A Giant, A Lie & A Warm Meal [Open]

[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

With a stroke across the ground, he ran his hands across the dirt before lifting it up to examine. After a moment's glance he brushed his hand clean and rose to his feet. Turning to face his Novosi guards, Cezar gave them a nod. There was a slight sigh of relief amongst the battle hardened men and smiles soon became clear on their faces. They found themselves in the north, high up in the mountains in the ruins of the old Novosi castle. For them it was a moment in history that lasted too briefly and to Cezar it was a chance to see the world his father seen at his age. Even now the burn marks from the great north burning still scared the landscape. And for good reason. Wendigos once roamed here and it was after a brutal campaign against them that they were wiped from the very earth they had come from. The tales of terror had become nothing more than a myth in the human world yet in the Ajurah there were many who had witnessed them first hand.

A species that no man nor Rajegh wished to be alive, it had been a case of act fast or die. There was no middle ground on the matter. The land they once called home was scorched and many of the wendigos perished in the blaze however a few survived. Months of attacks on villages followed and the already chaotic north saw to it that they were soon put down. The ultimate challenge for a hunter, many came in the hopes of some glory. Stepping into the overgrown entrance to what used to be the great hall, Cezar reflected on the reason he'd come here. Although he'd always intended to come here and was going to do so, his schedule was moved forward with the rumour of a bandit fighting a bandit. With only his word to take, Cezar did not believe him as he'd been part of the final cull on the species a few hundred years ago. With that said he didn't want to risk ignoring a story that could all too easily be true.

Having checked the east for the tell tale signs of them, he had found none and knowing the location of where they came from, decided it was a good idea to check there too. High up in the mountains, he stood in the snowy wind, traces of dust upon his hand looking across the ruins of the once strong Novosi. With him stood half of the remaining men and it saddened him to know one day they would be no more. He had plans for their future though and he did not want to focus too hard on that now. Certain that there was no sign, be it old or new, of Wendigo activity he turned his attention to touring the ruins. Like their own system in the west, there was a castle upon each peak and some had forts and training grounds if the peak was larger. In between each was a valley of some depth that was filled with a snow white fog and a wind that put the chill up the hardest man.

For over an hour Cezar and his men walked around the main castle's ruins talking of the old days and listening to stories of their fallen brothers antics they found themselves fighting tears. Ever the strong man, they would not allow the others to see and each fought his own battle inside. Cezar, seeing this, decided it was time to leave the castle and look at the land they used to own. His parents had always been proud of the west and he could see why. Whilst it was of sentimental value to the Novosi, the mountain range was cold, harsh and barren. It would be a hard place to keep an army alive. He understood that it was part of the reputation; after all the men who could survive the journey to the top on foot were often the stronger. He just found it to be a hard way to live and still be proud. Yet proud they were and he did see the effects it had on their skills. Whilst he was proud himself of the Ajurah clan, the Novosi were by far the elites within the group.

As they flew down to the nearest village, Cezar mentally noted that he'd like to do the journey to the top on foot to prove he could be a Novosi. It was all very well having a birthright but in a clan of soldiers, reputation was everything and if he could complete the old trial then he'd have faced all the trials set. With the western mountains being smaller, the journey up was easier and often less dangerous as the weather wasn't as extreme. A generally nice place to be. As they landed and shifted by the small village, he noted that it lay on a main trade route and made sure the men knew too. They already did. With his weapons upon his back, he strolled into the town with a glance at the sky. With the foggy mountains around them, it was hard to tell what time of day it was but he guessed mid-afternoon due to the darkening light.

There was an inn within eye sight and he made his way towards it. A few stalls at the market were set up however most were empty. Any noise that had been soon fell silent as the locals and passing traders turned to watch the giant man and his guards walking through the village. He was not known here however he did not need to be. The Novosi were. With his size and his men at his side, that's all he needed to ensure a quiet night. Ducking in through the door way into the inn, a silence fell across the half full room and he felt all eyes upon him. Paying for several rooms, he sat down and waited for a meal he'd ordered to arrive. Around him the men were unpacking their things by the table and by now some of the villagers had gone. Word had certainly spread of his arrival and every now and then a child would peek through the door with a giggle only to be pulled away moments later by an adult. As his meal arrived, he looked around the room once more and then tucked into his food.

