Cybercide - IC

Silux Chapter 1 - Strange Nobles

In recent months, the Heartland jungles were seemingly growing denser and denser. It seemed as if the very trees were retreating towards the center. As was commonality during the moments leading up to a Death God's arrival, the large and powerful nation of Brevnir sought to contain the borders between themselves and the jungles. On several occasions the natives of the Heartlands thought it cunning to attack the outer towns of Brevnir amidst their dealings with the Death Gods. And they succeeded. A few raids notified Brevnir's nobles that the savages of the Heartlands needed to be monitored, especially the Kwandans. Guards were reluctantly positioned in outer towns, hoping to deter the bandits from the jungles, as well as spreading a larger detection range over their kingdom. The more eyes they had in the towns surrounding the capital, the more likely they were to seeing a Death God before they saw it... With a head in its hands.

And so a subtle air of further enclosure wafted about the jungles inhabitants, knowing they could not leave their lands without due process easily or quickly. It was not of particular importance, consider the previous years left the Death Gods who came to the Heartlands downtrodden or dead. It was not easy for them, that year, to traverse the dense jungles filled to the brim with dangerous beasts and savages. One might easily expect not to see one venture far into the jungle this year. Conversely, one might consider it a further challenge to those seeking thrills and glory. Only the most daring would enter this year.

For the Kwanda of noble birth, Raheu, the air around him was filled with an unfamiliar scent. One of a metallic pungent odor. Birds in the distance fluttered off into oblivion, and the distant sound of cracking tree branches was audible to all of the forest's audibly keen.

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Disciple Cain Chapter 1 - A Spirit

A sudden and vicious wind tore through the wooden village, rattling its structure and blowing about the passing civilians clothing. Mathras found himself in the middle of a sparse but nevertheless small and quiet village at the base of a dominating pair of mountain peaks. Their apexes stabbed into the grey clouded sky, as if trying to stand above a field of grass to see what lie beyond the blades and brush. A patch of snow was visible at the very top, while the rest was grey with craggy edges and steep slopes. It was certainly as the guard from Brevnir had described; dreary but amazing. The rare flower which Mathras was searching for was heavily rumored to be located somewhere along the slopes of the twin mountains, named Zank and Vrakken. It would be difficult and perilous, but the rewards were grand. The mere flower petals alone were worth thousands. Many a princesses and nobles wished to have one as a temporary decoration upon their clothing. Other -like Mathras- saw it for what lied inside.

The flower's alchemic possibilities were both unknown and known to be great from what has been experimented. It sufficed to say he'd be a very 'wealthy' man in more ways than one if he found even the flower. Nicknamed 'Mistleteinn' after a mythical village beauty who died protecting the flowers from a band of money-hungry thugs, the flower is regarded by the very village Mathras stood within as a symbol of divinity. He would have to watch his words if he planned to get any help. The village folk did not take well to those who carelessly collected the flowers for selfish purposes.

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Brevnir - Changing of the Guards

Worried, was how one could describe it. A general aura of paranoia pervaded the streets of Brevnir's capital and largest city, Linnestred. The time nor day when the first appearance of the Death Gods would appear was ever known, and though they often dressed in fanciful attire that would stand out in the distant villages, here in Linnestred there were plenty of wealthy knights and nobles who paraded about in their armor. It was not easy to point out who was a Death God or not until they killed someone. Families stood out on the streets talking, discussing plans or news about anything out of the ordinary, despite the fact that no Death Gods had ever entered their world yet. Countless city watchmen moved to and fro about the walls, trying their best to ensure no one entered without their knowledge. The noblemen had even begun to pay the homeless in coin to find any unknown passageways with which crafty individuals could slink around past the guards.

For many, it was a time of impending fear, while others yet still reveled in the atmosphere of their own world, ready to plunge their sword into a deities heart!

Mathras reached back to his hood all too late before it was pulled off his head by the rushing torrent of wind. He staggered back as the wind seemed to try sending him back out of the village, as if some divine presence didn't want him there. He took it as a slight from Mother Nature and mumbled to himself with a smirk, "So much for a warm welcome..." and looked for cover behind a broad wooden building where the wind wouldn't harass him.

