PM to join [The Rat Hole] Keep In Line (Marion)

[Hirem]

12th of Winter, 514 A.V.

"Mercy! Mercy!" Novak cried out, his voice tortured with pain.

Mercy? Hirem wondered as he pulled Novak's arm further back, wrenching the man's bones out of place. Did he show any mercy to those he's sent to the Gillia, I wonder? Ignoring the man's protests, he checked over his shoulder to look at the broken body laying on the tavern floor, wincing at the blood that seeped into the wind. "How bad?" He asked his fellow bouncer Ardan, who knelt down by the man's head and was checking the injury.

The grim Ardan looked up to Hirem and shook his head. "The glass cut deep, but he should make it to the Gillia. After that... it could go either way."

Slowly nodding, the Benshira then glanced over in the other direction, at the wounded woman that sat on a nearby chair, holding her bloody stomach with both hands. "And her?" Novak tried to get a peek himself, but Hirem renewed the pressure on his forehead and kept his face pinned to the wooden surface of the bar.

Instead of letting Ardan examine her, the woman just shook her head and grimaced. "I can take care of myself from here. Just make sure this piece of shyke pays the price!" She spat in Novak's direction, but only ended up smearing Hirem's hand.

"Alright, enough." Ardan growled, pushing himself up to his feet and slinging the unconscious man's arm around his neck. Staring with cold eyes at the rest of the tavern - as every lowlife in the room stared at the bloody scene with wide eyes and bemused smirks - the bouncer stamped his foot loudly on the ground. "Nothing to see here. Go about your business." Of course the Rat Hole refused to calm down so easily, and so Ardan was forced to stomp again and roar out indistinguishably. When, finally, people began to return to their seats and cups, Ardan glanced back over to Hirem. "You have the floor, goatherd." He then walked to the door.

"Wait." The Benshira called, still holding the struggling Novak down against the bar, pinning his arm painfully against his back. "What should I do with him?" This wasn't the first time that Hirem had been entrusted with looking after the bar on his own, but he had never done so after the Rat Hole had witnessed such a conflagration. One man glassed, a woman stabbed, a third nearly killed... and drunken Novak to blame. It was hard to tell what the leeches in the tavern might do in such a situation. If there was ever a time to rob from Tom Volus, now would be it, Hirem thought, his mind wandering to the absentee owner. And with only weak old Hirem to keep them at bay...

Ardan didn't bother stopping to answer. He only barked, "You know what to do," before stepping through the doorway and out into the open Rivarian street.

Looking about the tavern was enough to confirm Hirem's fears: every one in the Rat Hole heard Ardan's call and understood what that meant... and what Hirem would do in response. Because everyone knows that Hirem the Benshira doesn't make a mess. He breaks a bone here or there, but when it's time to make a true example of someone, he stutters. The eyes that looked his way saw him as weak, the gazes reminding him of wolves that were nearing vulnerable prey.

Show weakness before the wolves, and you will be savaged. Only predators scare away other predators.

Underneath his palm, the sobbing Svefra whimpered with fear. "Please," Novak begged, "please Hirem. I've always been a good regular. I've never given you trouble before. Just let me go." He tried to get up, but Hirem reacted to the move as an attack and slammed Novak's head down against the bar. The loud whump! made everyone in the tavern glance back in their direction. "Oh gods," Novak cried, holding his bloody nose. "Just let me go!" He whined once more.

The Benshira took a low breath and stared down at the shuddering drunk, trying to muster enough wits to figure out a way to get free of this situation. Yet all he could see before him was the scuffle that took place moments earlier, as Novak roared with fury and smashed a bottle down on his brother's head, stabbing his sister-in-law with a hidden dagger. The injustice of that, combined with the maddening stares everyone in the Rat Hole offered him, sapped Hirem's sympathy dry and replaced his capacity for tolerance with cold anger. "I won't kill you," the bouncer growled, releasing his grip on Novak's head and arm. The Svefra could scarcely believe his luck, his breath ragged but hopeful. Before he could make for the exit, however, Hirem lunged at him again, wrapping his fist around Novak's right wrist. It was his right hand that wielded both the bottle and dagger, the Benshira thought, as he twisted the wrist out of alignment and then slammed it back down against the bar, shattering the bone bloodily. Novak's scream of pain was chilling.

Finally, Hirem let the Svefra hobble out of the Rat Hole, slumping against the bar and taking deep, low breaths. All around, the tavern patrons stared at him, wordless. In their eyes, he saw the same looks of cynicism and mockery... but perhaps a glimmer of fear there, as well. Figuring that would be enough, the bouncer eventually left the bar and approached a water basin in the corner, feeling a desperate need to scrub the blood from his hands.

[Marion Kay]

Marion hadn't been in the bar longer than five chimes when the commotion broke out -- a commotion she, sadly, had not caused herself.

Since entering the city, she'd spent much of her time cooped up in her room at the Kulkukan, having little desire to get out and get to work on what she'd come here to do. The sense of order the city exuded was stifling, and yet she couldn't help feeling that something wasn't quite right here though she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Still, she'd eventually grown frustrated with herself and her uncharacteristic introversion, chalked it up to culture shock, and forced herself to go somewhere. Preferably a tavern, since drunkards in Riverfall couldn't be that much different from drunkards in Sunberth, if the commotion she occasionally heard from downstairs was any indication.

And really, the tavern at the Kulk would have been a viable option. But it would be too easy, and Marion was not going to coddle herself -- by "go somewhere", she did not mean simply "go downstairs." So she'd dressed in her plainest clothes and asked around for the worst tavern in town in the hopes that it would provide some of the same entertainment that those in Sunberth had.

The Rat Hole. It certainly lived up to its name. The patrons seemed shadier than the average Rivarian to her own eye, though the judgement of a newcomer was likely tinged with some degree of bias. The general demeanor of the tavern was not unlike the more familiar places in Sunberth, and the ratio of humans was unusually large. The scene before her now was certainly reminiscent of one she might have seen in the city of anarchy, fighting and shouting in blood and sharp things being waved about. But none of those things had lasted for too long before the two bouncers intervened and brought the whole spectacle to a screeching halt, and that was something distinctly different from what Marion was used to.

Everyone in the room had turned to watch as soon as the shouting had started, conversations stopping, utensils dropping, stools shifting as people stood to get a better view. Marion, too, had hopped to her feet, hand flying to where her dagger lay concealed at her waist -- not that it would do her any good in the forthcoming fight, considering she bare knew enough about the darn thing to wave it around without cutting her own self. But no fight broke out other than that between the three individuals across the room, and that, she decided, was what gave this place it's foreign air. If this had been what she was used to, the men here would have wasted no time smashing their own bottles and mugs over the heads of their neighbors for no good reason other than the fact that the fighting had already begun. But even as her hand graced the bone handle, she noticed that the people here seemed content to keep out of the action.

