Closed Something Lost, Something Gained

[Ricky Maze]

Ricky only seemed to take to silence when Pulren started to take the lead, a quiet thanks did manage to come out in the form of a relieved sigh once he started to follow. His back would be ever so glad to no longer have to carry all this luggage at once, for at least the little while he would rest over at Pulren's own place. To think an old friend found his way here and even settled in, he could only wonder what kind of name the young man managed to make living here. No that was wrong actually, Pulren had been through enough over the years, it would be unfair to consider him young even now. Even now he could see the difference the former guard had in his stance, somehow he walked with a sense of awareness of his surroundings, with a confidence in his step that didn't seem there before.

As they came to pass by a local shop named the Ocean's Forge, Ricky took note of it and the name mentioned as well. Indeed he did know Alija from the Scholar's Arm, but to hear she also moved here and owned her own forge, times had indeed changed if others from Zeltiva were brought here. What on Mizahar could fate have in store for all of them? The question posed more wonder than anything, the answer however seemed to pose little importance at this point in time. "Oi'll 'ave t' stop in an' say 'ello sometime." He remarked as he took in the sights of the buildings around him, he looked for anything distinctive to mentally tag as landmarks, for purposes of direction for when he'd walk about alone. Pulren then seemed to slow down a little and add another bit of information, something clearly a must know seeing as how he had only just got here. "Ah, Okey d'en." Out of thought he'd more or less glanced over his shoulder to the two hilts behind him, the longswords could've been a sore thumb had they not been buried between his back and the packs, the shortsword and whip however were both at his waist in practical sight.

With Pulren's expression towards getting Ricky out of the hostel quickly brought somewhat of a grin forward, it felt good to finally be somewhere in the world with pleasant company. He hadn't really been in the best place since what had occurred in Zeltiva, and trust proved to be something nearly impossible to find in others to this day. Even close friends like Pulren seemed to feel a distance apart now, but somehow the comfort in having them around still existed even so. "Oi appreciate it mate..." His voice had a bit of a waver at the end, something he had to clear his throat to hide away. He began to imagine what Pulren must of thought of him now, the once happy and undauntable father now quiet and reserved. Too much had happened for him to be straightforward about, and what made the matter worse was the fact his mental fortitude hadn't been the same since. Still he could manage to put on a brave face, a front he more or less demanded to remain strong where all else failed.

When they rounded around the corner to the street his house was on, two figures seemed to stand at the door. One large and blue like the heritage he'd been born from, the other loud and almost obnoxious with just a single limb to operate. Well the other one seemed halfway there at least, overall though it proved to be a notable standout from the average norm. Pulren seemed to know or at least be familiar with the Akalak present at the place, whoever the other guy was however sounded like pure stranger. "Never met either o' d'em in me life." He answered out of general habit, seeing as how it'd proved polite to do so anyway. No sooner when they arrived however it seemed another in their presence didn't warm up to the man so, a vivid white coloration of shyke ran down the man's crown. Deep blue eyes went up to where the source could've been, as everyone else probably did the same in turn. The pigeon seemed to watch him almost tauntingly before it flew off, a minor chuckle managed to sound of Ricky as another partial grin seemed to grow. "Well ain't d'at some luck." He mused as he reckoned something got it's just reward, for whatever reason why would remain beyond Ricky's own guess for sure.

[Imass]

Garonn stared at the one-armed Chatkewe in silence through bright yellow eyes. If Khemkhaengawut was perceptive enough of his Akalak friend he would notice a completely different glimmer of Garonn's eyes compared to Imass.

"I am visiting a battle-brother," Garonn said with a smirk, in a much more gravely tone than Imass' words, "Oh, you don't know what battle is do you? It is something the real men of steel do. You know? Actually using the armor you make," The Dark Brother had years of experience of retorting Imass' foolhardy thoughts.

Just then a huge pile of bird shyke fell upon the armor-smith's head. Garonn erupted in laughter and pointed at the Chatkewe's face. He laughed so hard that tears came out of his eyes and his stomach hurt.

"Ooooooh," Garonn exhaled finally gaining more composure, "That has got to be the best thing I've seen in the last three years! HAHAHA!" Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket, he threw it at Khemkhaengawut's face.

Caught up in the joy of seeing Gimpy pooped on, Imass didn't notice the approach of Pulren Marsh and the brown haired man. They were carrying luggage. The new comer seemed to have an accent.

"My apologies for this oaf Pulren. He is the man who made my armor, Khemkhaengawut," Garonn was smiling -- something that Imass had rarely done in Pulren's presence. He also spoke casually, without Knightly formality, "I got hired on that caravan I was talking about the other day, we leave tomorrow,"

Moving aside for Pulren and Ricky, Garonn followed the Zeltivans into the dwelling.

