A Friendship Forged of Gold [Kamalia]

by **Gunto** on February 14th, 2011, 7:45 am

1st Day of Winter, 510 AV

Salty air stung the Myrian's face as he paraded down the narrow street. Parade was the word he used to describe the simple act of walking down the street, for where he walked the masses tended to give a wide berth. It was a constant source of annoyance to Gunto, and his brow furrowed as a woman pushed her child to the side and shielded his eyes from the mere sight of the Myrian. A hand stained entirely black with ink came to rest on his forehead, paired with a heavy sigh.

The city itself wasn't so bad, but it wasn't home. Home, now that's something he tried not to think about too often. He had been away from Taloba for so long, he sometimes wondered if he had forgotten what it was to be a Myrian. Only when he was in battle... only then, did he feel it. That was why he walked today, his destination a small office manned by a merchant involved in some company Gunto couldn't be bothered to remember. At his side, another man walked in perfect unison with his own steps. They strode in silence, Gunto responding to hurried gestures for direction. At last, they came upon a small building set in white stone.

"Gunto, this is the place. Let me know how this pans out... and don't you leave Zeltiva, hear me? Serious shortage of men with any brass in between their legs in these parts." The other man said as they came to a stop. He was bulky, clad in leather and steel. A handaxe hung from his belt, and everything about him seemed to say "mercenary".

"My thanks, Jalé." Gunto said, revealing a deep and rich voice from beneath the perminant mask stretching across his face. He extended his arm as Jalé did the same, human and myrian taking a hold of eachother by the forearm and shaking. The two bowed their heads, touching their foreheads for a moment. They had a bond crafted from the steel of battle, and had saved each others lives more than once. Prejudice and judgement had gone by the wayside; the two were friends. "I'll see what this is about. In the meantime... keep yourself safe."

"Myri guide your blade." Gunto responded with a nod, the last bit spoken in his native Myrian tongue.

"And yours." Jalé said with a similar nod, freeing his grasp on Gunto's arm and turning to leave. He'd learned a bit of Myrian from Gunto in their travels together.

Gunto turned without pause to enter the office, immediately overcome by shadows as he closed the door behind him. His eyes adjusted quickly, noting a rather fat man sitting behind a desk on the far side of the room. He seemed to be counting gold mizas... how fitting.

"You called for me. What is this about?" Gunto commanded, his tone making the question seem more like a statement.

"Ah, so you're Gunto. Sometimes, rumors are true!" The fat man exclaimed, standing briefly from his seated position and gesturing Gunto towards him. There were two chairs, but Gunto remained standing. He shifted his weight to one foot, folding his arms across his chest. He remained silent, demanding answers with his narrow eyes rather than words.

"Ahem... well then, Ahh... you see, I've summoned you here to offer you a job. This is a bit more intricate than some of the other work you've done around here, I assure you. In fact, I don't even know what it is that you'll be doing. I've simply been instructed to give you this letter. If you accept, i'll take your signature upon a contract and offer payment. Sooo..." The fat man said, wheezing intermittently between his words. "Here... this is for you."

Gunto snatched the letter from the man's puffy pink fingers, cutting the wax seal that bound it with his fingernail. As he unfolded the paper, he began to read while simultaneously rubbing a sharp bone that served as a piercing beneath his lip.

Addressed to Gunto of the Shadow Hand :

Gunto's eyes twitched as he read the beginning words of the note. It was not the content, but the language that startled him. It was written in Myrian. Cryptic though it was, he had to reread the letter twice before he was sure no error had been made. Five hundred Nilos? That was ten times what he would make on a typical excursion lasting a month at best, and to do what? Guard a Konti woman? Well, it sounded boring... excruciatingly boring. However, Gunto had lived in Sylira long enough to understand the value of such a sum.

"The money." Gunto growled, folding the paper several times before jamming it into a leather pouch that hung suspended at his hip.

"Ah, of course Master Gunto..." The merchant grumbled, bending down and reaching below to his feet. Gunto heard a clicking noise, and the sound of metal against metal as the man slowly slid back to an upright position. He hefted a bag to the table, and opened it for inspection. Gunto's eyebrows raised immediately, the glimmering currency enticing his senses. The letter had been cryptic, but money talks.

"Alright." Gunto said with a nod. He pushed the bag to the side, snatching a quill pen from the merchant's hand and signing a document that was pushed towards him without bothering to read. "Where do I find this Konti?" Gunto asked, reaching into the bag and pulling free a single coin. He flipped it into the air, trailing it's golden trajectory with his eye before catching it and closing his fist around the cold metallic coin.

"Well... several possabilities, but I have heard that she does enjoy her time at the temple. Ahem... this was to be given to you if you accepted. That's all I know, so if you... are done here, then I..."

Gunto waved his hand dismissively at the merchant, taking the letter in hand and pulling the bag of coins from his desk with the other. It was of considerable bulk, stuffed with coins to the point of foolishness. Gunto held it closely at his side and made his way to the door. He left without a word.

---

Gunto stood before a massive limestone structure, clearly the temple the merchant had spoken of. He had deposited his money safely back at his lodgings before coming, and as he had walked purposefully towards the temple daydreamed of how he would spend it. Now at his destination, these trivial thoughts gave way to his true purpose. He pushed his way through the doorway, greeted by the smell of the sea and sweeping images of the ocean spanning the walls. He was in luck. She was here.

