Closed Uncanny Lady and Wolven Warden

[Belugnir]

79th of Fall, The People's Market:

Dull silver of a single eye, marred across the left of his face, with a strand of ashen hair, and clad in a morbid black fur mantle.

So would go the description of Shiress' escort for her errands of the day, for Kylar was apparently to be committed to another endeavor of which the details would remain unknown to the slave girl.

And it would certainly be a peculiar sight. Ein had no doubt the girl's masters were informed of the woman's kidnapper and his associates, if not by the girl herself, then by her bodyguard... and he could not help but find amusement in the irony. For the Larks had hired him to act as Kylar's temporary replacement, in spite of the great ounce of trouble he had caused some two months past... Albeit it was likely the courtesy of Ein agreeing to do the job dirt cheap and on recommendation from Samara for whom he'd completed a fair many errands with relative success... and the fact that he was barely recognizable to whatever description Kylar could have given of him when they last met, courtesy of his ordeals on the northern roads and the run in he'd had with the girl's... rather furious lover.

A mantle of black fur did indeed hug his shoulders and his waist, and from the mantle itself hung the clawed, lanky, humanoid limbs of the creature from whom the attire was fashioned. And upon his back, as if a reverse hood, hung the distorted shape of a wolf's head, four empty sockets staring into nothing, still possessing of the creature's razor teeth, a sort of warning to those who would think of crossing the bearer... Indeed the coat made him feel as though he were fitting far better into this bustling metropolis of vain crypticism and arrogance. What little attention his attire and his recently marred facial features did attract would not have been all too worrying, were it not for the fact that the sideways disdainful glances mostly came from the city guards who passed him by.

Perhaps I am encroaching upon their finer taste of one's own image, eh?

Perhaps it was for the best that he was absent any apparent armaments save for the gauntlet and vambrace upon his left arm, albeit he did have an assortment of throwing knives on him, as well as the old, crude dagger, momento of his recently departed childhood grudge. Waiting was always a dull ordeal, albeit knowing that he would meet the girl as opposed to randomly bumping in her again did help sort some things out in his head preemptively... after all, for what she would come to know, he was doing all of this nonsense to redeem himself, and promped so under pain of death at Elias' hands.

Finding the food stalls a swiftly dwindling focus of attention, Ein opted for exchanging some coppers for a couple of apples and went to idly munch away, leaned upon a building corner from which he had a decent enough view of the plaza where he and his charge were to meet... and when she did finally arrive he would, after an ounce of brief hesitation, go to approach her.

''Well, I see at least one of us has been doing well, eh?'', it was an awfully juvial tone with which he'd spoken up to the woman.
''I don't suppose pretty boy stumbled off a dock and into the lake while I was away?'', Ein was not good with people... at least not when trying to approach them as ought other than a mark or a bugger from whom to collect payment from.

To boot, he was also rather anxious at the prospect of newly meeting either the girl, her guardian, her bondmate... and especially the sorcerer who praised her to no end and professed love for her with fanatical ferocity. Yet with anxiety also comes an uncanny eagerness and anticipation. One that can be rather easy to take note of, but rather difficult to properly describe.

The girl's other entourage, however, was an unexpected sight, for he'd expected to only be escorting a single woman through the city, not two of them.

''And who might your friend be?'', the inquiry was given in as a casual and polite tone as he could muster.

WC: 726

[Shiress]

"Why such a worried face, dear?"

Shiress cut her emerald eyes around to Hazel and sighed. "You know why." she replied.

"Worried about Kylar or worried about your new guard?" Hazel prodded.

"Both?" Shiress answered "Kylar was more than just my guard, Hazel, he was my protector, too, and this new guard..." Shiress sighed again, swiping an escaped lock of chestnut hair from her face and securing it behind an ear "the new one won't be."

Hazel didn't reply, only adjusted the strap of her medical bag around her shoulders with a knowing grunt. Hazel was one of the very few people in the Lark estate that knew of the girl's current and dangerous plight. The old healer was a kind soul and had helped Shiress adjust to her new Kelvic Bonding with Rook, having bonded to and married a Kelvic, herself. She had also seen to the Slave's many wounds throughout the last few seasons; some inflicted on behalf of the Lark's, others not. The stout, grandmotherly healer had kept such instances to herself, proving herself a trustworthy friend and ally and Shiress needed as many as she could get.

