Outsider (Closed)

[Ulric]

55th of Winter, 510 AV Night fell, and the calm was disconcerting. Ulric sat on a bench hewn from the walls of the corridor, his heavy crossbow over his knees, wiping its metal fittings with an oiled cloth. He had been trapped here for no more than a handful of days, and it already seemed as if the walls were closing in around him. It had seemed like such a good idea at first, this expedition to a far-off corner of the world, but he had gotten more than he bargained for. And that’s putting it mildly, he snorted, for he had faced many perils in coming here, embracing his role in the war that raged in the shadows. It was miracle enough that he had survived to – well, tales were out of the question here. Ulric wasn’t about to engage in idle chatter on the subject, and he was certain the Inarta didn’t care to listen to him. He was not one of them, and from what they had led him to believe, he never would be. So what, he had thought at first, I can deal with that. But the fact remained that he was stranded here for the winter, and he would be a fool not to learn their ways. How did one study a culture? Ulric had made a fair bit of progress so far, and he was making more every day. It hadn’t taken long to realize that a caste system existed here, and to extract some facts from a terrified drudge. Not many, sadly, but enough to know what he was dealing with. It seemed the poor devil only spoke the local tongue. Not daunted in the slightest, Ulric kept his up his studies, seeking insights into what lay in the hearts of these people. Or in other words, he scowled, scouring a speck of rust from his crossbow, you’re trying to work out when they’ll come for you. He had received a few kind words so far, coming from the lesser castes, but he was certain they still regarded him with suspicion. It was not hard to begrudge them their distrust, but he knew that it would soon begin to grate on his nerves. And then, of course, there were the prideful endals. In the skies, where the riders soared on their eagles, there was no doubt as to who was higher in the pecking order – but on the ground, this dynamic changed. Ulric towered over them, taut muscles bulging from his tunic, his entire body sheathed in a lattice of scars. He was plainly a warrior, and if he seemed a threat it was because he was one. Ever since Glav Navik’s party departed the shores of Syliras, it had been clear that Sharn, Leo, and Torc were the good brothers, and Ulric the misfit. He was the killer in their midst, always debasing his soul to keep the others from harm. Glav had needed that from him, and Ulric had embraced this fate, hoping to redeem his sins, to seek the peace that eluded him. It did not matter that he had failed, because he had at last come to terms with his demons. He was the dark brother, and his heart was bent on vengeance. Oh, don’t be so dramatic, he chided with a scowl, the fact is, you die the same as any other man. It’s a conceit to believe that because you stood with the son of a god, you have absorbed some of his greatness. But in a way, it was also true. In the past season, he had come to realize that a man, once touched by a higher power, could never be the same again. Glav would always be his friend, and Krysus, Rhysol, and Vayt his foes, but Ulric did not belong to any of them. He was done with being a pawn. It was time that he became a player. Heaving a sigh, Ulric bent to his labors – aware of the curious eyes that regarded him, and the whispers and sneers directed at his back. He hated the way the endals looked at him, their eyes glinting with scorn, trusting in the safety of numbers. No, that wasn’t it. In his gut, he knew the endals weren’t craven. They were fierce, but too used to having their own way. It was clear that the concept of power had been subverted here. If a drudge could best a score of endals with his fists, did that not make the wretch their superior? So what if they scrubbed the floors instead of hunting. Power was killing, and killing was power. It was revolting to witness drudges sniveling like beasts as they endured the blows of the endals, when they should be fighting back. Ulric had witnessed this a few times before, wanting to twist the scrawny necks of the endals until their heads popped off – but he stayed his hands. He suspected that they sought a reason to hack him to pieces. It might have been the paranoia speaking, but he knew better than to start a fight. Go home, outsider, one of the endals had snarled at him the other day, but where could he go? It wasn’t as if he had an eagle. No, the endal just wanted to see whose stones were the biggest – and he had certainly found that out. I must have scared him, Ulric recalled the horrified look on the endal’s face, and the way the man had stalked past, cursing. It hadn’t been as satisfying as breaking a nose, but at least there wouldn’t be any whispers. His other problem, apart from those pricks, was how females liked to flaunt their bodies. If he didn’t keep his hands to himself, it would surely lead to further problems. He knew all too well the effects of jealousy, having once slain his betrothed and her lover in the midst of their passion, and he was eager to avoid the same fate. Not that it mattered, of course. He hadn’t touched a woman since that terrible night, so he was pure in that regard, at least. Now, where did I put that screw? Ulric knelt on the floor to search for the wayward part, snatching it up, as expected, from where it had rolled under the bench. He twisted it into place with his knife, and then hefted the huge crossbow, caressing its stock with his fingers. “Ah, old friend,” he murmured, “we’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?”