[Iona Cordale]

One more night. One more night until she reached the earthly stoop of her home long ago shared with Argyle, her father. Iona repeated this chant within her mind envisioning the small cottage with the lowly hanging pots and pans. Undoubtedly Argyle had readied a fire knowing his daughter’s return neared. A soft smile split her lips. The man always manically busied himself for her visits, igniting a spark of guilt within the pit of her stomach. But it was all of his choosing; she had tried to wrangle the idea from his brain once before but he rarely, if ever, listened. Though it was not much of a surprise; they were both stubborn as a mule and thick headed. Neither could ever be ordered about.

The soles of her leather-clad boots dug deep into the moistened earth, carving out small holes that filled quickly with water. A heavy rain had abruptly struck the area with liquid pellets. Caught between villages Iona had but her crimson cloak to shield herself from the heavenly tears. She had attempted magic in a vain effort to push the drops from her body but after a short span of time Iona grew weary; if she were to continue her pace she would have to allow the material to soak in the rain. The cloak swelled with weight but the precipitation did not last long and had cleared before the hour let up. Now the woman pirate was forced to tackle the mud. It was not unbearably difficult at first; in fact the wetted soil was paste-like in substance and made squelching sounds with her every step. The only annoyance in the newfound change of environment was the slowed motion of her feet. But there was not much she could do. There was still an abundance of time before the sun sought refuge and night blossomed.

Though she loved Argyle dearly a strange sentiment always coiled despairingly about her heart upon returning. She did not enjoy the northern lands, nor did she delight in the absence from the sea. Far inland the independence and freedom she had grown accustomed faded into glass-edged law. The ways of ruling men and women would forever elude her sense of logic. It was not something she cared in particular to dwell on as power was but an infectious disease that wormed through one’s veins to corrode the soul. It was something she had never wanted nor needed. Iona deemed it a plague on humanity. But why should she care? Regardless the troubles of government had yet to reach her out on the briny waters; perhaps she could outrun their leader’s gluttonous idiocy. Iona slipped, tumbling forward. All thoughts of politics scattered making way for terror as her vision expanded, zooming in on the brown earth. The mud had now grown slick. Iona’s hands and knees plodded into sludge.

A sneer caressed her mouth, twisting the corners downward in a dog-like snarl. A bark rolled from the tip of her tongue and Iona ripped her hands free, wiping them on the hem of her dress. Slowly she stood, yanking her legs into place. Iona was a mess. A cold chill began to seep into the marrow of her bones eliciting a shiver to surge down her spine into the tips of her toes. She had hoped to pass through a handful of towns before settling in for the evening but now Iona was in no state to continue her travels. Lifting her head she peered ahead. A black smudge lined the horizon. Tendrils of smoke wafted up into the air. Lifting the bottom of her dress Iona carefully picked her steps and did her best to hurry towards the sign of warmth and food. She grunted in her effort as the mud was heavy, caking both her feet and legs.

As Iona neared the village it felt as though a wildfire had spread throughout her lungs. The soft tissue of her throat cracked in thirst. The pads of her fingers twitched at the fabric of her cloak. It would take a nice mug of mead and a warm bed to rejuvenate her spirits for reviving the trek at sunrise. Her entire body was nearing empty and the moment her feet stumbled upon cobbled road she nearly fell over in shock. Swaying lightly Iona straightened her back and raised her head tall. Tired as she was there was no need to lack pride. She sniffed curtly and strode along the street casting curious glances. Where were the people? As much as she held others in disdain the overall feeling was vaguely unsettling. By no means was Iona a sociable creature but a subtle strain of caution crept beneath her flesh.