Hazel had been summoned to the Galatos Family Orphanage and, upon approaching the slave warden with a request of a medically skilled slave, had acquired Shiress for the day. Shiress had jumped at the opportunity, but once she had learned of her guard Kylar's odd absence had thought better of it and attempted to beg off, but the warden had a better idea; she would see to a replacement guard. Being a slave, Shiress could do nothing but comply...not without several inward curses for the old hag of a warden.

"Ah, that must be him there" the healer announced.

Shiress pushed herself off the wall and turned in the direction Hazel indicated and promptly took a huge, involuntary step backward. If it wasn't the dead animal the man had wrapped around his shoulders that had taken the Slave aback, it definitely was his face. Jaw falling open as if it had come unhinged, Shiress stared stupidly at the man's scarred features, noting the missing eye with a slight grimace.

Pretty boy...into the lake?

That voice! That unruly hair!

Belugnir!

Recognition finally dawned. The Slave's mouth clamped shut with an audible crunch of clenched teeth, the stare of shock becoming a glare of pure hatred. Taking in the scared face anew, Shiress hiked an eyebrow in what may have been amusement. Had Elias done that to him? Surely if Elias would have gone so far as to disfigure the dolt, he'd just as soon have killed him. But no, Einar's scars looked like claw marks. Shiress quickly snuffed the sympathy forming in her chest with a scowl for the veteran kidnapper, deciding she would not concern herself with the ungrateful piece of shyke.

"What do you want." she said, doing nothing to hide the disgust she felt for this man in her voice.

Just then, Hazel leaned in close to Shiress's ear "I think that's your guard for the day" she said, her eyes indicating the bag hanging off Einar's shoulder "I do believe those are my supplies."

Shiress stared daggers at Belugnir, her head shaking more and more with growing anger. "No!" she said, taking a step toward the newly appointed guard. Hazel clasped a pudgy hand around Shiress's arm, but she jerked free, jabbing an indignant finger into Einar's chest, her voice dipping into a dangerous whisper.

"I don't care what you think you are doing here, Belugnir, but it's not going to happen." the Slave's finger left the man's chest to indicate herself. "I will take a beating with all the whips in the Lark household before I let you near me you ungrateful vagik. Get away from me and petching stay there."

Shiress spun on her heel, grabbing Hazel by the arm. "Let's go."

All the way to the front entrance of the orphanage the girl never looked back, too furious to even think the idiot would follow. Finally, as the healer left to converse with Miss Sonja, the infirmary Master, Shiress dared a glance over her shoulder and, of course, there he was.

With fury burning through her veins, the Slave flew up to the man, slamming fists into his chest with a growl.

"If I see your petched up face one more time I will tell Elias Caldera you are stalking me" Shiress snarled in disgust "and this time I will beg him to kill your sorry ass."

[Belugnir]

Why, Einar could think of wanting many things... yet they might as well equal to having all the gods gather together for the sake of taking his prick up the arse as far as anyone cared... He was hardly surprised with how the girl responded to seeing him... less surprised that his excuse for a greeting hardly helped ought either. The finger she originally jabbed at him in the market square felt like a needle plunging through his bosom... And hearing the woman speak to him with seething resentment brought an insufferable bitterness at the back of his throat... yet all he did in response was squint his eyes, keep his trap clasped, and follow some fifteen feet behind as the two women made way toward the orphanage...

Finally, at their destination, the old healer left the two to their own devices for a time... and the slave girl bolted up to him, pummeling fists into a leaden cage behind which his heart rested, threatening him with death at the hands of her lover.

There was plenty Einar could have said in response, hurtful things, things untrue and true alike, plenty of brazen vulgarities to bring her down a notch... But there he was, quietly detesting himself for what he'd put the woman and her companions through weeks ago, yet what he was put through in the weeks that followed made him far too bitter. He lingered in quiet, mangled, defenseless expression upon his ruined face, even giving ground and stumbling a step backward as the girl hurled one after another clutched hands at his chest... I am sorry... I did wrong by you and yours... I am sorry...

He gave her half a frown, half a smile, and well beyond a single sneer, the palm of his calloused right hand would find its way, clutching about the girl's wrist, and as he held on, Ein would have planted his feet more firmly, and given the woman an awfully light, and gentle jab... by his standards, at the very least, forcing her a minor distance away.