So it was with pursed lips that Marion watched the two men intervene. She stood at the back of the room and had to shift slightly to see around the other patrons, but the situation was quite clear to anyone with ears. After a long moment and a twisted kind of quietude, one of the men hollered for the crowd of gawkers to go back to minding their own business and Marion realized, with some sense of amusement, that she had been quick to jump on the bandwagon in her nosiness. Dark mutterings rippled through the patrons as they did eventually return to their seats, but everyone still kept their eyes on the scene before them and Marion couldn't help feeling as if she were part of a swarm of vultures, circling, waiting for something to snap, for something to die so they could swoop down and pick its bones.

She returned to her own abandoned stool as well, and the table she shared with some rather sleazy looking fellow who seemed happy to steal sideways glances around the room in between forlorn looks into the bottom of his mug. He was supposed to be her target for a little entertainment, since he certainly seemed skittish enough to cause his own spectacle with a little prodding, but, to her frustration, the commotion had interrupted her before she could even begin. Now she tapped her her fingers against the wooden table bitterly. The fuss had ruined her chance at fun. Sure, it was entertaining in its own right, but she'd had no part in it; it would have happened no matter whether or not she'd been there. And now what impact could she have? Anything she did now would seem watered-down after the commotion that already been caused.

Even so, the incident had seemed to trigger a force of enmity in the room, one she greeted begrudgingly. Of course, she couldn't know why the sensation had fallen about the room, because she was not familiar with the reputation of the dark-skinned man.

"Bah, he's not going to do anything. Everyone here knows that," the man across from Marion muttered cynically to himself after a long look back to the front of the room. Marion had lost interest for a moment in her own frustration, but now noted that one of the bouncers had left, leaving the large dark-skinned man to clean up the situation.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice low. The man started, seeming genuinely surprised to see her sitting where she was, before casting another glance to the front. "That fellow -- Hirem, I think his name is -- he doesn't really do anything, see. Never known him to go as far as he needs to. That drunk bloke almost killed some people, but Hirem's not going to do anything."

Marion's brow furrowed. Not going to do anything? What was he expected to do? "Shouldn't he just... I don't know, get some kind of law enforcers? Shouldn't the city have some kind of thing like that?" Did the city rely on vigilantism? Was this city not as civilized as she had believed? The skittish man just shrugged, a noise of noncommitment barely escaping his throat before a scream sounded from the front once again, though this time it was fueled by pain rather than rage. " 'Ey, guess you were wrong."

If she had been paying attention, Marion would have smelled the screaming man's fear moments ago when he'd been pleading for his life. Now the scent was overwhelming -- not only because his own was intensified, but also because it had washed over the room like a wave on the shore. The vultures scattered, their hungry gazes driven away as they shank back from the man called Hirem, and the pervading sense of impending calamity withered away.

No, that can't be right.

Marion's jaw clenched, though she couldn't tell if the emotion swirling in her veins now was confusion or indignation. These men, they had been on the verge of... something. And fear was supposed to be a tool to motivate others to action, not docility. Fear was never meant to bring about order. This man. Her eyes flitting to the bouncer. This... Hirem. What he had just done was unnatural.

She felt as if something precious had just been violated.

Sacrilege.

A few moments passed as she deliberated what to do about this situation. Not nothing, of course. Never nothing, it simply was not right. But what? Fear was her game, not retribution. But her game tonight had been derailed before it could even begin and, after going so many days without playing, it left her with an itch that desperately needed scratched. This man would be a good enough substitute, and, after such a display, breaking him would be more meaningful than the other individual she'd picked out.

She took a deep breath to let the frown fall from her face, replacing it with a lopsided grin that she hoped would mask her intentions. She would have to approach him. Normally she might have incited something that would give him cause to come near, but with everyone apparently stricken into deference, that feat would have been a lot more tedious than simply going for it herself, the good old-fashioned way. So she stood carefully, a few men watching as she sidled past and weaved her way through tables and chairs. As she approached the men Hirem, one of his reasons for having been employed as a bouncers became increasingly apparent; if she were any other woman, she might have hesitated in her approach after noting just how much larger he was than she, especially after the display of violence. But there was no hesitation in her steps.

She was keenly aware of being watched. Patrons were still staring at the bouncer fellow, apparently shocked, and their eyes now found her as well as she made her way towards him. According to the man at her table, his behavior had been unusual, and she had to wonder at that. Was everyone acting oddly here? She certainly felt as if she were at times. Perhaps it was just a side effect of the weather and the season.

"Is everyone here always so... agitated?" Her voice closed the gap between her and the giant of a man as she drew nearer. It had taken her a tick to settle on the right word to use, a mild compromise between "angry" and "violent". "Or does the cold just go to their heads?" Marion leaned against the wall as she spoke, her tone light, joking despite the fact that she would have actually liked to know the answer to the question.

Okay, she'd achieved proximity. Now she needed to stay long enough to get what she'd come for, keep him form shrugging her off. She would be a distraction, interfering with his job for the moment. Considering just how tightly-wound the tavern-goers seemed to be, they could very well try to pull something while the bouncer seemed occupied, despite their newfound trepidation; and the bouncer could assume that that was exactly what she was trying to cause. She would have welcomed the former, but the latter needed to be avoided. "Either way, thanks for nipping that situation in the bud. Where I'm from, after a incident like that, things likely would've gotten a lot worse before they got better."

Perhaps that would give him cause to not brush her off -- in a place like this, someone giving gratitude for keeping the peace was probably a rare thing to come by. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth since she would have actually liked for things to have gotten more out of hand than they did, but she managed to keep the distaste from showing as she offered a friendly lop-sided grin.

[Hirem]

Dipping his hands into the cold water of the basin, Hirem fancied, for just one sweet moment, that he was not at the Rat Hole. He pretended that he was instead at an oasis in the Burning Lands, far away from any sign of civilization, the blessedly cool waters offering him a reprieve from the heat of the day. Here, he could refill his waterskin and bathe his aching skin, perhaps strike up a fire and cook himself some meat he had caught earlier in the day. The sun would grow low in the sky, forcing the insects to flee from the night's chill, giving Hirem some much-needed peace from their attacks. He would be free to read from his Penita Scrolls, or perhaps attempt one of the books he had bartered for just a week ago. And maybe, just maybe, as he laid his bedroll down in a nearby cave and rested his head on the uneven sand, he would sleep a dreamless sleep and awaken the next morning with some clear message in his mind of Yahal's intentions. That was the vision the Benshira entertained as he washed his hands, trying all the while to force out the image of Novak's shattered wrist from his mind. What are you, he chided to himself, to hide from the bloody nature of this work? Have you suddenly grown a coward's spine? You are a man of action, and hiding from that action has cost you more than any wound could manage to inflict. Face up to what you've done!