The rusting hinges of a sign snagged her attention. An inn was located across the street; surely the weather had driven the villagers inside in hopes of shelter. Slowly she hobbled forward and crossed, peering down the roadway to her left. Her legs moved quickly but came to a halt just before the door. Iona rested her hand upon the wood and inhaled the scent within. Gingerly she pushed and stepped within. A deafening silence crashed upon her eardrums startling Iona. She had expected a noise of some sort to have leaked from underneath the doorframe. Various men stood unpacking while one sat before a steaming plate of food. All discomfort was consumed by the mounting hunger of her stomach. Greedy eagerness provided a jolt of energy and Iona strode quickly towards the man settling across from him. She paid little heed to him and immediately garnered the attention of the inn keeper so that she could place an order. It was not until her food was sizzling in its pan did she turn to face him. Blue-green eyes cut across his broad figure. A muscle within her jaw strained. He was large.

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[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

He was aware. Very aware of the silence around him. Those that remained did so in huddled groups of whispering circles with their eyes darting from him to his men as they unpacked. There was little said amongst the Novosi as they were tired themselves. Blades were placed upon the tables and soon they took to cleaning their weapons. Those that finished first began to order their meals as well, if not during the cleaning itself. The innkeeper was kept busy and soon had family members down to help although some were more reluctant than the rest to go near Cezar. The food before him took his attention from their fear and he found himself enjoying the food. Whether it was the hunger or some actual skill from the cook, he was unsure. What he did know was his hunger was being sated.

The door behind him opened and none of the men gave it more than a single glance. Cezar himself didn't even turn to look, too busy feeding himself. The scent of wet and cold soon hit him and he turned slightly to watch a muddied woman enter and sit near him. As she ordered her food with the innkeeper, he watched her for a moment and smirked. She seemed so out of place. There was something about her that screamed “foreigner” however despite this she spoke the language well and seemed to fit in still. His eyes followed hers as she finally took a better look at him and with a moment's pause, finally met across the room. Staring back without a word said, he tried to work out who she was and even what she was. But it was not to be such a quiet night.

Once more the door opened and this time the silence was broken by the jeers and cackles of a small group of bandits passing through the town. They were all dirty, unshaven and had a fairly strong smell to them. This time the Novosi watched more carefully, stopping the cleaning to hold the hilts of the swords ready. Cezar's eyes left the woman's and returned to the food before him. The innkeeper, busy with all the meals and drinks, was still rushing around and asked the men to wait by the bar. This was met with chuckles and jokes amongst one another. Around him Cezar noticed the Novosi looking to him and he gave a slight shake of his head. With their eyes back to the men, the Novosi remained still. By now some of the bandits had noticed them and how they were around Cezar. One, who Cezar would go on to assume to be the leader, marched over a tapped Cezar on the shoulder.

”You're in my seat” he protested, turning to his friends and smirking smugly to them. Cezar ignored him and continued eating. When the man turned back to face him, he was met with the back of Cezar's head once more and once more tapped on his shoulder. ”Get out of my chair or I make you get out of it” he threatened, this time not quite a smugly. Cezar once more did nothing. After another long silence, the man, growing tired of being ignored, took his sword from his sheath and placed the tip on Cezar's back. ”I said get out of my chair or I wi-”. Without warning Cezar swung around and grabbed the man by the throat, rising to his feet lifting the man off the ground and pulled the sword from his hand. Behind him now the Novosi did nothing, just simply watched.

As the bandits by the door began to pull their weapons out, Cezar held the leader to his face and snarled ”You will leave this inn. This is not an option. It is a fact.” With that, he crushed the man's neck and threw the body out the door through a few of the bandits, knocking them from their feet. ”Now” he commanded, ”You will leave too or you leave like he did.” Standing tall over them, he clenched his fists and waited for a reply. Behind the Novosi rose to their feet and held their swords before them. Clearly in a weaker position, the bandits fled the inn and Cezar glared at the door for a few moments waiting for some to come flying back in. They never did. As the Novosi returned to their cleaning, Cezar made his apologies to the innkeeper and his family before sitting back down to eat once more. Outside a cart pulled up and two men picked up the body and head that'd bounced off before placing them in the back of the cart. Looking at the lady once more, Cezar asked ”So why does a lady like yourself come to a place like this? There are bad men in places like this.”