"Kamalia Timandre." Gunto's voice boomed within the confined spaces of the temple. "This is for you."

Gunto's hand extended, holding the letter in his fingertips. What would this Konti think when she saw him? A Myrian man, built and bred for war... clad in an eclectic mishmash of armor and clothing of both Myrian and Syliran origins. On his right shoulder, strapped to a leather shoulder-piece was a wickedly curved knife. A matching blade lay sheathed snugly at the small of his back. There could be no mistake in her eyes; this man was a Myrian... and he was not a mere messenger.

by **Kamalia Timandre** on February 14th, 2011, 5:40 pm

Zeltiva, Zeltiva, Zeltiva, perched between sea and sky, beneath a fluttering storm of sea gulls, veering and wheeling free in the open, so sang a master bard in the White Swan Inn of Syliras. Shops dotted every street, with awnings out front sheltering tables covered with goods, everything from cloth to books to pots to boots. There was adventure to be had in this city, and troves of knowledge and lore enough to entice thinkers and scholars and wizards with a myriad of secrets. Home to twenty thousand souls, Zeltiva was a hub of intellectual pursuits and academic wealth.

She had been here a few times when she was younger, but only to trade at the docks. Her Konti sisters had always insisted that she stayed at the Swan Ship, so she had never been given the opportunity to venture further out into the city. Not long ago, she had only looked beyond the bustling streets of Zeltiva and the gates of the University to peruse the troves of knowledge, dreaming about everything she could learn in the gleaming, bookcase-lined hallways of the Wright University Library. How narrow that ambition seemed now that she had been consuming the library for an entire season, forcing herself through page after page written by herdsmen and merchants, princes and servants, sailors and farmers, wizards and knights, to learn about a magic long forgotten by men and long forbidden by gods. Pieces of lore more expensive than diamonds, fragments of history that gleamed with the tales of ancient marvels and the wonders of ages long gone--they were all here in the Wright University’s Library.

Yet months of research was not enough. Wealthy in knowledge though the library was, Kamalia never found answers—only more questions. The library was a disappointment, yet she would not give up hope that somewhere in another night’s studies she might find the key that would turn what seemed to be endless pages of historical drivel into something of true merit.

Today, however, she did not go to the library. The highsun graced Zeltiva warmly, a welcome respite to the Bonesnapper, harsh easterly winds off the Bay. Morwen was bitter this season, yet Zeltivans and non-Zeltivans alike were thankful it did not snow. By this time of the day, most of the students, with their diminutive intellects, would be warming themselves before the fire in the library common rooms. Kamalia hated the University students with a passion. Those obtuse fools played at learning like infants with baubles. Few understood a fraction of what they read, and far too few hungered to look beyond the main sections with its tomes in the more commonly known dialects of the continent. Like cows, contentedly ruminating over their cud, none of the childish students here possessed the slightest drive or passion for their work, a fact that made her own segregation from their company both maddening and yet tolerable.

Had she chose to work among them, rather than be relegated to studying at the onset of dusk, had her studies not been limited to candle- and moonlight, things might have been different. She had little love for the male students, who gawked at her so expectantly as if she were going to grow sunflowers on her hair, or pull a string of daffodils from her posteriors. She hated female students even more, she-kriital who did nothing but to lure the attention of the males like cheap slatterns, and glare at her with territorial arrogance whenever she—a Konti—was around. It was enough to make her wear sheltering cloaks and veils to avoid attention, yet even her covers betrayed her as she drew mystified stares all the same from the scholars. To humans, her step was too light, her movements were too graceful, her form too fragile-looking, as if she were more like a dream than a reality. Even that was not enough.

So the Konti reserved the evenings for studies, when most of the students returned to their dormitories, and the mornings for meditation and silent contemplation in the Temple of Laviku. Here, as a princess of the Sea, she was respected, even revered sometimes. The priests and clerics of Laviku did not greet her openly; that was simply not their way, but they made her feel welcome nonetheless. Worshippers—sailors, privateers, goodwives, seafaring merchants and fishermen—all nodded or even bowed deeply at her presence, to which she would respond with a waving-away gesture or a graceful nod. Somehow, stepping into the temple always made her feel as if she were instantly ennobled.

Within these marine limestone walls, Kamalia felt closer to home. Laviku was a distant father, yet she believed the King of the Ocean watched over her daughters faithfully. She longed for the open sea, to swim deep into her father’s placid realms once again. The call of the sea was enthralling, enchanting, and she missed the freedom of underwater movement, dancing beneath the waves of Vaska and the Silver Lake.

The temple was nearly empty today. Kamalia took from her bag a small, hand-held harp crafted masterfully from white vian wood. Sometimes, the Konti offered her music as a tribute and prayer, and every patron in the Temple listened, even though few understood Kontinese. She had sung this song many times in the Opal Temple in Mura, and once in the Temple of All Gods in Syliras. Facing the altar, Kamalia’s graceful fingers began strumming the silvery strings of the harp. Her siren song reverberated all throughout the nearly vacant temple.

