Solo A Peaceful City.

[Khal'iah]

Timestamp: 2nd Day of Spring 513 AV There were very few things that could get under the skin of the dark, violet-skinned foreigner; for he was the type of person whom met adversity with a calm, level head and often did his absolute best to diffuse any situation. He could take rudeness, bluntness, snideness, and arrogance without so much as batting an eye. However, the warrior noticed a collective distaste directed at him from the general population of the fair, marine city known as Zeltiva; one that confused him greatly. It was as if they had a monumental problem with him since the moment he strolled into town the day prior. The people shot him cold, narrow-eyed glances that truly served to make him feel uncomfortable in his new surroundings. This confused him in great excess! He had heard many wonderful tales about the nature of the Zeltivan populous and their willingness to accept others into their midst...but this willingness seemed to not extend toward the Akalak. It was mid afternoon when he finally decided to question why he was being treated so much differently. Was it because the people had an unspoken aversion to Akalaks? Or was it something more? So, upon descending the stairs of the Inn he had taken up residence within, he posed the question to one of the maids roaming about the halls attending to the rooms. "Excuse me miss," he began, offering a polite bow of greeting, "I'm terrible sorry for interrupting you. I just...noticed...that the people have been a tad...cold...in response to my presence. Does the city have some sort of discrimination towards Akalaks?" At first, the woman greeted him with a warm smile and responded with a simple: "No sir!". But, upon giving the warrior a look up and down, her demeanor instantly changed and she returned back to work rather rudely. 'What in Zulrav's name is going on here?' the Akalak mentally inquired, shaking his head in disappointment as he made his way out of the Inn and out into the bustling city. The instant that he made his entrance into the city streets, he was greeted with even more cold glances, even more dark looks, and overheard a few hushed whispers. This truly bothered him greatly, as he had never been exposed to such treatment before! It truly got under his skin that he did not know the origin of their distaste so he could go about rectifying whatever supposed wrong he had done. It took every urge of restraint for him to bellow aloud, questioning why he was being treated this way...but instead of making such a scene, the warrior trudged about the streets and ducked into the first tavern that caught his eye. Due to the early hour, the establishment was deserted for the most part. All save for a few sailors who were taking a break for their duties at the docks for a drink, a young man attending the bar, and a pair of waitresses strolling about serving the customers. The Akalak said nothing and stalked across the tavern floor, his hands stuffed within the confines of his pockets as he made his way to the bar. Sliding atop a stool, he regarded the bartender with a nod and spoke solemnly. "If you'd be so kind, I'd like a tankard of ale please. Many thanks." The bartender made no response and gave the man his drink, which the Akalak promptly paid for. Before he could even grip the tankard and take a sip of his beverage, a gruff, raspy voice addressed him from across the tavern. "You must be new." Was all the voice said. The warrior wrapped his fingers about the handle of his tankard and turned about on the stool to face the one who had addressed him: one of the sailors...who seemed to be woefully intoxicated despite the hour. "What gave it away?" was the Akalak's curt response. His shimmering eyes surveyed the burly man of the sea as he elevated the beverage to his lips, reveling in a hearty swig. The sailor, who interpreted his response as offensive, abruptly rose from his seat and stumbled his way over, knocking over chairs and empty tankards in the process. "Aye, that's just what this city needs...A foreigner looking to cause trouble! Well this here's a city of peace! We don't like your kind here!!" spat the sailor, the scent of alcohol so strong upon his breath that it made the Akalak's eyes water. He, however, kept his composure and took another calm sip of his beverage. "I've no honest clue what you're talking about good sir. I mean no harm or trouble. I am simply here to enjoy a drink." This went over as well with the sailor than a Zith attempting to hug an Akalak. His face, already rosy from his intoxication, grew beet red in frustration at the Akalak. He reared back