Closed The Cowardice of Thieves [Juniper Frost & Sal Mander]

[Juniper Frost]

: : : 86th Day of Spring, 514 AV : : :

.

Panic competed with measured reason, demanding that Juniper flee as quick as possible. Reason fought back, positing that she could fight off one man with a long knife - even unarmed. Through all this competition for her attention and action, Juniper found herself choosing a middle ground. She removed from her hair the skyglass comb - a gift from her mother - and lay it on the baluster's rail. Her long white hair fell to her shoulders unevenly, and her face fell placid as she looked at the man.

"Good, now back up," he shouted in harsh whispers and jabbed the blade out threateningly, "Back up!"

Juniper obliged, back stepping until she reached the junction of passages. Her hands shook, her skin crawled, and she found herself unable to look away from the thief's shaded face. How foolish she felt, as if Tristan would have returned without her knowing. Anger welled up in place of shame.

-- -- --

Twist the Wrist approached with confidence, reaching out and grasping the comb in his gloved hand. He kept his blade pointed her direction, using it to deter her from making any rash decisions as his eyes left her to look at the magnificent comb of skyglass. Within the stone a faint light began to glow as the sun's light started descending on the horizon.

"'Tis a beautiful piece, this comb of yours..." he paused as a thought struck him, "... of mine."

Twist grinned slyly, tucking the comb into a hidden pocket in his cloak.

"Now that we have the comb, why don't you go ahead and hand over that fine looking blouse." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he spoke, and he took a step toward the white clad woman. "And after that, we'll go ahead and remove that belted skirt of yours..."

-- -- --

Juniper acted without thinking, without knowing.
One moment the blade was pointed at her chest, then clattering a dozen feet away the next. Her left hand burned in pain from having grasped the blade openly, while her right hand gripped the thief's arm firmly. His face was a portrait of disbelief and shock. Juniper held her grip firm and thrust out at his face with her right fist, pulling his own right arm up with the same motion to slap against his own face. She felt his nose crunch under a deceptively strong jab. Juniper's feet re-positioned reflexively; her left ankle hooked and anchored behind the thief's legs, and she pushed with all her might against the man before letting go. He stumbled backward, struggling desperately for balance for several steps before crashing down to his back.

The thief sucked in a deep breath before rolling to the side and clambering to his feet to face her. He glared, anger and malice burning in his eyes like sparking coals.

"Oh, ye should'n ha' done that," he snarled, and lunged at her.

Juniper made a desperate grab for the blade off to the side, but fell short as she was wrapped around the waist and tackled to the stone floor. Her breath exploded from her lungs as she slammed down, her left shoulder protesting with an aching throb. The thief wasted no time unwrapping one arm and flailing wildly, driving a gloved fist into her left ribs twice, then her breast, once on her shoulder as he made his way further up her body before finally reaching her face and planting a single solid strike on her jaw.

Wincing and flinching with the painful punches, Juniper managed to suck in enough air to fuel her needs. She couldn't move her arms enough to break free, but she still had use of her right hand. Juniper groped about blindly with her right hand as the man landed a punch on her breast, forcing her to gasp. She clenched her teeth and sucked in another breath, grinning wickedly as her hand found the mark. Her smile broke from the punch to her jaw but Juniper was still grinning inwardly as she grabbed ahold and squeezed, all her strength focused into her hand.

-- -- --

His eyes bulged.
His heart stopped.
His mouth gasped wordlessly.
His fist no longer flew.
Twist the Wrist had not felt such pain since he was a child, and inwardly vowed he would do nothing to elicit such pain again. He felt himself go numb as pointed nails dug deeply into his manhood and twisted. Twist sobbed involuntarily and drooled on her, his body frozen with pain. Dimly aware of being let go before dropping onto the stone floor, Twist's eyes clouded over with tears.

She wasn't underneath him anymore. She was standing and moving. The knife! She had the knife!

The thoughts forced him back to a painful reality. Forcing down the rising bile, Twist the Wrist chirped out three sharp notes of a whistle between his fingers - three sharp notes that reached across Lhavit.

-- -- --

Juniper leaned down toward the blade awkwardly, her bloody left hand clasping her ribs while her right hand picked up the long knife. The blade sang as it was dragged across the marble stone, a rising crescendo that echoed even after Juniper lifted the knife feebly.