Those were the words of another Hirem, a Hirem summoned by the strange winds afflicting Riverfall, but they were true words nonetheless. Sighing, the bouncer stared at the blank wall as he finished with the basin, perfectly aware that at his back rested a hungry tavern eager for some excitement. The Rat Hole is a little slice of Hai stuck in the middle of beautiful Riverfall. Perhaps it is only natural that I work here... I am drawn to this place. His fingers ached from being forced so roughly around Novak's sturdy bones, and he flexed them to try working the pain free. And, really, is that so bad, to be summoned to Hai like carrion to flesh? I am intimately familiar with that type of darkness and know how to combat it - without mercy and without reservation. Perhaps I am the exact sort of man necessary to suppress the malignant influence of lawlessness. Perhaps my hands were forged to beat and snap because that is my calling. Perhaps my strength was given to me by Yahal to serve as his weapon, and not just as a soldier in the Cytali. Perhaps...

His thoughts were interrupted then by a distinctly feminine voice. "Is everyone here always so... agitated?" The voice's tone was playful, even happy, a definite contrast to the pained screaming that had echoed in Hirem's ears just a chime before. Raising his brow, the Benshira turned about from the basin with still-dripping hands to stare at the woman that approached, his eyes bright but guarded. Never trust a rat, he had learned long ago at this tavern, and you will never be betrayed. Yet this pale woman did not seem to him a rat. He might have thought her a Konti, if not for the lack of gills on her neck and the smoothness of her skin. She had golden hair that immediately stood out, as well as a vaguely coy expression on her face. Her body was slender and seemed an ill fit for the rough tavern that she now stood in. In essence, the woman looked the complete opposite of almost every Eyktolian Hirem had become accustomed to. Foreigner, was his first thought, but that hardly meant anything in this city. If your skin is not blue, you will only ever be a visitor to Riverfall. His next thought was that this woman looked like a mousing cat ready to pounce, and he wasn't sure who the mouse was in her eyes.

Yet she had asked a question, and he would provide her with an answer. "There is something that has been affecting these men and women as of late, and it's definitely not the cold." Following the woman's lead and leaning against the opposing wall, Hirem kept his arms folded and his tone serious as he stared into her smiling face. "I can't say what it is for sure. But I have seen proud sailors swear off the sea, drunkards swear off the drink, priests swear off the gods... it is a confusing time, to be sure." He couldn't say more, because he wasn't sure what he could add to the description. There was nothing Hirem knew that wasn't common knowledge, and common knowledge only understood so much about this strange circumstance Riverfall found itself in. "Best keep your eyes open to danger," he warned.

"Either way, thanks for nipping that situation in the bud. Where I'm from, after a incident like that, things likely would've gotten a lot worse before they got better." Bemused, Hirem nodded his head slowly. "I can imagine," he murmured, wondering where she originally hailed from. North of here, I imagine... she looks too pale to be a Myrian or Kalean. Perhaps... perhaps she comes from that city of rogues I have heard whispers of. Sunberth. The name left a bad taste in his mouth. And this woman is thanking me for ending the brawl quickly? I shattered a man's wrist and she appreciates the action? The gesture struck him as rather suspicious, but at the same time, there was something infectious in that woman's lopsided grin. He wasn't about to start smiling himself, but perhaps he could lighten up his dour attitude. Glancing to the rest of the tavern, making sure the patrons were keeping their heads down, the Benshira took a deep breath. "Well... from where I'm from, such an incident never would have started in the first place. I'm very happy to make sure things get better instead of worse, when I have the power to do so." And that was the key to whole matter, wasn't it? Power. Without power, Hirem was incapable of doing his job and keeping the tavern under control. Without power, he wouldn't have found himself in this situation. And he had broken that man's wrist to maintain his power, his sway over the crowd.

It was a funny thing.

Stepping away from the wall now and towards the tavern floor proper, Hirem glanced over his shoulder at the foreign woman. "What can I do for you?" He asked, figuring that she must have had a reason to approach him in the first place. "You seem intent on taking care of yourself," Hirem added, gesturing at the bone handle of her knife. "Or is it a favour you seek from me?"

[Marion Kay]

The man's eyes, just as dark as his skin, fell on her as he turned, and it occurred to her that so much about him was dark. Not just his appearance, though it was that as well, but there was a haunting sense about him. A somberness, as grimness that cast more shadow in his face than there might have otherwise been. But how could it, at the same time, carry such a brightness? Marion this over for a tick but did not linger on it, as he seemed to be casting the same kind of searching look over her. She couldn't afford to come across as too thoughtful, not yet. Thinking made people suspicious; there was only a thin line between it and plotting.

His expression was difficult to read, but he did answer her query. Unfortunately the answer he gave only left her with more questions, the answers to which she likely wouldn't find here. Her smile faltered for a moment. She hadn't expected an actual answer, but there was something going on. It wasn't simply the difference air here making her imagine things, but an actual difference in the air. But that was... unnatural. Odd. Perhaps there was some god involved, toying with the denizens of this place? That seemed a likely explanation, and she would have liked to press him for more information, but there was a more pressing matter at hand.

There was a moment of pause before he addressed her again as he seemed to contemplate something. Marion saw her chance and seized it, pale blue eyes locking with the man's own. What followed next came as naturally to her tracking did to a hound dog. All she needed to do was try -- what she needed was there, ready. Fear. It presented itself differently between different people; sometimes she would hear it, sometimes she would see it, sometimes it would be every sense at once. And still other times she would simply know it.

For this man it was the latter, and yet it was... not. Her mind was trying to know, certainly, but it was being interrupted. There were things her mind was trying to show her, yet she could not see them. She got a sense of them, flashes of a place she would never see, feelings she would never feel. They were not hers to know, and the only presented themselves in the capacity they had to relay what she ultimately sought. And there it was: Darkness. Not seen or heard or felt, but known. Not the darkness of night nor the darkness of shadows, but true darkness, absolute absence of light, happiness, hope, and faith. The kind of terrifying darkness that left a man alone with himself.

If Marion weren't blessed as she was, perhaps she would have been afraid as well. She shook herself out of the reverie. Though the process couldn't have lasted more than a tick, it left her mind reeling. It often did, when the sensation was so intense, though now the reeling not due so much in part to the influx of information as it was the options of what to do with that information. This was no simple fear like heights or spiders. Those were all easy enough to recreate, especially in Sunberth. But he had already proven that this was not Sunberth, and therefore there would be certain repercussions if she were to, say, lock a man in a dark room for days on end (for she had no doubt that she would have considered it before). Here, she had no plan for this.

Marion's mind rejoined the conversation in time to hear the man's next words. "Well... from where I'm from, such an incident never would have started in the first place." And where might that be? He was likely wondering same of her, and she was disappointed that he hadn't asked. This conversation needed to continue if she was going to think of a plan. Had she just locked herself into a long term endeavor? She sincerely hoped not, but faced with a lack of resources, she might be forced to take a more subtle route than she was used to. If she could keep his attention and keep prodding him for some kind of tidbit of information she could use, she might be able to come up with a suitable plan of action by the end of the night. If not, this would be more difficult than she had originally thought.