[Sira]

Sira often found herself wandering the halls of Wind Reach by night, and though in the past she might have sought out comfort in the arms of a random stranger, things had begun to change for the better in her life. Tonight Sira was merely walking to enjoy herself. To stretch her legs and see the sights and sounds of Wind Reach's night life. She watched from afar as the stranger sought his fallen screw beneath the stone bench, intrigued by the man. Sira had heard there was an outsider in Wind Reach, but never had she expected him to be so.. big. The man was clearly a warrior, and one who had seen many battles. Sira had met few people in Wind Reach who were truly experienced in battle. So few of the Endal who guarded the city had actually ever been in a real fight. Aside from the man himself, it was his weapons that intrigued her the most. Rarely did she see an axe or crossbow in the halls of Wind Reach, and as she absently fingered the hilt of her Talon Sword she wondered if it could even withstand a blow from the mighty axe. Unlike the other Endal who whispered about the man in disgust, Sira found him more and more interesting the longer she thought about it. Did she trust him? Of course not. But would she try to find out more about the towering giant.. most definitely. Satisfied with her decision Sira approached, drawing a few looks from the crowd as she did so. Most of the Inarta seemed to be avoiding the man, and those that didn't only drew close enough to whisper threats and insults. Sira was used to such things herself, though perhaps not in so vulgar a manner, and only from those of her own caste. But she had no intention of insulting the man, or doing anything to upset him for that manner. A drudge who was cleaning nearby looked up at Sira's approach and quickly darted away, perhaps expecting her to start a fight with the man. She was armed, after all. Sira walked right up to sitting man looking down at him, or rather more likely looking him right in the face. She offered him a friendly smile and nodded toward the crossbow in his lap. "That's a nice weapon. We don't see too many of those around here, most of us stick to the longbows." Sira sat down next to the man, not waiting for an invitation or anything. Perhaps she was being a bit to forward with him, but she was used to being able to sit anywhere she wanted and do whatever she pleased. Still she seemed to respect the man enough to ask rather than demand her next request. "Do you think I could see it? I've never actually held a crossbow." Sira's voice in that moment held a hint of childish delight to it, though she was certainly no child. She was just easily excited by new things. Almost as an afterthought she threw in, "Please?" Whether the please was out of respect or fear of him chopping her head off was uncertain, but her expression quickly changed to one of caution as soon as she realized just how forward she had been.

[Silwyn]

Silwyn pushed her way through the crowd of people, wondering what on earth it was that they were whispering about. She couldn't make out anything anyone was saying. There were simply too many voices, saying too many things in different tones with varying degrees of volume, and accents to pick out everything, yet, as Silwyn neared the front of the crowd, she started to realize what it was they were talking about.

Several people pointed, others cupped their mouths with their hands as they leaned over to their friends and family, whispering, casting hurried glances in the direction of a rather tall man who had a crossbow strewn across his lap. The man was rather muscular, and had a rather rugged and worn appearance to him. Silwyn didn't recognize him, and judging by the color of his hair, and how everyone was gathered around him gossiping, he wasn't an inarta. Add into the mixture that he used a crossbow as opposed to the traditional inartan long bow, the man was definitely an outsider.

Silwyn watched from the edge of the crowd as the man bent over and felt along the floor for a moment, as if looking for something, before getting back up. She wondered what he had lost, being unable to see it from where she stood.

A few minutes later, Silwyn watched as a woman broke through the crowd and walked over to the man. Silwyn didn't recognize her either, but from what she could discern from the woman's profile was that she was rather thin and fairly fit. The woman's hair was red, long, and wavy, and for all Silwyn knew, she could easily be another inarta. Braver, and perhaps more polite than her peers.

Silwyn inched closer to the pair- the strange man and the woman who were now talking too quietly to be heard. Although, she still hovered around the edge of the crowd.

Silwyn was curious though, as to why this man was here, and as to why the other woman chose to speak with him, and why everyone seemed to care about their actions, so she leaned over to the woman next to her, and asked what was going on. All she got was a vile sneer, which filled her heart with a deep-searing pain. My, people are so rude sometimes she thought to herself, as she took a deep breath and walked over to where the man and the woman were talking.

If that's how the other inartans were going to be, she wasn't sure she wanted to stand in their midst. But then again, she wasn't sure her intentions were pure either... being that she simply wanted to speak to him out of curiosity, make a judgment on him, and determine whether or not they should continue speaking.