She moved over the thief, ignoring the shrill whistles he made, and planted a strong kick in his stomach. He coughed and groaned, rolling slightly. Juniper kicked the thief once more, hard. To her satisfaction, he spat blood on the beautiful marble floor.

Juniper paused.

The blood was a deep red, and sent a shocking sensation though Juniper's entire body. She felt something inside her mind give way to the intense feeling, and retreat. Juniper's bruised lips slowly curled into a wicked smile as the icy blue of her eyes drained away. The thief managed to lift his head and look at her as she stood above him.

"Mercy..." he pleaded with bloody lips.

Juniper's lips parted in a larger smile, revealing four long canines dully gleaming with her own blood.

"Mercy!" he choked out, spitting more blood.

The thief's eyes grew wild and scared as Juniper raised the long knife, his body shaking with his sobbing.

"I wouldn't do that, girl."

The voice was rough and deep, like a field of gravel rolling down a mountain. Juniper leaped to the side instinctively, twisting her body to face the voice behind her.

A long, straight, shimmering blade protruded from growing shadows, seeming to be cutting into the light though it remained unmoving. The largest Akalak Juniper had ever seen stood holding the large bastard sword. He wore the same mottled cloak over his ebon skin as the thief on the floor. His face was impassive, but the glint in his eyes spoke of swift and utter destruction. Hefting the sword up easily with one massive arm, the Akalak pointed the tip at Juniper without so much as a waver of the blade.

"It would be best if you dropped the knife now, I think."

.

[Sal Mander]

Day 86, Spring of 514 A.V.

Sal had not been in much of a mood for revelry, though his friends had shown no such restraint, much to the delight of the barkeep as he counted the day's take. Plummeting like crippled crows, the group diminished one by one into single strands of a river that meandered off towards modest homes and disapproving wives. Sal's sobriety had meant to stave off lonely feelings of late that had begun as cobwebs in the corner of his mind. He wondered if one of the gods was playing a foul trick on him. Most drank to forget, not to remember.

It was not just the prospect of a wife to return to that alluded him. He missed his brothers, both long since left Lhavit to fill the pages of their own stories. He missed his parents, distant and faceless in his thoughts unless he tried hard to visualize them. But perhaps worse of all, he missed having it all figured out. With the season drawing to a close, Sal was pleased it was nearly over. Spring had brought with it more questions than he cared to deal with, each one an increasing weight on his mind until they formed like shackles, jangling with every step he tried to take forwards.

The start of spring had blossomed with optimism and opportunity. But a lack of clarity had him trudging through the season like it was some overgrown field of confusion, the edges always out of sight. Day by day he had sensed an increasing feeling of foreboding, at first a sinister flicker of movement in the shadows, that slowly grew more bold. Before long, it was as though some great giant stood over him, its great and terrible shadow casting Sal into darkness where the only light was the giant's two great orbs for eyes, only they were a piercing deep cardinal red like pools of blood that stared at him accusingly.

If he did have a purpose, it stalked him by night only to duck behind a wall or amidst bushes as soon as he turned to face it. Always out of reach, but always there. What did he have to do to corner it? To trap it if only for a moment and ask that one question that woke him in the night in a cold sweat. "What am I supposed to do?" So simple a question, the answer instead a pit of snakes within which only one knew the secret as it slithered deeper and deeper into the nest.

Sal's own progression through the streets was anything but snakelike. He plodded like a tired pack horse in the heat of an angry sun, paying little heed to anyone he passed by. Voices were just noise, words shimmying off him like drops of rain. His only purpose now was to head home, get some sleep, and hope tomorrow would somehow be different. If only somehow he could make a difference.

Though voices washed over him, the whistling managed to breach his walls of indifference. It was too harsh a tune for birdsong or even a merry worker of some kind. That whistle had purpose and left Sal a little curious. Opening his senses up now, there were voices not far from where he plodded down the narrow passage, where skyglass roofed homes stood almost hand in hand like some procession. Alleys and sharp turns featured heavily here, offering as much chance of getting lost as they did time saving routes for those that knew them. Sal had not even realized he was weaving now, his ears trying to discern words from the talk that for now was too muffled to offer him its secrets. His eyes scanned the passageways for clues and signals, yet he still had no answers as to why.