She moved to follow him back to the main area, trying with all her might to make it seem as if she most certainly was not plotting something nefarious, but the grin she gave now felt like a grimace, and she could only hope it appeared to be rueful rather than nefarious. She glanced down to her dagger as she gestured to it. "Pah, this old thing?" She gave a wry snort, slender fingers falling to trace its pommel. "I wouldn't know the first thing about using it." As soon as the words left her tongue, she had to mentally kick herself. Her eyes flitted to the vulture-men that sat sprawled throughout the room, and remembered that this was absolutely not the kind of place where one should broadcast her inability to protect herself. But... no, this was good. She could use it.

"Which I, uh, guess is part of the reason I'm talking to you now." She tugged her coat over the dagger, concealing it as she gestured to the crowd. "I'm new in town, see, and I mostly came to this tavern 'cause I was, well, a little homesick." Here, she cast her eyes downward for only a split tick, hoping to convey a sense of loneliness. The man was not from this place either, and the fact that he had brought up his own homeland, if only briefly, led her to believe that perhaps he could sympathize. She shrugged before raising her head and continuing. "But, you know, this isn't my home, and these aren't my people. So I'm having a bit of a hard time, I don't know, getting used to everything. And with everything that's going on, you mentioned things could be dangerous..." Marion ran a hand though her hair and breathed out a long sigh. "... What I'm trying to say is that I think it'd be good for me to have fewer strangers in my life, and you seem like a pretty good fellow to know." She tacked another lopsided smile onto the end of this, hoping her confidence could take care of what her words could not. Then, teasing, "Even if you're a little gloomy."

She had no idea where she was taking this, and normally the reliance on improvisation would have given her some kind of thrill. But now it left her with an odd frustration. The fellow wasn't an idiot, and this wasn't going to work for long. As it was now, things hinged on his reaction. And that was not okay. She needed an actual plan.

ooc/mod noteHirem's greatest fear has been discussed OOCly.

[Hirem]

The longer he examined this woman, the less he knew about her.

Hirem didn't consider himself a great expert on body language or the intentions of others, but he had picked up a few "tells" that people tended to use when they wished harm or deceit upon others. One of the benefits of working at the Rat Hole was that he had grown accustomed to the signs of impending violence or the subtle preparations a liar undertook to ready their craft... hell, he had employed them himself in order to convince his charges to back down from a fight. This woman found a way to convey all of these tells and yet somehow shied away from making him wary. She was not doing anything outwardly suspicious, there was no reason for him to feel a great need for caution... yet he felt it anyway, a thunder of uneasiness that rippled across the plain of his being and made his skin quake gently. It's those eyes, he decided. They don't look at me for too long and they don't look so intent... but there is something within them that is strange. He tried not to show his alarm on the surface, his mind running through the numerous mistakes he was making in lowering his guard around her. I'm exposing my back to her, I'm letting her into my blind spot, I'm not preparing a method of countering her attack.

Every small shift in stance, on her part and his, reminded him of sword masters tensing for a duel, yet if that was the case, Hirem was frightfully outclassed. If I had just met her in the street, I would think nothing of the encounter... the only reason I am suspicious is because this is the Rat Hole. Is that a failing of mine? If so, is it because I am too paranoid or not paranoid enough? He couldn't help but feel that the woman was significant in some perplexing way - if nothing else, it was those damnable eyes - but he couldn't tell what exactly to do about the situation. The safest option, of course, would be to push the woman away and return to focusing solely on his duties, but something about that option rubbed him the wrong way. His pride demanded that he not give up his ground for any reason, especially when the situation in the tavern was as tense as it was currently, and he felt some small surge of excitement at the thought of outwitting... whatever it was this woman was planning. No one is innocent in the Rat Hole. I've trusted too much and been disappointed too often to easily give anyone quarter here.

Perhaps he was getting too easily disturbed over nothing.

"I'm new in town, see, and I mostly came to this tavern 'cause I was, well, a little homesick." The woman began, and Hirem replied by raising his brow. When I am homesick, I read a Penita scroll or retreat to some warm place. This den of sin reminds her of home? That was no fault with her, though; one's sense of home does not necessarily inform others of their character. I consider my home Yahebah, holiest of the holy, but that does not make me virtuous. Settling now near the doorway to the tavern, Hirem turned about and stared at his follower, trying to appear as indifferent as possible. "... What I'm trying to say is that I think it'd be good for me to have fewer strangers in my life, and you seem like a pretty good fellow to know." A complimentary sentiment, one that Hirem could agree with... if only he believed it. By the gods, my hand is still shaking from crushing Novak's wrist! Does she think that batting her eyes at me will convince me to do the same to her enemies? But... he could not so easily deny the possibility that she might be genuine. And if she is truthful about her skill with that knife, she might end up needing all the help she can get. His initial temptation to walk away from the woman was quelled, for the moment, and Hirem took a deep breath. What to do now? He wondered, without a clear answer in sight.

Finally, an answer struck upon him.

Fear.

"Follow me," he murmured, beckoning for the woman to accompany him outside of the tavern. He was aware that the Rat Hole would be watching his departure hungrily, and would seize the opportunity to riot if he left the building for a great amount of time, so he resolved to make this departure quick. Stepping out into the cold winter night and taking a deep breath - thanking the gods that it wasn't snowing - Hirem then hung his head low and began to walk down the nearby alleyway. He only did this for a few moments, just to make sure the woman was following him, before suddenly turning on her. With heavy steps he advanced, coming closer and closer, conspiring to drive her back against the wall, his commanding gaze fixated down upon hers. He did not touch her - did not dare touch her, for fear of violating his resolution to avoid violence for the rest of the evening - but instead pressed his right palm flat against the wall next to her head. The implication was clear: "Move, and I will strike". Taking a deep breath, the Benshira used his free hand to roll up his right sleeve, revealing a long streak of scarring that raised above his skin and gave his arm a sickly, uneven look. "This," he whispered, "is from an Eyktol tsana that I fought in the spring. Tsana are great beasts with long fangs and snapping jaws, that tear flesh from bone and are unstoppable in packs. I met this monster when I took refuge in its den during a sandstorm. It would have killed me, had I not gouged out its eyes and tore free its stomach with my bare hands." At least, I think it was the stomach. It was too dark to tell.

"The point being, I was able to best the tsana because I was willing to do whatever it took to survive." He impressed this point upon her with the dark look in his eyes, hoping that this intimidation would work. The words feel clumsy in my mouth, but if I do not believe them wholeheartedly, then neither will she. "I can be kind to those who earn it... those that I trust. If you are true of heart and prove your worth to me, then you will find me a 'pretty good fellow to know'. But play games with me, or think that you can use me to your advantage... and I will show you what I would do to survive." Some hidden part of him was crying out at this, wondering why he felt the need to bully around a woman with little for protection but a small knife, and another lamented that he could not just accept the offer of friendship for what it was. But Hirem quieted both of them and stilled what internal conflict he could, though some part surely was reflected in his face, as he nodded to her. "Understood?"

