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[Razkar]

5th Day of Winter, 513AV
Baroque Bay
13th Bell

He didn't think he would ever feel warm again. Where he came from, the nearest word they had for snow basically translated to white-peaks, because that was all they were the the jungle-dwellers. The impossibly tall and distant plateaus, blending in with the clouds, black and brown rock giving way to a strange, perfect blankness.

Razkar had learned the word "snow" since then, mainly because he'd wanted to know what the fuck the endless icy flakes falling on him were. Now he'd seen more of it in one year than most Myrians would the rest of their lives. The coasts were covered in it, perpetual drifts of the stuff that did not sink into the ground or melt but just sat there, gaining depth and then freezing, like the whole world was being immobilized by some icy power.

He shuddered inside his leather jacket, then stifled a growl as he remembered he had to wear one. Not to mention the breeches and linen shift under it. His usual loincloth-and-cloak ensemble simply wasn't cutting it now, not when the temperature plunged down and down and never rose again, and the rain that lashed the Calypso froze and was littered with ice shards.

The Calypso. His home for... twenty-five days? More? Their home, actually. Edreina and their "contract", which in their case was a bunch of Denvali who were on the wrong side of the aborted coup d'etat in Zeltiva and their options had shrunk from either staying and suffering the consequences or leaving and making a new life far from the City of Scrolls.

They chose the latter, and since it wasn't just the Waveguard pursuing them, they'd hired Razkar and Edreina to keep them safe. Now their journey was nearly at an end. The sturdy schooner had carried them over the waves, to almost the edge of the world, as far as Razkar's people knew. Beyond the shores of Sunberth, he could see little but yet more ocean.

What happens when you go over that horizon? Do you fall off the edge? Or do you... come across something else? Forever? Or come back where you started?No, that wouldn't make sense. That would only work if the world was... a circle, or something...

"Harbor ho'!"

Razkar allowed himself a small smile of triumph as he understood the short, ubiquitous Svefra phrase. His time with Edreina certainly had not been wasted. Murmuring rose like a stink on the deck as passengers and sailors came to his side, squinting and pointing and resting a flat hand above their eyes to hide the glaring, unvarnished Syna of the Winter, gazing out to the approaching shore...

"Sunberth."

Syliras had towered majestically over the horizon, tall and powerful, every inch the citadel of human civilization. Riverfall had been the same when Razkar had sailed to her port, rounded, curving architecture carved and hammered into the cliff side, looking so unnatural yet so beautiful, avenue-wide waterfall a counterpoint to the shining beauty.

Zeltiva, now... that had been... somewhat more like what he saw now. A serious and industrious place of learning and commerce, there had been the towers and spires, surely, but mostly warehouses and dark, unpretentious warehouses below them. As Razkar rested his hands on the railings, he peered at Sunberth with cold, baleful yes...

It looks as they described it... a vast and open wound on the world...

Sunberth did not rise nor tower; it was smeared across the shore like a fungus or an infection. Countless squat buildings, crammed together worse than East Street... even the Denvali Quarter had looked better than this. Then and there a few buildings were taller, stronger, older, but they were like dandelions growing out of a field of shit... and smoke... fires bulged and spewed forth into the sky... one more massive than them all, casting a pall of stinking darkness over the city in the middle of the day...

The Myrian felt his nose curl. Already the stench of it was tickling at his nostrils, even though they were a good bell or so away. Goddess alone knew what it smelled like on the docks.

"Alright!" He said sharply, suddenly, accented but fluent Common bark snapping the Denvali at least to attention. Edreina and he had instructed them well, after all. "Time to prepare for your new home..."

[Edreina]

"Harbor Ho!"

The cry across the deck sent a strange chill up Edreina's spine. After so long back in her element, it would be odd to return to the realm of those who walked upon still earth and somehow found themselves content in that. The rolling of the ocean had become a song to her again, each roll a rhythm of life itself. Could she return to Razkar's world? Her breath caught and she pulled the borrowed blanket tighter around herself. It smelled warm and woody and, as all things upon the ocean did, salty; it reminded her of the safety of the hold below where her head had lain many a night, now. She had not been prepared for such weather, a coat of some sort would be the first thing she purchased in Sunberth.

Among her own people, she had bartered for anything she needed. Her return to using coin would be unnerving, but not as much as at first. A leather purse swelled with glittering coin in a way she had never known, and still did not care for. Worldly possessions made her feel vulnerable.

Looking around at the handful of ships surrounding the Calypso, Edreina was reminded of how far she had come in only a few seasons. On each ship were Denvali refugees from Zeltiva walking and talking every bit like the Svefra she had taught them to be. Even the more corpulent had managed to slim down a hair or two in their time working the ships. There was, however, a small, scholarly group that gave her worry - they were about to enter the world's arsehole, as she had heard Razkar call it more times than she could count, after all.

Across the deck she strode towards a familiar, if more clothed, figure. A guise was in place, weak as it was, so she resisted the urge to take shelter in his arms and settled instead for a hand upon his forearm. In her silence, he would perhaps feel her trembling worry over her shivering cold. When their eyes met, he would feel, through the assistance of Djed, a sudden burst of feeling. She made no attempt to hide of make it subtle, only to remind him without words. Both of them had their weaknesses and now, more than ever, they had to rely upon each other; he had to rely on her now, from time to time. Her touch strengthened this feeling, and he would be reminded of the steel strength that hid beneath so supple a figure. In his mind eye he would, perhaps, see through her flesh to the harsh black mark that now spoke of a godly favor upon her palm.

"We can do this..." she mouthed with a quirking lip, letting the sensation fade away.