It was some small mercy he had been alert and attentive. Rounding the next corner, he almost walked straight into a stern looking fellow with hatred in his eyes. "Outta tha way fella", the man rasped as he shoved past. Now where would you be off to in a hurry?, Sal wondered. Coupled with the whistling that had now ceased, Sal decided against his better judgement to follow the sour looking passerby. Whether it was boredom, curiosity or something else he did not know, but Sal's feet carried him while his hand rested instinctively on the pommel of his longsword. Not that there was much room for swinging swords in these alleys, but it offered him a little comfort none the less.

Another corner approached, his prey turning out of sight. Now the voices had subsided so that only one could be heard. It was a deep, rolling voice that carried in it menace while it demanded an attentive audience. Almost chilling perhaps, but Sal's opinion of the speaker's tone gave way to a more pressing curiosity. What was the akalak in front of him up to? The blue skinned goliath had its back to Sal, but he was close enough to hear what it was saying. Some fracas perhaps and the fellow was trying to restore peace? He had issued a command for a knife to be dropped after all. But glancing past the akalak, Sal's eyes came to rest on a situation that immediately discarded any notions of peaceful restoration. There were shenanigans at work here, and he sagged with the realization that he had just stumbled in the middle of it.

"You again eh?" the angry looking fellow asked, turning to face Sal.

[Juniper Frost]

: : : Juniper Frost : : :

86th Day of Spring, 514 AV

"Hmpf! Guess you won't bugger off when I tell you, so it looks like you'll be leaving here less one head. Sorry, fella."

The Akalak's bastard sword lifted easily in the grip of both hands now as he moved toward the man, death written in his gaze and his bulging black muscled body.

Juniper's eyes darted from the Akalak to the tall man who came after him, and was entirely unprepared for the explosion of pain in the back of her head. She collapsed in a heap, the long knife skittering across the marble floor, the thief standing over her body with a black jack in one hand and a sinister grin spreading his bloody lips.

"Kill 'im, Shaffa!" Twist barked out to the Akalak named Shaffa Coin-Crusher, "Be quick!"

Returning his attention to the white clad woman at his feet, Twist lifted his leg and threw as much might as he could muster into a kick. She twisted and cried out from the impact of his boot, drawing out Twist's grin even more. He knelt down over her, his sap raised high to strike her porcelain face.

-- -- --

Juniper vision faded in and out of a blurry haze, her mind felt slow as syrup and stuffed with wool. The iron tang of blood filled her mouth and nose, though she was sure it could have been mistaken for copper. A boot struck her left thigh so hard she was sure she felt the bone crack. Juniper's eyes clouded with tears, but she gritted her teeth through the pain and tried desperately to focus. She resisted the urge to become the fox and escape, it didn't feel right to leave that man with these rogues who would likely gut him, loot him, and leave him to bleed where he lay. The thought did not sit well with Juniper. It was not his fault that he blundered into a troubling situation that seemed to be getting worse by the minute. She should at least try to give him a chance to flounce off home to the wife and kids unharmed.

Juniper thought all of this in a quick moment that seemed like ages in her fuddled mind, and acted almost immediately once she found resolve. Her cold eyes shot open, bleary and bloodshot, and her teeth bared in a snarl as the thief raised his black jack baton up high. Juniper twisted on the floor, turning her head and upper body away from the blow as it struck the marble with a dull thud. The thief spat a curse and drew the black jack to the side, aiming to backhand the woman with it. It was an awkward strike, as he was partly off balance from squatting, and his strike glanced off her shoulder. Juniper threw her body into a quick side roll on the stone floor, landed on all fours momentarily, then threw herself headfirst into the thief. His face screwed up for the barest of moments before impact, showing sudden understanding mixed with surprise. It was brief, however, as Juniper's skull crashed into his face with the full force of her launched body. He howled with agony, his already broken nose bashed and forced to meet the other cheek.

Already dizzy with pain, Juniper was fully disoriented as she removed herself from atop the thief. She stood slowly, the world spinning around her, and reached out a steadying hand for the baluster. Using your head as a weapon is a terrible idea, her father had told her, unless you're confident that it will hit hard, hurt, and give you the time you need. Juniper bought herself some time, not much, to gather herself and move a little distance away. She thought to look for the Akalak and the other man, but decided against it as she saw the thief squirm and heard his scream behind the gloved hands that covered his broken face. Juniper scowled and moved toward him with murder in her eyes, but tripped on her torn skirt and stumbled the few paces toward the thief. Not really intending to, she kicked Twist the Wrist squarely in the face as he pulled his hands away, giving his eyes a chance to blink away his tears. Juniper tripped over Twist, dragging her boot across his face as she toppled forward. Keeping enough sense about her, Juniper landed in a half roll to try and absorb the impact. She hated fighting in skirts.

