Which Way

by **Victor Lark** on July 12th, 2012, 3:39 am

Summer 17, 512

He stopped.

There was something in his way, something that felt wholly solid and yet was otherwise imperceptible. Victor should not have been surprised, considering the city he had chosen as home—but the sudden collision gave him pause. He held his throbbing brow and reached tentatively forward again. There he felt the rough brick of a wall, and yet he saw the street continue before him.

As his jaw stiffened in understanding, his eyes turned consciously behind him to check if there was any other witness to his problem, his public embarrassment. Then he looked back, and the Temple had materialized before him in all its glory. The street was gone and there was grass beneath his feet, a garden that sprawled out around him and climbed up the building’s side. He let go of it warily, offering only a blank stare to that which could not see or judge his expression. He had heard of this place, and yet had never been able to find it until this moment.

Strange.

Like a shrug, Victor’s hand rose again, bouncing against the wall as he followed the Temple’s flank to find its face. He could see the corner as he approached it, and behind it he heard crowd of voices just beyond its edge, pulling him forward on the strings of his curiosity. By the time he reached it, he was running, sweeping around the bend—

And there was another unexpected something just beyond, another collision, another embarrassment. The new obstacle was softer than the last; it was all he could do not to fall over the woman as he was forced to abruptly salvage what was left of his balance. He stumbled instinctively behind the wall again, but a moment later emerged with an outstretched hand.

“Excuse me,” said Victor through a saccharine smile. He wrung his other hand over his sweat-lined scalp, scrambling for some semblance of charming humility. “I... Well. Please forgive me.”

by **Nira'lia** on July 15th, 2012, 6:42 pm

The day had been filled with games and excitement. It had been refreshing to participate in an exhilarating snow fight with other people and… snowmen. That day, she had found out that when you built a snowman outside the Temple of Ionu, they gained a life of their own – then they bombarded you with snowballs. The fight had finally died down. She couldn’t even remember who had ‘won’, just that the enjoyment still lay heavily in her. Fatigue was also evident, but before she left, she wanted to offer a prayer to Ionu.

Before entering the temple, Nira’lia took her time to feel amazed at the scenery. The Konti looked down at her feet and saw the healthy grass. Just minutes ago, the ground had been underneath a blanket of snow. She had watched before her eyes as the ice melted and almost seemed to disappear, and then summer took over.

Then, out of nowhere, somebody bumped right into her. With a squeak, visions flooded her mind, unexpected. Her surroundings immediately changed as her Konti gift took over. All of a sudden, the warm summer day had transformed to a rainy one. There were two men present, and they were kissing.

And she was back to the present, her cheeks flaring with crimson. It was always a pain when her Konti gift chose awkward moments for her eyes. She blinked as she forced herself to return her attention to what was at hand. Disgruntled, she realized that was on her bottom as she had been thrown backwards by the impact.

The Konti looked at the person who had bumped into her. Daintily, she took his hand and helped herself up. It was safe to touch him now that he had caused her gift to transpire.

“Y-you should look where you’re going,” said Nira’lia. Her cheeks still flared and she tried her best to sound imposing. She failed miserably. Once on her feet, the Konti took back her hand and dusted off her skirt. She was embarrassed but also agitated at what she had seen. Nira’lia disliked seeing such moments most of all.

Nira’lia forced herself to look up at him. Dark haired with a slightly feminine face, she recognized him immediately from the vision that she had just seen.

“It’s just… uhm, you could really hurt someone is all.”

by **Victor Lark** on July 17th, 2012, 1:35 am

“Gods, I know,” he admitted, sighing. As she rose on his arm, his attention wandered as quickly as he could bear over her figure. She was burdened with the same alarming, exotic beauty as the rest of her kind, and it was all Victor could do not to stare. In his limited experience, the scaled girls were mostly slaves, designed to be admired. But the same culture that had disrespected these creatures had taught him the proper way to address a free woman. He met her eyes within seconds.

“I am so very sorry.”

His face had softened like uncertainty after he heard her speak, the mask of the humble introvert lifting in the wake of her little lecture. It was as good a lie as any, at least for as long as he knew so little about her. Eager learn more, Victor offered a consoling touch to her shoulder, but he withdrew immediately when he remembered to be hesitant. Crossing his arms, he asked instead, “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Despite the charade, or perhaps in its favor, he was quick to change the subject. His averted gaze rediscovered the temple and the tower opposite, straying to the far away rooftop before it dropped down on her again. As if drawn by some magical force, his hand rose from its knot on his chest and returned to touch the wall of the building. He continued to examine it as he mentioned, “I keep hearing about this place, but I’ve never found it until today.

“Do you...” What else did konti do, except, “work here?”

by **Nira'lia** on July 18th, 2012, 5:40 pm

The second time he apologized to her, guilt immediately hit Nira’lia. She was not used to giving sermons to others, no matter how mild. Smiling brightly, she attempted to brush away his apology. “Oh, no, please…”

Her voice trailed away slowly and she flinched slightly at his touch. Nira’lia was naturally wary of a person’s touch, and it was evident with her every reaction. The smile on her face almost faded away if she hadn’t reminded herself to keep it on.

