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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Seventeen: A Fistful Of Vasariks, Pt. 1

“Still looking for her?"

Valan turns his head, glancing back at Irzain. The older human sits beside him at the bar of the combined inn and restaurant. With a warm smile shrouded by his growing beard, Irzain seems simultaneously curious and disinterested. Is he truly concerned for Valan, whose heart was broken by Merna only hours earlier? Perhaps he's merely confirming his suspicions; the younger gunman has, in fact, spent the last hour simply viewing the room and repeatedly looking toward the front door. It'd be hard to ignore his swiveling head, and the discomfort he seems to have as he sits atop the bar stool.

“I, uh..."

“She's not here." Steingar remarks, sipping his drink.

Irzain raises a brow, leaning forward and looking past Valan, at the Helngar who sits on his other side.

“How do you know that?"

“Every time he had a piece of her, I could smell her throughout the ship. I got real familiar with her scent, before and after he'd wafted it around." Steingar chuckles. “She had a sweet smelling pu-"

“Shut up..." Valan growls.

“Hey, I'm only complimenting your taste! As far as animals are concerned, you were screwing one of the best-looking ones. I'd have plowed her field in a heartbeat, if I had the chance." Steingar smirks.

“Shut up." Valan increases his volume.

“I'd do Jarae, too; she's just as attractive. It's a shame she seems so hung up on you, though... Were you screwing her too?! Is that why she looked so upset when you swapped animals?" Steingar teases him.

“Shut up, you son of a bitch, before I make you!"

With a raised brow, Steingar appears surprised. He turns his glowing, golden eyes toward the human as he slowly shifts atop the stool. Valan glares so angrily, his hand tremoring from his rage as he squeezes the pewter mug. Realizing that the human is not amused, the Helngar can see his companion's disgust and contempt. He rests a forearm atop the counter and leans closer to Valan, narrowing his eyes.

“That sounds like a threat." Steingar snickers.

“I don't make threats..."

Steingar's amusement melts away. He stares blankly at the smaller, inferior human.

“You're going to want to watch your tone..."

“I'll watch your brains spill onto the floor, if you talk like that again!" Valan sternly warns.

“I'm just trying to cheer you up, you stupid human!"

“With insults?!"

“With jokes... At least they weren't at your expense!"

“Those didn't sound like jokes, and even if they were, I'm in no mood for them."

“In the military, we'd-"

“This isn't the military, you inconsiderate prick; I'm not one of your soldier buddies!" Valan yells.

“Hey, relax, you two." Irzain remarks.

“I've noticed. You're weak and emotional... Like a woman." Steingar snaps back, ignoring the older human.

“I'll kill you like a man!" Valan stands to his feet, throwing the stool backward.

“I'd like to see you try." Steingar casually rises to his feet. “Leave those pistols where they are and fight me like a man. See how far you get."

“Hey, hey, hey! We've got enough killing going on in this town! If you two want to fight, take it outside... I'm tired of mopping up my floor." The barkeep snarls.

“Nobody's killing anyone." Irzain steps between the pair. “They're just talking. That's all that's happening here, right?!"

Irzain looks between the two men, glancing at the towering Helngar and then at the human of average height. Valan and Steingar both turn their attention toward him. Steingar sits back down, while Valan sighs, leans over and picks up his stool, which lay on its side on the floor. He sets it upright, before stealing Irzain's seat, leaving an empty space between himself and Steingar.

“See? Everything's alright." Irzain says, taking a seat on Valan's former stool.

“Good. See that it stays that way, or I'll kill you all myself and blame it on one of the families." The barkeep grumbles.

Irzain furls his brow and cocks his head. His curiosity takes over, swiftly claiming control over him.

“Families?"

“Yeah. The Brakas and the Romos. They've been at each other's throats for some time now, and it's finally begun to spill over. For the past few months, they've been murdering each other, about one every week or so; sometimes it's two."

“That's awful!" Irzain exclaims.

“Sounds like free entertainment to me." Steingar murmurs.

“I wonder why they're doing that." Irzain thinks aloud.

“Who knows. Rich people do all sorts of odd things."

“You can say that again." Valan murmurs, recalling the murderous Vizheki brothers from the island of Parak.

“Who are these families?" Irzain prods.

“The Brakas are a family of humans, with a few Falmun whores for wives, and a half-breed daughter. They live in the wooden manor on the west side of town, not far from here, and are led by Mozafia Braka, the family matriarch. The Romos are three wealthy Falmun, all brothers. They're led by Gozik, but Rokig, the youngest brother, is their muscle. Elium, the middle brother, is about as close to amicable as you'll find. They live in their stone manor on the east side."

“A handful of brothers are fighting an entire family?" Steingar raises a brow.

“Well, the Brakas are a small family, and the Romos have a gang. As much money as their father and grandfather made in the silk and spice trade, they can afford that small army of theirs. Speaking of afford, you owe me five vasariks, for the drinks and food."

“We aren't leaving yet." Irzain remarks.

“I prefer my money up front, before one of you gets killed and can no longer pay me." The barkeep smirks.

“Fair enough."

Irzain and Steingar look toward Valan, who holds the remnants of their currency. Opening a coin purse that he hangs on his belt, Valan's eyes widen. With pursed lips and a raised brow, he takes out a single, silver coin. While worth twice their bill, Valan is hesitant to part with the coin. After a short pause, he presents it to the barkeep, who quickly swipes the coin from his grasp.