[Marion Kay]

Marion noticed his unease too late. Perhaps she would have tasted the sensation sooner had her senses not been dulled by its constant presence in Sunberth. The kind of disquietude she only now sensed from him was subtle, but now that she had picked up on it, there was no denying its existence. The seed of fear was sown, but she certainly had not intended for it to be sown toward herself. Her die had been cast, her bid made. She had missed her mark, and now her quarry was retreating.

But there was a pause as the man took a breath, and Marion recognized it as the kind of breath men took to steel themselves before taking action. Another moment, and the faint bittersweet smell of his unease faded. He wants to trust me, she reasoned. I think. But something was holding him back? Whether it was the overbearing presence of the vulture-men in this place or something she herself had said that was keeping him on edge, she couldn't tell. Her acting wasn't particularly great, she knew, but perhaps she wasn't as good a liar as she would have liked to believe. At any rate, he seemed to have worked through his small anxiety, and she followed him quietly and curiously as he led her outside and into the crisp winter's air.

She was keenly aware of the eyes that followed them as they left, and in the back of her mind she hoped that someone in that tavern would seize the opportunity to do something a little more interesting than sulking. But that was not her primary concern. She tailed him into the alley, assuming he was taking her outside to keep from being overheard by prying ears. She was wrong.

He spun suddenly, advancing towards her at a furious pace -- but it was not out of fear that Marion retreated, but confusion. Confusion, surprise, and a sense of self-preservation. If her mind had not been clouded by these, she might have simply ducked to the side and dashed back to the relative safety of the open street. But that was no longer an option as his arm slid past her to block escape, her back slamming rudely into the wall. For a moment she remembered the dagger at her side, thought about pulling it. But then what? She was no fighter. And, though the flurry of motion couldn't have taken more than a couple ticks to come to a standstill, he had not laid a hand on her. The dark look in his eyes, however, did make his threat of violence clear; and after what he'd done to the fellow from earlier, she did not doubt his ability to deliver.

It occurred to her, as she stood trapped, that this predicament would not have been an uncommon one to see in Sunberth. A young woman -- still a girl, really -- cornered in an alleyway. But, again, while the silent threat had been made, he had not laid a hand on her and she was grateful for that. Though she did have to wonder if he knew exactly what this situation looked like. If she cried for help, the man might have a tough time explaining himself. But she had no cause to draw attention. Not yet. The man had cornered her for a reason, and she doubted it was a malevolent one.

The situation was still bewildering, having devolved so quickly from civilized chatter to... this. What was his game here? This was obviously a move to intimidate her -- and he would be sorely disappointed on that front -- but to what end? Did he really have such an extreme distrust of strangers, or was this some twist of the mind brought on by the strangeness in the air? Or, worse yet, could he actually see her for what she was?

Either way, Marion's arms tensed at her side and hands grasped at the cold wall rather than her blade. Her jaw clenched, breathing heavily from her nose as she recovered from the surprise. Pale blue eyes seemingly had no choice but to lock with the man's own shadowed gaze -- not that she would have wanted to look away, for what she saw there spoke volumes.

If a man's greatest fear was the all-consuming darkness, the darkness in men's hearts, then such a man was typically assumed, by her interpretations of society's standards, to be a good man. So what did it say about this fellow that the darkness she'd seen in her probing was reflected in his very own gaze? The eyes are the window to the soul, are they not? Marion mused to herself, her own eyes narrowing and brow furrowing in contemplation. Perhaps this man's greatest fear is really what lies within himself.

While thoughts had been racing through her mind, the man Hirem had begun to speak. Marion managed to tear her eyes from his to peer at the scarred flesh of his forearm. It was ugly in the conventional sense. She recognized this with the same grisly fascination with which one might study a mound of angry fire ants. But any uneasiness it might have caused was suppressed before it could rear its head.

She listened as he spoke, her lips pursed. Yes, now it was painfully obvious that he was trying to intimidate her. And she was beginning to wonder if she should just walk away from the situation. It would be easier to just forget this happened, to return to her room at the inn. Maybe return to Sunberth. Or even Alvadas. To flee this strange place and its strange men and its strange mind effects...

Flee?

That wasn't who she was anymore. She had fled enough times in her life. There was to be no more fleeing. This fellow would not drive her away. If she wanted to mess with him, she was going to mess with him. What he was doing -- trapping, intimidating, bullying -- was unacceptable. Absolutely intolerable. His new demeanor was too familiar and she knew exactly what it reminded her of. Years ago, she had promised herself she would destroy it. She was no longer the easy target she'd been in her childhood; but neither was she the one who would play the monster this time around.

The anger, rising like bile in the back of her throat, was not something she feigned, though it did suit her act well enough. What girl, thrust into this position, wouldn't be angered?

The man Hirem finished speaking, and her gaze found his once more. For several ticks she said nothing, kindling a restrained indignation before speaking.

"What you would do to survive?" Marion's voice was quiet but building, her words clipped. "Wow, okay. Am I a threat to your survival? Really? Because it sure looks like I'm the only one whose survival is being threatened here." She shot a sideways glare to his blocking arm. "Maybe I should have known that you were talking about yourself when you said to look out for danger, huh?" She grumbled her words through her teeth. The challenging tone of her voice didn't give any indication that she actually felt like she was in any danger, because she didn't. She did believe him to be a good man; she just needed to challenge that same belief in himself. She rattled on, hardly leaving room for him to get a word in edgewise.

"You make a habit of cornering girls in alleys? I almost stabbed you, y'know. But I didn't. Does that prove my petching worth?" She shoved at his chest, knowing full well that she was pressing her luck -- the last thing she needed was to incite violence here. Or perhaps that was exactly what she needed, if it would force him to see the darkness within himself. The next words she spoke were crafted incredibly deliberately, and she managed to temper the angry tone in her voice into one of general unhappiness. "I thought you were a good man, but I guess I'm a poor judge of character, yeah?" It was her proverbial sucker punch. At least, she hoped so. The seed of self-doubt, if she played it correctly and hadn't made too many erroneous assumptions.

She continued on for only another tick or two, nailing her words into place. "So what, do you treat all the newcomers like this, or just the ones that try to be friendly?"

[Hirem]

OOCLet me know if this post got a little godmoddy, and I'll edit it. I figured that Marion would allow Hirem to attack her, however, as it helps her plan to make him slip up and reveal his inner darkness succeed.

Hirem had hoped for her to be cowed.

Not just hoped - desperately pleaded with the gods that she would find some sense and leave him be. She was a distraction from his work that perplexed him greatly, for he could not place her intentions nor her character easily. With every word that came from her mouth he grew more unsettled, but could not state why or what to do about the matter. She was alternatively funny, charming, stubborn, independent, and while he sensed that it might be easy to like her in different circumstances, right now he could not shake the feeling that he was making a mistake by talking to her. And, more than that, with every tick that passed in this alleyway, with every moment that had his hand pressed firmly into the wall and his eyes set deeper into her gaze, Hirem grew to understand that what he was doing was wrong. Wrong by every definition of the word, and the possible success of this venture would not redeem Hirem. Gritting his teeth together, the Benshira tried to ignore the fact that this behaviour was returning him to a path he swore never to tread again, a path of danger and blood and darkness, terrible darkness. I am not supposed to be the man that threatens others, especially innocent young women, with violence if they do not kowtow to my will. That is not why Yahal gave me this strength. That is not who I am meant to be.

