little he left at the Rattling Chains. Some clothes, his tent, his bow and quiver of arrows, a punching bag... everything else was on Mrrko's back. Everything he owned.

He really did have little tying him to Riverfall, to Cyphrus as a whole. It was... liberating.

"You bring my things."

Totuga hefted the pack with a grunt and laid it on the table, shaking even that thick wood. He patted it and rose, face still soured. He hated to let a good asset go, but... orders were orders. More so when he understood their logic, even if he didn't like them.

"Good fortune to you, Myrian."

The two men shook hands, little else needing to be said. They were sellswords, and sentiment was both beneath them and impractical. Those simple words were the mot heartfelt that could be shared.

"And to you, human."

Tortuga left, with Yacob trailing behind him, the latter merely tossing a gold miza on the table to pay for drinks and giving Razkar a short nod. They were not friends, but Razkar was still surprised at the man's coldness... then again, there was a reason. He had threatened him, not long after the Burned Man had saved his life, and whatever tentative friendship they had died then.

Not that he felt remorse of it.

Razkar watched them go and when the door slammed shut, it was suddenly very lonely in the Blue Bull. A handful of tired or already-drunk regulars were inside it, but no-one spared him a glance... all but Kevlar.

Who had a slight, patient smile on his face. Razkar shook his head.

Oh, don't you just know what's coming?

He sauntered over to the bar and Kevlar met him there, palms on the bar, leaning forwards, expectant smile on his blue purple face.

"I need a name."

Avarice and amusement danced in the Akalak information broker's eyes, and he nodded his massive head.

"Oh, I just bet you do..."

by **Razkar** on March 11th, 2013, 3:38 am

81st Day of Winter
The Port of Riverfall
17th Bell

"For the love of the waves, the spray and all the gods that pissed to make them, what is your problem?!"

The two humans whipped around so fast that Vecca Tonio was sure he heard the bones in their neck snap. The Svefra captain was not a tall or broad individual, but he was as imposing as any of his race that had fought and bartered and sweated his way to command of his own vessel. His eyes blazed with outrage now, brown eyes flashing to the heavy chest that was dangling from a single rope.

"What is that?!"

"Wh-What's-"

"You know what's in that chest? You know how fragile it is?!" Silence answered him and he rolled his eyes, obscene Fratva curse spat from his lips that the others fortunately could not understand. "No, of course you petching don't, do you? Petching dirt-treaders..."

Razkar watched from the end of the quay as The Name threw a length of rope and shouted some more at the laborers. He guessed that the two weren't part of his crew: no-one that inept would last long on a Svefra ship, or so he he had heard.

The Port was a riot of masts and sails and smells and calls in a dozen tongues, all clamoring for attention over the whipping wind, coming in fast and urgent and unfiltered from the sea. Razkar assumed that Winter would make for a slower season for seamen, but apparently not. There were easily two- or three-dozen ships of all kinds docked at the port, from fishing boats run by fathers and sons to frigates that were the size of buildings. All manner of cargo and provisions were being loaded and unloaded, so much so that Razkar had stopped trying to keep track of it all.

Besides, his eyes were looking for something different.

"Cuttlefish". That was the name on the back of the saique, painted in simple black lettering. Razkar was far from an expert, but she looked like a weathered vessel, dependable but aged. That would not mean much to the Svefra, or so Kevlar had told him. That race never let go of a ship until it was an inch away from sinking.

Mrrko shook his mane next to Razkar, sending hair tickling his face. The Myrian glanced over and chuckled, petting the horse's snout as he started walking towards the quay.

"Yes... I agree. But necessity makes for strange bedfellows, my friend..."

Seven Bells Earlier

"We going to haggle?"

"You know what that word means now?"

"My Common gets better."

"No. We're not going to haggle."

"Why?"

"Ever hear of the term "buyers market"?"

"... No."

"Mean I don't have to haggle, because you need what I have to buy more than I need to sell it. Got that?"

You could bottle the smug satisfaction that was radiating from Kevlar and sell it, Razkar thought. The dung-eating smile plastered on his face told him... no, reminded him that for all the gargantuan Akalak had taught him and aided him, he was not his ally. He was no different that a nameless market trader that exchanged goods for mizas.