“By the light of the sun, your word abounds,
A miracle is brought to pass — pure water.
A teardrop, peace, light, love, music.
The fruit of the fields breathes ripeness and freedom.
The wind of blessing blows across the world.
All is filled with thanksgiving.
Storm and bedlam and darkness at last
Turn to the light of the sun and joy of a warm day.
O gods, thank you for your wondrous works.”

When finally the song ended, Kamalia turned and found herself face to face with a fearsome man. She had never seen anyone as intimidating as him before, but from his physique, his wickedly curved knife and the way he carried himself, Kamalia assumed that he was a warrior. The Konti fixed him appraising eyes, studying the intricate tattoos on his face and the elaborate patterns on his body. She eyed the mark on his chest, and knew instinctively that it was the mark of Myri. The score of piercings on his being unnerved her, and his face, though young, had seen many battles. This man, then, was Myrian.

If the Konti actually felt fear, she never showed it. In fact, the Konti maiden looked much younger than he was, yet her violet-blue eyes held a maturity, and while others had shown fear, hesitation and loathing, her eyes rested on his face serenely. She held herself with a grace and air of command that made others feel awkward and stumble-footed. Altogether, Kamalia was also probably like no one the Myrian had ever seen before. She was beautiful, almost impossibly so, with twilight violet eyes that glinted with calm and calculating intelligence, framed with thick pale lashes. Her silvery white hair fell in wavy locks to her thighs, shimmering faintly about her slender form. Murite argentum, shaped like delicate lilies, dangled from her ears and tinkled softly. Her cloak was ivory velvet, with thick silver embroidery, leaves and vines and flowers, all along the edges. Her dress gleamed faintly as she moved, an elegant silvery gown with a woven gold encircled around her waist. A beautiful lily mark blossomed on the side of her neck, proclaiming her a daughter of Avalis.

The Konti gingerly took the “letter” from the Myrian’s hand, and skimmed over it. Kamalia frowned. “What are you called?” she asked softly, melodious despite echoes of uncertainty. Her gaze fell on the warrior again. “Who sent you here?”

by **Gunto** on February 15th, 2011, 3:27 pm

Gunto shifted his weight from foot to foot as the Konti read over the letter she'd been given. The inhabitants of the temple had cleared out, leaving them alone for the moment... no doubt watching from afar, if only to ensure the safety of the Konti. The Konti. Kamalia Timandre, an overly eloborate name for an overly elaborate girl. Gunto took in her exquisite beauty as she stood, her body and gown seeming to dance even in stillness. Her soft and fragile neckline shimmered softly in the lowlight of the temple, giving off a pale glow that only further intensified her exotic aesthetic. Quite beautiful, if not a bit young in appearance. Despite, Gunto was not drawn to her beauty the way most men were. Her fragility was unsightly to him, her soft skin and perfectly balanced features a far cry from what Gunto considered a physically attractive woman. He preferred the women back in Taloba; tall, thick, powerful... dangerous.

"Gunto of the Shadow Hand." He said, the inked mask of his face splitting to reveal yellowed teeth as he spoke. If she was beauty incarnate, he was savagery incarnate. "Mmmm... my common is not so good. Maybe, it's a little hard to explain. So say, for you... I think it's best to say Xyna sent me here." Gunto said with a wry smile, throwing his head back and chuckling. She saw his exposed throat, and the lines of bone piercings that ran down the thick corded muscles of his neck. They seemed to float in a sea of blood, red ink striping his neck and leaving only small portions of his dark copper skin exposed in some strange pattern.

In her defense, Gunto was surprised and even a bit impressed that this frail specimen of a woman had shown no hint of fear in his presence. Long had he given up on the humans in Sylira to understand that his body was a tribute to his god, only to be feared if they invoked her wrath. He was a claw, one which would stretch out from Myri's hand and eviscerate her enemies. Perhaps, in some ways, she was the same. The Konti, as beautiful and majestic as they were seemed all bound to the same patron deities. Their bodies bore their mother's mark, as his did.

"You can ask me questions all day long, Princess." Gunto said, a sarcastic laughter filling the room as if it were a drum. She looked so out of place here, next to him... Princess, it only seemed appropriate. As his laughter faded, he bared his teeth for a moment to pick at them with his thumbnail as if something there had been bothering him. After a quick glance at his thumb, he was content to flick whatever it was he'd retrieved to the ground and continue speaking. "I have no answers for you. I am just here, and when you leave... so will I. Do not despair... I am just going to keep you safe. From who, or what... I cannot say."

Gunto could tell from the look in her brilliant eyes that the situation was too vague for her. The note in his pouch seemed to read into his mind, as if it's words were being recalled and freshly imparted to him. He would be vague, and answer any questions with obvious lies, redirected questions or outward silence. He could be viewed as a savage... but he was nothing if not honorable and true to his word.

by **Kamalia Timandre** on February 16th, 2011, 4:13 pm

Sellsword, the Konti thought distastefully, and a savage one at that.

Kamalia Timandre’s eyes held not the downcast, simpering gaze of a young maiden. All the while the Myrian introduced himself, the Konti’s brilliant eyes seemed to probe into his soul, searching every nook and cranny of his being. She held the paper and quietly read the “letter” for a few more moments, before neatly rolling it into a scroll and putting it gently into her pouch. She pushed back a lock of silver-white hair from her forehead, revealing a clear blue stone dangling from a silver chain that was fastened in her hair.