He slipped a hand into his red robes and pulled out a leather-bound pocket book. With a quick gesture of his hand and the muttering of a strange word, 'Sabenira'', the pages flipped open and led him directly to an entry labeled 'Earth Heart', with a subtitle of the same word he spoke. He made a quick glance around before he began-- partly to check if the wind had died down yet, and partly to see if anyone was watching. When he was satisfied there were no prying eyes about, he began to mumble the words upon the page to himself, scanning the page with his finger.

"Only blooms one month out of the year... hmm... usually found growing upon mountains in northern regions... said to be connected to the mana of the world itself, thus explaining it's high alchemical value and properties." He flipped the book closed and slipped it back into his robes, "And Mistleteinn has legends that speak of it, but I... know nothing of them, save for that the flower was here-- rather, is here."

Mathras stepped out from behind the building as the wind died down, looking up at the ominous mountain peaks beyond the town, and let out a long sigh, "Somewhere," he added, as he began walking down the streets of the town again.

There was a tale to be told in this town, and Mathras intended to find someone to tell him. It was a risky first stop, as clergymen were not always so fond of those who practiced the arcane arts, but perhaps the local church was capable of shedding light upon the legend that Mathras had heard so little of. Besides, if the flower itself was hailed as a symbol of divinity then the best place to look would be where divinity is a popular subject. Off down the streets he began looking for answers. First, directions to the place he was looking for, and second for answers within the church itself.

The distance was alive with the sound of bird and beast, water and wind. The air itself was a flow that endlessly dragged forth each emerald leaf - tugging on it with a gentle but incessant refrain. Rahëú could hear everything from the pant of a warg stalking it’s prey to the pulse and beat of an eagle’s wing far overhead. It was almost lyrical to him; nature itself working in a perfect tandem of clarity and beauty. For all it’s verdant vitae, however, it was quiet. Unusually so. If he were not of Kwanda birth and instead was cursed with the dull senses of Man, the jungle would be silent. Deathly quiet and utterly still.

Rahëú sat cross legged in a small patch of light anchored by an opening in the canopy above. Dim light shone down in a dusty pillar of illumination, disturbed only by a rogue leaf drifting ground-ward from the green cover above.
A polearm weapon was laid parallel to him, partially covered by the dried refuse of the undergrowth, though it’s blade stood out from the dull shaft, shining against the mid-morning sun. The steel was unusually well crafted for a ghöækhálla weapon, though patches of it were stained in a thick crimson hue - the dried blood of god-knows-what baked to the otherwise glimmering metalwork by the beating sun and intense humidity of the jungle.

To a fleeting eye, the jungle was still, and only Rahëú drew breath for miles.
To the eye of a Kwanda warrior, however, fires burned deep in the shadows cast by the tree trunks within the darkened forest depths.

Rahëú’s eyes were barely open, but through the slits of his royal masque his eyes burned with a fire a deeper red than those surrounding him.
He raised his head slowly, allowing the brazen masque to catch the light streaming to the jungle floor, reflecting it in all directions. His face was entirely obscured by the badge of royal office save for the shadows behind the channels cut into the angular apparel.

Rahëú cleared his throat; he began to sing.

“Hüéń éïn ré’ öáńkæ örá ghöækhálla’ násïáh örá ká tüllá”

The lyric echoed through the valley, piercing it’s way into the shadowy recesses of the forest before falling silent once more. A moment passed before the silence was once again broken by the sound of howling beast accompanied by a chorus of rugged voices emanating from the forest deep, emulating Rahëú’s mantra.

“Hüéń éïn ré’ öáńkæ örá ghöækhálla’ násïáh örá ká tüllá”, they sung, though with less melodic tone than he.

“Ká réáïr öérá éïn érć” he responded, his harmony more in tune than the voices of those responding.

This came with the faint sound of padding claw rushing through the undergrowth, growing louder with every beat, providing a rhythm to the haunting melody now being repeated by hidden voices within the jungle.