-- -- --

Twist the Wrist, famous in parts of Kalea for his ability to wrench money from anyone's hands, found that he could not twist consciousness to his bidding. With a loud yell that slowly fell into a fading moan, Twist the Wrist decided that he didn't much like Lhavit or its women before the blackness of sleep took him.

[Sal Mander]

An often shared theme in soldier's tales of war was how in the most dire of circumstances, time had a knack of slowing down. Not just soldiers in fact. How many times had friends exchanged stories over a drink, citing the remarkable occurrence of one's life flashing before their eyes? Yet if there was some truth to this time bending phenomenon, how was the catalog of memories sorted and filtered? Did they appear chronologically, or perhaps based on some unknown criteria that changed from person to person? Why even the recap, brief as it was? Perhaps one last thought cast towards a loved one, to help ease the distress of the current scenario in which the flashback had been initiated? Or was it merely a random response of a brain under duress, trying in earnest to survive and in doing so throwing out random thoughts and recollections?

Whatever the answer, if indeed one even existed, Sal would find himself in a tavern or inn some day, retelling his own story about the time his life flashed before his eyes. Only, he would have been lying. There was no momentary gallery of moments showcasing his exploits and victories. Nor were there any cruel reminders of failures and defeats. The faces of loved ones had not appeared in his thoughts, or any places he had grown fond of over the years. No favorite pets, first loves, or particularly tasty foods. None of that. As the akalak raised that mighty sword with the cruel edge, the only thought in Sal's mind right then was that he thought Ivak to be a bastard.

Ivak, the bringer of the Valterrian, marshal of fire and caretaker of emotions. He had brought gifts to Sal a season ago, in the form of remarkable talents to aid in the mortal's mission. Immunity to fire, an especially potent skill for a reimancer; and the ability to read the stronger of emotions in others. But why? Ivak's granting of his gnosis seemed pointless now, having given little more than clues as to what Sal's purpose should be. His purpose was nothing if he was dead, a concept that threatened to deprive him of life much quicker than any blade could hope to do.

Now here he was, about to take a giant sword to the head with little more than the thought of Ivak's bastardness to usher in a pitiful end to his life. But that would have been too easy for the akalak, and with the hint of frustrated anger hatching in Sal's head, he was not about to dish out easy to anyone if he could help it. That frustration seemed to mop away fear's stain. It was engulfed and strangled, unable to voice its concerns with the current situation. Instead, Sal found himself suddenly alive with both determination and enthusiasm.

Shaffa was quick, of that there was little doubt. But large and strong as he was, that bastard sword took a moment than smaller cousins to come crashing down. The akalak had utilized his strength, going for a devastating blow in place of a little finesse. It afforded Sal that extra second to dart backwards, while his hand was already pulling his own blade from its long sheath. Shaffa's instrument of doom bit the ground hard, sending up sparks and loose debris accompanied by a clattering of steel on stone. The akalak's grunt was deep and sinister as he lurched forward one step to steady himself. Now was the time for Sal's rebuttal. With his sword now in hand, Sal took a step forward towards his opponent, starting with a testing swipe of his own from above his right shoulder and in a diagonal arc aimed at the chest. But Shaffa was no fool. Like a sleepy creature basking in the sun, he casually flicked Sal's attack to one side with his own weapon, before unleashing a firm fist straight into the man's face.

Sal staggered back a few steps, before plopping onto his behind with a thud. The two shared a moment then, the akalak grinning over his success while Sal's confused look suggested he was still coming to terms with it himself. "What you going to do about it, eh?" Shaffa asked with a sneer. Sensing that Sal was of little threat, the akalak allowed the man to clamber to his feet and reacquaint himself with a battle ready stance. Sal was merely a toy to be played with, so the akalak thought.

This time it was Sal that moved first, sailing forward with a series of blows that were easily deflected and parried. The human found himself too close to his opponent, and as the last swing was knocked harmlessly away, Shaffa grabbed Sal with a meaty fist around his neck, then proceeded to lift him up a foot off the ground and hurl him into the alleyway wall. Sal slammed hard, the wall knocking him in the face with startling cruelty, before the cobble street below rushed up to meet him. He lay stricken on the floor, akin to a pile of rags discarded in the street.

