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[Salara Kel'Halavath]

Hearing Pulren’s appraisal of Zeltivan constitution she could only shrug, he hadn’t been there. “Perhaps those Zeltivans who left felt some higher calling to ensure the safety of those who had chosen to depart.” Salara had only truly known one and his toughness had never been in question, his decision making on the other hand… The lightness of a fond smile touched her lips at the thought as this Zeltivan shared a little of his background; another orphan of the world albeit more fortunate than her, scathed but still surviving.

Lending more motion to her pole she was taken somewhat by surprise at his laughter and revelation. “Won’t… catch anything?” Her pole drooped as confusion crossed her features and at first she felt a little hurt. Then a touch angry as if he were playing some trick upon her until she recalled a quote she had taken to heart several times when she caught herself overreacting; most often from something Fallon had said, although the Inspector never giggled. ‘Emotions are important, but can be distracting in the pursuit of truth…’

Stubbornness kicked in then, firming her jaw as she tugged her line back to activity while ignoring the gulls cackling knowingly overhead. “Of course, fishing is more fun if something is caught. It was only part of the reason I came to the beach. But if you knew the effort would be so fruitless why did you bring your pole? Surely it wasn’t simply to improve your bait catching skills or for exercising your arms?” Her statement was demonstrated by pulling her line back to shore, glaring at the drowned bedraggled bait and tossing it back to Laviku in example.

‘Shady’? Although his lighthearted tone didn’t change she’d been training herself to notice nuances in speech, so a hint of distrust to her was clear. Her instincts still gave no alarm, but her mind went to Fallon’s words of warning about others from Sunberth. Petch. “The reason for Syliras closing was the last worry upon my mind at the time, so I’m sorry I have no clearer information.” Resting her pole back against the driftwood with line lingering in the water, she obviously considered her words as she stepped back to the blanket. He wanted to know, so she would tell him.

Settling near the basket she pulled it closer lifted the lid and looked up into his eyes to confirm, “I’m a student, yes. I studied crime in Zeltiva’s university.” From this position she was a smaller target and had her dagger near; but her ace in the hole was a cougar’s abilities. Should he take the news badly she might close the distance to get to him or away before he could reach his trident. Pushing her hand beneath the lid she removed a cut sandwich and two bottles, “But simply studying wasn’t enough for me so I convinced my instructor to take me on as apprentice.”

The winds played with her thin skirts fluttering the hem above sand-speckled bent knees to a faint patina of silvery scars higher up. The sea air drew into her lungs through flared nostrils. Pushing back an errant strand of blonde from across her vision, her knuckles pressed white around one bottle; she lifted it to him in silent invitation and watched his expression. “She allows me to work with her investigating crimes for Scarred Wolf Investigation.” He hadn’t asked for a name. How much did he know? Would he recognize anything from the truth of her statements?


Gift from Rohka <3

[Pulren Marsh]

While it was readily apparent that Salara had been to Zeltiva and was carrying the memory of one of her sons, she certainly didn't understand what it was to be Zeltivan. It was easy for outsiders to believe that the Syliran Knights could swoop in and aid the City when it was in danger. Perhaps a small squad, though whatever great danger there was in the realms, he had never seen them actually quell any uprisings or defeat and disasters. Lots of sword swinging and boasting. The only Syliran Knight that had ever made an impression on him was Markus Andres. The point being, Zeltivans actuallydid take care of themselves and stand on their feet. He couldn't speak for those who had chosen to leave, but it couldn't have been more than a caravan worth, which was hardly a Quarter. A grin passed his features as he thought it might be the Denvali refugees of the Old Quarter.

The joke he had made about fishing went sour in a jiffy. Of course, Pulren wasn't the one who had chosen to just pick a pretty place to catch fish. "Well, fish wouldn't swim in the surf. They would be too easily lost in the tide, pulled up on the beach, where we could handily just walk along and grab them up." He looked out over the surf and up the beach toward small inlet that went out of view of their perspective. "No, they stay to the depths, to the familiar places. If they were going to risk the surface to feed, it would be a smoother pool, where they could actually see something flitting along the water's surface. You must remember, long before we decided to craft wooden rods to pull them in, birds did just fine." It was just something to learn. Her attitude was up to her.