“Would you like your change, or are you staying?"

“Change, please. We'll be leaving soon."

“Right away."

The bartender departs, heading for a back room. Steingar and Irzain glance at the cloth that covers the archway to the back room, before shifting their gaze toward the gunman.

“What's wrong?" Irzain whispers.

“That was our last coin..."

“So? We've got the box on the ship." Steingar quietly remarks, raising his mug.

“That box is very empty... We're broke." Valan replies.

Steingar's eyes widen as he sits frozen to his stool. Glancing toward his half-filled mug, he takes a deep breath through his nose, before exhaling swiftly through his mouth. Tilting his head back, Steingar pours his ale down his throat, guzzling his drink.

“Easy. You're supposed to taste it." Irzain quips.

“Ahhh..." Steingar sets the mug down and wipes his lips. “Well... Now what?"

“We can't go sailing around with just our good intentions. We need money." Valan replies.

Taking a breath, Steingar swiftly holds his tongue as the barkeep returns from the back room. He hands Valan a series of copper vasariks, his change for their meals and drinks, then returns to the far end of the bar to cater to the only other customers.

“Why is it so important? We'll make it to Bremen as-is." Irzain interjects.

“Hey, this isn't all about you. The rest of us don't have any plans after you finally figure out who you are. I doubt you're a rich merchant, not with that price on your head; we have to fend for ourselves." Valan speaks quietly to his compatriots.

“He's right, for once. If we don't secure our own fortunes, we're going to be destitute and directionless whenever you sort yourself out." Steingar softly adds.

“Well... What if we took jobs? Maybe we could hire ourselves out, like Valan did for Della's family?" Irzain shrugs his shoulders.

Steingar raises a brow, pondering the possibility. Looking between his companions, Irzain can see that Valan looks equally intrigued. He runs his fingers through his long goatee, sharing an almost identical look as Steingar's.

“There's a lot of coin to be made here. Two wealthy families would pay handsomely for efficient goons." Steingar remarks.

“Which would you join?" Valan wonders.

“Both."

“What?" Irzain chuckles.

“Both!" Steingar reiterates. “We could each join one, feed misinformation, and milk them for our services before leaving."

“Woah! That sounds like a very bad idea." A horrified Irzain interjects.

“Is it? They seem to have the vasariks to spare."

To Irzain's surprise, both men begin a dialogue, debating the best ways to con the feuding families. His shock only grows when Valan moves from his chair, passes Irzain and sits beside Steingar, visibly intrigued by the prospect.

“I don't think we should do this. Maybe we should just go? We can find work at the next island." Irzain attempts to interrupt them.

Neither of his companions pays him any attention. Realizing that they're deadly serious, the older human rises from his stool and heads for the door, taking a moment to glance back at the conspiring gunman and the Helngar warrior. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Irzain leaves the inn, heading through the dead of night and back to the Arona-Dahl. The ship, moored in the harbor, is some distance away, and so he moves through the darkness with great haste. The middle-aged man starts with a fast walk, before lightly jogging, then sprinting as fast as he can. Not being the most athletic of men, and older than his companions, he's swiftly winded.

While traversing a large square, he passes by a fountain. The clear water of the circular, artificial pond, glistens in the moonlight. It's a surprisingly serene scene, and serves to calm his frazzled nerves. They've walked some distance into the city before they found that inn and restaurant, and he still has a half-mile to walk before he reaches the harbor. With long and labored breaths, Irzain sits atop the brick wall of the fountain. He dips a hand into the shimmering water, before wiping his hand over his face, diluting his beads of sweat that form on his forehead. His racing heart begins to slow, and he feels his muscles regaining their strength.

Sitting at the fountain, before a large, wooden manor, Irzain admires the view of the full moon. It's a clear night, a cloudless night, and the air has a fragrant aroma. Sweet grass, perhaps? He takes the time to ponder the scent, enjoying the rest, in the solitude of the darkened streets. From the corner of his eye, he sees something unusual. Pausing, he turns his head away from the vibrance of the moon, looking toward the movement in the distance. He's surprised to see a figure emerging from a window, high up on the manor. It's the third floor, and the being moves with startling grace and speed.

Jumping down from a balcony, their boots make a very faint thump as they land in a squat, grasping the curved, reddish roof tiles with their hands. Turning their head, the being is well aware that they're being watched. Irzain quickly recognizes the shimmering, blue eyes of the person escaping through the window. Unaffected by the witness to their act, which is likely a nefarious one, the shadowed being moves along the second story rooftop, before leaping from the structure, landing atop a tall, brick wall that surrounds the manor, and then leaping into the darkness of the streets below. They disappear into the night, in a matter of seconds.

“Not you, too." He murmurs to himself.

With his strength regained, Irzain continues to run. He keeps his eyes peeled, but never sees the shadowy figure with shimmering, blue-eyes, nor does he see anyone else on the streets for that matter. The town seems void of all life, even pickpockets and robbers. Eventually reaching the harbor, Irzain darts across the gangplank and boards the Arona-Dahl. With a balled fist, he bangs on Trellan's cabin door. He pauses, waiting for an answer, then bangs again. Mid-way through a strike, the door's latch clicks and grinds as it's moved out of place; the wooden barrier is swiftly pulled open by the old Vizhek.