Her seer sensitivities filtered lies from truth in Gunto's words, and she remained looking at his face, her eyes staring into his serenely with all her thoughts hidden under their depths. “You grant me honor far beyond my due, Master Gunto of the Shadow Hand,” The Konti said softly and politely, knowing well the sarcasm in the Myrian’s voice. Princesses were frail, fragile things, and Myrians hated the weak and the easily broken. Her smile was enigmatic and knowing, “but I am no princess. I am merely a stranger here, a scholar and a seer, a foreigner like yourself, far from home and alone. The raiment of a sellsword drapes about your shoulders. Many souls now honor gold and all other reverence being done away,” she said softly, eyeing the raised scar, along the two small gashes, that slashed across Gunto’s darkly coppered chest. Perhaps as a proud warrior from Taloba, Gunto would feel the Konti’s steel in his gut, covered in kind, velveteen words. He would be true to his word, but did he honor his goddess? The man’s sarcastic laughter and shockingly savage behaviours did not seem to inconvenience the maiden at the slightest. If they did, she hid it well.

“I have been expecting you, Son of Myri,” the Konti said enigmatically in softly-accented Common. She smiled—a bare curve of the corners of her mouth. Was she being vague? “The winds sang to me of your coming, as did the silver waters from Mura. Lhex weaves as he wills, and he wove your fate to entwine with mine. He weaves a pattern between you and I. In fact,” she said, amusement flitted across the Konti’s face, “it is written, pierced, painted all over your visage. Something that you cannot escape,” the moment Kamalia said the last word, before Gunto could do anything, her right hand entwined fingers with his left in a grotesque parody of a lover’s handclasp, and the lily mark on her neck glimmered faintly. Her hand was cold to touch, silken and alabaster against his calloused, black-stained hands.

Her eyes shone and her smile widened. Just that and seer’s soul left its shell to swim into the Chavena, the ocean of memories, to pry from him the knowledge he was hiding from her. The cosmos of dreams was a terribly beauteous sea. Her soul glided over a graceful web of geometric shapes, colors, patterns and cords that drifted and rippled beautifully. In a matter of breaths, the seer found Gunto’s chavi, rummaging it for the most recent tendril to interpret. There she saw a nondescript office and a fat man sitting behind the desk. The merchant’s face was blurred, and the words that came from him were unintelligible. Realization crept into her: Gunto’s chavi was tampered by a dreamwalker! Whoever was clever enough to outsmart a Konti seer through layers upon layers of subtlety?

Kamalia willed herself away from the vision and then back into her physical shell. She found herself staring at the Myrian’s menacing inked skull. There was no nervousness in her eyes, only serene self-possession. “Interesting,” she curved her lips into a smile. Suddenly, they were aware that the priests and clerics that watched them from afar were whispering to each other, no doubt talking about them. “Mayhap we can move elsewhere more private to confer about... this pressing matter?”

by **Gunto** on February 17th, 2011, 3:49 am

Gunto grimaced as Kamalia took hold of his black inked hand, realizing far too late what she was doing. He tore his hand free of his grasp as her eyes seemed to return to this reality, taking a step back. How bold! To reach out a god's gift and take a hold of another without so much as a word of warning. Gunto's irritation was stymied by habit however. As a Myrian, women held a position of power within his society and he had been raised following the commands and whims of his superiors.

So he stood there. Gunto, the terrifying mercenary... who would bite his tongue rather than lash out at the frail Konti before him. She spoke to him with a smirk, suggesting they move elsewhere to speak about their "situation".

"Fine. Follow me."

Gunto turned without further words, walking through the length of the temple towards the main entrance. His walk was accompanied with a song all it's own, but unlike Kamalia's harp it carried no tune. It was the sound of small bones clinking together, leather and metal grinding upon one another, and footsteps that remained light and quick despite the additions to the standard Myrian battle dress he wore. Once outside, Gunto moved quickly without waiting for Kamalia. Any words of protest about his speed would be ignored; he hadn't been able to bring himself to challenge her directly, but he would show his dominance in a more subtle way.

The winter air bothered him little, but it's effects could not be completely ignored. Gunto's skin raised, forming tiny bumps along his arms and exposed chest as his body defended itself from the winter's chill. His path was along the road, busy with strangers and merchants bumbling about their day. He didn't worry about Kamalia following him; if she couldn't pick him out of the crowd, she truly was a hopeless cause. Women selling their wares on the streets would no doubt harass the Konti as she tried to follow, tugging at her and showcasing their cloths. Children would flock, enamored at her beauty. Men would raise their eyebrows, Gunto's passing image only intensifying her beauty as she passed. They were both a spectacle as they walked, but only Kamalia's was welcome.

There came a point when The vast docks were visible, and Gunto hopped down to the wooden planks that served the dockworkers. From the stony edge of the road, it was a six foot drop to his position. He waited, no doubt delayed as Kamalia came upon him. If she needed help, he would assist without a word. No matter the case, he led her down a long and narrow dock that housed ships and fishing craft in need of repair. Here, the air was thick with the pounding of hammers and the swears of men; men who cared little for business of others, only the satisfactory completion of their days work so that they could rest their weary bodies. At the end of this narrow dock, Gunto stopped. His feet lined up perfectly with the edge, so close that another step would send him into the water itself.