As he turned back to her, it seemed she was withdrawing herself a bit. Had the fishing comments really been so brutal? How did she put up with the raucous wit of a Zeltivan? Was this lost love truly from the greatest port city in all of the world? He continued to watch her as she took a seat on the sand, her hands moving in a very purposeful way. What was this woman up to? Pulren five years ago would have plopped down in the sand and laughed and told her to relax. Older Pulren never took anyone at face value. He certainly had secrets. Who else did? Perhaps she had worked up an appetite.

Crime. At the University, even. Why didn't she know Zeltiva like he did then? Pulren thought about naming places in the City or people at the University, but he still felt mostly at ease. He wasn't sure about her intentions, but he knew that be they innocent or not, putting her at ease was best. He took a seat with the trident behind him, crossing his legs and fiddling with shells in the sand, only looking at her in glances as he continued to listen. He was out of reach to her and she to him. They could both relax in civility.He did look up when she mentioned that her crime instructor took her on as an apprentice. this same instructor clearly left Zeltiva and came to Riverfall with her. Was crime so rampant in the Akalak City?

She seemed to accept the invitation to sanity, a bottle lifted to him. He took it and nodded in thanks, though he didn't take a drink. Not yet. Lots of suspicion and talking of crime. He nearly dropped the bottle, his grip intensifying when she gave the last piece of information. Scarred Wolf Investigations. His face continued to smile, but only in the fact that the corners of his mouth remained upturned. In one moment, he remembered that knife between his ribs from Zandelia. Now, here, was an apprentice to one of the master investigators of Mizahar and she presented this? There were many secrets to be had.

A breath of air snorted slightly into Pulren's nose as he pushed the bottle into the sand, twisting it until it was partially buried. In a fleeting moment, like a cloud passing over the face of Syna, this woman saw another face. It was still the same flesh, the same features, but there was a Scar examining her. "You are the student of Fallon Skylar? Prove it."

A Gossamer Template

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

Fishing in the surf versus a deep pool. Salara watched as broken bits of shell sand were pushed and pulled as each wave shushed musically onto the beach and noticed what looked rather like a large snail shell being tumbled back and forth in the surf. “I suppose that does make sense.” Some people could be particular about sharing a favorite hole but Pulren didn’t seem to be the greedy sort and having missed his look toward the inlet she hoped to extend his company, “Would you show me the better place?” If not, becoming a little more familiar with the area wouldn’t hurt and might help her locate a more promising site without his aid. It was something to note for future attempt but obstinacy and a change in conversation kept her pole in the water.

Yup, it was obvious that mentioning SWI was the last thing he’d expected as the friendly comradeship in the mercenary’s eyes went flat, belying the smile quirking his mouth. Breath was pinned in her lungs through his snort and a darkening such as she’d seen in only one other’s expression. Oh, the look was there all right - a glimpse from behind the mask. If she had been wearing her fur, hair might have raised across her shoulders at the danger such a look implied. She still felt confident in her ability to defend herself and his confirming Fallon’s name without further reaction settled her back into a wary relaxation.

So direct and unexpected, the Kelvik almost fell into a subservient response when commanded to ‘prove it.’ And may have without thought if she hadn’t already been acclimated to the directness of the Scar leader. Who was he to demand proof for a truth she had given? Feigning a confidence she didn’t entirely feel, her husky laugh answered his command, “Prove it? I should give details to a stranger who obviously knows more than a little about the Scars and my mentor? I have been taught better than that!” Chuckling she reached for her own bottle twisting the cork free with a faint pop. This wasn’t funny. Fallon had clearly made an impression of how dangerous someone of Sunberth could be and Salara was chancing trouble on two fronts – aggression from Pulren or repercussions from her mentor for giving too much away.