And speaking of names...

Razkar took a sip from the mug of dark ale. Usually he did not drink, certainly not at this time of the day, but this was... different. Besides, Kevlar had told him it was tradition for deals to be struck over alcohol, and that struck the Myrian as good a reason as any.

"I think I understand."

"I think you do." Kevlar put his elbows on the bar and gripped his upper biceps as he crossed his arms. "So that gets that issue out of the way. Now, land or sea?"

"What?"

"The way you want to leave this city."

Razkar thought about that for a few moments, then shrugged.

"Land would be best, yes?"

"Not really."

"No?"

"No. Only way you're getting out overland is on a caravan, maybe as a guard, and good luck finding the trader or merchant who'll take you on after that petching pa-lava at the Arena. Best to go to a man who don't know. Like, a recently-arrived captain. You won't be working for him, you'll be a passenger, so it won't stain his name, as it were."

Razkar waited for the "no offence" part of that. It didn't come. As if reading his thoughts, Kevlar smiled again and shrugged.

"Way it is, friend. Better by sea."

"You know a man with a ship?"

Kevlar savored the moment, like Razkar knew he would: the moment of power. The fact that he knew what the person across from him did not and it was up to him and him alone to decide, to deign, on a whim, whether or not to enlighten them. And even better? They would pay him for it.

The Akalak scratched under his chin and nodded slowly.

"A couple, yes. Svefra. You know them?"

Razkar nodded, frowning slightly in recollection. He'd heard stories about bright-eyed and light-skinned people of the sea, who had occasionally come to the Village of the Shining Scales to trade. They were gifted sea travelers, apparently, able to read the faceless waves like Myrians could read the jungle.

"I know them. Sea people."

"Ha! Putting it lightly. Petchers hardly ever leave the water or their ships. Don't like the dirt. Strikes 'em as... odd. Unnatural. Anyway, yeah, I know a couple. One in particular who might be interested in taking a passenger."

Razkar cocked an eyebrow. "Passenger to where?"

Kevlar's eyes flickered up from the rim of his glass as he drained the rest of his beer. He smacked his lips and there was that smug smile again, accompanied by a rolling peal of laughter.

"With the straits your in, Myrian, can you afford to be choosy?"

A long, almost defeated sigh escaped Razkar's mouth and he took a quick inventory of his funds. Less than a hundred and fifty mizas. Goddess... how much it cost to just live, in this civilized wasteland beyond the jungle...

"So what is you price?"

"Twenty-five." The bastard actually waited until Razkar had counted out all of it, every miza before adding with a smirk, "Each."

Razkar's head snapped up and it took every inch of him not to... well, do what, exactly? Kevlar wasn't some overweight trader or skinny scammer whom he could bludgeon or intimidate. Two feet taller, a hundred pounds heavier and hardened by a century of vicious brawling, Kevlar as a monster in blue flesh... and he knew it.

He saw Razkar's anger and his frustration, and he did not pause in his sadism. He simply smiled wider.

"You said you know one. So, one name. Why "each"?"

"Because," Kevlar said slowly, leaning forwards, "You'll need the name of the man... and the ship."

Razkar counted out another twenty-five.

The Port of Riverfall

Tonio had met Myrians before. Then again, after nearly half a century plying all the lanes and coasts the Suvan Sea has to offer, one sees pretty much everything. The weathered captain had seen every race Mizahar had to offer (well, perhaps not all: some are best left alone), and the savages of Falyndar had graced his eyes more than once.

But he never expected to see one in Riverfall.

"Razkar of the Shorn Skulls." He said, after the tall, dark-skinned and black-eyed individual had marched up to him, executed a short bow and introduced himself. He looked him up and down. "You are a long way from home."

Razkar gave him a tight, polite smile. Behind him the handful of Svefra that served on the Cuttlefish paused briefly in their duties, intrigued by the developments. Always sensitive to any affairs on his ship, Tonio's had snapped around and he did not say a word.

He did not need to. The work continued, and eyes were averted.

"Yes. Long was from jungle."

"And what brings you before me today?"