“Ká réáïr öérá éïn érć” came the voices again, and again. “Hüéń éïn ré’ öáńkæ örá ghöækhálla’ násïáh örá ká tüllá”

The entire jungle was enveloped in mysterious song, the tradition of which was unbeknownst to outsiders, and the origins of such only known to the mystic few among the ghöækhálla tribes. The mantra hung in the air for long moments before, without apparent stimulus, the melody simply ceased, leaving the forest in another ghostly silence.
Rahëú embraced the silence for a moment only, before engaging himself in a stunning display of agility; forcing himself to his feet in a bolted jump while kicking the shaft of his weapon, sending it spinning into the air. He turned himself a full hundred and eighty degrees and without a second thought, slammed his weight forwards. Instead of thrusting his shoulder into dry air, however, he connected with a huge wolven predator twice his size with gnashing jaws akin to the gates of hell itself, drooling with insatiable hunger and congealed blood of a fresh kill. It’s eyes were ablaze with ill yellow fire.

Rahéü pushed his shoulder into the ribcage of the beast as it lunged toward him from a knee-high rock, pushing his wight onto his knees in order to get an upward push on the creature, sending it reeling into the dirt and flailing it’s limbs in frustration.
Elegantly turning himself once more and returning to his original position, Rahëú allowed his weapon to fall into his hand as it finally descended from it’s flight.

The weapon was of elegant design; it was perfectly balanced and built to his strength. Every swing cut through the air with savage elegance. The blade would tear through bone and flesh like it were autumn leaves, and the skull of the wolven beast was no exception.
It had pulled itself upright almost immediately after colliding with the floor, though this time in a crazed frenzy. Bounding once again for Rahëú’s jugular vein, the Kwanda warrior responded by spearing the beast through it’s mouth, the titanic blade savaging the creature’s organs as he thrusted the blade deeper, feeling every rip and tear of muscle and every snapping sensation of sinew being sliced. Rahëú stared deep into it’s eyes as the life dripped from them.

It was a clean kill.

Suddenly the smell of blood was overpowered by something new. Something... Foreign. A metallic smell, as though metal was being tarnished in flowing water. He had never smelt such a scent.

He promptly slid the beast off the the polearm weapon with which he slew the creature, sheathed the tool and began to move in the direction of the strange smell, guided by his acute sense of direction.

The evening sun beat down on the commoners and nobleman alike as the normal hustle and bustle was altered by the inherit doom ever present in the minds of all. Hidden within a small tavern a roar with its drunken patrons sat Aldwen far off in the corner where the light hardly touched. Deftly his finger tips trailed along the brim of the cool metal of his goblet, his mind lost within his imagination. Within the world of his own creation his mind fell to one thought; his gloved hands tightly clenched around the throat of the Death God who stole his loved ones from him. Death God's usually always returned, most the same though some new. But one thing was true was every twenty-four years they came and never have they left without a head count. His hand clenched tight, the silent sounds of leather rubbing hard against itself as the pressure he created within his palm grew from a fiery rage.

The sweet, concerned chime of the bar girl broke Aldwen from his thoughts, his bright emerald green eyes glowing in the dim light up at the girl. The girl was nervous, Aldwen could tell. The roar of the tavern returned to his ears once more as he became more tentative with his surroundings. "..May I get you anything, Lord Heincroff?" She asked once again hesitantly. Aldwen lips creased warmly, a dashing smile that only an elf could pull off. "Another ale would please me. Thank you." He stated kindly, his tone a warm honey brushed over silk. The bar girl curtsied politely before scampering off for the mans order. His eyes returned to his drink, his practiced smile fading from his lips. His hand took the cool drink and placed it to his lips, pouring it down his mouth until the chalice was dry. He set the cup down, shivering from the tingle of chilled ale working through his veins.

The time of the Death God's would be any day now. Aldwen could hardly stifle his hate fueled excitement.

Markus dropped into his bed after another day of work. Taking a glance at the Sign he contemplated the events that had led him to the present moment.

"Markus!! Get down here, We've got business to discuss." Markus left the half sleep he often had on his days off when Master Torren called him. Markus got up and began his morning routine. First he wiped his eyes clear and ran a wet rag over his face. With this done he began a stretching routine. First he moved each joint though the full range of it motion. Then whispering a simple light spell he moved though a series of motions that focused his thoughts and moved the wisp of light by pushing and pulling with his power, changing the color of light to match each motion. Markus then let out a yawn and began to think. As he went down into the cellar where Master Torren kept his office Markus wondered what the master wanted him for on his day off.

Coming out of his thought Markus stood up and picked up a pine branch before Leaving the 'Armory of Heroes Past' the weapon shop in which he now worked. As the Aura of the weapons faded behind Markus Looked over the stick he carried with him.