“What is it?" Trellan sleepily asks.

“Steingar and Valan."

“What now?" The old elf sighs.

“They're going to get themselves into trouble. We need to-"

“I'll deal with it in the morning. Goodnight."

Trellan shuts the door in his face. Blinking from surprise, Irzain takes a step back. He leans to one side, peeking into the window of the cabin. Seeing this, Trellan turns his head, rolls his eyes in frustration, then reaches out and pulls the curtains across the glass. Moving slowly away from the door, Irzain is disheartened. As close as Steingar and Trellan seem to be, he didn't expect such a cold reaction from the old elf. Making his way to the watertight hatch, Irzain heads below deck, looking for the women of their crew. Poking his head into the lounge, he sees Mairlynn and Jarae.

Leaning back, Jarae's eyes are closed as she rests her head against the wall of the dining booth, her beautiful, shapely body tucked near the corner. Mairlynn holds a wooden bowl to her lips, drinking the last of her soup. With a delighted sigh, she sets the bowl down and leans back. Glancing to her left, the Falmun's ruby eyes scan Jarae, who relaxes in the corner within arm's reach of her.

“You look comfortable." Mairlynn remarks.

“It's so nice to be able to relax, without hearing those animals keeping themselves busy." Jarae replies with a relieved sigh.

“I kind of liked it." The dainty Falmun remarks.

“You would." The Jaliscan snickers.

“Hey." Irzain interrupts.

“Hi! You're back!" Mairlynn chirps, slithering out of the booth. “Did you want some company?!"

“Here we go." Jarae murmurs, a little smirk on her face.

“No. It's Valan and Steingar."

“What's wrong?!" Jarae sits up, immediately giving Irzain her full attention.

“I think they're about to get themselves into trouble."

A door opens and closes in the background; Irzain glances over his shoulder, seeing Kirsta emerging from her cabin.

“What're they doing?!" Jarae slides out of the booth, visibly concerned.

“We were having dinner at an inn we'd found, and they got into a fight. They-"

“With who?!" Jarae interrupts him.

“With each other..."

“By the Seraphs. Is he hurt?"

“Who?" Irzain asks.

“Valan. Who else?! ... Stupid human, picking fights with a Helngar. What is he thinking?" She grumbles.

“Well, no. The barkeep at the inn's restaurant broke it up before anything happened, and we learned something about this town. There are two wealth families here, fighting with each other."

“Sounds like every town of every island." Kirsta remarks, now standing behind Irzain.

“Yeah, this isn't really news." Mairlynn remarks.

“You don't get it. Steingar and Valan want to help them; they want to hire themselves out and con both of the families." Irzain explains.

“Why?!" Mairlynn chuckles.

“Valan told us that we're broke... They thought they could make some quick vasariks."

“By the Seraphs, that stupid human..." Jarae growls under her breath.

“Huh... I think it's pretty clever!" Kirsta chirps.

“I hope they do well." Mairlynn casually remarks.

“You're... Not worried?" A perplexed Irzain raises a brow.

“Steingar is a bloodforge, and Valan is Valan. Have you seen his inventions? They'll be fine." Mairlynn assures him, dismissively waving a hand.

“Yeah, you made this sound like an actual emergency." Kirsta adds.

Pushing past Irzain, Kirsta makes her way toward the galley. Mairlynn returns to the dining booth, while Jarae looks pensively toward the window, peering into the darkness as if deep in thought.

“But what if they-"

“They're not going to do anything tonight." Kirsta interrupts him. “It's likely no one would even be awake to hire them. We can see what they're up to in the morning. Get some sleep; we'll deal with this after sun-up."

Shifting his focus onto Jarae, she finally acknowledges the older human, turning her head and locking her eyes onto his.

“Aren't you the least bit concerned? Don't you care what happens to them? ... To him?" He quietly pleads with her.

Turning her eyes away once more, she looks down at her own feet.

“Valan and Steingar aren't my concern. If that dumb human wants to get himself hurt over some coins, th-that's... That's his fault."

With an angry scowl, she pushes past him. Dumbstruck, Irzain can't understand how everyone can react to the news so casually. Even Jarae, who's visibly concerned, doesn't seem willing to do anything to prevent Valan and Steingar from endangering themselves. Turning toward the cabins, Irzain watches the hall from the archway of the lounge. Behind him, Kirsta prepares a snack, while Mairlynn pours herself a goblet of wine. Jarae enters her cabin, leaving the door open. After a moment, he decides to head to his own cabin. What more is there for him to do? As he reaches his own door, Jarae emerges, slinging a satchel over her shoulder and closing her cabin door.

“Where're you going?" He asks her, standing in his doorway.

“Out..." She grumbles.

After racing up the stairs to the main deck, he hears the watertight hatch slamming closed. Unsure of what else to do, and with everyone seemingly unconcerned about Steingar and Valan's plan, Irzain retreats to his cabin. With the door closed and latched, he sits atop his cot and slips off his boots, then slowly removes his clothing. He cannot help but be bothered by the turn of events. Does he really wish to be a part of a crew that's so unconcerned with each other's well-being? Looking toward the porthole, he stares into the blackness of the night. Perhaps they're right? Morning might reveal more than the sun; things might be better.