Razkar took a step forward to ensure what followed was kept between them and them alone, one hand moving into his pack. Tonio felt a glimmer of tension in his muscles but it did not grip him further than that. Myrians were savage creatures, yes, but he knew better than most that they were not irrational. They killed when they had to, most of the time. Oh, they enjoyed it, sure, but wanton slaughter was not their credo.

"Big man in Blue Bull said you were the man to talk to about going on ship..."

He let the words hang, noting Tonio's sharp intake of breath and the upward tilt of his chin as the full weight of what was said sunk in. Brown eyes, unusual for his race, regarded the Myrian anew. A friend of Kevlar? Or an associate, more accurately: brokers such as the Akalak rarely had people they regarded as friends. After a few moments he nodded curtly.

"You seek passage, and were given my name as one who could arrange it."

"Yes."

There were no other probing questions, and Razkar had expected as much. Kevlar had told him that Tonio was not, at heart, a criminal, nor dishonest. He had a checkered past, certainly, but that was not uncommon in Mizahar. He had skirted the darkness, the Akalak had said with a wry grin, but never plied his trade in it. Most importantly, he knew the value of silence.

"Did he tell you what passage would cost?"

"No."

Razkar could almost see the lightning fast calculations in the Svefra's eyes, then they flickered from him to Mrrko and then back again.

"You have feed for the animal?"

"Yes."

"Good, because we do not." He inhaled again, a decision made. "Impress me with your coin, Myrian."

Razkar noted the slightly superior tone but did not take offence to it. Like Kevlar had said, this was a buyers market. His hand was revealed, a small cloth bag inside it, quickly pressed into the captain's palm. He could feel the human weigh it subtly, eyebrow raised slightly.

"Fifty."

"That is... almost acceptable."

Razkar just cocked an eyebrow of his own, and waited for the inevitable request. Kevlar had told him about this, too, that the Svefra had use for coin, but their bartering system was just that: built on services and favors as much as shiny metal circles.

"You are a warrior?"

Razkar smiled and nodded, seeing the man take in his gladius and ax, the kukri at his belt and the cloak of hewn scalps over his shoulders, as well as the bow and quiver resting at his saddle. The Svefra nodded silently.

"Good. Where we go, we may need a man who knows to fight."

Razkar's eyes glittered suddenly, lit by something innate and always hungry. Now the Svefra smiled. Ah, Myrians. They could always be relied upon to find a good fight, or a good cause for one.

"Why is that?"

Captain Tonio told Razkar about one named Barten, and the deal was struck.

The Blue Bull Tavern

Kevlar took his time counting out the mound of coins, satisfied smile on his face all the while. Razkar busied himself with his ale, sipping the bitter brew steadily as he digested all he had been told. Kevlar may not have been too pleasant an Akalak, but once money was in his hand, he was true to his word.

Knowledge was his product, and since Razkar had purchased, he had delivered.

"Cuttlefish'll be at port for a few weeks, probably," he said airily, sweeping the gold mound into his purse, "Refitting, restocking, resupplying, reloading... all that re-stuff that ships have to do. If memory serves, Tonio usually ships gems and wine from Riverfall to Syliras this time of year. Lucrative time for him, I'd wager. Still, there'll be enough room for you and your nag."

Razkar had nodded and risen to leave, digging around for a few more coins, but Kevlar had waved his hand away.

"On the house. I've gouged you enough for one day."

Razkar looked at him closely, for what he knew would be the last time. Kevlar's eyes still gleamed with avarice but there was something else there now. Not camaraderie, or sympathy, but... an absence of the disdain others in Riverfall regarded him with.

"One more thing."

"Fire away."

"Why you help me? You know story about me. Why help savage that killed Akalaks?"

Kevlar scoffed and shrugged with a contempt that truly impressed Razkar, refilling his mug and taking a healthy swig.

"Because I knew those boys that you and Provedan's lackeyed waylaid outside the walls." The Akalak smiled at the impressed look on Razkar's face, and nodded knowingly. "Oh, yeah, I heard about that. Not all the way knowing as to the Why, but I know the Who. They were sellswords, just like you... just like I used to be, long, long time ago. They weren't militia or guardsmen, sworn to defend the gate. Their swords were for sale, and that fat human bought them."

