Completed An Eye-Opening Harvest (Nolan/Inoadar)

[Irriari]

80th Day of Spring, 513 AV

After two days of mulling about her room in Tarsin's Boarding House, Irriari was lethargic. There were only so many times one could count vials and brew minor poisons before a breath of fresh air was needed. The zith checked over her supplies carefully, making sure that all of her essential poisoncrafting ingredients were packed in her bag. The zith carefully coated her claws in roughwood poison, using a dose for each hand, and another dose spread between both of her feet. When she was satisfied that the poison was dry, Irriari placed the pack on her shoulders and grabbed her shortbow and quiver.

As she stepped outside of the boarding house onto the Docks, the zith cursed loudly in Common, startling a few children who were playing in the streets. Glaring at them, she began the trek to Ino Vations. The sun proved to be less of an enemy than she remembered, and she thanked Rhysol for his protection. Once in the Wild Lands, Irriari knew there would be no respite from the rays that pierced her eyes into the back of her skull.

The zith opened the door to Nolan's shop, and she smiled, happy to be in a place that was far less bright. Nolan was busy behind the counter of the shop, presumably working on something to do with a new poison.

“Do you want to go collecting reagents today? I'm ready if you are.”

OOCHope you didn't mind the 'behind the counter' bit. If you did, and want him to approach from somewhere else, I can totally edit that out. I just figured it would save a post or two, and we could get on a ravosala and out to the Wild Lands.

[Inoadar]

OOCNo Problem

Inoadar was behind the counter in the back of the shop. He looked up when he heard the familiar voice of Irriari. "Just a moment, please." he called, turning back to watch the delicate operation he had underway. Some poisons lasted much longer if they were able to be kept in a relatively air-free enclosure.

He had recently had to sell off a few dozen variety sets to some slavers for half price, because their shelf-life was reaching its end. He had procured something of a novelty from a doctor at the Healing Hand. It was a hollow needle. It was not the different from the way one of his darts worked, except it was much longer. It was a bit thicker than a sewing needle, but he thought it would serve a needed purpose.

Inoadar had fitted a ribber grommet on the end of his hand held pump and pierced the needle though it. he then took the plunger completely out of the pump and, using a nail punch and very small hammer, he had punched the needle through the rubber seal on the cap of a vial of one of the perishable poisons. He fit the plunger back in and pumped the air out of the vial.

Now how to pull the needle back out without letting the air back in? By now he saw that Irriari had freely strode into the back and was watching, so he took a moment to explain what he was doing. He asked her to simply hold everything in place for a moment as he lit the burner and set the end of an ice pick in the flame until it was red hot.

He excused himself as he took back hold of the small pump from Irriari. He curled his wrist to position the hot end of the pick while the weight of the same arm held the vial in place. He began to withdraw the needle at the same time that he put the hot tip against the rubber. When the needle pulled free, the rubber was already hot and melted the tiny hole shut.

He stood back, admiring his handy work. "Well, only thirty nine to go..." he chuckled, anticipating Irriari's dismayed growl. At the first snarl, he added, "But they can wait for a few days." He wiped his hands on his frock and turned to his new Zith associate. He was not sure that they considered each other "friends", but they had developed a mutual respect, borne of a near-mutual-death match right here in the shop a few days earlier.

Before he discovered his love of covert work and stealth, he had been raised in the warrior fold of the Uphis' Quarter of Nyka and he knew the inexplicable bond that two warriors can form immediately after trying to kill each other. He had nothing but respect for her, and she apparently felt the same.

"I'll be ready in a moment. Just let me put this stuff away." He needed more practice riding his new horse anyway. And the city of Ravok would not accommodate such a pursuit. He replaced his frock with his chain shirt, which he had recently discovered had some sort of unnatural lightweight quality imbued into it. He brought his Nettle Cloak as well and retrieved his light crossbow and the three bolts he still retained. He was fortunate even to have three, he had been forced to hunt down two of them from the six he had recently fired at wolves that had harassed his campsite.