After a moment of silence, he turned to Kamalia.

"Never do that again." He growled, pointing a single finger at her face. "I am not a dog, or a pet. Do you see a leash around my neck that leads to your hand?" He muttered, black hair whipping about his face. The small bones that dangled from his hears violently whipped back and forth, and the filthy tattered cloak that partially covered his back seemed alive in the wind.

"I don't often challenge the word of a woman, but you are not Myrian. You have one thing in common with them though... something that has already begun to annoy me. You want to control me, know everything about everything." Gunto said, shaking his pointed finger at her shimmering image. "Know this, Princess. Had you asked about my past, I may have told you. You insult me with your rash judgement, using your gods power for your own gain without need. I would never dishonor Myri in such a way. Her mark is a symbol of my life's work and desire." Gunto said, curling the formerly pointing hand and placing it over his breast.

"Does everything have to be mapped out for you to understand? Are you so terrified of the unknown that you would question me when I myself don't even know why I'm here?" Gunto said, his voice escalating to a near yell.

It was true, though. As he stood there, the exact parameters of his contract had begun to slip from his mind. The only thing he could really recall despite the short time that had passed since he accepted was "Take the gold, protect the Konti".

"Know this, Princess. I am here, as are you... and I feel in my bones that there is no controlling this tide. We are being pulled to sea..." Gunto said, turning and waving at the vast expanse of blue as if to reiterate his point. "And you can't control it."

by **Kamalia Timandre** on February 17th, 2011, 6:32 pm

“As you say,” the Konti said softly in response when Gunto commanded her to follow him. Before they departed the worship halls, Kamalia faced the low altar in front of the large painted visage of Laviku, and genuflected formally, dropping to one knee and gently laying her hand upon her heart. It was almost akin to a daughter-princess taking her leave and addressing the King of the Sea in a royal obeisance. She whispered a few words in Kontinese, and rose just as quickly, nodding smilingly to the priests and clerics who bade her farewell and told her to go with the calm of Laviku’s tides. Kamalia adjusted her cloak, embroidered with curling vines and flowers. Her velveteen footsteps fell softly on the stone-tiled floors of the Temple, and she walked gracefully with a whisper of silk and tinkle of silver jewelry, trying to keep up with the Myrian’s pace. He was attempting to get on her nerves, and she knew that much, but she would not show a single hint of annoyance.

Outside the temple, Morwen’s breath was harsh and brittle, and Kamalia gently pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. The streets of Zeltiva bustled with activity in the Winter highsun. The broad boulevard was crowded by people—merchants, sailors, students, travel-worn foreigners, goodwives—hurrying by as usual, laughing, bartering, talking, arguing, doing all things that people do. Staying unnoticed was something Kamalia thought a great deal, but being Konti in a city brimming with humans made it absolutely impossible.

The sea of activity quieted down and parted to permit passage of the unlikely pair. The Myrian warrior was dark where the Konti maiden was light, and he was menacing as she was captivating. It was just a momentary lull, before the crowd thickened to watch and follow them. Several times people approached Kamalia instead of the other way around. Children ran and flocked the Konti, and women drew near, their arms piled high with silks, gem-studded shoes, crystal combs and jewelries, but the Konti merely smiled and answered each of them with a gracious nod. For an instant she seemed even more the highborn lady Gunto had named her, accepting offering from her subjects. A city guard approached the Konti and asked her if the Myrian was harassing or intimidating her in any manner. Kamalia shook her head and assured the guard that Master Gunto was a friend. At last, the crowd thinned and what seemed like a royal procession came to an end as the vast docks came into view.

Kamalia gathered her cloak and skirts, and quickened her pace to match Gunto’s. To her own surprise, she had managed to keep up with the warrior’s speed. The smell of the sea was enthralling, calling to her fey senses. The Konti allowed the Myrian to help her down wordlessly, and she stood for a moment there to straighten the folds on her skirts. Methodically she examined the narrow dock that housed a few ships and fishing crafts in need of repair. There were no Swan Ships from Mura here, Kamalia observed, and she was not sure whether to take this with frustration or relief.

The Konti’s expression did not change—calm and placid as a still lake—when the Myrian pointed a finger at her and lashed out. Kamalia listened patiently, studiously observing Gunto as he spoke his mind. When he was done, the Konti spoke, “I did not mean to insult you, Master Gunto, nor do I desire to control you. Unlike others, I do not employ my gifts for gold and Xyna’s smile,” she went on calmly, emphasizing the very name that he used in a lie. How dare this man, a sellsword, accuse her of betraying Avalis and brag that he honored his own goddess when he did things for money! “I gazed into your past to discover who your employer was for it is a matter of import to me. I already have a powerful guardian who looks after me, and even when he is not near, I am more than capable of protecting myself if need be,” she said composedly, but power underlay the maiden’s voice. He probably would laugh at her; too fragile was her form she did not appear capable of defending herself. “It is not every day that an individual will invest gold to protect my life. Why, and what for?” She stared absently at his back.