Her eyes found the horizon and she could not help the way her head cocked at the sight of it. Sunberth was already unlike any city she had sailed to before. Grumbling curiosity rose from the depths of her being again at the mere silhouette of the city. Laviku's domain was beautiful, awe-inspiring, and perfect in so many ways. But, it was all the same. Everything worth discovering was so far beneath the waves she would never reach it without being able to breath in the water as fish did. On land, there were infinite possibilities. So many people to meet, places to visit, and things to learn, here.

Next on the list was Sunberth...

[Razkar]

He didn't need to look around to know the presence was when it settled on the wooden rail next to him. Some things you didn't know, anyway: you felt them. They touched you beyond flesh and even the memory of them was harder than bone. More real. But when Edreina took up position on his flank, Razkar was assailed by a familiar and turgid sea of emotions.

They'd been striking him more and more throughout the voyage. Despite their talks and reasoning and baring of souls, despite the grueling regime Edreina had imposed upon their charges to mould from from Denvali to Svefra ("same difference", Razkar had said, which had earned him a withering look), nearly thirty days at sea gives a man too much time to think.

He'd tried to beat and train and exercise and even read his way out of it. But whenever she was around... whenever his gaze fell on the dark mark on her pale hand... his eyes and his heart filled with something dark and terrible, and he turned away from her.

Razkar sighed out across the bow, waves sliced by the hull of the Calypso and battering it at the same time, sturdy vessel plowing onward through fathomless depths. Usually the motion would have calmed him... dulled his mind and the ugliness that visited him more those days... but now she was here...

He didn't hate her. He couldn't. She did not ask to be so endowed... but she had been. She been rewarded and he'd been punished for... what? Still, after days and days of frowning, pondering questioning, Razkar had no idea why Yahal had cursed him so. Perhaps to try and understand the mind of a deity was blasphemous, therefore impossible... and so rage and hatred had replaced whatever logic may have aided the Myrian.

And he did hate. And he did rage. But because he could not bear to hurl those emotions at his beloved Svefra, he marshaled them back and launched them with redoubled fury at the perfect, pompous image of that bastard who had taken his certainty.

Razkar sighed and turned, sadness in his eyes. She was not to blame, but she was in the eye of the hurricane his soul had. To move her just a few steps on either side, and...

"We can do this..."

His next breath was like that of a drowning man surfacing from the ocean under their feet; Syna waxed hotter, clearer... and the pools of her eyes were more beautiful than ever. Razkar smiled wryly: he recognized the feeling. She was probably working her djed on him, interfering with his-

No... No... Not your mind. She's letting you into hers, too. Letting you see the hope and trust she has in you. Don't spoil it with hate. Not right now.

"No reason to think we can't," he said enigmatically, capping it off with a mischievous grin that always looked out of place on that nigh-demonic visage. Razkar squeezed her forearm and took a deeper breath... then wrinkled his nose. "If the smell doesn't kill us first..."

"All hands, prepare for docking!" The Captain bawled from next to the steersman, both grizzled and reliable examples of seafaring folk, "Passengers are to stay below deck until we are safely docked! This isn't Zeltiva, folks, this is Sunberth, and you will watch your step here... especially when those steps are still on my damn vessel!"

Razkar had to hide his smile as a couple of the... "better-bred" Denvali bristled at his salty tone. Oh, they would have to put up with much worse, he was sure of that, but already they were getting used to their new roles as refugees.

Not only that: Svefra refugees. No Denvali around here, no, sir, just good, honest Children of Laviku. Honest.

The Myrian chuckled at the memory. Oh, Edreina had been a holy terror, drilling their party of fleeing Denvali mercilessly into the ways of her people. She'd called it "drowning learning", which was as close to translating the Fratava as she could get. It basically consisted of throwing the student into the subject and not letting him come up for air. He spoke, acted, walked and looked Svefra. That was that.

His cloak rustled and slid over his arm as he turned... hiding his hand as he squeezed hers gently. The hand with the mark on it, and... and he didn't flinch nor shirk. Whatever was or would be, she loved him. Razkar knew that above anything else, save the glory of Myri.

No... his heart would never turn against her. He would save the bile within for Yahal, and one day, oh, one day...

"And here we go..."

Dark, scarred hands slid unconsciously over every weapon on his body as they approached the dock, and the roiling, choking, screeching chaos of Sunberth and its roaring Docks spilled over the water towards them like an oil slick.

[Edreina]

At the command to prepare for docking, she winked wryly at Razkar and threw herself into the activities of a docking ship with the Svefra and new Svefra. Some she had decided would make good fishermen and directed to the proper Svefra to learn that from; others had proven to be magnificent weavers and jewlers, making beautiful pieces out of the pearls and shells and stones of the sea; a fair few had proven to be promising deck hands. Occasionally, she or another would have to tighten a knot they had made or help them haul a line, but they were doing their best for seamen so green.

A breeze caught the ship and the men and women furling the sail found themselves torn forward as the white linen billowed again to life. Curses danced across the ship and, acting upon instinct, Edreina and another of her kin leapt up and caught hold of the wayward rope, using their body weight to pull it further down and then their strength to help pull the ornery sail flush against the mast.

From that point on, it would be up to the helmsman to make sure they drifted into the docks correctly.

The redhead took her place at one of the docking lines, preparing to leap overboard onto the dock and secure the ship. When they were close enough, she and four others leapt onto the still dock; she was not the only one to stumble at the change but they all were able to recover and to begin heaving backwards.