His master had called him that day in order to explain the next phase of his training. Markus was to study under a Spell-sword friend of Master Torren. Lady Analisse, The Masters Friend worked as an appraiser in a used weapon shop. She was to teach him how to recognize magical weapons and of which variety they were. Enchanted weapons were valuable, but fragile, When the weapon became to damaged it would simply shatter. Master work Enchanted weapons might last so long that they turned to dust. Demon blades are blades which became seeped in darker magic though years of killing, These weapons are difficult to destroy but are unreliable. Seeming to have a mind of their own the blades are only as effective as they choose to be. Soul blades were the product of Markus'es own craft, a blade slowly turned magical though care and use guided by a skilled mage.

Markus Arrived at the Guardsman academy. Part of his training under Lady Analisse was the study of swordplay. Not just in how to handle a sword but in why any given sword was used with a given style of swordsmanship. Markus took a Loose stance as he walked into a game of 'Taps'

Markus had first played taps when he was eleven. The sport was a sort of reverse tag. One player was the Defender. All of the other players would try to score taps off of the Defender. If anyone succeeded they were the Defender for the next round. The game was played so long as there were enough players or until The Defender managed to score a tap off of every other player. Any player that was tapped had to drop to the ground, 'dead' until the round ended.

Zaiabel Ircha gazed towards the gates of Linnestrad from the outlying forest. The middle-aged Vor'teksi woman knew she would not be able to simply waltz into the city. It was too well-defended. Well, that was why she had slowly but surely traveled here over the past year. This was a large city where one might be able to glean useful information about the first sightings of the Death Gods. This area was much closer to the usual “danger zone” than far north, in the mountains of Trabistad, where she had spent her late childhood and early adulthood, learning a small fraction of the arcane arts.

The young woman sat under a tree, senses always alert lest someone unscrupulous find her. Today was a day of mourning and thought, for her tutor, Master Rolik, had died exactly one ann'uma (year) ago to the day. It was the tradition of her people to remember dead loved ones, if only for a few moments, on the anniversary of their death, but she knew that her teacher would want her to focus on the task at hand first. And right now, the task at hand was to find a way into that city.

She needed a place to sleep, for the night, to regain her strength, and to gather as much information as possible. The healer was unsure if word of her deeds and abilities had reached Linnestrad yet, but for a city under such tight watch, her burgeoning reputation would do her little good anyway. Using her powers of stealth, she could scale the walls at dusk, but frankly that sounded like more work than was truly needed. The gate was opened when a nobleman and his or her party arrived home from a journey for shelter.

“How convenient,” the young mage muttered, for that very occurrence was happening right this very minute. Quickly, Zaiabel gathered up her pack and turned herself invisible, concentrating on her surroundings so that light bent around her instead of reflecting off of her body. Smirking a bit, though no one could see it, she calmly jogged up to the carriage as the gate dropped, and strode in behind it. Much easier than having to talk my way in, she thought wryly.

Once she was inside the inner city gates, she took a left, winding through the busy streets, still concealed, until she found a deserted back alleyway. Only then did the traveler come out of hiding and show herself, walking out into the main streets as though she belonged. Her dark gray, nearly black, skin and pointed ears were certainly conspicuous in this city of man, but her people were known to be a friendly race. The Vor'teksi were a private people, but not ominously secretive, and friendly to outsiders, so Zaia knew that her appearance would be unlikely to garner much suspicion. Surely, the most she would receive is strange looks.

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Disciple Cain Chapter 1 - A Spirit

"Young lad... Mmm," a weak but warm voice called out to Mathras. In the middle of a cobblestone streetway curving down a small hill, an old man sat upon the raised steps just outside what looked like a two-storied home (the town was evidently focused on compartmentalization, and had many stacked buildings linked to each other). His arms rested on a gnarled cane and his white beard barely touched the folds of his brown coat upon his lap. His lips were curled up and his eyes narrowed in the presence of the chilling winds. The door to what was presumably his own home was ajar, and inside the smell of burning firewood made its way out. What he was doing outside on such a cold day when the fire burned inside was a mystery.