Shaff was unrelenting now, following with a stern kick to Sal's midsection. The air fled from the man's lungs, carrying with it a whimper that scurried off into the air and out of earshot. What remained was a gasping sound as Sal fumbled inwardly for the breath that was not there. Again Shaffa pressed on, apparently enjoying every moment of it. This time he grabbed the back of Sal's coat, propelling him once more into the wall with a sickening thud. There was a clatter as Sal's sword flew from his grasp, leaving him completely defenseless.

"Time to die", Shaffa teased as he slowly stepped towards his prey. Sal was on his back and propped up on elbows, scurrying backwards like a crab until he was up against the wall. With blood caked to his temple and his clothes dusty and marked from the ground, he looked like a human pinata. With nowhere left to go, the frustration coupled with the hard blows he had received did much to rile him further. Without his sword he felt impotent, but since the akalak was taking his time, Sal was gifted a moment to pursue other avenues. He stared at Shaffa, feeling the hatred boiling up inside.

Then his eyes closed. They needed to be closed for Sal had work to do.

A house. The house. It was always the same one, a small cottage that sat nestled in overgrown grass and bushes whose roots had climbed the walls in search of refuge inside. But the house did not carry a look of abandonment, instead one of homeliness, as though there was a warmth that emanated from within, vibrant and full of life. That warmth was a growing light, peeking out of cracks in the window shutters that seemed to vibrate and shift. The branches and roots did as they always did, grew thicker and taller, pulling at the windows and walls with green fingers as they sought a way inside. Cracks grew wider, the light inside growing bolder, pouring out like water and seeming to grow with every passing moment.

In the real world it was as though Sal was merely asleep. Sat there on the ground, he was perfectly still as the akalak approached. Shaffa might have known the truth of it, had he been anything more than a brutish sell sword. Brutes had their uses of course. But what use were their swords against...fire.

Sal's eyes opened, at once alert and knowing in their gaze. Shaffa had only a moment to take in what was happening. Sal's hand opened, within it the dance of res and djed as he willed the flame to life. In his mind's eye, that house he used to visualize the process had exploded from the inside out, casting forth fragments of fiery destruction in every direction. There in the back alleys of Lhavit, it was to steal into this world as a raging inferno of a fireball, perhaps the size of a watermelon. With a flick of the wrist, Sal launched the ball of burning flame to the rather large seven foot target before him.

Shaffa blinked in confusion and surprise, his usual trait of agility impotent. A questioning growl sneaked from his mouth, before the fireball erupted in his face, sending the blue skinned giant reeling and screaming in a flailing of arms, as though some novice puppet master was tangling his strings while trying to make him dance. Shaffa tore at his face, at the charred skin as flames continued their assault. With his opponent occupied, Sal climbed to his feet once more, this time with a calm and calculated purpose, his face unnervingly devoid of emotion.

Picking up his longsword, Sal planted himself in front of the akalak, watching as the giant continued to rock in all directions in terrible pain. Then, when the moment presented itself, when Shaffa was stood before him, Sal ran him through. It was as though a switch had been flicked, the screaming and dancing stopping in an instant. Instead the akalak paused, another grunt released from a gargled throat, as that burnt face looked down at the sword poking through his chest. His body sagged, the weight of it threatening to topple over. Sal pulled the blade free with a satisfying swoosh, before Shaffa Coin-Crusher crumbled to the ground.

[Juniper Frost]

: : : 86th Day of Spring, 514 AV : : :

.

Her whole body throbbed with pain, but in a few places it flared like focused fire. Juniper rolled onto her side and stifled a sudden cry as she put weight on her injured thigh, and with pain plainly written on her face she rose to stand. Juniper stumbled a few steps before planting herself firmly, facing the prone body of the would-be thief. He wasn't moving, so Juniper took the opportunity to tear away her skirt. She was near naked underneath, but didn't care if it meant she could move easier. Blinking furiously, Juniper rubbed at her eyes to try and clear them, so naturally she heard it before she saw it.

Brilliant flames burst into life, searching and scorching through the alley, sucking the breath from her lungs while simultaneously scorching them. The thunderous explosion of rampaging fire sent Juniper falling backward, both because of the blast and because of her instinct to preserve herself from biting flames. She landed hard on her bum, bounced once, and fell onto her back.