a fist, as if to strike, but was promptly halted by his cadre of compatriots and pulled away from the Akalak. "Go back to where you came! We don't want you here!" he roared as he was dragged away and out of the tavern. The Akalak could still hear the furious noise of the sailor as he was pulled down the street and away from the tavern. A sigh escaped his lips and he slid back around in his stool, addressing the bartender once more. "Sir, might I ask...why does everyone seem to have a problem with me? I've done absolutely nothing wrong..." The bartender responded with an honest look of apprehension, as if questioning himself if the Akalak before him was being serious...but then went ahead and responded. "You're...serious aren't you?" he began, then exhaled softly. "Zeltiva is, as that sailor aptly put it, a city of peace. There is no standing army here, only the Wave Guard. Everyone else gets along just fine without being armed to the teeth...and then when someone like you comes along...well, it's sort of frowned upon to be as you are." At first, the Akalak thought it was a roundabout slur at his race, but then the bartender motioned to a particular area upon the warrior's person: his belt. Upon it hung a longsword and his Lakan. Furthermore, upon his wrist was a buckler. Now, all came crashing into perspective for the warrior: he was armed to the teeth, and the denizens were unsettled by that. "Well what do the people expect?" he replied, taking a calm sip from his ale, "I just crossed the Wildlands. Do they even know what's out there? Do they have any idea the dangers? Between the native wildlife, bandits, and winter itself...I was lucky to arrive in one piece and I had to have means of protecting myself." To this, the bartender simply shrugged. "They, myself included, would be much more comfortable if you, perhaps, removed your weapons whilst walking about town. You'd make a lot more friends that way." 'Leave my Lakan behind? Is this man mad?' was the Akalak's mental response. He held his tongue from saying thus directly to his face but shook his head. "That I cannot do." he stated simply. The warrior then elevated his tankard of ale to his lips and finished it off with a series of hearty gulps before setting it down upon the table. "Might I trouble you for another?" he inquired, and the bartender complied, filling the tankard up with a second helping of the sweet liquor. The Akalak fished about his pocket and produced the correct amount of mizas to pay for the beverage and placed them within the man's hand, including a tip. 'I can see that my time here may be short-lived...no matter...Though, while I am here, I should look into getting some sort of work. A couple hundred miza is far from being enough to live off of forever.' he thought, taking a hearty swig of his ale. "Tell me, what is your name good sir?" he asked, now setting the tankard down upon the countertop. The bartender hesitated for a moment and the warrior could tell that he really did not feel like engaging in conversation with one whom conflicted with the peaceful atmosphere of the city. However, a customer was a customer... "Quinn. You?" "My name is Khal'iah Vojak of Riverfall, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." responded the Akalak, donning a warm smile. Now he would play upon the discomfort of the bartender in order to obtain the information he sought...as his father always instilled in him, if one wanted information, there were two places to always check first: the local tavern and the local brothel. Khal'iah was not the type to indulge in carnal pleasures of the sort, so the tavern was his only option. As such, he posed his questions quite simply. "I have two questions for you Quinn, and then I'll be out of your hair for the foreseeable future...if you answer truthfully that is...First and foremost, is there a facility in this city dedicated to Zulrav? Second, where might an outsider of my," he motioned to his armaments, "caliber find work befitting my skills?" Quinn was silent for a moment and then a sigh escaped his lips. Of course, he knew the game the Akalak was playing and opted to play along for the sake of getting the walking armory out of the establishment. "There's a shrine dedicated to Zulrav in the foothills...and, though this is purely based upon rumors I've heard...people like you have been finding work in the Denvali Quarter." Satisfied, the Akalak finished off the remainder of his beverage and set the tankard upon the counter, then rose and strode out of the bar without another word. He simply waved over his shoulder and headed once more into the bustling city.