And before she knew it, she was standing behind the woman's left shoulder... hoping she didn't appear odd or entirely out of place. Silwyn said nothing, she just waited, if they didn't seem as though they wanted her there, she could simply leave... right?

[Ulric]

The first thing he noticed was her eyes. They were golden, like a predator’s were, but Ulric could tell that she meant him no harm. He saw that she bore a sword at her waist – the sort of weapon that fetched a pile of gold across the sea – but his gaze was drawn to her slim figure, which was displayed to best advantage by a skimpy top. If anything, the woman seemed curious. Ulric was encouraged by her smile, but when she spoke to him, expressing a desire to scrutinize his crossbow, he nearly gaped at her as if she’d asked him to slice off a thumb. Had she made this request a season ago, he would surely have refused. In the midst of peril, these weapons had become as his father and mother. It was hard to get out of that mentality, but as the woman sat beside him, bold at first, and then hesitant, he felt strangely at ease. Ulric offered her the crossbow, his arm brushing against hers, and smiled crookedly. It was a brute of a weapon, half again as big as a regular crossbow, and boasted a pull that was nearly half his own bulk. In these caverns, there couldn’t be more than a handful of people that could make use of the weapon. “I’m surprised that you have never held a crossbow before,” he replied, “seeing as longbows are better suited to hunting. I do not claim to have any great talent with this weapon. It is meant for devastation, not speed or precision. If a quarrel hits your arm, you lose that arm. If it hits you in the chest, you die.” Ulric paused for a moment, only now realizing that she might take his speech as boasting. The way I talk, she must believe that I exist only for battle, he thought ruefully. “My name is Ulric,” he said, meeting her eyes, “and I am a long way from-” He was about to say home, but he bit his tongue. “Let’s just say that I’m a long way from my destiny,” he spoke with a smile, noticing that a second woman had come to observe their conversation. Is she this one’s chaperone, or is she just shy? he wondered, staring up into her eyes. In the dancing lights, they seemed a molten gold. Ulric might have spoken a compliment, but he suspected that it would be too forward. He was not a knight, after all – when he offered praise to women, it seemed that his words were often mistaken for something else. “It is good to see friendly faces at the end of a journey,” he spoke mostly to her, smiling. “It is hard to believe that I am sitting here, in this city of yours, when not so long ago I was hauling fish from the waters on the other side of the world. I have been to many lands, but I have never set eyes upon one that is so stunning, but deadly, as the one your people dwell in.” Ulric scratched at his chin. He was surprised to find himself chattering like a songbird in front of these two, as well as being disconcerted. Do I always prattle on in front of women? he wondered. At this rate, in a few moments I’ll be grumbling about Leo – or worse, spreading rumors about Glav. I would rather take my own life than – wait, are her hands purple?

[Sira]

The truth was, Sira probably had held a crossbow before, but if she had she didn't remember it. Certainly she had never fired one. Sira took the weapon in her hands grunting as she hefted it in her arms. "My goodness, this thing weighs a ton! How do you even fire it?" Looking down the sights she pointed it over at the small crowd that had gathered to observe their interactions, and quickly people moved out of the way. Sira laughed then shouted in Nari, "Get out of here, all of you, and hurry before I sink one of these bolts in your backside! ... Now!" Most of the people scattered, though some lingered behind, but Sira was satisfied with the result of her command and handed the heavy weapon back to Ulric. Just then Sira felt the presence of another behind her. Had this been another city in another land, she might have reacted differently. But this was Wind Reach and she was an Endal, she had nothing to fear from people walking up behind her. Ulric addressed the person and Sira looked over her shoulder seeing an unfamiliar but friendly face. "Oh, hello, I didn't see you there. Sit down, join us. So long as you aren't here to insult." Sira turned back to Ulric as he explained he had traveled from far away and been to many places. Sira herself had never left Kalea, so she could only imagine what traveling the world could be like. Sira quirked a brow at his comment about being a fisherman, finding it hard to imagine the large warrior as anything but what he looked like. Still, perhaps he wasn't always the warrior who sat beside her. Everyone came from somewhere. "Yes, Wind Reach can be deadly. The fact that you found your way here in the middle of winter says a lot. We rarely see new faces this late into the snowy season. I'm impressed. Especially for a fisherman... I'm a bit of a fisherman myself, actually." Sira technically was a fisherman, though she didn't use line or net. She had arrows and talons for her tools, but referring to herself as a fisherman brought an amused grin to her face. Sira paused, searching for the right way to ask her next question. "So... what brings a man like yourself to our mountain home? To come here in the middle of winter.. you must have had a good reason."