[Iona Cordale]

Dinner and a show Iona smirked to herself, watching as a wryly group of bandits flounced within the shop. The burly man, who had caught her eye, ripped his gaze away and had once more settled to his food. She glanced down once more at him before refocusing her attention to the traveling circus. Their sharp voices and guffaws resonated dully through the inn burrowing into her fatigued mind; a headache ignited. Her lower lip curled in disgust. Was there no such thing as peace in these lands anymore? Iona picked at her food. These primates were an exemplary model of why she kept herself from the human race; Iona was not easy tempered and preferred the salty freedom to blood. Briefly icy fear snaked through her veins. Would these thieves pry upon a women’s flesh? She was certainly in no spirits to defend herself from any physical attack, not after her previous attempt at magic. Iona chewed bitterly on her food. What was the point of possessing magic when you had little skill with it?

Suddenly the stranger that had been near Iona was the victim of the bandit’s attention. She set aside her fork carefully without making a sound, stare locked on him. He was tall and built someone she guessed could deal with these ants beneath his boot. But still her limbs froze. Iona could build all the ice-bitten walls she desired but there would never be any way of hiding her trace of cowardice. It was not from the bandits she startled for. Nor was it the man. Rather the thought of life extinguished before her very eyes settled like lead within her stomach. Few experienced birth, but death was a common rite of passage. She averted her gaze to the wooden tabletop growing impassive, all hints of a sneer falling dead from her lips. Iona heard the rasping gargle before the limp thud. Silence once more engulfed the inn. Blinking she resumed eating; her motions slowed and lethargic.

“So why does a lady like yourself come to a place like this? There are bad men in places like this.”

Her head snapped upward at his voice. The rapid motion jerked the sore muscles embedded in her neck and her eyes winced slightly in pain. Over exertion and lack of slumber nibbled at the frayed threads of her sanity. Once more she set aside her utensil but now the movement was sudden and loud. Iona exhaled nosily craning her vision up towards him. Her sea-foam eyes narrowed into slits. A curt snort burst out from between her teeth.“Bad men? Such as butchers like you? I may be a woman but I am entitled to a warm meal just as any man, be he good or bad.” She arched a brow and lifted her mug of mead, sipping at it. She breathed in while drinking and the foam tickled her throat. Iona turned and coughed into her sleeve feeling the tears brim her lids in a struggle to breathe. She paused. Gradually Iona turned to face him once more, a childish pout resting upon her lips. A red blush dusted her features in embarrassment. In an attempt to play it off Iona fired her own range of questions.

“Do you normally throttle drunks or is this a special illustration for the lady?”

Iona looked back down. She reached and swiftly grasped her fork, using it to stab at a fat potato. With ease she cut through its soft skin and divided it into tiny pieces. The thought of choking haunted fresh in her mind. She shoved a forkful into her mouth chewing with determination, refusing to meet his eye. Why should she? What respect did she owe him? Iona swallowed and took up another bite. She peered up briefly out of curiosity. He still stood, rooted like a tree. Fire crept up her ears. Easing upon her food Iona snatched up her drink and held it steady, staring deep into the tawny liquid. A wavering reflection of the top portion of her head shone back as well as the man’s eyes. Despite the bitter rage of annoyance the pirate was tired. Solemnly she said, “Your dinner grows cold.” Iona drunk deeply from her mug, tilting her head back a degree, and set it back down softly upon the table. She rubbed at a sore shoulder before slowly peeling her gaze from the table back to his face. Despite her rigid posture Iona's contenance resembled a soaked rat. Her curls were matted to her skin. She sniffed.