''You'll take all the Larks' whips over my presence, will you? Well it's good you don't get to have a say in the matter then, I should think. Do wonder if someone got to kick and stomp out all of that saintlyhood that your Elias praised to high cockin' heaven in the meantime. Seem you's awful moody.''

The boiling anger at the memory of her beaten up, condescending attitude turned to taunting mockery somewhere deep in him, and he gave the woman's arm an ample jerk to demonstrate how easy it would be for him to snap it... to snap her like a sodding twig if given cause.

''And please, if you do get to talk to that pale horse-fucker on the matters of one vagik's death, kindly ask that he deliver it with as little preaching as he can... I think I've heard enough of his bullshyke for a lifetime and a half.''

Once again he would linger, quiet... realizing, against his whim, that the shyke he began spewing forward was hardly a healthy thing for either him or anyone involved... and so with a long and heavy sigh he'd let go of the girl and look away.

''Your petching Elias is the twat who figured it a good idea to have me replace that black 'un who normally strolls about with you.'', he finally admitted, with no small side of a begrudging tone, either.

[Shiress]

Shiress didn't flinch when the sellsword snatched her arm, though it took everything in her not to. The man's scars were disconcerting, to say the least, but to have the scarred features twist into all but a snarl had her breath catching in her throat. When he yanked her forward, she let out a little gasp, eyes going wide.

Shiress had overstepped, and she knew it.

Bel alluded to some rather unpleasant time spent with Elias, and Shiress found herself wondering again if the Soldier was responsible for the man's scars. Surely not. Elias wouldn't disfigure a man so. Would he? Shiress didn't think so, but what Bel said after nearly pulling her arm off gave her just enough pause to reconsider what the sorcerer was capable of and time to readjust her stance.

"I'm no saint, Belugnir, and Elias knows I'm not too." she shook her head, smirking "I bet you see me as some self-righteous, condescending piece of shyke, don't you?" her eyes narrowed, watching him closely, remembering "You do, don't you? Everything you said that night in the warehouse...you said I looked down on you. You even told me it was my fault that you had to kill those men -your men."

Shiress frowned thoughtfully, idly rubbing her wrist where Belugnir's grip had felt like a vice. She tried to remember if she'd done something, said something, offensive to the man. Even pushing aside the fact that she had saved his life and his thanks had been knocking her over the head and dragging her away, she couldn't think of anything. She had even stayed Kylar's blade from skewering the man that night because he had seen reason to help her, albeit a tad late in the game. Shiress shook her head, struggling for words that wouldn't further worsen his impression of her. Glancing up, she caught the sellsword's one good eye, studying his features.

"No, I'm far from being a Saint, Belugnir." her face took on a look of genuine regret "and if I ever came across as condescending I truly apologize, it wasn't deliberate." she sighed "For a chime, look at it from my perspective. I helped you, probably saved your life, and the next time I see you, it's from within a cage with an aching head." Shiress lifted a hand, forestalling any forthcoming venom "I know you are a sellsword and maybe, just maybe you wouldn't have done what you did had you known it was me, we'll never know, but you still did do it."

The slave shook her head. This wasn't sounding like she wanted it to. Shiress wanted to make Bel see that she wasn't who he thought she was. Why? Shiress hated it when people didn't like her.

"You know, I haven't always been a slave. I grew up in Zeltiva with a Mother and Father and a Brother. I was stolen away from my family by one of Sunberth's most brutal Slave Master's." she lifted a hand, gesturing toward the man's face "I have scars, too, just as disfiguring as yours. Some you can see, but most you cant. I'm not perfect and sure as Rhysol don't think that I am." Eyes falling, she added. "The opposite, I think."

Securing a lock of chestnut hair behind an ear, she let out a capitulated sigh, before continuing "I guess it doesn't matter, you'll see me the way you want to see me, and there's nothing I can say to change that." pausing, she glanced up, crossing her arms over her chest "Maybe you should evaluate the veil you see people through. Hate will always see hate." she snorted, seeing no use in continuing. "Why are you here, Belugnir?"

His answer raised her brows "Elias? Elias sent you to gu..."

"Shiress! Are you deaf girl?"