[Khemkhaengawut]

It was obvious that anyone who saw the Chaktawe banging on the door would believe the loud banging was done with a weapon. The width of that arm was somewhat unnatural and could very well be seized by the monks as it seemed more like a battling ram than a smith’s arm. Hearing a complaint regarding said weapon in the Chaktawe’s anatomy was a huge compliment, halting his knocking and instead delivering a rather harsh slap on the Akalak’s shoulder. “True men of steel have lost something in battle. I can say I’ve seen more battle than you will ever understand, fatso. When I’ve perfected my craft, you’ll see me rise and save this damned worl----“

Splash. The hot substance that smeared on Khemkhaengawut’s tattooed head was like a poke from the Gods themselves, halting his words and freezing him in place. At first, the wide Chaktawe thought one of his veins had exploded. Considering his extreme weightlifting routines and the vascularity he had gained ever since he started training, it wouldn’t be a surprise. When he talked, especially with that loud volume of his, those veins manifested on his neck and even in his features, reason why his presence was usually enough to scare away any women from his immediate surroundings. Lifting his only hand to his head, he’d smear some of the white substance on his hand and bring it down for his eyes to see. It wasn’t blood. The anger immediately manifested in himself, turning around to see a dove flying across the skies. “Wha---“The Akalak began laughing, which made things worse. Bringing a foot up, he’d quickly remove one of his boots and toss it somewhere in the street, flying near the two individuals that were slowly approaching. He was aiming at the dove, despite the futility of his unexperienced throw. “Damned bird, I’ll get you! I know where you live!” He didn’t, but his anger didn’t let him realize that.

Thankfully, the Akalak was kind enough to toss something to clean himself up with, the Chaktawe taking it and starting to rub his shiny. At first, it only made matters worse as it only smeared the white excrement on his head, the white color almost seeming like some sort of beauty lotion for those that weren’t aware of the reality, yet with some perseverance the handkerchief absorbed all of the substance. He’d offer it back to the Akalak even if it was coated in dove shyke, as the gimp was no thief and certainly didn’t expect charity, even if it was a simple handkerchief. Falling silent, he didn’t want to say anything else until all the witnesses had forgotten about the incident. Eyeing the individuals, he recognized one of them as the men that Imass had dragged along when Alija was first introduced to the armorer. Visibly more irritated after this incident, he’d still step aside for the individuals to enter the building. His intention was to enter the building too, even if he wasn’t really invited. Hopefully, there would be something to eat inside that wasn’t hard bread.

[Pulren Marsh]

Well, sure enough, Rick had no clue who anyone was. That was alright. It was always good to know what was going on and who knew who, especially when it came to friends and allies. Someone or something knew who was hammering his damned door as the bird neatly and quite precisely shat through the lattice overlays which formed a kind of roof over Pulren's deck, the package landing square on the unknown man's shiny, bald head. It even brought a smirk to Pulren's face, something he appreciated. The thrown boot was no danger as it was clearly thrown at the aggressor and was just a crappy throw. Marsh leaned over and picked it up by the back of its heel as he approached the pair.

Suddenly he did recall the armorer friend of Alija's who Imass worked with for armor. Probably the appearance of Rick had just jostled his memory a little. That or the whole visit to a dark dimension last season. That might have affected his memory as well. Hard to call that one. Passing the boot back to the one armed man, he traded a glance between the giant forging arm and the boot. "I hope that thing has manual dexterity as well as strength." Another smirk cracked his face as he unlocked the front door and welcome the trio inside. "I'm only moved in by a few days here, so it's probably not too impressive. Make yourselves comfortable."

Once they were all inside, he pulled the curtain across the great bay window, illuminating the majority of the common room. A door past the hearth was closed, the office with its desk and map of Nyka adorning it behind, should anyone help themselves, a likelihood with this crowd. A dresser and wash basin of good quality resided inside as well, as Pulren had been using it as a makeshift bath and dressing room until he could get the office set up properly. Another window lit the room there as well. The common room was as large as a cottage in Zeltiva, a well constructed hearth in one side, a comfortable looking bed on the wall opposite. Two cushioned armchairs sat before the hearth and a large dining table with three sturdy chairs flanking it sat near the back of the room.