So, for both of their sakes, this woman had to relent, and she had to relent now.

But all she was prepared to offer him was defiance. "Am I a threat to your survival?" She asked, and Hirem could not give her a proper answer. I feel that you are, I know that you are, but these are just suspicions and not truth. So how can I justify myself? Resolute, the Benshira just took a deep breath and stayed the course. She continued to speak. "Really? Because it sure looks like I'm the only one whose survival is being threatened here. Maybe I should have known that you were talking about yourself when you said to look out for danger, huh?" At this latest accusation, the man opened his mouth to speak - prepared his tongue to defend himself - but found that his mind could not answer her challenge. His attempts to intimidate her fell apart the moment she opened her mouth, because he lacked the stomach to see the threats realized. And why is that? answered the angry part of himself, the part that fumed, fretted, and got stronger with each passing day in this accursed city. Because you are a coward, and lack the power of making yourself heard by others. All you do is whine pathetically about your situation. His hand on the wall clenching into a fist, Hirem finally averted his eyes from hers and stared down at the ground, trying to calm both his feelings of resentment and inner turmoil. When she shoved at his chest, he didn't move to stop her, taking the hit and stepping out of reach. Her next words fell on deaf ears.

But that last comment managed to slip deep into his soul and plunged into his heart, like the knife she wore at her hip.

"I thought you were a good man, but I guess I'm a poor judge of character, yeah?"

I thought I was too, Hirem answered, stopping just short of hanging his head with shame. I thought that, out of all the lessons Yahal has taught me, out of all the hardships I've endured, the one thing that I might have become is a good man. Certainly, I had sinned in my youth, but... I thought I had put those days behind me. Over the past four years, Hirem had felt chained to his past, wandering the desert with nothing trailing behind but the ghosts of those he had wronged, crying out for justice. At last, coming to Riverfall was supposed to free him from that burden, allow him to walk the path as Yahal had intended from the start. This was supposed to be my fresh start. Though I have wasted most of my life in foolishness, I figured that I might at last begin to live the rest in peace.

"I thought you were a good man..."

And, by the gods, I thought I had done a good job of being one! I have risked my life for others. I have sacrificed myself time and time again. I saved Edith at the docks, I forgave Rosela, I fought to protect Alaia from the slavers... I thought I was a good man! I thought that what Kavala had seen in me was something pure and bright, something that could be used to wound this damaged world! His knuckles grew bone-white. But I was wrong! I was so utterly, completely wrong! All it took was one stressful evening, one lapse in focus, and I am back to being my old self! All it took was a pair of inquisitive blue eyes and I am back to the primitive ogre that once haunted the deserts and killed without remorse. What is the point of all my petching progress if it can be reverted in a moment's notice? What is the point of it all?

"I thought you were a good man..."

"I thought you were a good man..."

"Enough!" He cried, lunging forward and ramming into the woman, hoping to knock her back against the wall. Unbidden, his right hand leapt to her throat, curling dangerously around it as he pushed her back. The severe weight imbalance between them of course gave him the upper hand, but that knife of hers could turn the conflict around... but Hirem could care less whether she struck him or not. "Enough!" He hissed, blood boiling in his ears. "Do not speak of what you don't understand! You know nothing of me, or the evil that I have seen!" His fingers tightened and pushed, his eyes growing truly wild with fury. "You are rakva. You know nothing. If you had seen just a fraction of the things that I have seen, you would have crawled into a hole and laid there to die." He kept squeezing his hand around her throat, and would have kept squeezing until her eyes popped and blood started to gush from her nostrils, would have kept squeezing until he saw the life be choked forever from her cold veins... but managed to stop himself, before doing serious harm. Shuddering, the Benshira released the woman from his grip and stepped back, struggling to regain control of his erratic breathing. He stared down at the woman, eyes once full of anger, now slowly fading into dull surprise. Then he stared at his hands. Then he stared at her neck.

He might have said something, had the din of the Rat Hole not grown cacophonous with the sounds of brawling. Hik! Shaking his head, Hirem left the woman in the alleyway and returned to the tavern, throwing open the door and hurrying inside. What greeted him was a full on armed conflict, as patrons spilled through the back doors of the tavern and tried to make off with Tom Volus' money. Letting out a howl of frustration, the Benshira launched himself into the fray with both fists bared, eager to work out his... complicated feelings by breaking up the fight.

[Marion Kay]

It took no small amount of willpower to keep her expression from betraying the haughtiness Marion felt now, seeing the man's sudden change in demeanor as soon as her words landed. She took a step forward, eager for the breathing room he'd left in the wake of his slight retreat. Her jaw clenched in an effort to keep her look of agitation, lips pursing. She studied his face again but, for all the darkness in her own heart, she could not have possibly understood what she now saw there. Confliction was easy enough to identify, being tied so closely to her own self. But many other things -- feelings, thoughts -- danced across his otherwise stony features, ones which she had neither the knowledge nor experience to identify. She couldn't tell if there was fear, which was strange. She should have recognized it if it were there, but if it weren't, then what was that new flash in his eyes? Despair? Hopelessness? Resolution? Rage? She could not say, and felt herself frowning internally.

You had it coming, she addressed the man internally, her voice flat in her own mind, and she wasn't sure if she was simply stating a fact or trying to convince herself of its truth. In fact, she got the sudden sense that she wasn't sure of anything in this moment. She wasn't sure whether or not she had succeeded in her endeavor. She was no longer sure if she were even still pursuing her original endeavor, or if, somewhere, the plan had changed. She wasn't sure if she'd ever had a plan and perhaps that disturbed her most of all, for she was nothing if not a hypocrite, and was blind to seeing within herself the same unshakable proclivity towards order she was so willing to see purged from the world.

Either way, in that moment, she would have traded all her gifts to know what this puzzle of a man was thinking. (And then immediately regretted it, but that's beside the point).

His sudden burst of movement shouldn't have caught her off guard, considering the situation's potential to get... messy. But it did, and she reeled backwards as his body collided with hers. The part of her that still housed reason and had not been consumed with surprise was silently grateful -- her jaw was still clenched, so she didn't need to be concerned with biting her tongue or cracking her teeth when her body slammed against the wall once again. Her head lolled to the side, disoriented, as the wind was knocked out of her and replaced with a hollow sensation in her sternum.

Her lips parted in an ineffective cough before she regained her senses and tried to replace the air she'd lost. But her efforts were cut off by a sudden heavy-handed pressure at her throat. The man's voice roared in her ears, but was soon competing with the thundering pound of her own heartbeat. He's going to kill you. Unburdened by panic, it didn't take her long to come to terms with that fact. You should do something.