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[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

He smiled. Looking to his hand, he flicked the blood from it upon the ground and ran it across the tabletop to wipe the rest off. Moving closer to the woman, he watched her carefully, noting how she avoided his eye line. Slowly he went to her, no real rush to his step. He didn't have to rush. He was an Ajurah. The smile upon his face was one of pride and he thought that she secretly liked what she just watched. How often he found woman to go weak at the knee for a show of strength. And the mere sight of his large....body.... was more than enough to make some curious as to his bedroom antics. ”A Rajegh does not need to butcher” he answered slowly, ”for he simply kills. A simple move does not count as a butchering. Now if I were to do that, I would make it slower. He would loose limbs before his head. It all depends on whether I want him to have nightmares about me or if I want him to sleep soundly forever.”

Placing his hands on the top of the chair opposite her, he clenched his fingers over it slowly and lent forward to get a closer look at her. Whilst he did she choked on her mead and for a split second he almost recoiled as if to avoid any spat mead. ”I don't need to kill some wannabe thug to impress a lady. I leave all that to the sleeping chamber” he retorted with an air of smug charm to his words. Once more she kept herself from looking at his eyes and he observed as she attacked her potato before him. It was a rather unusual assault upon the banned Draken food and her constant attacks upon it were an attack upon his senses too as the smell lifted from its former host, making its way to his nose. She made a comment about his food and he nodded in agreement. Walking back to his table, he picked up his plate of food and placed it on the table with the lady. Holding his hand over it, he warmed it with a small fire that flicked from within his palm. As he went to take a seat, he caught her eyes once more and noticed how she seemed so cold. The sniff was a sure sign.

Taking his seat, he rubbed his hands together before placing one upon hers. With a brief glow, he sent a warm wave of heat through her body and in seconds her clothes were dry. ”Consider it a meeting gift. As you say, a lady is entitled to a warm meal however I counter that with the insistence that you are entitled to warmth itself.” Leaning back into his chair, he lifted his hands up and parting them in a single move, introduced himself. ”My name is Cezar Boguslaw Volkova. I am second in command to the Ajurah clan. Many know me as the Ajurah Duke. These men are the elite Novosi, trained for over a millennium now. They served my mother and father, may the god's be kind to their souls. I am not, as you say, a butcher. Instead I am in the top command of a five thousand strong army.”

By the bar, some of the innkeepers family began to whisper with one another. They knew that name and now some were unsure if they wished to still be here. Turning to face the bar, Cezar lifted his hand and motioned for mead. Nervously, the innkeeper's daughter carried one over, visibly shaking with terror. As she placed it before him, he took hold of her arm which caused her to jump slightly. ”Do not fear me child. Whilst I sleep in this building you are safe. But the senate that rules you?” With a snarled smile, he finished ”Well we've yet to see their position in my world.” Letting go of her, he knew that soon enough word to reach the senate of his arrival to the north. It was likely they'd send someone to see him. They always did. Lifting his mead, he placed it to his lips and did not move it upon the jug was empty. Slamming it down on the table, he laughed. ”Good flamin' mead!”

[Iona Cordale]

Avoiding his gaze Iona felt his presence draw near. She squared back her shoulders listening as the hefty thud of his boots crept ever closer until the man stood right before her. His fingers curled into the wooden seat. This stranger did not hasten his speed; the pace was steady with proud purpose. His arrogance was so palpable Iona could taste it heavily upon her tongue. Briefly she wondered if he made to strike her. She blinked. But he continued to stand with no movement to indicate a threat of violence. Carefully Iona lifted her eyes from her dinner to the man; she furrowed her brow taking in his features.

“A Rajegh does not need to butcher for he simply kills. A simple move does not count as a butchering. Now if I were to do that, I would make it slower. He would loose limbs before his head. It all depends on whether I want him to have nightmares about me or if I want him to sleep soundly forever.”