The Konti shook away the awkwardness, and then she looked at the temple that he was asking about She couldn’t help but feel amused at his question. Her, work here? She didn’t even know much about Ionu. The Konti was trying to find out more about the Divine being, but so far, she had nothing.

“No, sir, I’m a medic at Ionu’s mercy,” she explained.

Suddenly, realization hit her. Did he say he had never been to this place before? Nira’lia had only been to the temple once before, and she attributed this to the fact that she had only been in the city for less than a third of a season. Surely, he was new as well… maybe even newer than her? The Konti had no way of knowing how untrue this was.

“How silly, now… you surely have to go in!” she said enthusiastically. “I’m guessing you’re not from the city…?”

Now that she had seen his most precious memory, she knew she didn’t have to avoid touching him. Without waiting for his consent, she entangled her arm around his arm and attempted to pull him towards the entrance of the temple. Nira’lia had a habit of being forceful at times, and this was one of those occurrences. The Konti knew nothing about this man, not even his name, but she did what she felt like doing.

As she pulled him, she chattered away endlessly, “If you’re not from the city, where are you from? Even if you haven’t been to the temple before, I hope you have been offering your prayers to Ionu, though… this is his city, after all.”

by **Victor Lark** on July 25th, 2012, 5:04 pm

As he watched her flinch and stutter, Victor wondered if it would not be more productive to play the part of the overbearing lothario or the eager young worshipper. Two polite mutterers rarely made for good conversation, and it seemed not to comfort her as he had hoped. He was so busy in his own indecision that he could only grunt in surprise when he found his feet stolen from him by the happy grip of her newfound conviction.

Unpredictable, he observed: a more beautiful trait than her face.

Together they crossed the threshold into Alvadas’s inner sanctum, the very home of their patron divinity. Victor heard her voice as it bounced lightly from distant walls, but in those first few moments he was distracted by the sight of them. It was a place so simple serving as the heart of a city so complex; he expected the hall to melt or warp or bloom anew with some distraction, and yet it did not.

“No,” he answered finally, and has he looked down at her he grinned. “I am not from here, but it is my home. Ionu has kept me too busy for formal worship, but we do what we can in our own ways. I always figured the temple would present itself when it needed to, and here I am!”

As his own humility settled on his words, Victor decided it was entirely irritating when it was honest. Hoping to distract himself from it, he pulled her closer by the arm that was still hooked around his. He spoke in a low mumble, as if they shared some secret. “So you are a healer then? Forgive my mistake. A long time ago, I lived in Ravok. Your kind have a limited reputation there.”

by **Nira'lia** on July 27th, 2012, 5:15 pm

The Konti peered at him curiously. She wondered if he often spoke about himself in plural form, or if he was talking about him along with somebody else—perhaps the silver-haired person she had seen in her vision. Nira’lia was always fascinated with couples. They made her feel alone, yes, but they fascinated her too.

“Perhaps the reason it has never presented itself to you before is because you’ve never searched,” she said with a smile. Nira’lia had found it fairly easy, and she attributed it to the fact that she liked paying her respects to Ionu. Since she was a firm believer of fate, she asked, “Why do you think it decided to show itself to you today, then?”

The moment he mentioned Ravok, pain flashed on her face. She had never been to the city, but it brought about a lot of unwanted memories. Nira’lia could still remember the day she was to be sent to Ravok, to live and die as a slave. The Konti spun away from him, masking the fright in her face. He was from Ravok? Was he as immoral as those from the city… or was that a generalization brought about by her ignorance?

She stared at the center of the temple. There was a platform in the middle, and the benches were arranged in a half-circle around it. Nira’lia feigned curiosity at her surroundings as she said, “It would probably be much nicer if this place had more décor… probably statues. What do you think?”

When she was sure that fear was gone from her face, she turned around to face him once more. She kept her hands laced behind her back awkwardly.

“Yes, I am a healer!” she said with enthusiasm. “Most of us are healers or fortune-tellers… or both. And you? What do you do? You’re not a slaver, are you?”

The last question was a joke, though she had to admit that she had nothing but bad impressions about Ravok.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, realization hitting her face. “By the way, my name is Nira’lia!”

by **Victor Lark** on July 31st, 2012, 12:30 am

“Victor Lark,” he answered the unspoken question with a nod, punctuating his name with a gracious, if not hesitant smile. He looked carefully at her face, recalling a flash of some other expression which had come and gone too quickly to identify. It seemed to him that those were the emotions that proved most interesting, and he wanted very much to examine this one further.

It had occurred when he had mentioned Ravok, he noted; all but ignoring her attempts to steer the conversation away from Rhysol’s seat, he added, “You might recognize the name.”

His family was one of the major players in the Ravokian slave trade, especially concerning the prettiest and most docile specimens which the city’s nobility required. While it was true that Victor himself had sold one particular girl into Alvadas’s market, so was he guilty of freeing a number of slaves outside of their masters’ consent. A true follower of Ionu, he was more a man of mischief than of good or evil.