He drained the mug in one more titanic swallow, smacking his lips with satisfaction and letting it drop to the bar. Then he straightened up to his full height.

"Got no problem with you, Myrian. Business is business, and they knew the risks."

Razkar had other questions, but they did not tug at him like the last one did. Men like Kevlar and he... they always walked in twilight. He had heard tales of men to the North who served a great and terrible god chaos and evil; a city to the East where anarchy ruled and armies of sadists and psychopaths ran rampant. Perhaps a seed of that evil was in his heart and Kevlar's; but they had not let it take root and fester, grow and spawn into true malice.

They were men who lived on the hard edge of their world. They killed for pay, or at least one of them still did, and gloried in battle. But even they had their limits.

Even if others did not see them.

"Go well, Akalak."

"And you, Myrian."

Razkar left the Blue Bull with everything he owned over his shoulder, leaving Kevlar in the half-light of the empty tavern, alone with his money.

RecieptInformation: 50gm.00sm.00cm
Passage: 50gm.00sm.00cm
Total: 100gm.00sm.00cm

by **Razkar** on March 11th, 2013, 9:41 pm

The days that followed that and lead to Razkar's departure, the record need not bore the reader with. They were listless and perfunctory, the Myrian spending his days and nights in his tent, pitched beyond the walls, wondering idly if they would even let him back in come the day the Cuttlefish set sail.

They did, as it turned out. But the guard's made it plain it would not happen twice.

Mrrko clopped easily across the cobbles, winding towards the port, scorned and ignored in equal measure as much as the biped perched on top of him. Razkar's pack was filled with deer jerky, the produce of the slim hunt he had managed on his last days around Riverfall.

Last days. That did not strike him until he was aboard the saique. Mrrko went below decks with some complaint, but nothing damaging to the crew, and once he was secure, Razkar was shown to his bunk.

Hammock, actually. Razkar was not surprised. He knew that on any ship, space was the most valued commodity, and what captain or owner would waste precious room on a bed with four legs? His bed was an old and smooth sack slung between two beams, along with a wide shelf for his belongings. Everything else could be placed under the hammock.

It was there that Razkar found himself on the first day of Spring, hands behind his head as he stared up at the wooden ceiling a few feet above his head. He swung with the motion of the ship, but was slowly growing used to it.

His first journey over the Suvan Sea? Less so...

But now he could feel the bile slosh in his stomach and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Razkar let his thoughts peer into memories, as if replaying half a year in one long sweep of vision behind closed lids.

He remembered the tall, stately hall of the Kendoka Sasaran, the opponents he had faced there and lessons learned. The hard face and wise eyes of Master Mizra Aqdas, teaching him humility and control as much as killing form.

He remembered Haev Provedan and the lifeless orbs he had for eyes, the army of scum and killers that Razkar became part of. An ambush in the Grass that left but on survivor, then being the target of another as another band of sellswords turned on them. He remembered Tortuga and the Burned Man, warriors whose only allegiance was to coin, and wondered if they would live to spend it.

He remembered a turgid and bloody day at a place called Sanctuary. A swarm of winged monsters that broke before the ranks of the ragtag family that defended that place as if it were sacred. A ball of flame conjured from hands to burn devils from the sky.

Vanator, the Horse Lord. Kavala, the Hand Healer. The armored human. The human in dog form. The Champion of Ivak...

He remembered Kevlar, the brawler and broker who had guided so much of his actions, if only for pay, and taught him the "finer" points of dirty fighting.

The Gideon Arena. The towering Akalak who he had fought to a standstill on that hallowed sand. His victory, true, but one that ended with his flight from the city.

A half dozen other faces and days. Hunts and lessons. Meetings and adventures. Disappointment, some, but others...

Memories he was happy to have.

The Myrian's breathing was steady, and the reel of images stopped, sinking to the grey fog of the future that he could not see, but would happily imagine. The North Suvan beckoned, stalked by a wolfish predator called Braten, and Tonio said that a warrior such as he would best be matched by a savage. Razkar was happy to oblige.

He stored those memories away. He was happy to have made them, but as the Cuttlefish swept further from Riverfall across the waves, the rocking went from nauseating to calming, gently peeling away his consciousness until he was asleep.

And then he thought on Riverfall no longer.