Juniper felt herself stop thinking. Dazed, dumb, and partially blind, Juniper slowly sat up and leaned against her left arm, her sliced hand leaving a bloody print on the marble floor. Her frayed white hair wafted in the hot air, giving her a dishevelled look. She looked about her surroundings, suddenly unsure of where she was or why she was there. Who was that man at the end of the alley, burning so brightly and screaming so loudly? Why was another man running him through with a sword? Juniper found her thoughts were sluggish, and decided that perhaps laying down and resting for a while would be the right thing to do.

Batting her eyes in confusion, Juniper Frost lay down on the blood stained marble floor, not feeling the thousand crying pains in her body. Her eyes closed, and the last image she saw was the man with the sword standing over the burning Akalak.

-- -- --

Rain washed away rivers of blood from skin, revealing porcelain under the deep crimson stain. The roar of rushing water, both river and rain, droned on pleasantly. The air was thick and heavy, and Juniper's hair waved and fanned out as if under water. Her long, naked limbs spread out gracefully as she uncurled in the watery air. She was falling and floating as if they were the same, yet there was no direction.

"Ghrynn..."

The whisper was sudden and unexpected, and Juniper pivoted mid-drift to her right, seeking the speaker. Nothing but the pleasant rain in the heavy air that was also water yet not. Juniper was suddenly aware of her long and bushy white tail, which she only ever had as a fox, yet there was nothing unnatural about it; it seemed normal.

"I built this road, and this journey before you..."

Sweet as salt the words drifted through Juniper's core, and she wept as she fell further into the dream.


.

[Sal Mander]

Despite the chaos only moments earlier, where once the alleyway was filled with the clatter of steel and screams of the fallen, now there descended a silent calm, blanketing and muting the participants below. Sal stood there, face raised to the dark night sky overhead where a myriad of stars blinked and shone and watched down at the mortals below. What would they have made of this scene, a battered and beaten man standing over a fallen akalak, while further along the young woman with ripped clothes lay in slumber, her nearest partner a cruel and evil thief?

He looked onwards, realizing that he was coming to his senses now. It had happened so fast that he almost could not tell where he ended and that other Sal had taken over. The one who had dismissed fear and panic in favor of calm and resolve. In those moments, he called upon his fledgling talents of reimancy without a second thought, executing a blasting fireball as though he had practiced it a hundred times. In truth, he had never dared attempt such a sizable feat. In those moments it had come to him too easily. Not just the casting of the spell, but that he had without reservation chosen to use it. The unsanctioned use of reimancy carried severe consequences, meaning it had been quite the risk for Sal to use it so readily in public. Though admittedly, the fact that he had done so out of self defense would have gone some way to have justified his actions, at least in the eyes of the Shinya.

Granted, it was a life or death situation. On one side he could argue self preservation had kicked instinct into action. But on the other, he knew better. He knew that calm Sal who acted with such ruthlessness was not himself. It was a side of him, fueled by anger and, he supposed, hate. He had been here before, out there in the wilds that surrounded the peaks of Lhavit. That last time, when Ivak had come and seemingly rewarded him for his actions that night. But what reward lay in store now, having reduced a seven foot akalak to a smoldering heap? Was he supposed to feel relief, for having survived the encounter? A little pride perhaps, having marshaled his fear and defended himself so efficiently. If so, his heart and soul defied such directives. Instead, there was only regret. It occurred to him then, even in the guise of self defense, he had the means about him to inflict great pain on others. Even death. It was not something to be handled lightly, to be wielded so...effectively.

Shaking his head as such thoughts meandered into nonsensical musings, he turned his attention to the akalak laying a few feet away. Despite the theatrics of the fireball, the damage itself was not devastating. Shaffa's face was a mess, granted, but really the trick had been to distract him. In that it had served well, gifting Sal's sword the opportunity to finish the mountainous beast off. An incredulous look emerged on his face, as he noted the faint rise and fall of Shaffa's chest. He lives, Sal muttered to himself scarcely believing it. Dropping to his knees beside the akalak, he inspected the point of entry just below the ribs. Not a killing blow it seemed, though a bloody one. The akalak would bleed out like a stuffed pig, if left unattended. Perhaps help could be sought in time. Perhaps he could undo what he had done this night, and not have to add another face to those that sometimes came to him at night.