Hazel's voice behind her sounded impatient and not a small amount annoyed. Shiress realized with a start that the old healer must have been calling her name for a time. She threw the sellsword a dirty look, figuring he had known the healer was summoning her all along, then turned to follow Hazel inside the orphanage, muttering low curses -something about how her lover was a full-on idiot.

[Belugnir]

It was ironic, denying one's tendency to condensed whilst babbling on at such a length, as if the man she spoke to was a dim child. Ein could already hear a river of profanity bubbling up inside of him as the woman spoke on and on... And the urge to lash out would quickly become aparent in the idle, resentful clench of his jaw and in his sideways glance away from Shiress. They weren't my men, you stupid cow. Did I bloody ask about your ma' and da' and if you were always a shittin' slave? I couldn't give a pissing copper whether you were a saint, a hooker or a bloody nuit in hiding, the cock do you even care what I think...

There was a heavy sigh as Einar passed the point where bottled frustration builds up to form a full circle and where it pushes one to see the vanity of their own bitterness... Yet as he'd returned his eyes to the girl, he only managed to catch a pouty glare and some unsavory mutters on Elias' remark as Shiress turned away to follow after Hazel... And as he strode up to follow behind her, he found himself in the midst of muffled yet hearty laughter. The woman's reaction to the news of her lover's recent designs was something precious.

Which isn't to say Einar turned a deaf ear to everything Shiress had mouthed before they'd gotten to walking the halls of the orphanage.


"I don't hate you.", he would utter behind her, rather quietly, however, as if he wished to remain unheard by the old healer who paced a ways in front of him and the slave girl. "Would that you pondered half as much as you prattle on... You are a nitwit. But you are a kind and caring and harmless nitwit. I imagine your Elias might agree with me.", Ein went quiet for an instant, adjusting the belt of the supply bag he carried for Hazel, before leaning in to finish what he had a mind to say. "I think he figures foolhardy kindness is worth preserving... And that it ought to benefit from a wake-up call when its head wanders off too high into the clouds. And so, lo and behold, he sent me. See... Your lover's an arse. But a wise arse. Backwards, complicating, unspeakably annoying and just as cockin' talkative as you... Yet still wise none the less."

A trio of children passed them by, little ones giving the pelt-clad man as wide of a berth as the hallway would let them whilst keeping their heads down... His one good eye followed in their wake without betraying much of an emotion, before returning his attention to the slave girl in front of him.

"Maybe you lot of nordlings should evaluate just how much you see through your own veils, eh?", his tone was still stern for the most part, yet there was cheerful playfulness molding together with his sneering attitude.

"I will take a moment to discuss something with the wet-nurse, don't you wander off now. I won't be hollering after you two through these halls.", Hazel excused herself with a meaningful, elderly glance to both the mercenary and his charge, falling from sight behind what ought to have been an office door and leaving the two alone in the hallway for a time.

[Shiress]

Shiress quirked an eyebrow. Admitting to not hating someone was a start, right? A beginning short lived it would seem, for just like that the sellsword went and took another breath, ruining the moment.

Nitwit, eh?

Harmless, at least.

Shiress shook her head, chuckling to herself. That was as good as she was going to get with Belugnir and she knew it. It was good enough, she supposed, to ease the man's absurd company bearable. Shiress would leave him alone, and in turn, he would leave her alone. She could live with that. The slave just needed to remember not to talk to the man because if Belugnir kept his mouth shut and didn't speak, he just might continue to be nice to her.

Of course, Hazel had other ideas, and Shiress suddenly found herself alone with the sellsword, surrounded in an ever-growing awkward silence. Shiress spent most of it suddenly interested in the chipping paint on the walls of the corridor, fingernails deftly aiding in the chipping process. A door shutting at the opposite end of the hall made her jump. Glancing up, Shiress's eyes were met with a hard stare from a woman that sent her mischievous hands retreating into the pockets of her slave's shift. The woman sniffed loudly and walked out of sight.

Shiress sighed, tiring of the silence and at last cleared her throat, turning to face her once kidnapper with a propped hip against the wall.

"So," she began, choosing her words as best she could, "Elias saw fit to send you to guard me, but yet so did the Larks?" she shook her head "I'm sure there's a twist of interest in there, however did you manage it?" Shiress wasn't sure if the man would reply so she continued to prattle on. She paused at the thought of the word. Prattle. It was Belugnir's word. She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff of irritation at herself.