Taking a swallow she took a moment to think while appreciating the tangy freshness of fermented cider complimenting the salt sea spray licked from her lips. The head of the bottle tilted toward Pulren as the pointed nail of the index finger mimed drawing circles about his rugged face, “You have her look about you, you know? The mercurial change from one person to another; either you hide it better or don’t have reason to let it slip so often.”

She considered her earlier attempt to learn something more of Sunberth and the Scars that failed in its vagueness. Perhaps if she were more direct? “Now if I were more certain my mentor and I wouldn’t be unexpectedly skewered by yon trident I would feel more like confiding to you.” Taking another sip of ale she added in saucy challenge, “Tell me truth of the Red Wolf and these Scars and I might even offer to take you to her.”


Gift from Rohka <3

[Pulren Marsh]

Laughter.

It was infectious. But not in a boisterous and natural way. It only deepened the throaty laugh and widening smile of the man watching her. His eyebrows raised and waggled a bit in a feigned camaraderie. "Been taught better than that? Indeed?" His laughter continued, turning into a quieter thing, followed with a light 'phew'. He smiled and leaned in on his elbows over knees, hands rested on his boots in the position he sat in. He was keen to gaze into her eyes as she pointed out the darkness that lied inside his own face as well as Fallon's. He nodded and continued to look into her eyes, watching for those sweet little tells of weakness.

"I have no reason to hide Uncle. Uncle lives in my heart and is just something I wear when I am considering bloodletting." The smile straightened and eyes of intent burrowed into her own. All the while, that hand on his boot had worked Uncle's most trusted friend free. That friend hadn't been revealed yet, however. Uncle's finger merely traced over the smooth resin of the handle as she said one of the dumbest things he had heard in a long time.

Seriously.

Pulren's face just dropped. "It's time to be serious now, Salara. Being ignorant for the purpose of playing tough is one thing. That I can overlook. Taunting me and treating me like a fool is quite something else." With a quick snap of the wrist, his razor was free and he moved in a singular motion, his left hand gripping her free ankle firmly, the blade of yon razor hovering so precariously above the back of her heel. "If you knew one singular thing about the Scars, the last thing you would say is that I would harm Fallon. The first thing that you would know is that being so flippant and stupid around one of us is a fantastic way to get killed."

His grip was strong on her calf, pushing the leg back, his finger along the spine of the straight razor, still hands keeping it very close to the sweet tendon above her heel. "Now, I am going to ask some questions and you are going to answer them. If you lie, I cut you. If you try to run, I cut you. Basically, doing anything out of line besides answering my questions will result in you having a severe limp for whatever time remains in your life."
If she didn't believe him, she really was stupid. Uncle didn't like to kill women, but maiming one that might be connected to assassins? That was forgivable.

"They are very easy to answer. There are three."

"Question One. What do you know of the Scars? Please elaborate."

"Question Two. What do you know of the Red Wolf. Spare no details."

"Finally, and this one is the most important to get right. Are there others on this beach or watching us right now? Failure to answer this one to the best of your ability guarantees a bit of yon skewering."

To emphasize his point, he traced the blade across her calf, shaving the fine hairs on it in a small patch to emphasize it was not a dull instrument nor was the man wielding it.

A Firenze Template

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

Led into a false sense of security, the mention of Uncle furrowed her brow in confusion as she tried to understand whom he was speaking of. Apparently Salara hadn’t realized how on point she had been in recognizing two people in one. Fallon and the Red Wolf or Pulren Marsh and Uncle. A lesson she would later realize as significant; but for now, naivety was a hard learn as her mind didn’t even acknowledge the threat of bloodletting. But a whisper of ‘Ut Oh’ niggled her brain as his expression dropped in misunderstanding her effort to gain information, believing instead that she was trying to play him.