“Would you not think it to be suspicious? What is so great about me that someone is eager to pay an abundance just to guard my life?” Kamalia asked firmly. “Then again, you do not remember much, do you? You cannot recall the face of that plump human who paid for your services, nor any line from your conversation with him. His face is obscured and your words have all been distorted beyond comprehension. That is because someone powerful has tampered with your chavi, which houses your memories. He could have done it to conceal his identity, but that does not entail you do not remember what you were commanded to accomplish. You are a piece to be played, knowingly or unknowingly,” she said purposefully, her eyes fastened on his tattered cloak. “So, what are you truly, Gunto of the Shadow Hand, fierce warrior of Taloba and Son of Myri? Are you truly a sellsword or do you mean to slay me? Were you sent to spy on me? Tell me everything that you know and you plan on doing,” she demanded. The Konti’s last words were still soft, yet they resonated with a force that would rival those of any Myrian Elder.

by **Gunto** on February 18th, 2011, 7:22 am

Gunto's teeth ground upon one another as the Konti surged into a vocal assault. A sellsword? She assumed much. He was not in Zeltiva, a dismal land so far from his jungle home simply to make money searching for missing daughters or to threaten merchants and force their debt's into his hand. His task was not open for discussion, but it had been given to him and him alone by his superiors in Taloba. Perhaps though, much of his irritation didn't stem from her words. Oh, she was a bossy, nagging, spoiled brat who obviously sought to control every situation and have her way. That made the truth of what she spoke that much harder to accept... because he didn't really know why he was standing where he stood anymore. The merchant, the letter, everything. It was all a hazy fuzz, and his interpretation of the events was growing more and more basic as time went on.

Protect the Konti.

That's all he really could conclude from what seemed like a whirlwind of activity since he parted ways with Jalé and set foot inside that merchants office. His irritation exploded from his voice without further warning.

"Listen to me, and listen well Princess." Gunto said, spittle flinging from his mouth as his jaws feverishly worked. "I am not just a sellsword, I came to this place for a reason. You think so lowly of a son of Myri that he would employ his talents for the sake of glittering gold?!" Gunto said, turning his back to her and gesturing out to sea.

"If my intentions had been to hurt you, I would have done it already. No, Princess, I do not wish to feel your hot blood on my hands. Something has happened, and you may be right... perhaps something is guiding me in a way I cannot control. No matter, I am here." His voice falling into a deeper tone, seeming to grow richer than the excited volumes before.

"That is all I know. And you... your voice is hard, your words full of venom. You hide behind a mask of courtesy and formality, Princess. Something about your words... like one of the politicians, or captains of these great ships. You speak not to me, but around me. How irritating."

Gunto's next move would surprise her as he spun, quickly moving to take Kamalia by the wrist. He would take a hold, not so tight as to injure her frail body but to simply pull her. A quick push and a shove would send her flailing uselessly as she careened towards the icy waters below. When she emerged, all she would hear was the sound of Gunto's laughter. He stood on the deck above her, hands on his knees as he bellowed.

"Princess! You looked like a lame swan as you flew!" He yelled, the air around Kamalia's ears thickened by his laughter. "Where is this powerful guardian you speak of, hmm!? I see no one. Now tell me, Princess..." Gunto choked out before finally regaining his composure. "Why would I be hired to protect you? You say you have a guardian already. What exactly do you do that is so dangerous, someone would seek out the most undesirable fellow in all the city to watch your backside?"

She had been in far too much control of the situation. Her knowledge and perceptive abilities were great, and her correct assessment of his mental state concerning the contract had bothered him. Now, as he had taken the lead before by simply making her follow, he had thrown her into the water to get her off balance mentally. No doubt she would be angered that her perfect aesthetic was ruined for the day. What would she say? Would she cry out that he was a bastard and a fool, throwing her into the cold frothy sea for his own amusement? Even as Gunto laughed, he had known that she would most likely perceive the truth in his actions. Her intelligence threatened him, much as the shear physicality of the females of his race threatened him. Long had it been since anything threatened Gunto of the Shadow Hand.

by **Kamalia Timandre** on February 19th, 2011, 10:03 pm

Patiently, Kamalia listened to the Myrian’s words as irritation rattled in his voice. He stood facing the sea, and the Konti seer felt he was avoiding her measuring gaze, hiding his anger from her too-knowing eyes. The man knew he was losing control over the situation and he knew she knew it well. It was as if the Myrian warrior was fumbling for something to gain advantage over her, battling for dominance. He felt threatened, challenged; these Kamalia picked up through her race’s natural empathy.

All the while his voice boomed the Konti kept her own expression tranquil and unreadable, eyes fastened upon the warrior’s back with his tattered cloak whipping behind him. Kamalia felt the beginnings of an odd sort of relief. Her Gift told her that the man spoke truth. Whoever this man was, he was not out here to kill her. He cannot hurt her, even if he tried.

Her delicate lips curved into a smile when it was her turn to speak, yet her eyes remained expressionless pools, “And what could this reason be, child of Myri? Were it not merely for gold that spurred your steps towards me, what—“Kamalia was suddenly cut off when Gunto took her wrist forcefully, dragging her roughly. “What gall!” The Konti’s serene façade broke into a deadly glare. “Unhand me, knave! Unhand me or pray you do not see my wrath awak-“before she could finish the sentence, Kamalia was flying through the air. She had just time to see the sea coming up at her, just time to shout a word, she did not know what, and she struck the surface flat, driving all the wind out of her, struck with a great splash and sank deep into the waves. The water was freezing!