Two other faces flashed in his mind just then, as if the very thought of them had been a beckoning call. They neither smiled nor scowled. They only watched, with blank expressions that screamed a thousand emotions. Their eyes unblinking and accusing, burrowing into Sal's soul as if searching for his deepest, darkest secrets, to consume them and him until nothing of Sal Mander remained. The maddening thought echoed in his mind like some great hall that stretched on as far as the eye could see. There was a scream that rattled the windows, bounced off the giant ceilings and filled his ears with a thunderous might. Clasping the sides of his head with his hands, Sal did not realize it was him screaming. It mattered not. A darkness had stolen into that hall, bellowing in like smoke from unseen cracks and crevices, rising up like a river of darkness, first clutching at his ankles before climbing higher. His screams were muffled as the dark filled his lungs, pulling him down under the surface into an inky lagoon of nothingness.

-----

Tall grass swayed lazily, tickled by a pleasant breeze that meandered through fields, before rustling the leaves of bushes and then sentinel trees that stood guard over those fields. A rickety fence bobbed up and down the landscape, turning this way and that before coming to a gate. There up against it sat a young Sal, clutching a small red leather book in one hand, while the other intermittently turned crisp, white pages. Looking up from his book, Sal spotted a flock of gulls from the docks, having found the courage to fly inland in search of more varied scraps to feed upon. The sun hung tall in the sky, wearing a selection of clouds that it tried on and discarded one by one as they passed by. With the warmth of the sun upon him, it was all Sal could do not to close his eyes, growing heavy at the prospect of a little nap.

Finally he succumbed to the calm of the scene, promising to only keep his eyes closed for a few minutes. No sooner had he opened them again, that the clear skies had been replaced by a wooden ceiling, with voices chattering in an adjacent room. The calm was gone, instead a throbbing that was not once recognizable in any one part of his body. Stiff and sore, it was some ordeal to sit up on his elbows, scanning the room for further clues to his current whereabouts. Was he dreaming still? To his left another bed, upon which lay Shaffa, his face bandaged while his stab wound was dressed. There was blood stain there, but apparently the akalak had been seen to in time to avoid bleeding out. To his right a young woman lay, looking peaceful as her chest rose and fell at a steady rate. He was sure he had seen her before, but could not place where.

They seemed to be the only three in the room, some kind of hospital he decided. Hospitals and white sheets went hand in hand in his experience. Slowly he swung his legs around and dropped onto his feet. Steady with his balance, he laboriously pushed himself up, looking around for more clues while carefully stepping towards the door. Perhaps those voices on the other side had some answers.

[Sal Mander]

The floorboards were cold against Sal's bare feet, but it afforded him the silence necessary to cross the room without waking the other two in their beds. The akalak he recalled clearly, having taken a sound beating from him only the night before. At least he assumed it was the night before. As for the girl, he felt as if she had been there perhaps, though beyond that he could not recall. For now his attention was filling in the gaps on his current situation. He had already surmised that he was in the hospital, furnished as it was with the usual trappings common of such a place. But how he had come to be there was the real mystery.

At the door now, he pressed an ear against it to try and hear the muffled voices from within. But they were still too far off to make out clearly. As quiet as a soft breeze, he lifted the latch of the door and inch by inch he slowly pulled it open. At first just enough to peer through the crack, which overlooked a vacant corridor, then further so as to slip out and investigate further. The corridor itself had no windows to speak of, leaving Sal still unaware of the time of day, or night. The voices were coming from his left, in the next room. He shuffled down along the wall towards the door that was slightly ajar. Reaching the frame, he held his breath as he carefully peered around it and into the room.

Much the same as the one he had come from, there were beds and equipment that supported the theory this was a hospital. It actually had a familiar feel to it, and he started to piece together his own recollections of having been here before on Cosmos Center business. Inside the room were what he guessed were two nurses, currently occupied with dressing wounds on a patient who he had never seen before, while they talked and chatted of nothing in particular. They had their backs to the door, affording Sal a prolonged look of things inside, his eyes coming to rest on a bench on the left side of the room that was mounted with columns and rows of wood made for storage. In each one was neatly piled sets of clothes with shoes on top. One such box caught his attention as he noted his owns garments within. Great, he thought in dismay.

Suddenly his attention was ripped from the room as he heard a door opening further down the hallway. With literally seconds to spare as the door opened, Sal ducked into the room with the nurses and dropped down to a crouch. As quick as possible, he scanned the immediate area for a place to hide, finding the only suitable location under the bench where there were some boxes stacked. He took an effort to remain quiet as he managed to squeeze behind them, just in time as a third person entered the room, having come from down the corridor.