Lying down to sleep, he takes a moment before he feels the familiar shroud of exhaustion overcoming him. Listening to the subtle creaks, and feeling the rocking of the ship, he drifts into a deep slumber.

“What're we going to do, my love?"

Opening his eyes in his dream, Irzain lay in a fancy bed, naked and with his lover, Naoma, by his side. Tucked beneath an arm, her long legs reach to the end of the expensive and comfortable mattress. Though she's easily a head taller than him, the Helngarian woman enjoys being eye level with her human lover. He turns his head, staring into her glowing, blue spheres. Her brow is softened; fear overcomes her. She rests a clawed hand atop his chest, shivering as if from a cold breeze, but he knows that it's from the fear of what is to come. Why can't he remember? In his dream, he knows why she worries, but when he wakes, he can never recall the catalyst for their plight.

“Don't worry, Naoma. We're going to be fine."

“How do you know?" She sheepishly asks.

“I just do." He speaks softly, stroking her muzzle and trying to comfort her.

“Do you have a plan?"

Leaning in, Irzain gives her a passionate kiss on her lips, feeling the soft, purple and black fur of her body pressing against his flesh.

“Of course. I'll charter a ship to take all of us away from here."

“From where?!" She asks, her voice quivering.

“Hey, hey." He speaks even softer, pulling at her in their embrace. “It'll be okay. I'll go to a nearby island, find a ship willing to explore, and bring them here."

“But when they see an island where there shouldn't be one, won't they-?"

“Let me worry about that, Pumpkin. We're going to be alright. I'd rather die than lose you."

“Me too." Naoma faintly smiles, resting her head on his chest.

“We'll make it through this."

Kissing her head, her long, tapering tail begins to sway. She nuzzles his chest with her snout, smelling his scent. Irzain feels a warmth in his heart, unlike any other. As he allows his head to rest atop the pillow, his fingers gliding through the fur of her shoulder; he wishes for this moment to last forever. Unfortunately, regardless of what he's told his beloved, Irzain has a fear growing in the pit of his stomach. He knows that danger is coming, and he must do all that he can to protect what's his. Awakening from the dream, Irzain sits up on his cot. He turns his eyes toward the porthole; it's day.

How late did he sleep? Rising from his cot, he makes his way toward his pile of clothes, beside the wash basin that he uses every morning. After cleaning himself with a damp rag, he dresses and slips on his boots, then leaves his cabin and heads for the lounge. There, he finds the crew inside, with the notable exceptions of Steingar, Valan, Jarae and Mairlynn. Entering the lounge, Irzain takes a seat beside Kirsta, who wishes him a good morning. Beside her, and in the corner of the booth, sits Trellan, who sips tea from his favorite china.

“Breakfast!" A voice chirps.

Mairlynn enters the lounge from the attached galley, holding a platter of food and wearing a chef's hat that's too large for her. She sets the platter down atop the table, before sliding into the booth, right beside Irzain.

“Good morning!" She chirps, looking up at him.

“Hi. Someone's chipper today." Irzain replies, taking a bread roll from the platter.

“I have a good feeling about this morning." She replies, leaning over him.

She reaches for something on the platter, but struggles to reach the far end.

“Rrrr, too far!"

“Here. Let me get that." Irzain says as he reaches over.

“No! I can do it!" She swiftly and proudly proclaims.

Pushing herself up and over, Mairlynn plants herself firmly atop Irzain's lap. She forces her little butt into him as she leans over, gently and unnecessarily swiveling her hips. Irzain flushes as he feels her grinding against his manhood, her small fingers grasping a banana at the far end. Sitting upright and staying atop his lap, she shifts and pushes a shoulder into his chest. Not quite eye level with the human, the dainty Falmun holds up the banana, smiling innocently as she strokes it with her fingertips.

“You can eat that at any time." Trellan says with an amused grin.

“I like savoring my bananas. I want them to last as long as possible." Mairlynn coos.

“Who doesn't?" Kirsta chuckles.

With his face as red as a beet, Irzain averts his eyes from the diminutive elven woman. Though he knows that she's an adult, she simply appears too young, and this entire scenario feels wrong. Aside from that, he feels a deeply rooted loyalty to Naoma, though he isn't sure where she is or if they're even still together. For all he knows, those memories could be quite old.

“What's the plan for today?" Mairlynn asks, slowly peeling the banana.

“Irzain was worried about Steingar and Valan. I suppose we can look for them; they never came back last night." Kirsta replies.

“Yes, and I haven't seen Jarae either." Trellan adds, dipping a roll into a saucer of melted butter, before eating it.

“Sounds like a plan."

Mairlynn opens her mouth and slowly inserts the banana, pausing only to briefly lick the tip, before wrapping her lips around it. With his face flushing, Irzain glances back at her, watching her for a moment. Mairlynn responds, giving the banana another lick, while rocking her hips once, grinding against him. Irzain responds by gently resting his hands upon the elf's hips. She shivers from his touch.

“I also worry for Steingar. He's young and hot-headed, but he's a good student; he was learning fast." Trellan remarks.

“I see." Irzain gives Mairlynn a little squeeze. “Then let's skip breakfast and find them!"