The man raised a hand and slowly beckoned Mathras to come sit over beside him upon the stone steps, patting it gently. The old man was obviously staring deeply into Mathras attire and equipment, likely one of the more extravagant collections in the sparse village. Most individuals wore darkened clothes of leather, fur, or thick cloth. Barely a whisper of fantastic designs peeped on the streets. So far from Brevnir, few nobles or those of wealthy birth and stature frequented the base of the two mountains. It was either too cold, too remote, or too cloudy to enjoy anything about it. The northern kingdom of Aruleus however, would likely have said otherwise. It was likely that reason that the town generally associated more economically and socially with Aruleus than Brevnir.

The old man waved for Mathras a few more times, just to be sure he either noticed his invitation to sit and converse or was comfortable with the idea.

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Silux Chapter 1 - Strange Nobles

With every step Raheu took, the sound was seemingly echoed in the distance with another, far larger footstep. One uncaring of the jungle's thick vegetation and driven in direction. The very ground shook with greater and greater magnitude the closer he got. The trees cried and the birds shrieked in fear, flying away with a cacophony of furious chirping. Within minutes the Kwandan prince was just yards away, and the leaves upon the ground quite literally pulsed with every step of the unknown entities march. From behind a veil of vines, branches, and leaves, a giant of gold emerged standing well over three times Raheu's height. Clad in shimmering plated armor adorned with countless engravings and symbols, it looked down upon Raheu from behind a full helmet. For any creature of the Heartland Jungle, the sight of a mountain giant clad in the armor of a noble would have turned heads away and sent them running. but it displayed no signs of violent intent, despite the massive halberd and shield it carried.

"W-why did you s-stop?" emerged a second entity by way of voice alone. Though the newcomer had yet to make itself visible, its voice was obviously not the giant's; it was far too small and feminine (not to mention too close to the ground) to be the golden giant. A large leaf was swept aside to uncover the second individual, a human woman adorned with equally grandiose white armor. She stopped and held her sword up just slightly, not quite in a fully prepared position. Raheu appeared intelligent enough from a glance that neither (especially the giant) felt no danger.

"H-hello there," greeted the woman, her voice stuttering though her face lacked any expression of fear.

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Inara Chapter 1 - The Sacrifice

Unfortunately for Zaia, walking out an alleyway and being so uncommon a race never sat well with the human guards. The paranoia was so rampant, even the common bandits, thugs, and otherwise shady characters native to Brevnir knew it wise to stay away from dark corners and underground passages. The king was far too worried to allow any mercy to those who furthered the fears of the citizens during a time of crisis.

"Hey! You!" shouted a voice from down the street that Zaia had just entered. All at once, several citizens turned to look at Zaia, knowing themselves to be quite innocent and perfectly inconspicuous; who else besides the Vor'Teski could the guard have indicated? Clad in full steel armor and a flowing red cape, the guard was obviously no simple city watchman. With such expensive equipment, he was likely one of the higher knights ordered to further the numbers of military presence in the city. It wouldn't have been a bad assumption to think he wasn't in a pleasant mood considering the lower job he had been assigned to.

The guard thankfully did not take out any sort of weapon, so that at least was a good indication that he did not mean to harm Zaia (if he even could do such a thing). But his tone certainly did not convey one of anything other than disturbance and severity.

Mathras turned over his left hand to reveal the scarred palm to himself, 'It's the last thing I need... I don't expect a single bit of this journey to be simple or easy,' Mathras closed his fingers over his palm and clenched it into a fist, 'There may be something to pick up along the way... I don't have everything I need to have or know in order to be fully prepared for the...'

It should've come as a realization to Mathras earlier that even just his robes with its markings would be considered out of place compared to the rest of the town that dressed in more simple clothing, but since literally everything he carried was a necessity it was hardly something he worried about to begin with.

Even as Mathras was deeply absorbed in his own thoughts of the flower, the voice calling to him pulled him out of his daze and opened his eyes a little more. He came to a sudden, complete stop and found the source. A look of puzzlement came across Mathras' face-- he was a stranger in this town, and there were none he could call friend, yet another stranger was inviting him to sit? Mathras peered over either shoulder to be sure there was no one else around to respond to his calling. As he turned back, Mathras narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in question, but as it seemed everyone else went on about their daily lives and the old man once again gestured to him... he was left to assume that the old man meant for him.