At the back of the room was a darkened room, occupied by Pulren's personal belongings, weapons and armor and an archery target, strangely enough. While the group set about getting comfortable, Pulren set himself to task and got the hearth going. Once the fire was crackling inside, he took care to get a long piece of wood from the kindling and light one of the oil lamps, turning it down and placing it on the table. "It's modest, but it is home now. I hope to get more involved with it soon enough, but I have pretty much just been sleeping here." Looking at them all, he pointed over to Rick. "This is my good friend Ricktar Barnello, a Zeltivan ally of mine from way back. Rick, this is Ser Imass of Syliras, a Knight. And ... let's go with Khem here. he is an armorer. That arm is divine and does an amazing bit of craftsmanship. Ivak yeah? I can't recall, no offense."

[Ricky Maze]

Ricky merely shadowed Pulren for the most part now that they arrived at his would be house, the other two giants briefly met with a silent nod when he followed his shorter friend inside. Of the four there the tallest proved to be the Akalak, and then probably just an inch less was the one armed individual. It piqued his curiosity to see others taller than him, given not a lot of people from his area were that tall to begin with. For a change he didn't feel out of place for once due to his size, though that still didn't change the fact he basked in the presence of strangers.

People he'd just met no less and had little to go on other than Pulren's word, that of course had to be enough to give them some credit for decency. While Pulren seemed to focus on lighting up the room Ricky took the liberty of shedding some weight from his spine, the first to fall off his back being the two travel bags quite packed with essentials he'd brought along. With those two placed near the door to the office, he then unfastened each scabbard that held his sword one after another so that they'd rest against the wall with his stuff.

At last his shoulders gave way to relax after being in a tense state for so long, the relief of the lost weight brought to surface in a sigh while he stretched his back. A few cracks relieved the tension he felt built within, he finally finished with leaving his whip and shortsword placed atop his belongings. With that finally done he could hopefully find himself better able to relax, although he still felt unsure he would be pleasurable company in his current state of being. Pulren seemed to have the goal to become personally more acquainted with the place in the future, given that his first statement at least proved true to behold. It indeed had the looks or makings of a place called home, something Ricky hadn't found since what he he'd gone through back in Zeltiva.

When the introductions were made official Ricky seemed to once again nod respectively towards the other two, this time a "pleasure t' meet ya," thrown in afterwards to cement the impression. Imass seemed like the type who would be a knight given his posture, though somehow Ricky didn't get that feeling of an impression at first for whatever reason. He couldn't quite pinpoint what hid the idea, but the tall and proud manner that seemed almost reserved had been a decent indication. There seemed to be quite a bit of discipline in the way the Akalak moved, something that no mere mercenary or traveler would demonstrate.

Then there was "Khem" as he was called. A short name for someone loud and boisterous, for someone who only bore one arm rather than two. Khem seemed like the mercenary type to Ricky but it was because of his manner and attitude, actually it was more of a borderline between that and thug. Only because of how brutish he came off more or less, it'd definitely been a surprise to hear he was actually an armorer. Someone in that kind of trade generally needed two hands to work with, so the fact he could manage with one had to be impressive as is. The arm of course had to have its own sort of unusual appeal, a strange tingling sensation thrummed in Ricky's mind upon looking at it, almost the same way he felt when he would look upon his own mark.

So Oi can expect t' see d'ese people 'round fer a while. He mused as he pulled a chair from the table and took a seat, he had to admit it felt wonderful to finally be able to sit down and relax after the hike all the way here. "Like Pul 'ere, ye can call me Ricky or Rick. Oi'd be more apt t' greet ya better were de circumstances different unfortunately." He confided as he rested his elbows on the table, when he felt the thickness of the hair on his cheek, it only confirmed he needed a proper clean up now that he'd arrived somewhere safe. Well not exactly 'safe' but safer than where he was, shaving and the like seemed a scary concept in Sunberth, when you never knew who'd decide to shank you with your own razor at that.

[Imass]

Refusing the handkerchief full of bird poop from Khemkhaengawut, Garonn proceeded to inspect Pulren's new home. It was a beautiful dwelling compared to the Akalak's living situation in the past ten years. Anything was better than the dark damp dungeon cell in Sahova, but the dwelling was even better than his former windowless, cramped hole in Syliras. The main area was very bare, but the airy, smell of ocean filled the room; the deck was spacious too.

"I am happy for your new home Pulren, it suits you well," Imass gave the mercenary a firm and formal handshake as a sign of congratulations.

"It is a good day, when I meet a friend of Pulren Marsh," Garonn said with a gravely voice to Rick. The man was tall and built considerable well, so the Akalak assumed he too was a man of martial fortune. He did not think much more than that, preferring to let actions and words define a man. The Knight's eyes immediately spotted the short-sword that Rick had brought with him.