He packed up his portable poison crafting kit, making sure to bring several extra small jars. he flipped the sign from "open" to "closed", took a last look around and nodded to Irriari. "Okay, let's go."

[Irriari]

OOCYou're just SO human. Gah.

Irriari waited patiently, and allowed herself to examine his wares once more. After a half chime of looking, she found herself bored and wandered back to the counter to see what Nolan was doing.

The human was busy fidgeting with a needle and a vial of poison. She watched him, trying to decipher the purpose of his actions. It was beyond the zith why anyone would care to mess with a perfectly fine vial of poison. In fact, Irriari had spent plenty of time avoiding her own vials of poison, for fear of breaking them. As she watched Nolan work, the zith came to understand that he didn't need to worry about about breaking his vials with claws. While this should have been obvious before, it was a fact that she had overlooked. Nolan even had shelf space underneath the counter to store all manner of tools. Her own pack was woefully small, and tools below a certain size ended up breaking after a season or two of being tossed during flight.

Nolan explained his process, and Irriari was intrigued at the idea of making airless vials. Her poisons had also weakened in potency over time, and she sympathized with his plight. In the fall of the previous year, a mixture that was supposed to easily kill a deer had weakened to such an extent that her poisoned arrow had only mildly annoyed a hawk. The zith admired the humans ingenuity. She had simply dismissed the decay as a necessary part of potion making.

Thankfully, Nolan spared her the tedious process of watching him repeat the sealing of the vials 40 times over. She glanced over his weapons and materials as he readied himself to leave, taking note of each in case they were attacked. The colony had pounded into her head the importance of knowing the capacity of every warrior that she hunted with. It had served her well over time, and she continued the process religiously as a result. In particular, the crossbow made her wary. She had seen the heavy weapon utilized before by humans, but maintained that a shortbow was far easier to use. She cringed at the thought of how long it would take Nolan to load each bolt, but she kept her thoughts to herself. He had proven his battle prowess the first time they had met, and her respect for him would stand, so long as he didn't make a fool of himself.

When his final preparations were complete, and the shop was closed down, Irriari spoke:

“You're sure that you have everything?”

After his affirmation, the zith began making her way to the ferry.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar caught up to Irriari, having recalled the need for his rucksack and, of course, his trademark cane. He was not going to bother with the phony limping, but he did slip the cane beneath his cloak, hooking it over his left shoulder. He stepped up his walking pace, not wanting to run to catch up.

He came alongside the Zith and readjusted his pace to match hers. He made no mention of the sign designating the presence of 'Black Tar's Alchemical Services'. It was down a side street, but in plain sight. No sense in bringing up the foremost subject in their initial dust-up. His head still rung and he was ill prepared for a rematch.

Fortunately, his shop was in "The Docks" district, as was the ferry landing, so it didn't take long to reach it. Irriari seemed increasingly uncomfortable in the Spring sunlight. He made mention that it was still better that they met at his shop rather his room at the boarding house, where he maintained a room, as it was further from the ferry.

Irriari stopped abruptly and turned a surprised look his way, asking if he meant 'Tarsin's Boarding House'. He confirmed that he did, and then realized it may have been a mistake. Almost immediately she stated with a perplexed and slightly accusing tone that she'd never noticed any signs of a room listed under the name 'Parnell'.

Inoadar leveled a frank look, deciding to let her know a little more about him. He took a breath, "And you never will. I killed the elder of a group that betrayed me in the city of Nyka as a gesture of my contempt for them. And while I do not fear their reprisals, and have already dealt with a few of their pathetic attempts, I still enjoy a place I can go where I do not need to endure their interruptions. My name there is 'Torrel'."

While this was worded with a little more of a warrior's cool than was probably true, the facts were accurate enough for him to say them with an honest and direct look at his Zith partner. Her stare slowly turned fierce, but a hint of a smile appeared as well.

[Irriari]

Irriari forced herself to focus on the conversation at hand. If she let her attention slip, the sun would seem all the more bright. Her thoughts raced as she attempted to process the implications of Torrel killing an elder.