Maybe she did 'prattle' too much.

After a glance to the door the old healer had disappeared through assured the girl no help was readily forthcoming, her eyes ascended to the tall fellow before her, taking in the scars on his face entirely and for the first time. The man must have a god watching over him; those scars were deep and in places that ought to have drained his life's blood in an instant. Shiress couldn't help the shiver of sympathy that coiled its way across her skin.

"What happened to you?" she asked, hesitantly, hand indicating the man's face. "Did Elias..." Shiress's words cut off abruptly as the door opened and a sour-faced Hazel stepped through.

"Well," she said, voice clipped "Looks like Slaves around sick children is frowned upon here, my girl." she looked to Bel, her voice lowering as she muttered "and their frightening guards." she shook herself "Seems you have gotten yourself some free time. I shouldn't be more than a bell and a half so see yourself back here by that time, please." she craned her neck to glare at the sellsword "And guard, keep a close eye on this one." she nodded her head in Shiress's direction. "she tends to find herself ear deep in trouble anytime she's in the city."

Hazel mumbled her way back through the door, and as it shut Shiress, eyes wide with surprise turned to Bel. After a tick of processing what Hazel had said, Shiress licked her lips and stepped past him and headed for the door of the orphanage suddenly and thoroughly feeling the filthy slave.

[Belugnir]

''I've got some favors called upon from the outpost boss-lady. Lass vouched for me and all... Though I've little doubt your pale fellow also pulled some strings.'', Ein had long since made himself comfortable leaning against a wall and observing the woman's toddlering mischief with scornful amusement. He wasn't rightly eager to have words, but he was also hardly eager to be an outright prick.

Albeit as her inquiries followed one another, Ein found himself more than willing to lash out, yet a resentful ''Oh plenty's happened to me...''[/b], with which he would of interrupted the girl by himself were it not for Hazel's emergence from the nurse's office. Her news didn't sit well with Shiress apparently. And even as the old healer spoke on, the slave girl visibly went from uncomfortable to downtrodden, getting on her way out while Ein lingered for a couple ticks, though there was a heavy, exasperated sigh accompanied by disapproving motions of his head. Frankly, he didn't give half a rat's shyke about any of this orphanage business, yet the notion of apparent house rules within it were quickly proving to be an annoyance.

''Rest easy, gran. We'll keep out of trouble.'', he stated plain as can be, already handing over the bag of medications, turning from the older woman and into a stride in the slave's wake. [i]Ear deep in trouble, huh?... There was plenty of self-rebuke and blame to be had at the words, albeit Ein wouldn't admit so to himself, instead quietly following Shiress out of the orphanage and into the street.

Aimlessly circling about the docks in the footsteps of a woman of ruined moods would swiftly prove to be exhaustingly uneventful, save for occasionally brushing shoulders with passers-by and exchanging the obligatory glare. Eventually, with a grumble, Einar would go about giving the woman before him a tap across the back of her waist. He was even about to let go of the scoffs he'd had at the tip of his tongue back at the doorway.

''Come on, lass. Perk up. That pale bugger didn't send me here to watch over some sad muppet. Can't be you care about some mangy toddlers that much? Or did you just take offense?...'', pausing, uncertain of what the petch he ought to say, he would go on after a couple ticks: ''You's a slave are you not? Can't be so often you get a bell and some free time. Go on, figure out something to do, eh?...''

Who was prattling there, you dumb twat?''

It wouldn't take long for Ein to fall into a rather deep, uncomfortable quiet himself as he'd began to recall the fact that pep-talks were an art form wholesomely alien to him... And thus he began to weigh his options between an insufferable bell of aimlessly escorting some downtrodden lass or likely making a fool of himself in more than likely unsuccessful attempts of bringing her spirits up.

[Shiress]

Shiress flowed out onto the docks with a heavy air of indignace, shoving her way to an open area before finally coming to a halt. She had come to the orphanage not as a Slave in tow of a healer, but to offer her own skill then be turned away as if she were some filthy, plague infested vagabond was just as much infuriating as it was hurtful. Hurtful mostly.