Something was... off. Already Sunberth was proving to be different from any port she had ever entered before, especially from the most recent port of Zeltiva. Most places, docking crew would rush forward to help sidle a ship up to the dock. Here, the five were working alone. A bark of Fratava told others from the ship to come help and, after a tick, each line was four thick with assistance.

After an eternity of heaving, the ship was docked and the gangplank lowered.

The Calypso had reached Sunberth in truth. She and Razkar had accomplished their duty.

Now what?

Abruptly, Edreina found herself without purpose and it was utterly disconcerting. Before Razkar, she would have shrugged and run back to the ship, bounding about with glee and curiosity as to where their sails and the sea's currents would lead them next. But now, there was Razkar and they would be remaining upon the land to do gods knew what.

All she knew was that at some point she would have to seek out Ignotus and continue her lessons. It was not much, but it was enough to help her find comfort in the still earth upon which she would shortly be trapped.

Onto the ship she returned, but only to grab her gear and prepare to disembark. Below deck, she found her back with the sack of coins tucked between articles of clothing to lessen jingling, the wakazashi she had never used but would strap to her hip regardless, and the whip that was her faithful companion.

When she emerged once again, she looked every bit the mercenary's apprentice instead of the free-spirited Svefra she had been. Red hair was bound in a thick braid by a faded yellow bandanna and the ink slicing her midsection led right down to the fanged whip curled on hip. When Razkar was ready, they would meet the stinking cesspool that was Sunberth together.

[Razkar]

"Always adept at looking the part, Reina..."

The Svefra colored slightly at the Myrian's words, but only slightly; in fact, she looked more miffed than flattered, though his words were only for her ears. Razkar nodded his approval. She was far from the somewhat naive girl that had ventured with him into the Wildlands. She had been seasoned in combat and baptized in blood... and now, much as he groused about it, he had the favor of a god that could make her the equal of any male she faced.

And that isn't even counting her wyrd...

"Alright, quick work all around!" The Captain was already snapping off orders to his scurrying crew, pacing up and down the deck, arm flung every which way. "Get the goods unloaded! Bosun?! Provisions and fresh water, and take a couple of the lads! Passengers?! No need to stand on petching ceremony!"

Again there was that shuffling disquiet to a few, but Razkar further approved: they were a tiny minority. Mainly those too old to be truly changed in their ways, but the rest of the group sprang into action. Many days they had lived on the Calypso, absorbing Edreina's lessons and taking the Captain's orders. They were used to it, and the Myrian wondered if any of the wharf rats watching them now would take them for the refugees they truly were, or think they were born Svefra.

Speaking of which...

"Alright, female," he said quietly, tone sure and intent, "Time to get them moving..."

He shifted the rucksack of his shoulders and his hands touched every piece of metal he had. Everything else was stuffed into the sack, his tent and bedroll wrapped up and fastened to the top of it. He would miss Mrrko's muscle, truly he would, but the Calypso was no place for him, and Sunberth certainly wasn't.

A few of the Denvali cast familiar, fearful looks at the huge skull hanging over the back of the rucksack. Rune-scarred and bleached by time, the deformed Dhani had been an old and very personal enemy of Razkar's; now it was a means for power... but one he'd yet to use.

"Children of Laviku?!" He barked, and as expected, the Denvali swung to him as one. "Disembark! Keep your gear about you and stay together, no wandering! Speak to no-one and listen not to the whispers of enticement of this place! You all know the stories..."

Damn right they did: Razkar had embellished several and given the worse ones to them straight. Sunberth was a beacon of anarchy for the entire world, and the only law or any man was the one sheathed at his hip. Common sense, a healthy suspicion and a willingness to shed blood protected the people here. Such a lesson had been hard to impart, but teach anything enough times, and the student will learn.

"Edreina? With me."

They bounded over the side onto the creaking pier and Razkar wondered if this counted as making land. After all, it was wood, and under them was sloshing, filthy water, not rich black dirt. Still, the pier wouldn't sail away, so-

Focus! You are still on the job, boy!

"Captain?" Razkar barked a little sharper, getting the busy Svefra's attention. "Where are safe lodgings in this city?"

"Ha! You might want to stretch your definitions a little, Myrian."

Razkar grimaced and sighed. "Where can these people stay where they are least likely to be killed for their boots?"

The grizzled seabird scratched a rough black beard and mulled it over for a few ticks, idly watching the boxes and crates and sacks make their way off his vessel. "Sunset Quarters, I think would be your best bet. On the poor side of town, but that helps, I think."

Razkar frowned. Poor to him immediately meant "unsafe and vulnerable", and he felt ill at ease with escorting these barbarians so far only to throw them into chaos the second the job was over with. "How?"

The Captain grinned, somewhere between leering and amused. "Who the petch steals from those already poor, Myrian? The gangs leave that place be, on the whole. No bloody point squeezing those already squeezed, y'know?" His eyes twinkled knowingly and he crossed his arms, directing his gaze back to his busy crew. "Best place to go if you're not looking to be found, f'you ask me."

Then his gaze froze, and the smile with it. Fraction by fraction it died, and Razkar followed it-

-seeing the approaching scrum of "humanity" stomping up the pier towards them.

"Trouble."

Both men spoke at once and shared a glance; both knew where their duties lay, too. The Captain was far from a cruel man, but he wasn't a charity; he had his ship and crew to take care of, and knew the ills of Sunberth. Razkar had his charges to protect, and once all pretense was shorn away (which didn't take long), knew that his patronage of the Calypso was at an end.

"Look to yours, Sea Man."

"And you to yours, Myrian."