To Mairlynn's surprise and disappointment, Irzain gently pushes her off of his lap, while sliding himself in the opposite direction. She soon sits atop the bench of the booth, between Kirsta and Irzain. Finally free of the elf, the middle-aged human hastily slithers out of the dining booth, collects a few items from the platter, and rushes for the archway. Mairlynn sighs and slumps into her seat, turning her eyes toward Kirsta, whose amused grin taunts her.

“He took off like an arrow." The blonde human laughs.

“Shut up..."

“You should really find someone ashore; you aren't having good luck on my ship." Trellan casually remarks, sipping his tea.

“He wants it. He just doesn't know it yet." Mairlynn replies, a sinister little smile forming on her thin lips.

“Maybe that's why Steingar and Valan never came back? They wanted to escape her." Kirsta jokes with Trellan.

“Do you think that's where Jarae is? Hiding from our little elf?" Trellan laughs.

“I didn't think she was so desperate, but perhaps another woman is better than nothing?" Kirsta shrugs.

“You're mean!" Mairlynn whines.

“We're sorry." Kirsta chuckles.

“I'm not." Trellan murmurs.

“Well, we'd better catch up to him, before he gets lost or something." The human adds, motioning for Mairlynn to move.

Leaving the lounge with handfuls of food, the trio make their way to the main deck. As they emerge from below, Irzain looks back, watching them as they approach him.

“You're coming, too?!" Mairlynn asks Trellan with surprise.

“Sure. Why not?" The old Vizhek shrugs his shoulders.

“Alright. We're here. Lead the way, Irzain." Kirsta says, before taking a bite out of an aging apple.

Leading them away from the Arona-Dahl and through the harbor, Irzain retraces his steps. It isn't long before they find themselves traversing the town, heading towards the west side, where the inn is located. Reaching the familiar fountain, Irzain is intrigued to find that the water is now running. It trickles from the mouths of four lions, one for each direction, and which appear to be tamed by the mere presence of a Vizheki child. Armored Helngar protect the child, holding Helngarian sabers and spears. Standing and staring at the fountain, it somehow looks familiar. Suddenly and without warning, Irzain sees an image in his mind. It's a powerful and jarring sensation.

What's happening to him? His breathing hastens as he sees the flashes in his mind. Standing before a similarly designed fountain of running water, a rarity anywhere, Irzain looks down at a dead body. Lying near the base of the fountain, blood seeps from wounds made by firearms. In his mind's eye, he looks at the corpse, recognizing the dead man as the flies buzz around him, laying their eggs on his flesh. Tears stream down Irzain's face, and in his hand, he holds a note. It's a small scroll left for him by Naoma, though he doesn't recall the contents. All he knows is that he's failed to act quickly enough, and now he's paying the price.

“Irzain? Are you okay?" Mairlynn asks.

Leaning over, the human rests his hands on his knees and seems to struggle to breathe. He doesn't respond to the simple question, nor does he seem connected to reality. Mairlynn, Kirsta and Trellan all glance between each other, growing more and more concerned with each passing second. Kirsta moves in.

“Hey, snap out of it!" She yells, grabbing onto his shoulder.

“Huh?! Wha-?!" He swiftly turns his head toward her.

“What's wrong?" She asks.

“I-I... I don't know... I just... I saw something... Something in my head."

“Another memory?!" Mairlynn asks, with a hint of excitement.

“I don't know... I think so." He speaks softly, still reeling from the images.

“We'll worry about that later. Let's just find the others and get the hell out of here." Trellan urges them.

“Right. Come on, Irzain. Where to?" Kirsta asks.

“This way."

Moving away from the fountain and further down the cobblestone streets, their boots clack and tap on the stonework. After another three quarters of a mile, they find the street where the inn is located.

“Why would you walk so far to eat?" Kirsta can't help but ask.

“We were just walking around, exploring the town while we still had daylight. That was just the nearest place when we felt hungry." Irzain replies.

Finally reaching the inn, Irzain pauses. He turns back to the others.

“Maybe I should go in alone."

“Why?" Kirsta raises a brow.

“Well, they haven't seen you yet." Irzain explains.

“..."

“Maybe it would be better if fewer people knew we were together." Trellan finishes.

“Exactly!"

“Alright, whatever. We'll sit out here."

Grasping the latch of the door handle, the others hang back, moving toward a public bench, beside an unlit lamppost. He lifts the latch and steps inside, swiftly closing the door behind him and before anyone can see the others standing outside; the restaurant and bar, placed near the front door, is in full view as he enters the building.

“I don't know who or what you people are, but I don't want any part of it." The barkeep speaks, as soon as Irzain closes the front door.

“... I'm sorry?"

“You and your troublemaking friends. You all just stay out of my place, alright? I don't want to have to resort to violence."

“What're you talking about?"

“You don't know?!"

“Know what?" Irzain asks as he approaches the bar.

“Those two guys you were with. Aren't they your friends?"

“It's hard to tell, sometimes." Irzain answers, taking a seat atop an empty stool.

“Well, if you don't know what they're up to, then the answer is obvious." The barkeep murmurs, shaking his head.

“What'd they do?"