“When we’re in the Wild Lands, you should tell me more about your life in Nyka. I’ve never heard of the place. I could tell you about my colony, if you’re curious. Of course, most humans know absolutely everything they need to know about zith already. We kill, and we enslave.”

Irriari’s tone was far more bitter than she had intended. While Torrel hadn’t been as cruel as most of the humans she encountered, the wounds and struggles of her race were etched into her memory. His smile was infectious, and she found herself grinning in spite of the sour mood that had infected the conversation.

“I killed a member of my colony. There’s nothing quite like vengeance, is there?”

[Inoadar]

Irriari's comment about vengeance placed Inoadar in a surprisingly introspective mood. Not that he didn't agree, but his agreement was left hanging as it clearly triggered deeper thoughts. He turned to look at her after a moment and seemed to reach a decision. He looked away, his head high, but his eyes slightly down, and spoke. "I have not always been a friend of Ravok, nor the Ebonstryfe, nor even Rhysol himself. I lost faith in gods while in Nyka. But more to the point, I lost respect for them."

He looked back to her, unsure of her response. "I don't know what your attitude is in this regard, but I have had my faith restored. Originally, I came here simply to have a life away...anywhere away...from Nyka. I sought out contacts and connections to build a network of my own. In the course of this, I killed soldiers of Ravok. I do not truly know if they were any more than trainees or initiates, but they were my stepping stone to make an impression upon others. It was not a particular desire to oppose Rhysol, but I wished to be an independent...force...so it was natural that I would be at odds primarily with him."

He continued as the ferry gently rocked. "Nor can I, or will I, say that any of my contacts oppose him, actively or otherwise. But eventually, the Ebonstryfe put a bounty on my head and a hunter came to collect it. I faked my death and believed I was free an clear from my Nykan past. But the wretched vermin kept after me, which must have clued the Ebonstryfe of my continued presence in town."

A storyteller's tone of despair colored his voice, but there was an underlying eagerness to proceed, as well. "By this time, I had come to question whether my assessment of gods, based as it was upon the disagreeably biased and contentious foolishness which pervades all of Nyka, was wrong about Rhysol and his lordship of Ravok. But I felt my die was already cast and I could never reconcile my actions here with him. Largely, this was due to my suspicions that my assistant was placed to spy on me. Which, it turns out, he was." he laughed with genuine mirth.

The eagerness rang through in full now, "Ironically, it was yet one more fool from Nyka, come to bring me to 'justice'..." he spat the word, "...that brought me home to recognize that there was still hope. He attacked me, and we fought. When an Ebonstryfe squad came upon the scene. They took us both into custody. Well, I had no doubt my goose was cooked. They would scrutinize my story and my papers, find them false, I would be exposed as a traitor and killer, tortured into revealing my contacts and die with the shame of having failed and betrayed them as well."

Now, pride and warmth filled his words. "But they did not cast me down! They backed me up and set me straight. They cut out my enemy's tongue and gave it to me! They gave me one more chance to see my foolishness. They did not dismantle my network, but instead, have extolled its reach and efficiency and encouraged me to continue as I have done!" his voice trembled slightly and he blinked rapidly several times.

He stopped and looked at her directly, his eyes intense with pride. "Rhysol recognized my worth where Nyka did not! Even after I insolently spat upon him! He overlooked my transgressions in favor of my potential!"

He sighed deeply as he looked away, taking in the glorious waning day, another facet of Rhysol's grace. "I'm sorry." he chuckled. "If you still want to hear about Nyka, It will not be with this same kind of enthusiasm."

[Irriari]

Irriari smiled at the vigor that bolstered Torrel's voice as he spoke of the trials and tribulations he had faced in Nyka. In her experience, few humans were as bold as her new found companion. The majority were chained to cities due to their lack of combat knowledge. Those who did know how to fight were obsessed with the concept of 'honor'. Sevrai had tried to explain it to her multiple times, but no matter how her slave had phrased it, honor seemed like a crutch to cripple the strong so that they would never reach their full potential.