Twas their farewell, and apt it was. Razkar looked meaningfully at Edreina and started moving; she'd probably seen the same crew approaching. The Myrian planted himself between them and the Denvali on the narrow pier, observing the squad of full-handed men.

The way they moved told him much. Razkar had been far from enmeshed in the underworld, but he knew that men such as these were furtive and secretive in other places. In Syliras, Zeltiva, Riverfall, they operated in the shadows, and would never mount such force so openly, lest the weight of law crush them. But here, in Sunberth? Naked force made all the rules, and that was what they were showing: force, power, control and all the benefits they would get from displaying it.

Intimidation. Well. Lets see how that goes...

His face was expressionless, but already a war was waged in Razkar's mind. He looked at weapons - clubs, axes, swords... a handful of spears... no shields, little in the way of armor... they depend on numbers - and stances. Already he knew that should trouble come, the advantage was slightly in his favor: the pier was barely ten feet across, and with a weapon in each hand, he could deny them any advance, force them to fight him maybe two at a time.

Which he could handle, but...

Not we. Not just you. Her as well. She is no longer... just someone to protect and hide away. She is you lover and your partner. She is... an asset. Use her.

"Edreina?" He said calmly, taking a few steps to his left so he was just off-center of the wooden pier. "Stay to my back, but on my right. Keep your hands ready. We may be able to avoid this..."

He had no lies in him, though; not for her.

"But I doubt it. Be ready to protect our people."

Ah, the Myrian could have grinned; he smiled, in fact, at the goateed man leading the gang to them, but not for the reason the human probably thought. Our people? Strange choice of words for a Child of Myri... but, a job was a job...

"What do you want, friend?"

The human (or so Razkar assumed) and his entourage measured the two warriors (or so they assumed). They noted with professional care the gladius, ax, kukri, whip, wakazashi... not to mention the scars and ink on both. A Svefra? Well, they got those all the time... but a Myrian...?

Tension. Razkar could have licked his lips at the scent of it, and the fear lingering behind it. The human looked him up and down, masking it well, weighing the bronze-headed club in the form of a snarling wolf with both hands.

"New to the city?"

"Just arrived, as you can see."

"Ah... well, you probably need to know how things work, then."

Razkar felt Myri's Mark growl into life at the back of his neck. "How what things work?"

"Consider it... a toll fee." Goatee said with a chuckle, eliciting the sycophantic, unhealthy wheezing of his lackeys. "You know what that is, right?"

"No."

The smile faded. Cold, ruthless intent replaced them, trying to burn a hole through the savage that blinked right back at him, eyes innocent as a lamb's... or a hawk's.

"You come on our docks, you pay the price for doing so. Half of what you have."

"This is your dock?"

"Yes."

"Where is the sign?"

Murmuring. Ugly and accompanied with sneers and snarls and Goatee bristled like a dog scenting a rival. He wasn't stupid; he knew when he was being mocked, but also knew when mere intimidation wouldn't work. The thing before him wasn't some quaking merchant easily cowed by a few brutes. This was a man who clearly had killed and killed again, and again, and again...

Goatee smirked. Like that's petching news around here?

"My sign?" He jerked a thumb behind him, taking in the no-necks backing him up. "These lads are. They're my... authority, as it were."

He took a daring step forward.

"That's how things work here, savage. Authority is the man with the most swords and hands to swing them at his call. Around here, that's me. No constables to cry to, no petching Knights to crusade against us on your behalf... just us, and believe me, mate, you don't want to test us."

Gulls cawed. Hulls creaked. Crates thumped and sacks clumped onto old and complaining wood. None of the Svefra took their eyes from the scene, as if ignorance would protect them. But the Denvali couldn't help it, huddled together, separated from the wolves only by a tiger... and his tigress.

"Now, I think that half of what... you... hey, what's-"

The Myrian didn't answer. He simply reached back and settled something over his head. Goatee shuddered slightly before he got a hold of himself, and then just... stared.

Bright black eyes of the living stared out through the empty sockets of the dead. Through the still-fanged maw of the Dhani skull, he could see the Myrian smile... and yet more fangs were revealed. His crew shuffled uneasily behind him, seeing the sight their mothers (if they had them, which Razkar doubted) had always whispered to them about.

He felt the rush spread through his limbs. Fierce, flourishing joy. He thought briefly of Jorven, released from trotting servitude and free to gallop and rush and be what he truly was. He felt the moaning, hissing power of that dead damned Dhani crawl through his limbs, sharpen them as much as his throbbing gnosis did...

"Thank you."

"What?! What do yo-"

Time stopped and matter blurred into a silver flash. A blink. Maybe two. But when Tanroa's march recommenced, the Myrian's arm was held high, gladius at the end of it... dripping blood... ax in his other hand...

Something round and hairy tumbled to the pier.

"-oughhr..."

Goatee's last word wheezed from a mouth now bereft of lungs and throat and everything else. His crew gaped... and Razkar grinned.

Much he had marveled to see Edreina teach what she knew, for it was the imparting of true knowledge. Expertise. Watching one do what they were best at was a joy. This was what he was best at; what he was born and trained and molded to become.

And now... there was nothing to hold him back.

The rest of Goatee's crew raised weapons, opened their mouths to shout their challenge-

-and the black maw of the Dhani skull hurtled towards them, swinging arms of steel and ecstatic, bloody lust carving into stunned flesh.

[Edreina]

The instant the strange man's smile faded, Edreina knew that this would not end without conflict. As slowly as she could manage, she reached over and undid the clasp that held the whip against her side, freeing it to fall into her hand. The eyes of each man in the opposing company slid over Razkar first, she noted, and then her. Obviously, they saw him to be the bigger threat and would likely focus their efforts on him first and foremost.