"If I could have the honor, my good man?" Garonn asked with respectful yellow eyes. He smiled towards Rick, revealing a row of broken teeth, "It has been many years since I touched the pommel of beloved steel,"

Getting permission, Garonn picked up the sheathed weapon. Undoing the safety strap, he drew the sword from the scabbard. The sound of swishing blade was music to the Akalak's ears. A shiver went down his spine as he inspected the blade. The weapon felt good in his hands; balanced with expert precision.

Waving the blade in the sunlight, the glimmering reflection of the weapon bounced off all the walls. Garonn swung the blade a few times with his eyes closed, feeling out the blade. The urge to return to Syliras to get back to his Duty was even greater now. The Akalak lived by the Philosophy of the Blade and it had been way too long.

"It is a good weapon, Rick, I am envious. Beware though, the Monks would confiscate such a device I am afriad. Blades are outlawed here,"

Turning to the Chatkewe, he handed the brute the blade pommel first, "Check this out. I know you can appreciate a finely crafted blade,"

[Khemkhaengawut]

A poor decision was to let the Chaktawe into the home. First thing he did once inside is remove his other boot and toss them carelessly by the door, taking the boot Pulren retrieved and tossing it along its twin. Of course, there was no gratitude shown to the man, as not even a ‘thank you’ or at least a grunt of acknowledgment escaped Khemkhaengawut’s mouth. “Home sweet home.” He’d mutter, immediately scouting around to find the area in which the foods hid. This damn city was starving him, and despite not being the tallest man from the individual, he was certainly the biggest. Such impressive size had to be maintained with a constant influx of foods, which since his stay here were composed from bread and water. Khemkhaengawut began browsing through the cupboards, and his starved eyes quickly laid upon a cloth that hid something beneath, a ration of bread trying to be hidden by Pulren without success. Scoffing for himself, he’d take the bread and test its softness – it was as hard as the steel that formed the Chaktawe’s pectorals. Listening to the conversations and the introductions, his voice raised to correct the insolent individuals. “Khemkhaengawut, not Khem.”

Moving by the fire, he’d take the fire iron and turn it around, trapping the handle between his bare feet as he stabbed the bread on the pointy end. Lifting it back up, he’d wait for Pulren to finish kindling the flame before he extended the bread near the flame to heat it up. “Izurdin, not Ivak. Ivak can’t create anything, only destroy. Useless cu—“ His voice faded and he mumbled the rest, the situation not quite clearing if his annoyed attitude was because of the dove, the individuals, the Gods in question, or a mixture of it all. Still holding the bread near the fire, he’d turn sideways and watch the males with his jet-black eyes in a somewhat noble and proud stance. He’d run his gaze over the newcomer, Ricky carrying a small armory the Chaktawe didn’t quite like. Being a pretty straight-forward man himself, he had some difficulty in translating the newcomer’s thick accent. Imass started playing with one of the blades and the Chaktawe began spinning the bread to not burn one of the sides. It wasn’t until Imass offered the sword that the Chaktawe spoke again. “Pass. Last weapon I held cut my arm, and I’d keep it that way. Only a weakling uses weapons.” Glancing at Ricky, not that his eyes would reveal that much, he’d add. “No offense.”

“You all seem to be interested in weapons, for some reason. Swing by the Ocean Forge and I’ll make you some armor that no weapon can penetrate. This fatso can tell you. He also lost some weight, which I’m sure you’ve noticed. Made him a coat of plates. Flexible, yet can block arrows and render a blade useless. Way prettier than that ugly blade, surely, even if it’s just a coat of arms.” Brash and rude as usual, his volume indoors was as loud as it was on the outside. Taking the bread off the fire, he’d remove the bread and return the fire iron more or less where he found it, which means he let it fall on the ground carelessly. Bringing the bread to his face, he’d give the hot and softer bread a bite – crumbs falling generously on the ground. “What do you do for a living? I know Nomass here spends his days eating. HA!” Grinning widely, he’d offer the bread to the Akalak. “Want a bite?”

[Pulren Marsh]

While Pulren was glad that everyone seemed to be getting along, the brash and bold conduct by the one armed man was not lost on him. Perhaps there was a reason as to why Pulren spent most of his time by himself. He was finding himself a little cramped with that. Sure, in the Wave Guard barracks he was surrounded, but all of those men and women had some sense of honor and decorum. They sure as petch didn't scoff at fighters and drop food on the floor. As he stood in the half darkness of the storage room, he watched them all cavort and mince words over the use of steel.