Torrel, on the other hand, seemed to have no such reservations. Her respect for him grew as she learned more of his past, though she became more wary as well. What would happen if she was to annoy him? Shaking her head to clear the troubling thoughts, she took solace in the fact that none of his weapons could hard her if she flew high enough.

As he finished his story, they found themselves at the entrance to the ferry. Irriari stepped gingerly onto the deathtrap of a boat and glared at the captain. He seemed hesitant to have a zith aboard, but he accepted her mizas readily enough.

“Does this mean you are a member of the Black Sun? Or that you are going to be?”

Irriari knew little of the religious organization that oversaw the city. Her focus pertained to the Ebonstryfe, and while she cared about the Black Sun, few humans were brave enough to discuss the faction openly. As the boat made it's way across the lake, she decided to tell her own story.

“I would never think of killing an Elder of the colony. However, I did kill my rival. His name was Fierce.”

The zith spat on the ground at his memory before continuing her story,

“He tried to rape me, so we fought. My focus on poisons didn't help in a brawl. He was winning quite decisively, so I offered my wrists to him as a sign of surrender. He thought I was cowed, so I ripped his manhood away in front of the Elders. We continued fighting, and I barely won.”

Irriari's hand traced the scars that covered her stomach as she spoke. Her eyes were focused beyond the lake, lost in the memory of her fight with Fierce.

“As retribution for the shame I had caused him, he killed my slave that I loved. He brutalized her and toyed with her like a cat would a mouse. I found her body on the floor of my bedroom when I returned from the tunnels. I poisoned him and was cast out from the colony. No matter how useful a slave was, the Elders did not condone murdering a colony member over a slave.”

Her voice cracked as she mentioned Sevrai and she glared at Torrel, daring him to laugh or call her weak.

As she finished her story, the ferry reached land and the traders and travelers began exiting the vessel. Irriari and Torrel found themselves among the last few to leave. After a half bell, Irriari found herself at a familiar part of the Wild Lands that was lively and full of plants and animals.

“Are you ready to go?”

Torrel's horse seemed slightly spooked by the dark expanse of woods that stretched outwards in front of them. She chuckled at the beast and awaited her companions response.

[Inoadar]

"No. That is what feels the best about it. There has been no mention of the necessity of joining the ranks. I believe he sees that I will be more effective not awaiting the chain of command to direct my actions. They said to 'keep impressing them', as I apparently had done while operating on my own. So I continue to take actions and indulge my whims as I see fit. My only concession is not to target his soldiers." a malicious grin spread across his face, "though I think there may be times they may WANT me to."

He sat now in rapt attention as she recalled her own story, thinking what a natural fit the Zith culture seemed to be as a tribute to Rhysol. Had the Uphis Quarter in Nyka been as pure in their recognition of violence, it's application and its embrace, as a measure of worth, he might never have had his falling out. But no, he was not truly the 'warrior' this Zith was. He was an 'operative', an 'infiltrator', an assassin! Every bit as dangerous, he liked to think, but a danger of a different sort. She was the sword that slammed the shield aside to impale your chest. He was the shadow at your feet that joined to the shadow stretching from the dagger in your back.

He did not see her glare at the mention of her slave's fate. He had his face turned away with disgust at the thought of murdering an unarmed slave. He shook his head with a scowl, and turned back to face her. "It seems we both have seen that a person's station does not always impart or imply the honor they feel is their due." He again thought of the Nykan elder, always pulling rank to silence the one fervent student, ordering him to curtail his enthusiasm so he'd quit making the rest of them look bad. Rather than pressing the others to work harder. The familiar disgust surged through him at the memory.

She finished her story as Inoadar sat listening with the ease of one in the company of a kindred spirit. They retrieved his horse, a Zavian he called 'Handy', and he loaded his moderate pack of gear in the saddlebags easily. They walked, Handy growing anxious as they reached the woods. Inoadar suspected that Irriari's presence was distressing the animal as well.