Once upon a time, Razkar could easily have handled every one of the men before him without pause. But these days a curse with affects still partially unknown held him back, made him weak at the worst of moments. There was a metallic thud as the bulk of her whip fell to the dock, leaving her with only the heavy, heel-spiked handle. The motion drew the eyes of a few of those being motioned to, and she stood a mite straighter. Her jaw raised defiantly, baring her throat, and her eyes flashed. Any that met them would suddenly take the young woman into account. She made them to see that she could be a threat as well with her Djed. It was a subtle suggestion, playing off of their natural tendency to be wary of anyone with a weapon. She could not help how smug they were of their prowess, but maybe she could distract a few long enough for Razkar to fend off however many he could manage. Things had certainly changed.

She felt them behind her, the lost creatures she had been guiding to a new life. Some long ignored instinct trilled into her veins, causing her to bristle faintly. These were her people, if in responsibility alone; she had a duty to protect them and their endeavor.

In all her time knowing the Myrian, Edreina had never seen him use this particular piece of Djed-filled bone. Worry gripped her as she knew that all magic of this sort came with a price. If he was using it now... he knew he needed it.

Before she could comprehend what had transpired, she was in the middle of a warzone. And her soul was on fire.

Pure, holy fire.

"Yahal be with me."

Two men broke from the crowd and rushed at her. They had been the ones spending notably longer staring her down, as if in disbelief of the fact that a woman stood before them, challenging them. The first reached her first and reeked of stale beer. His eyes were a crazed shade of pale brown, there were two black gaps in his maw where teeth should have been, and there was a mole upon his jaw; the handle of the axe in his hand had about twenty tally marks carved into it; those were his tattooed skulls. How her mind managed to capture all of this so quickly astounded her, but she had no time for that. This man had killed without shame and was intending to do so again.

It. Was. Wrong.

This entire place was wrong!

Her whip lashed with a strength it had never known, teeth glinting in Syna's light as a ribbon of the brightest crimson followed it up, around, and back into the sky for a second pass. An angry, weeping wound lay across the man's broad, hairy chest, and it was quickly joined by a second that scored him from the shoulder to the bottom of his ribs.

A feral woman stood before him now, half crouched as she assessed the situation. Obviously, the whip's biting edge would do nothing to deter trouble and she had not the skill to place a perfect wound, a killing wound.

The first man would not give her time, either.

His ax raised and was hurtling towards her in a blink. Her body swayed out and away from the weapon, her leg snapping up so that her knee was at her chest in the same instant. Thrown off balance, the man continued to swing through the air after his ax and, far more quickly than she anticipated, her leg snapped back down onto his elbow. The only problem, for the man that started to squeal like a cut pig, was that she stepped on the wrong side of his elbow to bend properly...

At first.

While standing upon the elbow of his comrade, Edreina exchanged a short series of blows with his club wielding friend, finding herself able to bat away his swings as if he were swinging a switch. The fighting, on her part, was based largely upon brute strength instead of skill, odd though it surely looked. When both of his arms were removed from play as she bat them both out and away, a quick jab of her spike through his throat ended his life in a gurgle.

Blood and gore splattered already, Edreina ended the still screaming man's life with a sharp blow of her fist to the side of his head. The feeling of it crunching and caving like the carapace of a crab beneath her fist was worse than the feeling of such occurring through a rock, she would later realize.

Trembling faintly, she rounded on the majority of the fighting, faintly pleased to see that some of the Denvali had joined in on the skirmish. But, her eyes sought only one form.

OOCLeave at least three... I have an idea of how to make our point.

[Razkar]

Razkar was... pleasantly surprised. He'd expected the rabble to be, well, just that: rabble. Disorganized and unmotivated, easily broken in the mind and no challenge in the body. A few corpses and even outnumbering them five to one, they'd break and flee. But this was Sunberth. If you didn't know how to brawl and claw your way to your next meal in this city, you were the next meal. Sometimes literally.

"Fuck're you waiting f-"

Not that it was helping them much, but Razkar did get so infernally bored with sub-par opponents. He supposed his gnosis and the bound power of the helm was an unfair advantage but, ha, when did that ever matter to him?

Two were slain before they even managed to raise their weapons. The one on Razkar's right had his chest ripped open with his ax, blow like an edged hammer, smashing ribs with an awful cracking like a handful of twigs being tread on, accompanied with a fountain of red then black blood, fresh from pumping arteries-

-bathing him in stinking, coppery, sizzling red life as the man tumbled.

The second fared perhaps a little better, in both senses. He slashed at the Myrian with his short sword but Razkar blocked it with his gladius, metal clashing together, the Myrian's block forcing the shorter sword up, away, opening up the man's chest-

-and there was a thunk, a sickening scraping as two feet of sharp steel pierced flesh, bisected muscle and ground against bones, impaling the pumping order behind the shattered breastbone.

The thug coughed wetly, just once, and then vomited blood when Razkar twisted the blade, ripping open the hole and ripping his blade free.

Speed. That was what the helm was granting him. Sheer agility. Some bellowing, shaven bear swung a club low at his legs, seeking to bring the savage bastard down fast. Razkar flung himself upward, but twisted, body going from vertical to perpendicular in the air, legs almost together, spinning, Mister Club's jaw dropped at the sight of it-

-but Razkar's arms were spinning to, and his gladius slashed down first, cutting the club in two-

-before his rune-enhanced ax smashed through the human's face and made quite a mess of things. Teeth tinkled merrily onto the pier along with chunks of cheek and a staring, stunned eyeball.