[Silwyn]

"It is good to see friendly faces at the end of a journey,” the man said to Silwyn. Silwyn nodded, flashing a shy smile. “It is hard to believe that I am sitting here, in this city of yours, when not so long ago I was hauling fish from the waters on the other side of the world,” he continued. Silwyn could see the man's mouth still moving, out of the corner of her eye, but there was a sudden shout from the crowd that made her head turn, suddenly, and miss what he said.

Just then, the mysterious woman turned to Silwyn and said, "Oh, hello, I didn't see you there. Sit down, join us. So long as you aren't here to insult," before turning back to the man. Silwyn nodded, although, she was sure the woman turned too quickly to see her do so. Silwyn listened to the woman, taking a seat next to her on the bench. It felt slightly cold beneath her.

Silwyn missed some of what the woman next to her said as she settled in, adjusting her clothing so that she would be warm, and nothing would drag along the floor. The next thing Silwyn heard was "so... what brings a man like yourself to our mountain home? To come here in the middle of winter.. you must have had a good reason."

Yes, Silwyn wondered, why would he want to come here? Why face the scrutiny of hundreds of red-headed men and woman who weren't likely to accept his presence in their land anytime soon?

[Ulric]

Ulric watched the crowd scatter, his eyes dancing with a silent laughter. So this is the power of an endal, he reflected, his gaze returning to the woman who sat beside him. I suppose that I should resent her intrusion, but if she wants to defend me from hostile stares, then I must welcome her presence. Ulric was not used to people taking his side. It always seemed that they ended up angry at him, if not because of his lapses, than because he ended up ruining every good thing that came his way. He raised an eyebrow when Sira mentioned that she was also a fisherman, and glanced past her at the other woman, who seemed content to listen to them speak. She must be shy or something, he thought, and then regarded Sira again. “What brings me here?” Ulric could not help chuckling. “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking,” he began. I would have been content to be a fisherman, to have a wife and children, but that was not my fate. I was needed for something. I had something that she wanted. It took hold of me one night, so I fled to seek refuge with-” he stared at Sira through hooded eyes, suspicions beginning to cloud his mind. Is this all a sham? he wondered. I must be cautious around her, for I do not know to whom she belongs. Is she an agent of Krysus, or perhaps Vayt? If not, could she have been put up to this by one of her superiors? Ulric knew that he was taking this too far, that she was probably what she seemed, but his paranoia would not be denied. It was the only thing keeping him alive. “Show me your hands, he spoke in a whisper, leaning in close. He could not discern any marks, but his suspicions were not assuaged. His eyes roamed the whole of her exposed flesh, not caring about the impropriety. As far as he could tell, she was free of marks – but what if she had concealed them, as the healer had done? Leo had forced everyone to strip down on the ship, but the sudden burst of memories made Ulric hesitate, a faint song echoing through his head. It was clear that he still had not recovered from the ravages that Krysus had inflicted upon his mind. Perhaps he never would. “You are not marked,” he said with a grimace. “I must beg your forgiveness. I had to be certain, you see.” He rose and went to stand against the wall for a moment, its smooth stone comforting to the touch, and then faced Sira once more. “If you want the simple truth, I am here because I was spurned by a woman, and because I happened to read a scrap of parchment as I walked the streets of a strange city. I had no other place to flee, so I came here.” Ulric frowned, no longer wishing to speak of such matters. “You did not have to do what you did earlier. In my city, we believe that one good turn deserves another. If there is anything you want of me, say so and it is yours.”

[Sira]

Sira offered Silwyn a friendly smile as she sat down beside them, listening to Ulric's story. So the man didn't want to be a warrior? He was just a normal guy pulled into an abnormal situation. Just like so many of the epic tales she had heard before. A man from humble origins forced into a horrible situation by things he couldn't control. And there was a woman involved. The man was beginning to sound like a fairy tale come to life. Sira was caught off guard by the sudden and detailed inspection of her body. One moment the man was talking cheerfully, the next he was looking her over as if she was hiding something. Sira was used to full body scans, but never of such a detailed nature. She showed the man her hands, mostly out of curiosity than anything else. The entire ordeal might have offended her, but she was intrigued now. "You are not marked. That sparked her curiosity even more. Marked could have meant anything. A tattoo, a scar, a birthmark, but Sira was sure he meant a mark from the gods. No, she was not marked. She only knew one person personally that was, and her mind reeled at the thought that the man might make an enemy of such people. Come to think of it, there was something about this man that didn't seem quite right. Now cautious of the man Sira stood when he did, taking on the air of authority she so rarely displayed. "I did what I did because those people were all fools. I know what its like to be treated like an outsider in Wind Reach." Sira paused and narrowed her eyes. "There is something I want of you. A straight answer. What trouble do you bring to our city?"