He nodded when she asked if he was ready and they were soon swallowed up by the woods.

[Irriari]

Irriari scanned the wooded area, searching for the smallest sign of unrest. She stretched her legs and arms forward as she pushed her senses to their limit. By allowing herself to let go of her thoughts, Irriari found that she could embrace the wilds in a way that she had long thought was impossible. Crickets and bugs rustled beneath her feet, displacing the leaves and mosses that had fallen from the canopy below. Sparrows, wrens, and crows vied for the attention of their mates among the din of the skies above. Smaller prey animals scurried about, and she could sense their unease as they scattered in the wake of her entrance. The zith tried stretching her hearing further, but after a few seconds her focus weakened to the point that it was lost.

Next, she scanned the treeline, looking for obvious traps and ropes that would signal the presence of a hunter. The tall cypress trees to her right were unmarked, save for the traditional wear and tear of erosion. Gazing to the left, Irriari saw a small grouping of oak trees. She walked towards them, noting that one to the left had recently been clawed by a bear. She pointed it out to Torrel, wondering if he knew what would cause such large gashes.

“I’d like to fly now. I’ve scanned the area, and I don’t see anything bad yet, but I’d feel better if I was in the air.”

With that, the zith pushed off from the ground, pumping her wings rapidly to gain the height needed to sustain flight.

“The pond I have in mind is a forty five minute flight from here. I’ll fly slowly, so I don’t leave you behind. If you see a predator, or something else that isn’t right, yell to me. If I see something, I’ll come down to you. Chances are it could be far away, and I don’t want it knowing our location, if I can help it.”

Irriari flew upward, cursing at the oak branches that seemed determined to block her ascent. After a half chime, she was high enough above the forest to have a perfect view of the woods below. Far in the distance, she could see the clearing that signaled that the lake was nearby. The zith began to fly, occasionally circling back to check the path that they had covered so far as they made their way to the lake.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar occasionally searched with his sighting lens to keep track of Irriari's movements. But for the most part he had only a dark spot against a field of stars to mark her location. She seemed to have less trouble finding him, even hidden as he was beneath the canopy of the forest. His naturally suspicious attitude gave rise to anxieties over possible ambushes by other Zith she may have gone to gather.

Even though she had betrayed no indications of lingering resentment, he could not help himself. When he added everything up, it was not far-fetched to imagine her nursing a grudge over the fight in the shop, draw or not. It was, after all, HER idea to go on this little excursion. HER insistence that it be at night. He had only her word to take that the daylight caused her discomfort. Now she had him following her into unknown territory, away from any fellow humans, to a destination only she knew.

He halted his horse and sat stewing in his isolation. He hated being dependent on anyone for anything. There was no real trail he was following, just a general direction. He made use of the easiest paths through the underbrush to maintain his heading. He already had scrapes on his face from low branches. Handy was not benefiting from his being mounted either.

He grunted with annoyance and dismounted, leading Handy behind him. In short order, he tripped. The foot he transferred his weight to also caught on whatever was snaring him and he fell against a tree for support. Something smelled funny and he looked up to see an odd growth on the side of the tree. It was like a tiny round shelf jutting from the bark. There were several of them.

The smell reminded him of something. An odor in Black Tar's place. He had come to use "Black Tar" as a name for the owner as well as the shop. It was not a pleasant smell, though not strong enough to be truly considered UNpleasant. It was not incense, or oil. It surely wasn't some sort of base for perfume. He decided it may be worth something to the man and cut several "shelves" from the tree, depositing them in his saddlebags.

He heard Irriari's voice calling to him and he recalled his suspicious thoughts of a few chimes ago and felt a bit embarrassed as he replied with a wave. She pointed off ahead on a more southerly tangent than he'd been heading and he nodded. He felt instinctively that he should make as little noise as possible. It was all well and good for the Zith to call out, she was safely aloft. Another spark of resentment ran its course and relaxed. He shrugged and started again, altering his heading a little to the south.