In that same darkness, the eyes of Uncle burned at this other guy. He spotted a few off glances from the character, his black eyes a taunt in themselves. The man closed his eyes and could feel the pulse of the Aperture in his brain, in his blood...His eyes snapped back open and he took a breath, his fingers burnt from the flaming stick in his hand. He looked down and lit the oil lamp before waving it out. The gleam of his own trident's tines was caught in the flickering of the sputtering lamp's oil. His eyes went from the tines and their sharpness to the guy who was eating his food and talking shyke under his roof.

Stepping back into the room with the others, he passed briefly and stepped into the small office, grabbing his trusted straight razor from the basin and rubbing it dry against his pant leg before returning with the door closed behind him. Standing next to the hearth, he answered the man's question, well aware that the razor's blade hung low in his hand. "I'm a mercenary, a blade for hire. Or in my case, a trident for hire. Rick and I have seen many a person die, some at our very hands. I can;'t speak for him like I can myself. And you should know that Knights kill. So, while we may all lack in our choice of arms, we have all used them to let blood, something I think you probably have never done. If you are going to remain in my home, you're going to pick that shyke up off the floor and mind your manners. If you say no, we're going to have a problem."

There was no flexing or puffing coming from Pulren. Just a calm, quiet sureness. It bled from his own eyes. They may have been as green as the Bay, but at the moment they were as clear as the other man's were dark. "What say you, Khemkhaengawut?"

[Ricky Maze]

When it came to meeting others Ricky has always been the sort of man who greets them humbly, however that had become a lost tradition for him over the past couple of seasons. This Imass character definitely had a different quality of character to him, as he displayed a sense of courteousness that somehow seemed unexpected to Ricky. Then again it could've been because the fisherman hadn't much to go on since he'd just met the Akalak, but of course when it came to his earnest desire to grip the hilt of the short-sword the fisherman silently offered it. Once he'd taken a step back and found himself in the chair, he watched Imass closely while the other one armed individual rummaged about on his own. To see such a behavior stirred a pit in Ricky's stomach and he would've rather pretend it didn't happen, to avoid the chance of conflict with this bozo on Pulren's own behalf.

Imass' body definitely showed much familiarity with the blade or at least with a weapon in hand, he had to definitely be a strong hardy man refined by discipline to do what he did. Being able to serve a bigger part of something such as the knights, that definitely had to require a lot out of somebody. For a bit of an instance the fisherman actually felt something in himself stir, as if a mutual feeling of respect existed all of a sudden. Perhaps even a bit of hope? Something that suggested the Akalak was a person who could be counted on, to legitimately feel such a thing after all that he'd been through was a rare occurrence indeed. "Aye, Oi don't intend on losin' any o' me effects d'ats fer sure." He noted when Imass warned him of the law that existed with weaponry. That was the second time he'd been told but somehow he didn't mind, it felt good to be reminded of such things. It proved that others were in fact considerate of such things when you thought about it.

Weaklings only used weapons though, now that seemed to be a blatant statement if he'd ever heard one. Apparently this Khem guy had some pretty valid if not harsh opinions, and to make things worse he had to make himself a wreched mooch. Somebody who walked in and wrecked the home of another was never approved of in Ricky's book, in fact his blood had already boiled to the surface as the faint smile faded into a stern glare. He felt hot all over with his face only slightly flushed, and the air around him started to drop a few degrees in temperature almost unnaturally. Pulren seemed to already make his stand on the disrespect he'd been given, but if his word wouldn't be enough to straighten this ass of a man out, then surely Ricky's own presence could further help. Slowly Ricky rose to his feet from the chair, a minor sound of the legs rubbed against the floor to signal his frigid ascent. Oh yes he wasn't going to sit around on this one, he had every intention to back his friend up, even carry out the will of enforcement himself.

When he stood behind Pulren he didn't say anything, didn't have to at this point, just remained in position as the air seemed to remain cold around him. There also seemed to be a small hint of royal blue mist about him, as if the space around him stirred with a metaphysical presence. His gaze was sharp and cold as the ice that loomed within his heart, his mind already focused on the overwhelming thought of freezing Khem in his place.

[Imass]

Garonn watched on silently as the tension built up in the room, as was expected from four men. The Chatkewe was acting in dishonor, breaking bread when it was not acceptable. The Akalak watched quietly, withdrawing the sword without a word of protest.

Pulren Marsh was right and the Knight would not detest.

The final word was not on him. The battle tension was great. The want and need to cut down the Chatkewe was great, but he was calm enough not to take action, not when Pulren's honor was on the line.

Taking a metaphorical step back, Garonn allowed for events to go uncontested on his part, but he stood sword in hand between Khamut and Pulren.

Respect. Learn it or die.

Garonn made no attempt to hide his thoughts.