Iona arched a slender eyebrow, parting her lips into an O. She had not previously encountered a Rajegh, something that the woman had not considerably regretted. Fascinating as it was she was curious as to whether the entire race was of such brute philosophy. She gave a stiff nod of her head. “Oh I beg your pardon,” said Iona mockingly. Venom leaked from between the syllables. “I know not the technicalities of murder.” She had witnessed a handful of individuals fall victim to fate’s inevitable abyss but through more common means of sickness or drowning. It would be a naive thought to assume one creature would not slay another especially in these darkening times; but it was not something Iona had yet to fully experience. That is not until this evening. Dryly she spat, “How charming, truly my favorite dinner topic.” Iona glanced down at her food; talk of gore had consumed her appetite.

“I don't need to kill some wannabe thug to impress a lady. I leave all that to the sleeping chamber.”

The woman nearly choked on her own spit. She fixated a look of disgusted shock onto him. Setting aside her fork, this time for good, she folded her arms across her chest. Iona was not surprised at the less than subtle smugness radiating from his mouth. She tilted her chin up towards him as though in challenge. Foolish it was, but Iona had never known sense in the presence of more capable company. But the brute suddenly raised a hand and she watched spellbound as a small flame ignited from the palm, gently heating the food beneath. All repulsion was quickly forgotten. The flickering fire burned its image into her mind’s eye. Unconsciously her hand reached out to stroke the dragon-tongued flame; Iona did not believe it real. Realization once more sieged her and she immediately drew back, resting the limb beside her mug. She turned her head away and honed in on the cracked floorboards lining the inn. Embarrassment soon faded into previous antagonism. “I see,” she breathed quietly. “Well I doubt then that you have had any real chance to impress a woman.” She gasped as he picked up his plate and moved back to her table, setting down his dinner before her. She had no offered him company.

“Consider it a meeting gift. As you say, a lady is entitled to a warm meal however I counter that with the insistence that you are entitled to warmth itself.”

His palm rested atop the back of her hand. Iona felt the blood within her limbs freeze solid in shock despite the waves of heat that rippled through her core. Her hand’s muscles twitched beneath his. The weight of her dress eased as the material once soaked now returned to its natural, dry state. And now Iona could feel her previous words of aversion being shoved back down her throat. Her lips pulled taut into a bloodless, white line. Now she would have to offer him her gratitude; though she was relieved at being free from the sensation of icy shivers. Settling back into her seat Iona dipped her head in polite respect. “Thank you,” she stated stiffly. The tips of her nails circled the wooden surface of the table drawing various patterns at random. Perhaps this man was not such an animal as she had originally believed. As he opened his mouth to speak once more her eyes lifted slowly beneath dark lids.

My name is Cezar Boguslaw Volkova. I am second in command to the Ajurah clan. Many know me as the Ajurah Duke. These men are the elite Novosi, trained for over a millennium now. They served my mother and father, may the god's be kind to their souls. I am not, as you say, a butcher. Instead I am in the top command of a five thousand strong army.”

Iona leaned forward cocking her head to the side. Frosted curiosity sparkled within turquoise orbs. Though a verbal fighter who had slain many a foe with a swift cut of her tongue Iona did not believe in physical violence; only when the right to life was truly threatened did she deem it necessary to brandish a blade in defense. Iona was far from a peace promoting nomad but held tight to her own set of morals. “I see no difference between the two Ajurah Duke.” Then again every country claimed right to an army to defend against the covetous invaders that plague these lands. But men grew blood-thirsty with hatred. Their hunger so strong it demolished every thread of morality. Regardless he had given her his name; it would only be fair to give Cezar hers. With a soft sigh Iona explained, “I am Iona Cordale, native to the north but home at the sea. You will address me as Iona and only that.”

As soon as the last sentence had left her lips a small girl approached the table. She watched carefully as Cezar dealt with the child. He grasped the youth’s arm causing her to jolt with fear. Iona made to lean forward to stop him but something laced within his voice made her freeze in mid-action. Undeniably the girl’s heart raced like a startled rabbit beneath a cage of bone; Iona felt her breathing sync with the child’s. There was a menacing glint within Cezar’s countenance but not necessarily one of vehemence, but of wholesome passion. As he let go and the girl darted off, Iona drew back her arm and glared. “You certainly have a way with children,”she spat.