"How are the three next door doing?" a deep man's voice asked.
_____"Still out cold. I'll check in on them in just a minute, once we've finished up here." There was further chatter concerning their current patient, all of which proved irrelevant to Sal's situation. But he was forced to sit and wait, stuck as he was behind the boxes with only one exit to the room. After a few minutes, his ears pricked up as the conversation turned back to him and his 'friends' in the other room
_____"Well, just let me know as soon as one of them wakes. Shinya wants to talk to them of course." With that the man left the room, leaving the two nurses to further analyze the situation.
_____"Didn't use to be this way, folk always trying to rob and kill each other."

Edging back around the boxes, Sal glanced at the nurses before ducking back behind cover again. One of them had turned around and was making for the door, presumably to go and check on the other room as she had promised. Only, she was in for a shock when she would find only two of the three patients still in attendance. Taking his chance while the second nurse was still occupied, Sal emerged from his hiding place and sneakily grabbed his stuff from the box. There was a door on the far wall leading into an adjacent room; a bathroom he guessed. He crouched once more, cradling his possessions in one arm while he scurried across the room like a rat. Stealing into the bathroom, he set to changing from his hospital garments to his more familiar attire, while there came a shout from the room he had begun in. As expected, his absence had been duly noted, leading the nurses into something of a frenzy.

Peering out from the bathroom, he watched the remaining nurse run out to see what was going on, before the man who had been there earlier hurried past the open door. This was his chance. He stepped out of the bathroom, then out of that second dorm into the corridor. There were raised voices coming from the first dorm where he had awoke, but he was not eager to listen in this time. Instead he turned left out the door and hurried down the corridor. His recollection of the hospital was complete now, knowing which way to go to find the exit. But as he came around the corner towards freedom, he nearly ran straight into two shinya guards stood by the large double set of doors leading to Lhavit.

There was a moment between the three of them, Sal catching his breath in his throat, while the two guards glanced at him, then at each other as if not yet sure what to make of the situation. "Quickly my good man," he said to the first one, grabbing his arm as if to lead him. "Those three you're waiting to talk to. Well, their up and trying to make a run for it. Quickly I say, that way." The two guards glanced at one another again before heading with haste towards the way Sal had come, a string of expletives trailing them.

With a sigh of relief, Sal dusted himself down and smoothed out his clothes, before stepping through the doors and onto the streets of Lhavit. The night air greeted him, the light of the moon and untold hundreds of candles bouncing off the skyglass. Within minutes, had the shinya even undone his veil of lies, he was long gone amidst the streets and avenues, lost to them forever. He only hoped the nurses there would not remember his face, and he made it a priority not to visit the hospital again for some time. But worse yet was the predicament concerning the akalak. Presumably Shaffa would have a better time recalling Sal, a fact that was not a very welcome one. Still, large as Shaffa was, Sal would at least see him coming. Or so he hoped.

After a while, having made he way far from the hospital, he wondered why he had felt the need to escape at all. In hindsight, all he had really done was defend himself. But on further analysis, he was glad he had not remained behind. Shaffa might have woken himself and finished what was started. Then there was the classic case of 'his word against mine', that would have resulted in more than a few questions from the shinya. Yes, it all would have been much too much trouble, and Sal was content to take his chances this way. Maybe it would come back to haunt him, but that was a situation for another time. For now, he was just glad that he had not died at the hands of an akalak. It simply was not the way he had ever pictured himself leaving this world.

[Brandon Blackwing]

SAL MANDER

XP Award:

• Observation +5
• Longsword +2
• Reimancy +1
• Tactics +1
• Stealth +1
• Subterfuge +1

Lore:

• The comfort a sword’s pommel can provide
• Staring Death in the eye: There is no life flashing by before the eyes
• Longsword: Swipe to the chest
• Fire trumps swords
• It’s not a good idea to fight an Akalak by mundane means
• Reimancy technique: Fireball
• Tactics: A fiery distraction
• Sneaking out of a hospital
• Deceiving the Shinya
  

Notes:
A nice read, as to be expected from you. You never fail to throw some unexpected twist in, lol. Nice work Sal!

Juniper: your grade has been withheld due to inactivity.

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credit goes to Adelaide Sitai