[Silwyn]

Silwyn watched as the mysterious man asked for the other woman's hands, before he grabbed them and started to look over them, study them, scrutinize them. It was as though he were looking for something there, something that would signify the woman's worth, or perhaps her stance on life, where she stood in relation to him.

Silwyn felt bad for the woman, she knew that she herself, would not tolerate such rude and generally insensitive behavior from an outsider. If it had been her, she would more than likely have slapped the man across the face. It felt to Silwyn as though the man were studying something, studying her, like so many studied Silwyn's own dyed hands. Never a normal color, so to speak. It felt, invasive, and private in a way, and she turned angrily away, trying not to think about how much it reminded her of her everyday life, other inartans being amazed that one week her hands could be green, the next yellow, and the week after blue. Scrutinizing them, holding them up to their eyes, to their friend's eyes, so they could get a better look.

Silwyn had turned away because she didn't want to think about it, didn't want to remember, and before she knew it, the man spoke again, and she forced herself to look back to the two people she was sitting with. All she heard the man say to the other woman, was "you are not marked,” there was a pause,“I must beg your forgiveness. I had to be certain, you see.”

It was then that the man rose, and the woman soon followed suit. The man was leaning against the wall, he seemed distant in a way, to Silwyn, even more so than before. “If you want the simple truth, I am here because I was spurned by a woman, and because I happened to read a scrap of parchment as I walked the streets of a strange city. I had no other place to flee, so I came here.” The man paused again. Well, that didn't sound good, Silwyn thought to herself before the man continued speaking to the other woman. “You did not have to do what you did earlier. In my city, we believe that one good turn deserves another. If there is anything you want of me, say so and it is yours.” Silwyn simply looked up at the pair from where she was still sitting on the bench, hands in her lap.

There was something going on between them, a sort of tension Silwyn couldn't quite put her finger on, and just as she thought this, the woman opened her mouth, saying, "I did what I did because those people were all fools. I know what its like to be treated like an outsider in Wind Reach." She paused and narrowed her eyes. "There is something I want of you. A straight answer. What trouble do you bring to our city?"

Alarm flashed across Silwyn's eyes, and she silently stood, placing herself just a few inches behind the woman, and a little to her right. What on earth was going on here? she wondered. Was this other woman sensing something she had missed entirely?

[Ulric]

“Trouble?” Ulric snorted. “Believe it or not, I do not mean your people any harm. I will fight back if they seek to harm me, of course. I am not foolish enough to dream that I could prevail against so many, but here my back is to the wall. I cannot run from danger, so I will meet it with a closed fist – and no doubt leave a trail of corpses in my wake. I do not mean this as a threat, he cautioned. “I am telling you what will occur if one of your people draws a knife on me. I understand they are prone to brawls, but where I was raised, a man only draws his blade when he means to take a life. If I had my way, there would be no killing,” Ulric said, moving closer to Sira, until he could glimpse his reflection in her eyes. “No, you need not fear me – but you must be wary of one of my comrades. I have been through much in my life, but I fear him more than I fear any other mortal man. He is the mage, Leo Varniak. I might lack the strength to decimate your city, but Leo’s powers are greater than you can hope to understand. I am never at ease in his presence, for it feels as though he walks with the madness of his fallen god. I do not trust him, and neither should you. A pyromancer and a volcano make a dangerous pair,” Ulric remarked, his gaze flitting to other woman, and then back. If anything, her silence was making him nervous. “I have been watching him for a long time, and I suspect that his motives are deeper, and more dangerous, that I could ever comprehend. I am not certain of what he intends to do, but mark my words, he will sacrifice every man, woman, and child to feed the fires. If he suspected me of trying to hinder him, my life would be forfeit. I have tried to reject my doubts, but there is something about fire that unnerves me. It consumes all that stands in its path.” Ulric recalled the day he met Leo, and of the man’s whispered exchange with Glav. He'd distrusted Leo from the beginning, and those doubts had only grown stronger during their perilous journey, and then... well, he knew what Leo served. “If you value the lives of your people,” he said to Sira, “you must watch him, and make sure he doesn't turn entire city into a charred ruin.” Ulric was loath to consider what would happen if he had to confront Leo. Glav Navik would not want to hinder his once-brother, but then again, Glav didn’t know everything. He certainly hadn’t been able to protect Sharn. How does one go about killing a mage? Ulric wasn’t even sure if he could do what was needed, but the fates of many stood in the balance. He was not about to let this city burn – especially when he was trapped inside.