“They rented a room with two beds and stayed here, then in the morning, the human got into some kind of fight with some of the Romos; I'm not sure who started it, but him and two of their men had a little argument right outside my place. He pulled out those pistols of his and shot them from across the street! I'd never seen such an accurate shot! He was as good as an archer!" The barkeep regales as he pours a patron's drink. “I guess he was scared or something, because then he ran down the street, straight for the Braka's manor. Thinking back, I probably shouldn't have told him which one it was... Anyway, the Helngar who was with you saw what the human did and took off. It looked like he was going to the other side of town, probably to find the sheriff and his men. Too bad they all work for Bolum Braka, the Braka's patriarch."

“Huh... You didn't happen to see any Jaliscans come in here, did you?"

“Jaliscans?! No." The barkeep chuckles. “I don't think we even have any of those things on this island, thank the Seraphs."

Sitting on the bench, Mairlynn kicks at a few loose stones with her boots, while Kirsta stares into the sky, watching the clouds. Trellan leans against the lamppost, humming a little tune to himself. A door closes in the background, drawing their attention. Glancing back, they watch as Irzain leaves the inn, disappointment shrouding him like a thick fog.

“So? What's going on?" Kirsta asks.

“Valan killed two men working for one of the families then ran off, Steingar left, heading towards the other side of town, and no one has seen any Jaliscans here."

“What?!" Mairlynn gasps.

“Oh, damn..." Trellan sighs.

“The barkeep thought that maybe Valan was looking for the Braka's manor. He'd told him which one it was earlier last night. It's the one in front of that big fountain." Irzain continues.

Kirsta rests her face in her palm, covering her eyes and rubbing her temples with her fingertips and thumb.

“What are those idiots doing?" She mutters to herself.

Sitting in a chair in the darkened parlor, the ticking of the grandfather clock is the only audible sound in the room. The unnerving silence cuts into Valan, who sits somewhat nervously on the extravagantly carved and decorated, cherrywood chair. Across from him sits an older human, likely in his fifties, and certainly older than Irzain. With graying hair and crow's feet, the grizzled man's narrowed amber eyes stare intently at Valan. With the two, unloaded pistols in his hands, he'd spent the last ten minutes interrogating Valan, who came upon his gate in something of a panic.

Allowed entry and swiftly disarmed by the sheriff, who spends much of his time with his friend and employer, Bolum, the gunman was whisked into the manor. At first, few believed his story about killing two men who worked for the Romos family, in self-defense, of course. After all, who in their right mind would do such a risky thing as kill men working for the Romos? To their shock, however, two men working for the three brothers were indeed found dead in the streets. Nearby eyewitnesses were quick to point the finger at the human with two distinct pistols and equally distinct long, light-brown hair and a long goatee.

Seeing potential in the gunman, Bolum summoned his wife, Mozafia. As he'd heard, she makes all of the final decisions for their family, financial or otherwise; she often dominates her husband and his rule, though many, including Valan, suspect that he prefers it that way. As she'd been with their daughter when he called for her, the young woman also sits in on Valan's interrogation, in a chair across the room. Valan was quite stunned by Mozafia's beauty. She's picture perfect, even for her age of sixty; this is barely middle-aged for a Falmun, who often reach one-hundred and twenty years old. The Falmun don't often wear their age as visibly as humans do.

Valan was only further dumbstruck when the Braka's daughter entered, right behind her mother. As a half-breed, part human and part Falmun, she's a pale creature, with long, ruby red hair that runs nearly to her waist, and reddish-pink eyes which stare intently at the older human. Her ears, however, appear human. Standing five-feet and five-inches-tall, she's larger than her mother, as all human and Falmun hybrids are. With a slender but well-built body, she weighs roughly one hundred and forty pounds. Her long, athletic legs carried her through the room, and were nearly as impossible to ignore as her perfect, alabaster skin and full, perky, DD-cup breasts, ample even for a Helngarian woman.

Clandestinely looking between the two women, the Braka's daughter simply appears as a taller, younger clone of her mother, Mozafia. For some reason, their presence only made the interrogation more unnerving, and Valan feels genuine anxiety. He's answered every question, spinning a web of deceit over who he is and where he's from; Valan made no mention of the Arona-Dahl or the crew. Though he's an outsider, and effectively a liability at this point, Bolum and Mozafia seem intrigued. After whispering into her husband's ear, Bolum's lips slowly curl into a sinister grin.

“Alright, Valan... We'll keep the Romos from killing you."

“Thanks. I appreciate that." Valan replies with a little smile, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Furthermore, we'd like to make you an offer!"

“Oh?"

“Yes. How would you like to work for us? We could use a man with your... Skills." Mozafia begins speaking for her husband.

“How's the pay?" Valan blurts out.

“Heh... I like this one!" Mozafia chuckles.

“It's excellent." Bolum adds.

Pulling open a drawer on the small table placed between his and Mozafia's chairs, Bolum reaches inside and retrieves a coin purse. He casually tosses the purse to Valan, which thumps against his lower abdomen and lands in his lap. Valan retrieves the coin purse.

“That's for the two you killed. If you stick around, there's going to be more, and in a much better color." Bolum cheerfully adds.

Opening the small pouch, Valan counts six coins; large, silver vasariks, each worth twenty, are stuffed inside.

“Sixty a head?"

“Do you usually get more?"

“Sometimes." Valan coolly lies, pocketing the coin purse.