[Khal'iah]

Once the tall Akalak had stepped into the bustling streets of the beautiful, marine city known as Zeltiva once more, he was immediately greeted by the wonderful sight of more dark glances! Ah, the hospitality of the native denizens knew no bounds...yet at least know the warrior knew exactly what had crawled up their collective arses and died, and he was not going to remove his arms in order to appease them. As such, the warrior opted to, out of the two locations provided by the barkeep named Quinn, head for the Denvali Quarter first. It would be much quicker to head there and then to the foothills in order to pay a much-needed visit to a shrine dedicated to Zulrav. However, before Khal'iah could make his way to the Denvali Quarter in order to seek employment...he had to find it first. Thus began the aggravating process of asking directions from a collection of people who honestly wanted nothing to do with him. Once the realization struck him as to what he would have to go through, a dejected sigh escaped his lips. However, he steeled himself and boldly strode forward, asking patron after patron with the warmest smile he could muster for directions to the Quarter. Of course, he got nothing in response, thus contributing to a grunt of frustration escaping his lips. 'Just great...' he muttered to himself, folding his arms across his chest with a "huff", 'I may as well storm that Tavern again and refuse to leave until I get directions.' This train of thought brought a loud outburst of chuckles on the part of the darkness residing at the rear of his psyche; his shadow-sibling known as Ha'lik. 'Oh shut up.' he snapped, stalking off in the direction of the docks. 'Perhaps I'll have better luck with people who aren't from this place.' was his rationale. In just a few moments time, his rapid footsteps brought him to the pier overlooking the crystal clear Matthews Bay. For a moment...just a moment...he reveled in the sight of the flawless waters and relished in the feel of the seabreeze upon his skin. Then, he resumed his search for directions to the Denvali Quarter. However, he did not expect that which soon caught his eyes to be that which inspired hope within him. It was not a benevolent patron, or even an Akalak, no, it was a greatsword that was gripped in the burly hands of a man in full plate armor. 'Now that screams foreigner.' he said confidently, a grin slowly forming upon his countenance as he strode over in the direction of the heavily armed individual. Once within earshot of the man, his attention turned and was placed upon the Akalak. They sized one another up with a series of quick glances and the man spoke first. "What ye looking at?" he said, a heavy accent characterizing his voice. The Akalak gave an inclination of his head in greeting and responded simply. "Heard there's work to be found. Looking for the Denvali Quarter. Point me in the right direction?" The male regarded the Akalak with a raised eyebrow for a minute and simply pointed to his right. "Look for the 'pretty' colors that look like shyke. Can't miss 'em." he said. Khal'iah gave the man a grateful nod and walked off without another word, heading straight for the section of the city that he had indicated. He did not understand quite exactly what the man meant by "pretty colors that looked like shyke" but the Akalak was quite curious to find out.

[Khal'iah]

In the span of just a few moments, the Akalak immediate understood the meaning of the man's words. After a short walk from the docks to the Quarter, the violet-skinned warrior was greeted by the sight of a great number of ramshackle buildings. They were painted a myriad of vibrant, intoxicating colors and were a stark contrast to the aura of "wealth" that populated the majority of the marine city. The mere sight of the Denvali Quarter caused the Akalak's jaw to drop ever so slightly. In all his days, he had never seen such a sordid collection of buildings. Not once during his time in Riverfall, not once during his time in Syliras, and never once during his travels long ago. This was quite a shock to Khal'iah and he could not fathom why such a Quarter existe in such a wealthy city. As he entered and began to stride through the Quarter, his mind began to formulate explanations as to why the Denvali Quarter would be treated as thus. Though none of his reasonings were remotely close to the truth, he came up with a rationale that was something along the lines of his own predicament. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'they are just like me. Outsiders. It's strange that, out of everyone in a pacifist city, that a single Quarter would be hiring mercenaries...so perhaps the state of their Quarter is a testament to that..' This line of thought made the Akalak's opinion of the city of Zeltiva plummet, and part of him desperately hoped that he was wrong. Yet, whilst he silently hoped, the all-too familiar voice in the rear of his psyche reared its head. 'Maybe,' said his "darker" persona, born to the name Ha'lik, 'the Quarter is hiring mercenaries for protection? Maybe, if they're really outsiders, they weren't accepted like you weren't, and the Guards won't help them?' This suggestion set the violet-skinned Akalak's blood boiling. If this was the truth, then he'd work day and night to set things right or to at least aide the Denvali in some way. However, he immediately calmed himself when he came into contact with a resident of the Quarter who, unlike the rest of the city, greeted him with a smile. The Akalak returned the kind gesture and posed the simple question regarding the employment of mercenaries within the Quarter. This was met with an additional smile and directions to a meeting place set aside by someone by the name Adarin. The resident had regarded the mere name of the man with immense respect, which set a wave of butterflies fluttering about in his stomach. 'Get a grip.' barked the darkness within, 'If he's hiring mercenaries, he can't be too great.' Khal'iah neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply held his peace and bore them to the location of the meeting, where a crowd of armed warriors had already began to muster. The Akalak did not know what to expect, but he was certainly about to find out...