Marion's left hand pried feebly at the man's hand while her right fell to her waist, searching for her blade. Under the weight of his pin on her, it was trapped between herself and the wall, but she tugged at it ruthlessly, her body squirming and inadvertently putting extra pressure at the throat. Her inability to panic kept her hands steady but slow, so by the time she was in a position to draw it she could could not only hear her blood rushing, but feel it pulsing throughout her limbs. Her fingers were going weak, blackness looming menacingly at the edge of her blurred vision. If she were going to act, it had to be now.

Her fingers gripped the handle of the weapon, wrenching it violently from its scabbard.

And flinging it clear across the alley. Out of reach, out of sight, out of mind, out of luck.

Shyke.

Marion's fingers were numb, her muscles going weak now. Her knees trembled. Her brain, deprived of oxygen, was on fire. Her eyes and sinuses were screaming under the stress as if they were ready to burst at any minute. She couldn't decide if her pulse was speeding up or slowing down. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Everything hurt.

Then it occurred to Marion that if she were going to die, at least she would die knowing she was successful at this one thing. Though the words the man Hirem growled at her were muffled as if being heard from underwater, she could hear them. She heard the fury, the bitter darkness he'd unleashed. She'd unleashed. This was her handiwork. She had broken him. At least for now. And if she were to die, she had no doubt that she will have broken him for some time to come.

But was she willing to sacrifice everything to destroy one man? No. He had succumbed. He did not deserve to kill her -- that was a privilege reserved for someone greater or no one at all.

Marion's eyes rolled aimlessly and settled on her arm as she forced it upward. The simple motion, by now, took enough effort to sap a significant amount of whatever strength remained in her body. Her right hand swung to the man's collar and her nostrils flared as she focused all of her waning concentration. She should have done this to begin with, instead of wasting time on that stupid knife. There was a desperation fluttering through her now as she willed her djed to action, but it felt as if everything was asleep. What should have been simple was now excruciatingly tedious. She tugged at her djed, willing it to change, willing it with all the will she had left. The flesh of her hand turned to bone. Another tug, and she willed them to elongate, to turn to sharp points with which she could rend this man's own flesh. But her body would not obey.

The shadow that danced at the end of her vision had narrowed. It enveloped her. Then there was nothing more she could do.

I have seen! ... what you don't understand ...
... you know ... evil ...
... you are ... just a fraction ...
... I have seen ... a hole ...
... you ... laid there to die ...
... you laid there to die ...
You laid there to die.

Marion couldn't have been out for more than a tick, and somehow it felt shorter than that. But the next thing she knew, she was slumping to the ground. Her brain was still burning, her eyes still screaming but worse than that was the metallic agony in her esophagus. It felt as if she had swallowed a razor blade and was in the process of coughing it back up. She hacked dryly, wincing as she did so but unable to stop. The taste of blood lingered at the back of her throat, though it wasn't bleeding.

Her limbs stung as sensation flowed back into them, and as she lifted a delicate hand to her head she also lifted her eyelids to find the man Hirem peering down at her. Her mind was quiet, for once not actively trying to figure him out. The angle from which she gazed up at him cast his face in shadow, rendering it unreadable, but she could hear his breathing slow.

Then other sounds, ones Marion recognized, but which seemed out of place in this city, tore away both their attentions. Then the man was gone, leaving Marion to wonder whether she should regret what she had done. He had it coming, she reassured herself once more after another bout of coughs tore at her throat, but she knew this time that it was a lie.

On shaky legs, she stood, leaning against the wall for support, fingers tracing the opening of her empty scabbard to remind herself of what was missing. With a sigh (and more coughs, less violent this time), she made her way to where the knife laid, scooped it up, and plopped it back in its place. With her focus back, she could hear the bustle of the Rat Hole in full swing. Hirem had gone to take care of it, she knew. She also knew that she would be an idiot to follow him there now, not only because of the state she'd put him in, but also because it sounded pretty rowdy in there and she was in no position to protect herself. And she didn't trust that the bouncer would come to the rescue if she got herself into a pickle.

By her account, her work here was done. But... something felt off. The man was a puzzle. Or perhaps more like a labyrinth, whose dark corners were filled with wonderfully terrible things begging to see the light of day.

And neither of them had properly introduced themselves, had they?

Marion's gaze flicked around the alley. He'd just left her here without a word... but a good man would come back to check on her, right? She considered staying put. But no. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. And she might want to check in with a doctor or something. (She frowned at that. How expensive was medical service here?). Still...

She dug through her coat pockets, searching for something she would be willing to leave behind. A glove. Yes, that would work. It was small and clean, obviously belonging to a woman, and she wouldn't really miss it if it were never returned. Brushing her now disheveled hair from her face, she stooped to gingerly place the thing in the same place he'd left her. For a moment, she considered arranging it to display a rude gesture, but thought better of it. That probably wouldn't work in her favor if they did ever meet again, and it would make it too obvious that she'd left it behind on purpose. Perhaps it would give her an excuse to approach him later. Perhaps it would serve as an unwelcome reminder of what transpired here. Perhaps it would go ignored.

Having placed the glove, she turned on her heel and strode briskly away. Away from this strange place. Away from vulture-men. Away from puzzle-men.

But I'm not fleeing.

Marion scowled and wondered how much of what she'd done tonight was actually what she'd wanted to do, and how much was influenced by the strange air that plagued the city. Just as much, she wondered the same of the man Hirem.

oocYour post was fine! This'll be the last post from me; I felt like this was a good place to wrap it up.

[Hirem]

When Hirem fought, he fought to end combat. It was a simple discipline, tempered by training at the Tuvya Sasaran and reinforced by his own determined will, with only one rule: disable your opponent at all costs. Muscles were targeted, bones broken, strength sapped, everything was a viable target in the means of quickly disrupting a brawl. That was partly a result of Hirem's profession, but it was also a core tenet he had come to adopt after settling in Riverfall; violence was meant to be stopped whenever it occurred, and used only against those that words could not defuse. If a situation came to blows, Hirem was resolute that it must be ended swiftly, no matter the cause. There was nothing to be gained from bloodshed except tragedy, and he had dealt with enough tragedy in his past to risk incurring more of it in the present. He was no great bouncer, had no real presence beyond the extent of his fists, but he considered himself a tireless vigilant when it come to the preservation of peace. For order must be maintained at all costs.

But not today. Hirem fought because he needed to fight.