“I like that. I like a man who knows his worth. Well, consider this 'getting acquainted' prices! Work for us, and you'll see more." Mozafia assures him.

“Alright. It's not like I'm doing anything else." Valan quips.

“Lucerna!" Bolum calls out. “... Lucerna?"

Valan glances toward their daughter, startled to see how she stares at him. With an elbow atop an armrest, she supports her head with an upturned palm; her chin is in her hand and her long, slender fingers run against her face. He recognizes the look in her eye almost immediately; she lusts after him.

“Hey! Wake up!" Bolum growls.

“Huh? What?" Lucerna glances around the room.

“I was going to ask you to show our guest to one of the staff rooms, but-"

“Oh, I'd love to!" She jumps from her seat.

“I can see that..." A concerned Bolum murmurs.

“Let her take him, husband." Mozafia interjects, resting a hand on his forearm.

“... Fine."

With a wave of his hand, Bolum no longer looks pleased. His freshly hired gun collects his two pistols from the table, before being led like a sheep by the disturbingly eager young woman, all while Bolum scowls. Mozafia, for some reason, looks rather amused. Walking through the wooden manor, Lucerna glances back more than a few times as Valan follows her. Never does her lustful gaze, her look of pure desire, leave her eyes. They wind through the mansion and climb a humble staircase, making their way to the third floor. Reaching the top of the manor, she takes hold of his hand, pulling him along. Her skin is warm.

“So, you must've traveled a lot." Lucerna suddenly speaks, a hint of shyness in her voice.

“A bit, yeah."

“I can only image the things you've seen." She sighs.

“Trees and rocks, and lots of water."

“Ships?!"

She stops in her tracks, turning to face him. Her grip on his hand grows tighter.

“Yeah. I don't fancy swimming between the isles." He jests.

“I'd love to go on a ship someday. Do you like to travel?!"

“Eh. It's just kind of what I do." He shrugs his shoulders.

“Wow. You're so casual about that." She giggles. “How long have you been traveling?"

“Well, I'm thirty-one now, so... Twenty years, I suppose. My family traveled a lot, and as an adult, I just kept doing it."

“Oooh! And older!" She coos. “You don't look it... You know, as a half-breed, I'll only live a bit longer than you. Mom said that when I'm ready, I should choose a human to marry because of that."

“Smart woman." He casually remarks.

“Yeah. Maybe one day I'll find a strong, cultured, handsome man like yourse-... Er..." Lucerna flushes.

Seeing her widening eyes and nervous expression, Valan feels the urge to chuckle at her adorable behavior. He manages to only flash her a little smile, making her even more nervous.

“I take it you don't do a lot of traveling?" He asks, changing the subject.

“No. Dad says this is our home and there's no reason to leave, but I feel like there's so much more out there. I can only imagine the places you've been to; all sorts of wonderful sights, different towns, exotic people... I'd love to do what you do."

As she speaks, Valan finds himself falling back into his memories. His eyes turn toward the wall, staring at the undecorated wooden beams as he recalls the undead hordes which destroyed his island, after Irzain and Kirsta arrived. Shortly afterward, he remembers the Jaliscan gang who'd kidnapped Irzain, believing him to be a ship captain whom they could extort. Their screams from the burning warehouse as they suffered and died echo in his mind. The heartbreak over both Jarae's and Merna's sexual manipulation chill his heart. All of this is a result of meeting Irzain and Kirsta, and joining them on their adventures.

“It was... Something." He murmurs.

“M-maybe you c-could tell me about it? I mean, if you'd like to! ... I-I could come by your room later."

Shaking himself from his daze and glancing over at her, Valan is surprised by the innocent, almost childlike look on her face. She suddenly seems so shy and so inexperienced. Seeing his perplexed expression, Lucerna's suddenly changes. With a softened brow and widening eyes, she looks to the floor and seems to tremble with nervousness.

“O-or I could just see you around s-sometime! ... Or something."

“Are you alright?" He asks with a soft tone.

“That came out wrong. I didn't mean to imply... I mean... Hhmmm." She seems to whimper.

“It's alright. Let's just find that room and you can be on your way."

“Right..." She sighs.

Taking the lead once more, they turn a corner, and then another. Valan finds himself walking along a short hallway. Small bedrooms, not unlike the cabins aboard the Arona-Dahl, line the hallway, while the other side is made of windows with no glass, but shutters. His room is at the end of the hall and at the very corner. Valan glances outside. His eyes widen in shock, surprised to find much of the Arona-Dahl's crew down below. They stand around the fountain, examining the manor from a distance. Kirsta spots him and points, drawing the other's attention.

They raise their hands to their brows, blocking out the sun and watching him as the beautiful Lucerna opens a bedroom door and leads him inside by the hand.

“Figures..." Mairlynn grumbles.

“Well, I think it's safe to say he's alright!" Kirsta chuckles.

“Another whore with big breasts. They always have big breasts... Why the hell can't I at least have something?" Mairlynn growls to herself, looking down at her small chest.

“Well, at least we know where Valan is." Trellan remarks.

“And that's a good thing? What if he's trapped?!" Irzain poses.

“Oh, please." Kirsta rolls her sapphire eyes.