“No, I am not a slaver by definition. I am an entrepreneur. My most recent project is the tavern called the Stallion’s Rear. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?” He paused for effect, reaching out to gently touch the scales on her arm and, if she would let him, hold it again. “It is one of the reasons I haven’t searched for this place, as I probably should have. But the Trickster hears my prayers, nonetheless. Ionu is the closest I’ve ever been to the divine.”

A passing thought told him that this encounter with the temple might have something to do with Seven’s recent confessions about the city—that is, how much he hated it and desired to leave. Victor wondered briefly if it was a sign that Ionu wanted him to stay, but the thought did not linger long. He squeezed Nira’lia’s hand.

“Rhysol was kind enough,” he mentioned, insisting the less than comfortable topic in the hopes of inspiring that peculiar flash once again. “But so distant. And far less fun.”

by **Nira'lia** on July 31st, 2012, 6:09 pm

Her face went absolutely pale. It resembled the sheet of ice that covered the streets of Alvadas earlier that day. Yes, she recognized the name perfectly. The question was… did he know who she was? Was he one of those slavers who, even after years of freedom, chased after runaway slaves?

So far, there was no indication that he even knew that she was one of the Konti that was part of the caravan being imported to Ravok. He didn’t know that she was being sent there under the name of the Lark family.

Perhaps she was safe?

But what did she know… slavers were wry and excellent actors. He very well could be luring her into a trap this very moment. Even if he said he wasn’t a ‘slaver by definition’, why should she believe him?

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve never seen the Stallion’s Rear,” she replied softly. Nira’lia attempted to smile, but nothing came out. Despite this man’s kindness, the Konti was frightened by him. He was even squeezing her hand, which was a friendly gesture in itself, but Nira’lia wanted nothing more but to run away from him. “I… I don’t really know much about the places of the city.”

The Konti took her hand away from him. He was talking about Rhysol… a God she detested.

“There is nothing kind about Rhysol, Mister Lark,” she whispered softly. “There is nothing kind about Ravok itself.”

‘Or the Larks, for that matter.’

Nira’lia didn’t know if she wanted to run away or punch him.

by **Victor Lark** on August 3rd, 2012, 8:18 pm

Victor felt the tension in her arm, saw her fair skin blanch. Nira’lia’s panic was subtle beneath the veil of innate grace, and was all the more intriguing for it. His eyes could not help but narrow, appraising her for some other change that might confirm what he already suspected. She did seem to recognize his family’s name, the title Victor had all but disowned, and he assumed it was because she had served among Ravokian nobility. Unfortunately, he could not distinguish her face from the sea of vacant stares that had been worn by the slaves of his childhood. They had not met.

He released her, loosening his lead on her fear in order to get a better look at her face. Still he remained near her, looming as well as his small stature could, keeping between her and the great arch that marked the temple’s exit. If she wanted to leave him then he could do little to contain her, but the gesture was nonetheless imposing. He pulled the kindness up out of that stuttering timidity of moments previous, and he refined it into a more civil exchange.

“So you are familiar with my hometown,” he observed amiably. “You are welcome to your opinions, but I donnot agree with you. Rhysol is kind to his people as long as they stay in line, the hypocrite. Ionu is crueler to his own followers, and they are made better for it.”

A breathy laugh added some uninvited levity to the subject, excused superficially as an attempt to break the tension. “As for Ravok, I’m sure you found it friendlier than places like Sunberth or Eyktol. Tell me, did you know it any better than you know Alvadas? I would love to hear a new story about an old, familiar place.”

by **Nira'lia** on August 8th, 2012, 6:33 pm

Rhysol… was kind to his followers?

Nira’lia wasn’t a follower of the God, so she couldn’t attest to this. Aside from that, she suddenly realized that she didn’t really know anything about Rhysol to make fair judgment. The Konti had simply assumed that the God of that awful city was just as horrible as his people. She had no kind words to show for the city and its God, as her only knowledge about it was from a naïve slave’s point of view.

She continued to eye him carefully. Her body language was stiff and nervous, and his change in gesture was evident. He seemed imposing to her, as if he was playing mind games that she couldn’t figure out. Her simple and childish wits were in turmoil as she stared at him.

“I have never been to Ravok, or to Ekytol…” she muttered. “But I know your city. It delights itself in the woes of others. It treats lives like merchandise, as if someone could ever put a price on a person.”

The Konti pulled away from him, struggling to do so. He was a beautiful man, with eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. However, amidst all that, she realized that it was not only fear that she felt for him—but also anger.

“You want a story, Mister Lark?” she said, almost bitterly. “I once knew a girl who was born into slavery, in the horrid city of Sunberth. She knew nothing but the cruelty of the world, but what would you expect from those who would treat her like an animal? And she had sisters, as well… they either died or they were purchased by other masters. One day, just like her sisters, she was purchased as well, if you should know, and by who? Why, by the Lark family, of course! She was purchased as if she were a pig headed to the slaughter house!”

Nira’lia gasped as soon as she uttered the last word of her monologue. It felt strange for her to act in such resentment, and the feeling was completely foreign to her. The Konti felt so much anger welled up inside her.

“Slavery is horrid, and you should know that…” she muttered, her voice losing its volume as she avoided looking at him.