"Fuck it, we're-"

Razkar only partly heard that cry. As usual, his senses were far in excess when he was in this moment. He saw and heard everything around him. Angles of attack, stances, weapons and weaknesses, fear and anger in eyes, enemies and friends-

-Edreina, lashing away with her whip and laying waste to a pair of thugs that would have laughed away her lethality mere chimes ago. But Razkar could see more than just skill and courage powered her now. With speed and vicious power, she crippled one man and jammed the spike of her whip through the throat of another in second's.

Then the downed cripple's wailing was cut off... as she nearly made his skull into a bowl. At the sight of the comrades laid to waste the rest of the thugs began to quail, backing away...

This is the moment. The breaking point. Where things... must...

"Oh, no... oh-"

"-no..."

Like a pall of cruel and choking smoke, the curse of Yahal fell over him and Razkar felt his limbs stiffen as though he was already dead. The bright, clear vision of the half-dozen shirking thugs became a collage of blurred outlines and dancing shapes, though they were only yards away.

He would not fall; he didn't allow himself. The Myrian gritted his teeth and held onto the snarling anchor in his mind.

Hate. Hate for Yahal and the scorched words on his chest. Disgust for the barbarian god and his pompous judgement. Hate for the trash before him, their words bubbling into his mind now as they saw his weakness, sought to capitalize-

-and then fresh shadows raged from his flanks and tore into them.

The sheer cosmic shock of the sight cured as much as Yahal had taken. The Denvali had taken up arms - hillhooks and fishing knives, deck hatchets and oars - inspired by the two heathen mercenaries who fought what seemed a small army for them.

The younger ones, Razkar's mind managed to sputter, smile creasing his lips even as he swayed, always rely on them to get some fool romantic courage in their minds.

But the shock was working in their favor. The Sunberth thugs simply weren't expecting the worm to turn, and now they couldn't fly away fast enough. Unaffected by Yahal's curse - quite the opposite, in fact - Razkar saw his lover and partner cut down another squealing thug, and two more were simply swamped by the charging Denvali.

They tried to fight but the pier gave them no room, no chances, no advantage. One screamed and hollered as a hillhook raked across his face and blinded him. Another looked down in horror as his hand was slashed from his arm, staring at the spurting stump until a bookish Denvali mercifully(?) ended his nightmare with a skull-fracturing oar.

"W-Wait! P-Please?!"

Razkar's lips curled with disgust as the remaining trio collapsed, resolve and bravado disappearing. They'd extorted, bullied, maimed and killed countless times, he was willing to bet, but now they expected the mercy that they'd always denied. He felt ready to vomit, but much as he would have liked to see the Denvali finish the job...

They can... be used...

Even thinking was a chore in the filthy more of Yahal's disfavor. Like a drowning man lurching through strong waves, Razkar raised his ax and roared-

"HOLD!"

The foggy skies became clear in an instant; outlines and silhouettes became stark and real and Razkar's limbs were once again his own, and without any lollygagging. The Myrian breathed deep and relished the freedom from the curse. Every time it happened... it got a little easier to bear.

Well, no, that was a lie. But knowing it could happen made it easier to control when it did, and if Yahal's idea of educating him was forcing him to be weak when he had to be strong... well, he was a moronic god, for one thing, but Razkar would play his game.

After all, what else could you do when a god broke out the board?

The sellsword blinked and frowned at himself. Bad time to get introspective. The Denvali were looking at him in shocked anger. Why? Why leave these animals alive? They'd only come back to muscle someone else or, worse, track them down to regain their damaged egos.

"Better to finish it, Myrian," one of them growled, one hand grasping the neck of a rat-faced thug, the other holding a hatchet high, "No need to take the risk."

"Not... yet." Razkar said, getting his breathing back to normal, black eyes fixed on their prisoners. He flicked a glance at Edreina and then the two of them walked patiently over to the scrum of fallen Sunberthians and victorious Denvali. "They still have some use..."

OOCWait for Edri to reply, then me, then jump in Adam!

[Edreina]

Few were left at that point, but turning to the side she could see a younger member of the Denvali being overpowered by a wiry looking thug. An uncharacteristic growl slid from between the Svefra's lips as she saw days of work hanging on by a thread; these Denvali had become kin to her.

Long legs closed the distance in a blink and, before she had stopped entirely, her whip was screeching through the air as she tore her arm backwards. It whistled a high, warning note the instant before its fangs sank into the man's back, tearing through his sack cloth shirt as easily as if it were a calm ocean and her blade the prow of a mighty ship. Muscles tensed in pain and the younger Denvali found himself freed from a fleshy noose.

Prepared though she was to intervene and end the man's life, the man lunged forward without hesitation and drove a fist into the stunned, shrieking man's nose. That was entirely the influence of Razkar and, surely, the man's own will to survive. A dangerous situation did strange things to the minds of man. With a sharp exhale, the attacker's eyes rolled and life left his body. But still the man with livid red marks about his neck did not cease in rearranging the face of the thug. In his eyes, Edreina saw the same wild desperation as she had felt in hers that day in the mountains, so seemingly long ago.

The fact that she was able to be gentle with someone with all the fire in her veins surprised Edreina as she pulled the youth off of the corpse, tucking him under her arm. His breath was quick and harsh; it trembled almost as much as his hands did.

"You're ok..." She whispered, rubbing his arm and feeling herself still; the fire left her body and a trembled racked her for an instant. Seeing the men she had killed threatened to turn her stomach but she swallowed hard, holding her eyes shut to trap the terrified, shocked tears. They were not yet even in the city and she was being forced to kill. How would she survive here long enough for Raz to do whatever the petch it was he had been hired to do?