His casual move closer masking viper fast intentions toward a hidden blade and capture of her calve in one smooth move erupted in an indignant then fearful squall from her as bottles, lunch, basket, and an un-hidden dagger tumbled about the blanket’s folds. Cider gurgled then leaked into the sand from an upturned bottle as she tugged once, twice, thrice to be free of his grasp then stilled in chest heaving pant as the straight blade hovered over her achilles.

And still he spoke the truth, ‘If you knew one singular thing about the Scars, the last thing you would say is that I would harm Fallon. The first thing that you would know is that being so flippant and stupid around one of us is a fantastic way to get killed.’ It became clear that there was something inconceivably wrong with these people. Fallon had done her a disservice by not trusting her with more of the past, not preparing her for a situation such as this, but she heard the truth she had been searching for. This man was not a threat to her mentor.

Fearful shock brewed into anger as she remained quite still through the three questions demanded of her, life crippling in the balance - Scars, Red Wolf, and most audaciously egocentric - accomplices…

All but spitting her answers with hard eyes accusing through a tangle of blonde tresses, “I was told nothing of the Scars but that they had been on the ‘right side’ and had been driven from the land. But now I’m learning sooo much more, Uncle. I had hoped to hear a truth of their righteousness but now the truth for me is clear!”

“And the Red Wolf?" An indrawn breath hissed through her teeth. "Leader of these ‘Scars?’ I only know of Inspector Fallon, my mentor who said she was hunted, to guard her back against Sunberth and ‘run and never look back’ should she instruct. I am left to figure the bloody rest out By Myself!”

Before the third answer any semblance of humanity deteriorated in remembrance of the blade’s precise ease in shearing the swath of hair above the dysrhythmic pulse beating through her ankle while her calve was pressed in a vice-like grip. Feeling trapped without fight or flight pushed her into the late defense of her apex form.

>>~~~> <~~~<<

Chalar, a Cerulean Akalak on duty in the first tier had been keeping an eye on the sky and on the lone female sunning on the northern beach. Zith would have found her a tempting treat should they have flown over, but until then there hadn’t seemed a reason to interrupt her solitude. In passing he’d seen her shake hands with a human warrior; and although not an Akalak, he’d wished the human best luck, as the pair had seemed content to pass the time in fishing and picnicking. Actually, he had been relived to not have to watch so closely knowing the female was more protected now.

Bow slung over his shoulder, Chalar completed his turn beyond the cliff-side residences without a thought. Glad for the quiet day until his attention was drawn to a shout from the female on the beach. Stepping to the edge of the residences he recognized the aggression that had come into play between the two and that the woman was being held against her will and threatened. Pulling his bow free to notch an arrow, he watched the warrior’s switchblade held close and her efforts to free herself as they spoke.

Pulling his bowstring taut, not yet truly aiming the notched arrow he shouted from the distance, “Human! Release the woman!”

@>~>~~ ~~<~<@

By expression, her obvious surprise to find them not alone should have been more than enough to answer the last question; but instead of turning toward her potential savior Salara’s body flexed in a smattering of glowing sparks as her calve shifted, narrowed and furred within Pulren’s grasp. The be-gowned cougar’s claws stretched forward in a deliberate swipe across the back of his hand as her back leg pulled free of his hold. A feral screech of pain resounded as her feet dug into the sand and wadded blanket, muscles bunching to lunge ten feet from where they had so companionably rested.

Communication ever the issue, her form shimmered again in the afternoon light as the woman formed, turning tall in a blood-hemmed, shredded gown whipped by winds. Her molten eyes never leaving her attacker, Salara snarled over her shoulder, “Petch off Akalak! I do not need rescued today!” Feeling the intense sting and warm drizzle down her foot to between her toes she tentatively placed weight upon both legs gladdened to find her tendons intact. Cut, perhaps badly, but not maimed.

Pushing clenched fists, arms straight behind her back, she leaned forward to scream at the mercenary, “What is wrong with you people?!”

Gift from Rohka <3