It was morning in Mistleteinn and there were still many hours left in the day, and beside that there was hardly any harm in a slight diversion, so Mathras gave a short nod and ambled over to the steps. Mathras successfully held back a chuckle, but it didn't keep a smirk from appearing on his face "You have a very interesting conception of 'Young', sir. Is there... something you wish to speak of to me?"

Rahëú was stopped in his tracks rather suddenly, grinding to a halt among the crisp undergrowth, throwing up small wisps of dust as his huge mass slowed; he took several small jumps to reduce his speed. It was not often he stopped himself mid-run, but this circumstance was special, as his target was close. Closer than he first anticipated.
The heavy thudding he could feel through the ground had become far more prominent in the latter minute of traversing the jungle floor, as did the strange metallic scent that seemingly accompanied. The Emerald Wall was not often host to anomalies such as this - Rahëú had thought he knew the jungle like the back of his own hand, knowing the intricacies of every creature it played home to, and the fastest way through the flora. But this... This was uttely alien, and it unsettled him.

He took a moment to take a heavy breath, before slowly turning and scanning the surroundings with his hawk-like eyes. He knew the area almost instantly, and could visualise every nook and cranny and hiding spot there was. If those Humans from Brevnir had tried to make another incursion, he would have every possible means to dispatch their worthless hides.

However prepared he was for Human warriors, he was not anticipating the Gold-Plated Giant to erupt from a paticularly dense patch of vinery.
The movement itself was almost enough to throw Rahëú off balance as small bits of shredded flora were cast outwards as the mysterious creature moved, ripping apart plants and trees it collided with.

He stood firm, however, and placed a reassuring hand on his weapon as the Golem slowed pace, eventually standing only several feet from him, and towering even the Kwanda Ghoststalker.
The Golem-creature was not what suprised the Hunter, though. He was experienced in hunting game far bigger than himself and was confident in his ability to confront the mechanised creature. He stared into the sockets where the eyes would be with confidence only a Kwanda warrior could have. If he were any less stoic, and arrogant grin would have crept across his face.

No - it was not the Golem, but the Girl.

From behind the towering animate was something unusual. A Human female.
The fragile creature was little more than waist height. It made a few incomprehensible ell-o noises as he started towards her with a slow stride, picking up her scent as he went.

"Káh' üńrá śéi" Stop, little one Rahëú demanded with an undertone of aggressive assertiveness.

The giant noticed his slow approach and lifted his halberd a mere few feet before slamming it down where it had just rested, indicating to the Kwandan that he take no further step forward. The girl had jumped herself at the noise; it was a mere few inches away from her very body, after all. She turned her attention back to Rahëú and gripped her sword a bit more, but held it at her side instead.

With her free hand, she made a few gestures, all of which were an attempt to get Raheu to stay in place. "No h-harm." she stuttered, though she had a hunch this individual knew little of her own language. Gesturing to herself and the giant, she spoke out slowly.

"Looking f-for Kwanda Ghostlord?" The two awaited his response, she herself nearly leaning forward and gazing at the Kwandan as if to open her ears. If he did speak any of her language, it'd likely be broken or distorted, and she would need to focus to comprehend.

Rahëú had snarled at the protective giant that was apparently safeguarding the girl. She was little more than the size of a Kwanda child, but she still presisted in standing up to his imposing stature.

The creature was making more curious noises. Maybe even phrases. He took a moment or two to simply consider what such noises actually meant, though it took him a moment longer to decipher that they were actually filthy words of the common tongue. Rahëú always considered it such an unrefined language in comparison to Ghöækhálla.

Though for all the uncertainty, the Kwanda did make out one word among the salvo of incomprehensible slurs that the girl regarded as words: 'Ghostlord'.
That was what they called his father. His title was Ghostlord. Rahëú could only infer she had business with the great Arlön, and for that, he pitied her. The Ghostlord did not take kindly to outsiders ever since the attempted assassination twenty-four years previous, especially now that the time of the Death Gods was drawing ever nearer.

Rahëú pursed his lips, and bobbed his head forward, before forming some strange characters in his mouth.

"Yoo," he struggled. "See", heavily accented, tapping on his eyelid. "Arlön?"

The giant cut in himself, responding with a resounding and leaf-shaking "Yes. We seek Arlön Ghostlord for peace." It was quite a bit more complicated than that, but the giant kept his words to a minimum.