"HOLD!"

Looking up, wild blue eyes locked onto a darker form and relief surged through her soul as she realized that Razkar was safe. And so was she, so long as she had him. With a final pat on the arm, she released the youth the the arms of his family and strode over to her partner, nodding gently to make sure he knew she was unharmed. Together they strode over to a trio of hostages.

One lay prone with a knee in his back, the other was held standing by a hand on his throat and the threat of a hatchet in the air. The third, upon whom Edreina focused, was held on his knees by a blade across his throat. His eyes still held the heat of hate, of defiance and rebellion.

In Sunberth, everyone killed, so no one feared it. Somehow, she and Razkar had to make enough of a reputation for themselves to avoid further trouble without attracting every glory-digger in the filthy streets. The key, she realized, would be mystery, and legend.

Yahal... I need your strength... for myself and for my love, she thought, eyeing the man in silence. As if in response, she felt the sharp black mark on her palm throb to life and electricity spark through her mind. As it always did, her mind grew sharp and her body strong; it served her well in a fight. She hoped that the same would go for the use of magic.

Without looking to Razkar, she stepped forward and knelt before the man, positioning herself so that he had nowhere to look except for her eyes. His lip curled and she saw his shoulder flex an instant before the knife was glinting in Syna's light, heading towards her ribs. In a gnosis-strengthened grip, his hand was twisted savagely and his wrist rolled too far to be natural so that the knife clattered to the ground.

He did not scream, by the grace of whatever gods he prayed to, but his face lost all color and a sweat broke out across his forehead. Bright blue eyes narrowed and her lips parted in a smile. So many times she had seen Razkar smile and intimidate others, perhaps she could do the same. The clash of emotion on her face was brought to a new peak as she squeezed his ruined wrist.

"You think your tough... But you're a rat." Djed flared to life in her eyes; she knew his kind. He hustled the docks because he lacked the strength to forge a life among those lowlifes who lived the city. "You hide on these docks, intimidating merchants and my kin because you couldn't hack it with the lot that live in the city. You seek easy prey." Because of her skill, or lack there of, the emotions she was conveying were muddled impressions, reminders of his weakness; it may have gone unnoticed, though, seeing as his own mind was entirely muddied by pain.

"You won't try this again... And your friends..." She glanced at the somber men to his left, looking like sheep beneath the wolfish gaze of a Myrian. "You and your friends are going to leave here and you won't breath a word of what happened. You don't want anyone to know you were beat by a woman and a few Svefra." Though she hoped he would follow her gently placed suggestion, she knew that he would tell others, that the story would be warped and changed until her identity was lost and it was a gang led by a fierce Myrian. Hopefully, the fact that Razkar was a Myrian would inspire those who heard to mind their distance.

In any case, she had done all she could think to and stepped back, nodding for Razkar to add what he would.

OOCI had an idea but the hamsters stole it and this is what you got. Hope it's not complete shyke. Lemme know if I need to change anything.

[Razkar]

The Myrian stood in silence as Edreina worked her words and dark charisma on the trio of terrified turds. He knew she commanded Common better than he, and she had her... subtleties. It always amazed the "savage" that she could attack a problem from angles that would never even occur to him, and yet solve it so much faster. His eyes flared and every muscle tensed as the head rat lunged for his female-

-but then shocked, sickened rage was replaced with wry amusement as the Svefra caught his wrist as one would a playful puppy's. Razkar's lips quirked a little as there was a wet, muted snap from inside the human's arm.

His face paled and his lips trembled but he couldn't even vomit a scream. Quite a useful thing, favor from a god... even one as pompous as Yahal.

He knew his job was to simply be, as he had been ticks before. Wet, fresh blood caked him from forehead to crotch, and a steady drip-drip from his blades pattered onto the docks. Then the Myrian drifted off, letting his female talk and their victim's eyes do even more as they watched him, horror-stricken, move from corpse to corpse, jerking each up by the hair and using his kukri to-

Skkkkkrrrucccccch...!

-pull the curved blade from temple to temple, making sure he had a good firm grip for when the body's falling weight and his own grip pulled the fresh, dripping scalp from each skull. The trio stared and trembled as sightless eyes gazed up at them, red heads glistening, wet and over-ripe in Syna's rays.

Even the Denvali looked sickened.

Tucking the last dripping trophy into his belt, Razkar frowned as he heard her demand not to reveal what had happened. To what purpose? Their whole point here was to ensure a reputation, to make an impre... ah, clever girl. She knew this breed of scum better than he. They never kept their mouths shut, regardless of the humiliation, and even if they did, word would still get around. A dozen, a score of sailors and wharf rats were gawping now, and soon word would streak through the underworld of Sunberth (which was, in fact, the over-world, too) like the plague.

The who. The when. The how many and how. Nine dead bodies in mere ticks. But... But...

The Myrian regarded her with the oddest eyes as she stepped away and the trio of survivors began to get to their feet. She had made her point, but... she was still too civilized. Sunberth was more than just anarchy: it was brutality without pretense. There was not even the rumor or parody of law here. Everything was bought with gold or force and it was the only thing anyone understood. But there was one underlying factor to everything, as always...

Fear. Fear of retaliation, or consequences. A man might have the patronage of a fearful, powerful man in Sunberth and walk around unmolested. But to generate that fear... one needed to be of extremes.

But she would see it, this time. She would have to; he would not hide it and could not even if he wished to. For the first time, Edreina would see what a Child of Myri truly worshiped Her.