“I counted over a dozen men with arquebus rifles patrolling the manor and yard, all with lit matches. That young and beautiful woman led him into what could only be a bedroom. If he was trapped, he'd be in a basement and we'd never have seen him. Basements are far harder to escape than rooms with windows and easy rooftop access. I'd say he's in no immediate danger." Trellan explains.

“Well... Alright... But what do you think happened to Steingar and Jarae?!"

Standing with his back against a cylindrical, stone pillar, Steingar's glowing, golden eyes watch the Falmun as they count out his pay; he insisted upon collecting it in advance. Over a foot taller than the rest of the gang, the imposing Helngar hardly had to beg for their employ; they saw his might before he was close enough to smell them with his superior nose. He leans into the support beam of their old manor, arms crossed before his chest, listening to the sweet sound of silver vasariks being dumped into a spare coin purse.

Walking away from the outdoor table, Gozik returns to Steingar, carrying the stuffed coin purse in hand. Elium, the middle brother, closes and locks the chest designated for their men's pay. For some reason they were insistent upon retrieving it, bringing it outside and under guard to collect his payment. Steingar is certain that it's a display, a tasteless show of their wealth and power, possibly to further entice him.

However, he's wise to their psychological tricks. Holding out his hand, Steingar waits patiently, a little smile spread across his face; he doesn't collect the coin purse from Gozik, but instead waits for the leader of the Romos family to surrender the money willingly. This isn't lost on Gozik, who cannot help but flash a little smile in return, setting the weighty satchel of silver vasariks into the Helngar's palm.

“Here you are, mister... You know, this would be a little easier if you told me your name."

“Helngar is good enough. Names don't have much meaning anyway." Steingar casually replies.

“You're not like the others..." Gozik remarks.

“I know." Steingar coolly replies, slipping the coin purse into a larger pocket on his vest.

“I like that. Follow me, 'Mister Helngar'."

Moving away from the pillar, the casually dressed warrior follows the smaller, five foot and five-inch-tall Falmun. With a scraggly beard, a grizzled appearance and shoulder length, salt and pepper hair, Gozik certainly looks like the Romos' older brother. His flowing, red duster is clearly custom-tailored, as Steingar has never seen another like it. Similarly, the Romos' manor is an exquisite piece of stonework and carpentry. It's one of the more elegant mansions that the Helngar has seen in his years as a soldier, guarding elites and raiding enemies of the crown.

Moving through the halls, which were clearly designed for Falmun, his head is barely arm's reach from the ceiling. Ducking through a doorway, he enters a wing of the manor that's built marginally larger, with taller and wider doorways.

“This is where you'll be staying."

“Oh... I don't often live with my clients."

“Don't you know?" Gozik stops and turns to his new hire. “Our men live with us."

“Living with my clients only risks things becoming personal. For me, it's all business. I'll stay at the hotel; send for me when you need me."

“Are you sure?" Gozik raises a brow.

“Helngar do not go back on their word. We're a race with integrity." Steingar answers, clearly annoyed by the subtle accusation. “If you don't believe me, you can hold onto my pay."

Retrieving the coin purse, Gozik is stunned to see the powerful and imposing warrior actually returning the hefty sum of three-hundred vasariks.

“I think I believe you." Gozik softly chuckles, rejecting the coins.

“Good..." The aggravated Steingar pockets the coin purse again. “Now, unless you have something for me to do, you'll know where to find me."

He turns to leave, only for Gozik to reach out and grab his forearm.

“Actually!"

Following the Falmun, he is taken into a larger room of the attached, guest wing. It appears to be a cross between a parlor, and an archery range. Men load rifles and some fiddle with the strings on their bows.

“What weapons do you have, anyway, 'Mister Helngar'?"

“This."

Steingar shifts, presenting the strange blade that sits in the matching sheath that Valan had made.

“Exotic! Well, we'll put that to good use real-"

“Finally!" A voice rudely interrupts Gozik.

“Oh! Rokig! Since you're here, I'd like you to meet our new hire."

“Is this what you've been doing, older brother? We're having a crisis right now!"

“Watch your tone with me, little brother..." Gozik growls, narrowing his eyes. “I'm the one in charge, and I know what's going on."

“Do you?! We've lost two men, and a third ran off after his buddies were killed. The Brakas have never done anything this drastic before."

“That doesn't matter; we have a Helngar now!" Gozik chirps, presenting Steingar to Rokig and his men.

“Wow... He's huge!"

“That's what the ladies tell me." Steingar smirks.

Several Romos soldiers chuckle.

“I suppose..." Rokig grumbles, eying the Helngar. “Is he a replacement for three, though?"

“I'm a replacement for your whole damn army." Steingar steps forward, attempting to intimidate Rokig with his commanding presence.

“We'll see about that... So, since you know so much, Gozik, who killed our men? Do the Brakas have a new hire, or are they just harboring a murderer?"

“I don't know, and it doesn't matter. I only know that some pretty boy who's trying too hard to look like a barbarian shot two of our men."

Steingar can't help but quietly chuckle.

“No one we spoke to knew who he was, sir." A soldier speaks up.

“But people saw him go into the Braka's manor!" Another chirps.

“That means they're either sheltering him, or they hired him to kill our men in the first place. What's the plan, older brother?" Rokig asks in a snippy tone.

“You'll see... Either way, we're going to make them pay. Just be ready to act when we do." Gozik grins sinisterly.