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[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

This woman certainly wore her heart on a sleeve and not even that was in the conventional sense. Cezar could only try to ignore the bile that attached itself to all her words. He was not seeking another enemy and was intent in leaving this conversation with a new friend. Wiping the mead that clung to the edge of his lips away, he lent back into his chair and carefully answered her view upon his actions. ”Murder is a strong word. But there is no denying that I use it. Murder brings fear, fear brings reputation. Reputation.....well that brings power. Such is the way of these lands.” After he'd warmed her from the cold and she'd given a forced thank you, he finally answered her quip about impressing a woman. ”Oh you'd be surprised how many women are simply impressed by my size. Strength is the next one. Murder usually comes later on. In some cases it was a means of leaving them. But enough on that!”

The way he laughed it off suggested he was joking however a few Novosi gave him looks as if to say “really?” Having introduced himself formally, he waited to see if she knew the name. He was powerful enough that most knew of him however with some it was often as if he were a myth. They'd heard of him yet weren't sure why. Judging by her response she had not heard of him. This presented a challenge for Cezar. Normally once someone knew who he was they changed their attitude completely. This would not be the case. However, Cezar was growing fond of her feisty responses and her attitude. He liked a woman who knew what they wanted and did not change their views just because someone opposed them. How nice it was to have some kind of debate, even if it were just a brief few statements. It's what made the Ajurah family to him. They were the only ones who told him what they really thought. With the kings, queens and rulers of other nations and clans they simply sugar coated it to either gain or protect themselves.

”Iona it is then. Lady of the sea are we? Or are we a pirate? These days it's very hard to tell the difference between traders and pirates. By the way you speak and tear down everything I say, I would be hard pressed to picture you in a market trading. You would kill them before they.....wait what am I saying? You are no butcher. You are passive. The only fire you command is the venom that ejects itself from your lips.” A slight tone of annoyance did leek into his words yet he still quite liked her. By now though he saw no way of looking good in her eyes. ”Children of your race become adults before I have grown my hair once more. I talk to my friends and return to see their children ruling. Your race is a speck of dust in my lifetime. I have known many and lost many. Hell, I may have even known your ancestors. For all I know, you are my descendent. Weirder things have happened.”

All of a sudden there was a blast of wind through the inn and around them things fell from tables and tipped to their sides. One of the Novosi went to the flapping door and looked out. ”He's here” he reported, turning to face Cezar. Looking towards the door, Cezar sighed and turned back to face Iona. ”Excuse me for a moment. I must see an old friend.” Rising to his feet, he commanded two join him and the others continued to clean their weapons with one sitting himself by the door to watch. Walking out in the cold, Cezar pulled his leather tight and looked around. At the end of the street stood a dark shadow, hooded and covered. Motionless it waited for him to approach. Back in the inn, the Novosi were talking amongst themselves. ”Right lads it's best to be ready. Whenever that man appears you know we're in for a long night. Arm up, clean up and be ready” one of them announced to the others as they spoke of the man's origins. Several times the words “god” and “entity” were used.

One of the younger children stood in the door now and in a curious tone asked the Novosi by the door ”Who is that man? I can't see his face.” Looking out past her, he replied [/i]”We don't know his name. All we know is he is older than Cezar. Older than us. He sees the future and he tells us. Some of our clan say he favours us. Some would say he controls us. Most think he's a god in human form. I think he's a gift from the gods to reward our loyalty. He only ever speaks to Cezar.”[/color] Back outside, Cezar reached the man as his two companions slowed to a halt a few metres before. ”Hello old friend. What brings you to the north?” he asked. A long, cold breath came from within the hood, smoking out slowly into the cold. ”The senate is coming. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon. They come in fear. But they don't come for you. They come for your power. They will ask you for something. They will ask for a wolf, a child and a dragon rider. And you will say yes.”