Kamalia’s hair floated around her like a nimbus underwater. There was a moment of utter breathless shock before she reflexively drew in seawater in a deep gulping breath. She pumped water through the gills that slashed her neck like small thunderbolts, but the freezing seawater hurt to breathe and stung her skin like a multitude of tiny needles. Kamalia painfully fought her way upwards, gasped in winter air. She floated in the water just before the dock coughing, wet hair clung to her face and her drenched cloak dragged at her shoulders. For all these atrocities, Gunto of the Shadow Hand will pay dearly!

It was an effort to muster all her control to make her face as placid as possible while Gunto mocked her and called her a lame swan. Kamalia kept her face smooth, kept her hands from knotting into fists, but she could do nothing about her burning cheeks or the eyes that pierced like a hawk’s.

Mustering all the discipline of her magical training, Kamalia closed her eyes and dispelled the sounds of the docks, the sea and the Myrian’s mocking laughter. She focused on the void, on the silence, for powerful spells required calmness under great stress, and far worse than this had happened to her then. Under the water, the Konti’s glyphed palms released silvery res in liquid form that began to gather behind her and beneath her.

There it was again, the sweet, intoxicating euphoria that chilled her soul and at the same time smoldered fiercely in her being. Feeling the magic surge inside her body through her long slender limbs was enjoyable, pleasing… all consuming. She wove magic underwater, and Gunto would somehow feel that there was a shift to how the sea waves rolled. Beneath the surface of the sea, the res began to swirl and dance about the Konti maiden like a vortex, pulling seawater toward her and amassing liquid force.

The sorceress gracefully raised her hands skywards. Suddenly, a dark wall of water from the west raced towards the dock where Gunto stood, gaining power and height as it came. Even as the wave approached from behind her, Kamalia wore a blank, inscrutable expression. It was large enough inundate the narrow dock and sweep away broken fishing crafts from its surface, but when it reached where the Konti was, the wave swept under her and lifted her up in a breath-stealing speed. To the astonishment of the Myrian, the wave did not plunge down into the docks; the massive wave continued to hold Kamalia aloft.

Upon the crest of the wave, Kamalia seemed to sit regally, leaning back and relaxing her arms as if it were a watery throne with makeshift armrests. Powerful magic held the water pillar high and it stood fifteen feet above the waves, the finely-controlled water pressure and air reimancy keeping the Konti afloat. The skies seemed to darken even in the highsun as the watery column painted shadows over the narrow dock. Strong winds blew in, whipping her silvery-white hair in all directions. Kamalia’s face took on a queenly mien as she stared down on Gunto, and suddenly even the matriarchs of Taloba would have paled in comparison in her presence.

“Princess, am I?” the sorceress said in firm tones, her voice seemed to fill the sea like an echoing song. “Then I shall teach you how I punish spuriously misbehaving churls who fail to observe propriety.”

Kamalia flung her right hand forward and a thick jet shot out from the water pillar, crashing down on the Myrian warrior who was so free with his tongue. She continued the torrential blast for fifteen more breaths before letting the spell end. It took most of her will to do so, restraining herself from prolonging the magic. The wave seemed to gently lay Kamalia down on the platform again, before the freed seawater splashed down across the narrow dock. She expected to see a drenched Myrian, shivering in ice-cold air and ready to learn proper respect. He would be dripping wet, a few small fish flopping at his feet.

“I see that I have answered your question. Would you care for a better demonstration, Master Gunto?” Kamalia said, her gown, hair and cloak all soaked and dripping wet as well, but they did not make her less regal. She regarded him with the same serene expression, but a glint of mirth and amusement now shone in her violet-blue eyes.

by **Gunto** on February 20th, 2011, 5:24 am

Gunto's eyes widened and his mind became disoriented, briefly unable to comprehend before logic overtook foolish wonder. A Reimancer. This was unsettling, and his mind raced even as she spoke. She mocked him, citing words he didn't even understand in common... and then the water came. It crashed down upon him, briefly lifting him from his feet and planting him on his backside several feet down the dock. Gunto closed his eyes, baring his teeth and crossing his arms over his face to protect himself from the surge of water.

It was all over in a moment, and Gunto was left sputtering for breath and drenched to the bone. He sat up from his position on his back, pushing the mop of black hair out of his face. The course fagric of the hooded cloak on his back chaffed his skin, heavy with the weight of the seawater, and the leather pieces of armor he wore seemed to double in weight.

He said nothing for a moment, only staring at Kamalia's defiant gaze. Inside, he raged. It wasn't the actual assault that enraged him, but rather the fact that he had gotten himself into this particular situation. A situation in which someone would require he protect a reimancer. What awaited this Konti in the future that she could not handle with such a display of magic? It was this that troubled Gunto, before he finally spoke. His body shivered, and his teeth clattered as his reply snaked it's way from his throat.

"If you do that again... you will see us both arrested... you imbecile!" Gunto muttered, throwing his hand into the air as if to gesture behind him. Indeed, aboard the ships that were undergoing their repairs there was a frenzy. Men shouted commands and screamed orders, unsure of what had caused the sudden disturbance. "You seem proud of yourself... but what you fail to see is that your answer is not an answer at all, wizard. It is another question."