A tap on her back brought her from her thoughts and back to the realization that the sellsword come guard would surely have something smug and just as hurtful to add. She spun around to face the man, the look on her face daring the petcher to insult her further. But, what he said surprised her. Was he trying to be nice?

She quite nearly let out a belly laugh at the thought.

"Elias" she said, pronouncing each syllable of the name with agitated emphasis, "is his name and he shouldn't have sent you to watch over me no matter what mood I'm in!" she turned away from the man, speaking softly "They are sick kids, Belugnir, a kind word or a soft touch could bring them comfort." she paused, then added "That's all I wanted to do."

Shiress crossed her arms over her chest, looking around. Bel was right on one count; free time was unheard of lately. However, walking around Ravok alone and in a slave's shift would draw attention to her and would do nothing for her sour mood. Shiress glanced down at her telltale garb then pulled here bag from her shoulder. From within she pulled an old, tattered cloak out and wrapped it around her shoulders, fastening it closed beneath her chin. The next few ticks, she plucked at her hair, freeing the long chestnut locks to flow down the length of her back to her hips. Turning, she surveyed her guard, a mischievous smile spreading across her lips.

Two steps and she snatched a coin purse off the man's belt and spun, long hair fanning out around her shoulders, no doubt slapping against the man's face. "Come my guard, you can buy me a drink."

Shiress strolled away without looking back, sure her guard dog for the day would follow as he should.

After about a quarter bell of walking the merchant circle, Shiress spotted a man stumbling out of a doorway and promptly made her way over. Sliding open the door, tables came into view. Satisfied she had found her establishment, Shiress slipped inside. A long bar ran along the backside of the small tavern, separated by the entrance by several tables. The slave moved to one, pulled out a chair and sat, watching the sellsword as he rounded the table and took a chair.

A barmaid twisted herself from around the bar and approached the table. Shiress spoke before she did. "Three of the strongest drinks you have." she said, then glanced to Belugnir curiously "Will you be having anything?"

[Belugnir]

The mercenary's attempts at remaining remotely pleasant and encouraging were quickly drowned out by the lazy effort of keeping less than subtle opinions he had on sick urchins and pale stryfers to himself.

''Maybe if you nordlings started calling me by my name, I'd return the courtesy...'', the mention of kindness she'd looked forward to bestow on the orphans remained pointedly glossed over, however, a low grumble being the only retort.

There was a horrible twitch in Ein's eye as nearly a bedful of chestnut locks whipped with gentle mockery upon the side of his face, and as he felt the woman shove into him and pluck the purse of silvers from his belt. It took plenty of restraint not to succumb to basic instinct and body her into the ground as she began walking away. The coming fifteen chimes were spent in a rather... uniquely comfortable silence. Comfortable, for frowning and having cause to be annoyed with was something wholesomely familiar and welcoming. Certainly preferable to trying to cheer up some downtrodden sunflower or worrying over whether said sunflower's avid admirer would see fit to pluck his arms out if he fell to the temptation of knocking off a daft petal or three.

Finally his ward settled down for a tavern and decided upon seats for them, and he took his across the table from her, rising an irritated brow as his own coin was flaunted about with an unironic question of whether he would have a drink as well.

The waitress was already rather perplexed on how she ought to treat the fellow who walked in looking as if he'd recently vacated from a grave with half of another corpse on top of his own... and she didn't appear to be the only one within the room from whom uneasy attention had been drawn.

''I'll have a jug of milk.'', Ein uttered, leaning back in his seat, hunching his head forward and retaliating with a squinting stare when the barmaid gave him a dumbfounded flurry of confused blinking. ''You deaf, girl? Or simply daft?''

''N-no, sir, a jug of milk it is.''

''Good.'', Ein's gaze parted from the woman who hastily strode away with their orders and back to the one he'd be charged with. ''I don't think either of us would fondly recall the last time I've been acquainted with booze.'', he explained his uncanny choice with a peculiar sneer.

A quiet would linger as three heavy pints were poured and arranged on a platter beside a piece of clay pottery poured for Einar.

''You know, lass, it's a right wonder you's still in one piece. You don't seem to be all there in the head either.'', he might as well be indulged in conversation at this point. ''How'd you and your... Elias come to be together anyway?''

There would be another, briefer silence as their drinks were delivered and Ein went quiet after his inquiry.