"Dire diseases require dire remedies..."

The three surviving gangers had just enough time to turn to Razkar in fearful curiosity as he muttered in his native tongue before he exploded towards them-

-ax slashing down diagonally at one-

-ripping open his torso from breastbone to stomach, spilling a stinking, wiggling collection of unnameable things onto the deck-

-right before Razkar kicked him solidly in the middle of that grotesque new hole and sent him screaming into the water, trailing his intestines behind him like streamers from a kite-

-and at the same time his gladius flipped over in his left hand, lashing forwards in a stab-

-impaling the man in the middle clean through the ribcage, bones crunching and grinding like gears against it, driving the human back down to his knees, pulling Razkar forward at the same time-

-close enough to swing around with the bottom of his ax and brain the last man on the end, now screaming and begging and-

-collapsing down in a bloody heap. Gods... his head... his eyes... all stars and blackness... all... monsters...

He saw one as he lay there, panting and groaning, black fish swimming in front of his vision as he tried to focus. Heiman, the poor bastard, nailed to the deck with that long, straight sword. He was begging, pleading, but the Myrian was muttering, voice drowning him out, but... the words... the words sounded like a prayer... not a reply.

"Myri... cast eyes on your son this day. Feast though your warrior on this gift I bring-"

The kukri gleamed in the sky again and when Heiman squirmed, the Myrian bastard twisted the gladius and he screamed, going stiff-

-just enough time for the Myrian to stab downwards again, burying the curved blade into his stomach under the ribs, ripping a second, longer hole from one love handle to the other, ripping through cloth and leather and fat and flesh and muscle-

"Goddess, I bring you victory. I bring you souls from glorious battle-"

Seward felt the bile choke him as he watched the Myrian reach into the hole, feeling upwards as his wide, shining eyes matched the frothing, mad words he was gabbling, locked onto the pleading, silent stare of a dying-by-inches Heiman, until strong fingers found the organ it wanted. Pumping. Fading. Fresh.

"Goddess... I bring you blood-"

And with a jerking, chilling force of strength that made the Denvali quail where they had been eager to slaughter chimes before, Razkar ripped the organ free from its dark womb. He held it high to Syna, as if it were Myri's own squinted eye staring down at him, weighing and measuring his offering...

Then Razkar turned, very slowly... and looked the panicking, vomiting Seward in the eye, noting the dark stain spreading across his leathers.

"I, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls, fulfill my vow, and pledge myself anew..."

He ripped a huge, heartening (no pun intended) chunk out of the steaming organ and chewed, never looking away... then another... until even the most hardened wharf rats were trembling and looking away with hands over their mouths and white faces. When he was finished, hands a singular mass of scarlet at the end of each arm... he raised his kukri and ripped his gladius free.

Razkar pointed down the wharf and back to the city... grinning with stained teeth.

"You have until I count to ten. One... two... thr-"

Seward ran like every Dravlak Rhysol commanded was baying at his heels.

[Adam King]

On the rare occasions that he hadn't things to sell, this is where Adam'd be, scouting for opportunity and merchandise. Things and people coming into the harbour always could be turned into money, sooner or later. He leaned over a eroded wooden railing along one of the higher pathways overlooking the piers. The latest group came in off of the ... narrowing his eyes, he could tell: off of the Calypso, most a mass of refugee-looking folks. The skin of some of them wasn't the most natural of colors. Hopefully these petchers wouldn't bring in another plague. Still, two or three of them looked- Adam's sight was caught by a gang of maybe ten brawly looking street-eaters advancing on the incoming group to roll out the "welcome wagon". They'd have to deal a fat cut to the bigger gangs of what they "taxed", but it wasn't entirely uncommon practice to show such welcome to newcomers just off a boat. Maybe Adam could drop down when they were done and see what of their new merchandise he could help place on the mark- Petchin shyke, a savage'd split him open. And it was breaking out into a slaughter. He wasn't like the others, this one looked like a storybook wildling, full with the murderous aura of bloody dread one would tell in scary midnight stories. Cut after cut, and then, whipping and lunging flame, a smoking redhead also jumped in, further pushing the balance of the fight. It was as good as over when some of the mass of those unboarding also joined the fight. Vicious. Oh petchin what?! Was he...? He was. Scalp after scalp. Adam's jaw hung loosely at this point. He considered, at this juncture, that if one could ever concievably be too savage for Sunberth, this was the man. Up until the moment he got jammed or some such - and Adam made careful note of it-, the skull-man seemed to also be enjoying his bloody little enterprise, expert swings of his blades disabling opponents in expert arcs. And when she made those little lights, was it magic or was it something else? Sunberth didn't take kindly to djed. Still, despite all that, or perhaps in synergy with their ill-fit, this man as well as the smoking redhead sidekick, would likely do well in Sunberth. They had a lot of thug-murderers, but these seemed on the one hand a cut above and on the second hand - quite exotic. And the exotic always did well, for nobody knew what to truly expect. This slaughter will be knows within days, likely hatefully, xenophobically. The skuller meant to come kill 'berthies. If only Adam could make a friend of such an exquisite - if excessive - murderer. Hmm. Just in case, always create an opening. Basic principle in business. Put enough good pieces in place and they'll eventually fall in to give you some advantage. He headed out towards the heart of the town. Thomis the bard would love the new news-stanza Adam readied for him. It wouldn't be one depicting a monster to hate, only a monster to fear. And while many would be gossiping, Adam would be lodging the public identity to be of this newcomer first, and thanks to Thomis, loudly.