Gunto stood, reaching to an iron and rusted pendant that clasped his cloak together. He fumbled with it for a moment, but managed to unfasten it and drop the hooded cloak to the docks below. He unfastened his pauldrons next, throwing them atop the growing pile of personal effects. He tossed his second sheathed Kukri knife into the clutter, having unfastened it from behind him. Gloves, boots, and a large steel bracer of apparent Drykas origin followed.

When Gunto was finished, he stood only in a pair of tattered gray pants that were torn away midway down his calves. His entire physique was exposed, crimson and white ink sprawled across his arms from fingertip to shoulder, and covering his entire backside. His feet were marked as well, every inch of skin covered. The only bare area was his chest, an honor reserved only for the women of his class.

"You think this is funny... well, I suppose it is." Gunto said, his expression blank but the ivory skull that masked his face contorting his neutrality. He knew about reimancers, and wizards. They were insatiable in their lust to project their power, and he could see it written all over the Konti's face that she had very much enjoyed her display. It wasn't the mockery that she enjoyed, he guessed. It had been whatever need had been sated by unleashing her desires just a moment ago. "I'm going for a swim. Once you're ready to talk about why a Reimancer needs protecting, i'll listen. Your little display has brought a little too much attention to us than I prefer... unlike you, I am not beautiful, or elegant. I will be blamed, because I am foreign and unwelcome."

Gunto left his possessions there on the dock, knowing that the dockworkers would never touch his trademark trophies. Gunto of the Shadow Hand may have been foreign and unwelcome in Zeltiva, but because of his outlandish appearance even the common thieves and lowlifes who infested it's dark corners knew their probably fate if they were to take what was his. He walked past Kamalia, diving headfirst into the water and emerging a moment later amidst the froth. The water felt warm despite it's chill, for the wind was not biting him while submerged.

"Someone or something means to do you harm, Princess. I can't help but feel I am in over my head. Perhaps you are, as well."

With that, Gunto began gliding backwards in the water, swimming face up using the power of his arms to push him out into the harbor waters. He wasn't shamed by her dominance. No, a Myrian male who lived their live in Taloba was quite used to this. What bothered him was the amount of power that lay sleeping inside that frail, earthly body. She could crush him in these waters if she chose.

Who... or what could threaten her enough to require his presense?

by **Kamalia Timandre** on February 21st, 2011, 5:21 pm

For long moments, Kamalia merely stared at him, admiring the result of her spellwork as the Myrian was left sputtering for breath, dripping wet with seawater. She stood still, staring at Gunto with her usual serene and velveteen gaze. Intricate scales that encircled all over her slender arms reminiscent of silver vines and elaborate tattoos shimmered in the winter sunlight. The freezing air chilled the skin, but the maiden did not seem to show any vulnerability to it at the slightest. Was she too proud and foolish to display any weakness, or was she merely unaffected by the ice-cold air? “If the city watch came, they will not take me in for questioning,” the Konti promised softly.

She cupped her hands before her chest and produced an airy ball of glittering silver res on her palms that began to act as a magnet, magically absorbing every drop of water from her hair and clothes. In a matter of breaths, her white locks and silks were made dry, and an orb of water rested upon her white palms. Closing her eyes, the Konti exhaled gaseous res from her mouth, and the water ball evaporated into wisps of mist that spiraled towards the sun.

“Another question indeed,” the Konti agreed softly, before slowly opening her eyes. Her hands gracefully moved to straighten the creases on her skirts and cloak. “Trust me when I say I am confused as you are.”

Her eyes followed the warrior’s movements as he began to strip himself to the tattered grey pants. She meticulously studied the intricate patterns and markings on his lean-muscled body, and her mysterious eyes seemed to perceive things that a Sightless person could not distinguish. She stared at him for a few more breaths, before she shifted her gaze to examine Gunto’s personal effects. Kamalia identified a shin guard bearing the emblem of the Syliran Knights, feathers from a Chaktawe, and a large steel bracer of Endrykas origin. Kamalia was relieved that nothing among his battle trophies seemed to resemble anything distinguishably Konti. The sorceress willed djed into her eyeballs, attuning her eyes to the aura of the kukris and the peculiar pieces of armor. Kamalia knew that some Myrian shamans were masters at Malediction, and her ever-curious nature itched to know if any of Gunto’s possessions had magical properties. Frustratingly so, none were.

Was it Avalis who sent this strange warrior to her?

She observed the Myrian as he swam, and Kamalia could not help but feel it was Gunto’s way of telling her that he trusted her. Despite knowing that the Konti reimancer could drown him easily should she desire to, Gunto swam in the waters, deprived of his weapons and any protection.

“I know a great many things, Master Gunto—knowledge far too dangerous for your ears—and that is enough to put my life in peril,” the Konti sorceress said so calmly and in such a way it could not be mistaken for arrogance. “Suffice to stay that a storm will be upon us. There are nefarious forces afoot and it is but a matter of time before the storm claims us. I do not claim to know your role in here, but you are part of it as I am, and what must be, will be,” she said, half to herself and with a distant look in her eyes. When she deigned to notice the warrior again, Kamalia walked to the edge of the dock and knelt to stretch out a hand.

“If you wish to honor this contract, I am to sail for Sahova three suns from now to find some answers,” Kamalia said, offering her hand. Her slender arms did not appear strong enough to be able to drag him up towards the dock.