When it came to the large open room brawls of the Rat Hole, he was unstoppable. There were too many distractions for any combatant to focus on just one person for too long, and Hirem took advantage of that, storming through the crowd and ravaging those that were otherwise preoccupied. His lashing feet kicked out at knees and threw men down to the floor, his clenched fists seeking flesh and driving it against bone. Like a whirlwind he threw himself to the fray, growing dizzy from the endless stream of attacks coming his way, shrugging them all off and dispensing brutal justice. It was a miracle no one turned a knife his way, or a broken bottle - he scarcely would have felt the attack, and might have bled out before realizing he needed healing. Raw, animalistic rage consumed him, a dark fury that choked out his thoughts until his conscious mind was brought to submission. Like a dog, he heeled to the terrible monster that dwelled inside, who revelled in the night's abuses. Every scream of pain invigorated the monster; every drop of blood was water to its parched throat. There were no thoughts afforded to the gods, or his past, or any of the usual quagmires that suffocated Hirem's mind. He was finally free of their tyranny, his chains unshackled by a delicious orgy of violence. Not even the healing powers of Rak'keli could have granted him this much of a reprieve from his suffering. He channeled Hai itself as he visited brutal vengeance upon the mad patrons of the Rat Hole.

"Stop!" came the sudden, shrill cry. "Hirem, stop!"

The echo of his name in his ears made the Benshira pause, and that split-tick delay halted the angry momentum that had propelled him this far. Stirring from his trance, Hirem realized that he stood towering over a man that had collapsed to his knees, one hand on his collar and the other held high in the air, a blood-soaked fist ready to strike again. The man's face was unintelligible, blue and purple and black. All around, the brawling seemed to have stopped - apparently most of the tavern-goers had fled the scene, leaving just a few disgruntled patrons inside that were now quietly excusing themselves from the Rat Hole. The person that had called out to Hirem was one of the bartenders - he forgot their names frequently, for Tom Volus hired so many and then fired them just as quick - looking at him with a pleading gesture in her eyes. "It's done, alright? It's done. Just stop it. He's had enough." His eyes glazing over, he stared at her quietly for a few moments, then turned his gaze back to the man. He wondered numbly why he should not just keep striking his opponent down. Obviously, he deserves it. Why else would I be hitting him? His hand unclenched and then clenched again, flexing his muscles, shaking in the air. He was very dimly aware of the blood on his knuckles, his face, his clothes...

The fist fell to his side. "Get out," He growled at the man, and he was swiftly obeyed.

The Rat Hole chose that moment to have an early close, leaving Hirem to clean himself and the busted tavern up. Broken table legs had to be stored in the back, new ones hammered in, shards of glass and splintered wood swept off the floor. After he washed up in the corner basin - rendering the water so murky and blood swollen that it had to be changed twice - the Benshira attended to these duties, working in mute silence with the rest of the Rat Hole staff. No one dared speak a word, either because they didn't want to or were scared to trigger memories of the past bell. The tavern workers were not bound by any form of companionship beyond a common employer, and many of them didn't like each other. But they all seemed to be especially wary of Hirem tonight, and avoided him whenever possible. That was just fine for Hirem, because he needed the silence. He coveted it. Now that the din of battle had disappeared and the blood had stopped rushing to his head, he was treading a very line between composure and complete oblivion. His hands trembled and quaked, his eyes welled with tears, and his legs came dangerously close to collapsing under him. Curiously, beyond these instinctive reactions, Hirem couldn't think a single, clear thought about what just occurred in the tavern. Every time he tried he hit a blank wall, impossibly tall and wide, forcing him to circle about endlessly in meaningless observations and simplistic remarks. It was for his benefit, he felt, that he remain trapped in that cycle... for if he were to consider the implications of his behaviour...

Destruction.

Finally he was able to leave the tavern, his legs dragging behind him and his head following along, his entire body weak. Before he made it to the main street that would take him back to the Kulkukan, the Benshira found himself drawn to a nearby alleyway and a little spot on the wall of the tavern. He didn't make up his mind to visit it, so much as his feet turned in that direction and wouldn't stop until he was there. Staring in either direction of the alleyway, Hirem was surprised to see no sign of the - Stop. Do not think about her. Move on. He might have left then, had he not managed to spot, out of the corner of his eye, a small leather glove resting on the ground. Casually discarded. Abandoned on the street. Curious, the Benshira bent down and picked up the glove, turning it over in his hand. Too small for me to wear. It fits a vastly different hand than mine... perhaps that of a woman's?

A small, defenceless woman. A woman that lost her glove because she was being strangled to death by a monstrous brute.

Just like that, Hirem lost his nerve and collapsed onto the street. "Oh gods!" He gasped, beating at his chest, scarcely able to breath. Around his heart, an iron gauntlet had been curled, squeezing the blood from his veins until it was dripping from every pore of his body. Slipping on the ground and landing on his rear, the Benshira's head collided with the wall without grace, adding pain to the sudden, complete turmoil that had overwhelmed his entire being. "Oh gods!" He cried out again, howling into the night and clenching that glove with all of his might. "What have I done?" He asked himself, terrified of the enormity of the answer. His shoulders bunched together and he looked like a babe at that moment, rocking himself back and forth. "What have I done?" If he had a knife on his person, he might have started hacking away at his wrists, determined to saw off the hands that had nearly brought death to an unsuspecting young woman. If the Kuvay'Nas had seen the exchange, I would be dead! Oh gods, how I wished they had been there to stop me! What in Hai came over me? What happened? Who was this girl, that I so nearly put an end to over the slightest of slights? All these thoughts raced through his mind, but were silenced by one, overwhelming statement:

I can never escape. No matter how far I run, I can never escape the man that I am.

Hirem held the glove tight to his breast and sobbed, holding it like a mother would her child.

[Matthew]

Hirem

Skills

• +3 Brawling
• +1 Diplomacy
• +4 Intimidation
• +1 Medicine
• +4 Observation
• +4 Philosophy
• +3 Socialization
• +1 Tactics

Lores

• Brawling: Shrugging off Minor Pain
• Intimidation: Intimidating by Making an Example
• Intimidation: Intimidating with Body Language
• Medicine: Identifying a Minor Wound by Sight
• Politics: Even Simple Lies are Dangerous
• Socialization: Reading Beyond Just the Words

Rewards/Consequences

This event is something that I think will plague Hirem for some time to come. He often has nightmares about it, and sometimes when having to intimidate and bounce rowdy customers, the image of Marion's face briefly replaces theirs.

Marion

Skills

• +3 Acting
• +3 Diplomacy
• +2 Interrogation
• +1 Morphing
• +4 Observation
• +1 Philosophy
• +3 Socialization
• +1 Tactics
• +1 Weapon: Dagger

Lores

• Acting: Basic Improvisation in Social Situations
• Acting: Controlling Facial Expressions
• Diplomacy: Making Friends
• Diplomacy: Carefully Planning Your Words
• Hirem: His Greatest Fear
• Interrogation: Basic Questioning
• Riverfall: Strange Happenings
• Socialization: Accurately Sensing the Mood in the Air
• The Rat Hole: Shady Tavern

Notes :

Hirem, the post did have some Godmodding, with you calling hits on Marion's character. However, I've always felt it was acceptable if the other players agrees to it or with it, which was the case here. Anyways, it was a good thread to read. There was a lot of development in here and I really enjoyed it.