[Khal'iah]

Though there was a storm of butterflies raging about in the pit of his stomach, there was no external indication that the violet-skinned warrior was nervous in any way. In fact, the long strides that bore the Akalak to the growing crowd of potential mercenaries did nothing but exemplify an air of confidence about the foreigner. To say the least, Khal'iah was certainly "faking it until he made it", and came to a halt a few feet behind a rather stocky man. The confidence of the Akalak was nearly blown away by the sheer might of the disgusting smell that the man carried, but Khal'iah grit his teeth together and stood firm. The "aroma" was an unholy trinity of sweat, salt, and shkye: apparently, the man was of the sea and failed to bathe while on the water. Nonetheless, Khal'iah stood there, arms folded about his chest, and awaited the arrival of whomever had amassed the mercenaries together. Moments passed and the Akalak's patience was put under fire, as both the time ticking by and the smell of the stocky man were driving the warrior insane... Yet finally, he was offered a reprieve in the form of a loud voice booming over the crowd. Khal'iah looked and standing before the gaggle of warriors was a man characterized by an air of leadership...and an eyepatch. "Good!" was the word he had exclaimed, his arms open wide as if to receive an old friend. "You have all arrived!" The Akalak regarded the man with a raised eyebrow, yet dared not speak. He was intrigued to say the least...and his intrigue was only about to grow..."For those few who do not know of me, I am Adarin. Welcome to the Denvali Quarter." There was a pause before the man began to pace to and fro in front of the first row of mercenaries. "I know why you are all here this day, and only the best among you will have the pleasure of working alongside me. I am in need of the strongest, swiftest, and most talented among you. So, without any further ado, I have a test prepared to weed out the unworthy." This particular line of speech sent an uncanny chill down the Akalak's spine. One that inspired him to rest a palm upon the pommel of his longsword. "You are all warriors, of sorts, and so you will test your mettle against one another in combat. There are but two simple rules: do not kill one another, lest we be forced to turn you over to the Wave Guard...there are appearances to keep up after all...and you walk away after first blood. If you cheat, there will be consequences. Now then, let the 'test' begin." There was an awkward silence immediately following the conclusion of Adarin's words...then a symphony of steel meeting the leather of scabbards as the mercenaries all drew their weapons. 'Shyke!' Khal'iah thought to himself, urgently ripping his Longsword and Lakan from his belt and jogging back away from the rumbling crowd. There were simply too many to dive into like a madman and fight, he would have to be smart about it. Yet, just as he was about to launch a surprise attack at an unsuspecting hopeful, the stocky, smelly warrior spun about and pursued the Akalak. 'Petch. This.' Khal'iah spat, swinging his forearm with mighty force. His buckler then collided with the stocky man's shoulder and propelled him off-balance and onto the ground. The Akalak capitalized and slashed his longsword at his exposed leg, making a neat, bloody mark. "First Blood...I can live with this...."