Rahëú was weary of the pair. Why did the girl need such a large companion, and what business did she have with Arlön? There were questions in his head that he would have liked answers to, though it was not his place to find those answers.

He cocked his head slightly, and thinned his eyes until the slit pupil was the only visible aspect.

He held out his hand to the girl, implying that she should place hers into his palm.

The giant's armor creaked over itself as he leaned over and gripped the halberd tightly, eyeing both Rahëú's hand and the knightess. She hesitated, looking into Rahëú's eyes for a moment, judging his character. With such a formidable creature as an armored giant by her side, she figured she was about as safe could be. She extended her hand over his, and awaited for him to act. Was it to lead her? She managed to get through the jungle thus far, so it would seem unecessary for her to have a tertiary guide.

Rahëú watched with curiosity as she placed her hand into his, which dwarfed her own. Either she was being compliant, or she did not know what followed in Kwanda tradition upon meeting new individuals.
He suddenly gripped her arm tight, but not with such vice that she would be damaged. From the corner of his eye he could see the Golem engage and begin to move. he was aware this had to be done fast.

He quickly reached to his hunting belt with his free hand and withdrew a small skinning knife, which he brought around to the girls hand with stunning elegance, placing it upon her gloved hand with some pressure.

"Caarm", he forced once again, as if his words would at all ease her mind.

He quickly pushed the tip of the blade through the glove material, penetrating her skin very lightly. Not enough to cause significant damage, but enough to tip the blade with a streak of her blood.

"Ow!" the girl cried out, trying to retract her arm from his grip. The giant had immediately begun to raise his halberd, skilled, precise, and confident enough that his strike would evade the knightess and strictly cleave the Kwandan in two halves. But she quickly shouted up to him before he could fully prepare, reassuring her safety.

"R-records say they h-have many strange rituals. I'm f-fine, let us follow."

Rahëú swiftly withdrew the blade from the cut in the girl's glove and ran his tongue along the flat of the knife, tasting her blood.
He took a second before releasing her from his gentle grip. Her blood was pure.
He immediately turned, ignoring the Golem, and began to walk back from whence he had come.

"Kúés", he shouted back, catching the attention of the Human and the Golem.

He rolled his eyes momentarily as he realised she did not understand.

"Com"

The giant lowered his weapon and picked up his resting shield from the ground with a great heave, as the metal protection had begun to sink into the dirt under its own weight. The knightess clasped the top of her hand, occasionally wiping it clean of the blood that seeped forth, and proceeded after Rahëú.

Zaia knew fully well he well-dressed guard was addressing her. She sighed slightly. Ma-da...So much for an inconspicuous entry. Years of stealth training thwarted by a bit of paranoid xenophobia, she thought, trying to give as innocent an expression as possible. Neither she nor Rolik had anticipated this kind of problem. The Vor'teksi had no major enemies, and it was usually not uncommon for the more adventurous of them to travel through towns occupied by Man. She was no great illusionist, certainly not enough to make her appearance that of a human. Turning invisible again was not an option, she feared that she would merely cause more of a panic, distracting the guards from protecting the city against Death Gods and preventing herself from gaining the information she needed. No, the rather shy woman was going to have to put on a brave face and talk her way out of this. Zaiabel took on a grandiose demeanor, hoping that her burgeoning reputation preceded her. Over the years, she had learned that every confrontational interaction could be seen as a power play. Often, just acting like you were important and knew what you were doing would convince people that you did.

“Thank you for greeting me, good Sir. I assume you have come to give me a proper welcome to your city? I appreciate your kindness,” the actress of necessity began, feeling rather foolish, for she was usually a more humble woman. She stepped forward, marching towards the guard purposefully, and of course choosing to ignore his borderline hostile tone. “I, Master Healer Zaiabel Ircha, have chosen to grace your great city with my presence.” So much for staying inconspicuous, she thought. But better to be overly noticed than in the town jail.

“I have come to generously offer my services to assist in the protection of Linnestrad, Brevnis in the upcoming onslaught of the Death Gods. I assume you have come to lead me to your superior?” Bowing to the man, she stood around 2 meters away now, standing up straight as she awaited a response. Zaiabel was only half bluffing. She knew that she held a reputation as a kind healer, but that had only begun in the past year when she began to travel to this area. Furthermore, most of her work had been done in the small towns, without the use of such a needlessly grandiose title.