[Iona Cordale]

”Murder is a strong word. But there is no denying that I use it. Murder brings fear, fear brings reputation. Reputation.....well that brings power. Such is the way of these lands.”

Iona merely frowned towards Cezar as though faced with a spoilt child. There was no denial that his words sparked a curious entertainment; a debate to fuel a train of various thought even if she disagreed. With a soft ‘putt’ of a sigh she reached out for her mead and wrapped her fingers around the handle, arching a brow. Lifting it slowly to her lips Iona took a long drink allowing the liquid to slowly trickle down her throat. A splash of winter ice erupted in the pit of her stomach as the mead hit. Fear did bring reputation, Cezar was correct, but she was not certain it was one a man should be proud of. “Power is man’s folly,” Iona murmured softly setting the mead gently back onto the table. The bottom clinked against the wood. “It is the bane of our existence. Power is why I fled to the sea and scorn the sham of what has been falsely deemed politics.”

“Oh you'd be surprised how many women are simply impressed by my size. Strength is the next one. Murder usually comes later on. In some cases it was a means of leaving them. But enough on that!”

Unknowing if what he said held an inkling of truth she stared frozen, eyes widening vaguely in confusion. Out of her peripheral vision a few of Cezar’s men shifted with looks of bemusement. But his laugh bounded out through the inn shaking the wall’s with its deep pitch. Iona craned her neck observing the way in which Cezar presented himself. Obviously the man was of some importance, the length of his self-description was evident enough, but the way that people grew weary simply by his shadow was something that Iona had never witnessed. She had seen other commoners slink from the wealthy but never in such a way as this. She was not sure if it was bothersome. Morality instructed that this man was teetering on the edge of profane arrogance yet etched in his countenance was a thread of compassion. Concluding his statement as dark comedy a small smile flittered across her mouth tilting the corners upward. “Alas I am unfamiliar with surprise.”

Iona it is then. Lady of the sea are we? Or are we a pirate? These days it's very hard to tell the difference between traders and pirates. By the way you speak and tear down everything I say, I would be hard pressed to picture you in a market trading. You would kill them before they.....wait what am I saying? You are no butcher. Yo\’u are passive. The only fire you command is the venom that ejects itself from your lips.”

She jolted in her seat, peering critically towards Cezar. He had her nailed. Iona was a mere mutt who was all bark and little bite. She claimed emotion as a weakness yet sensitivity bled from every pore in her body; a hypocrite in all regards. Iona had always believed herself clever enough to hide it all but she had never been more wrong. Her mouth meshed tight but did not pout; she would not allow it. “A pirate, though I care very little for titles. I prefer a clean ledger over a burnt. There is no wrong in that though you may see differently.” Iona did not break her gaze from Cezar and sat rigid in her chair willing herself to stay focused. She knew that he was loosely irked but not enough to land Iona in dangerous waters.

“Children of your race become adults before I have grown my hair once more. I talk to my friends and return to see their children ruling. Your race is a speck of dust in my lifetime. I have known many and lost many. Hell, I may have even known your ancestors. For all I know, you are my descendent. Weirder things have happened.”

The childish malice vaporized at once. What exactly did he claim to be again? In her resentment she had failed to fully soak in what he had previously said after immediately dismissing it as haughty. Curious wonder pounded at her mind like a pick-axe. Iona opened her mouth but closed it feeling her face heat up; he would find her foolish if she spat out a trail of questions. Wouldn’t he? She turned to view the Novosi who were busied with one another and she deliberated what exactly tied them to this man; what bounded them to Cezar, what could the brute possibly mean to them? Had he done them all a great favor? Or were they afraid? Cezar had displayed a great strength uncommon amongst many in this land, surely in battle he was a terribly gruesome force. Swallowing Iona prodded, eyes still latched to his men, “Is that so? I have yet to hear of such a thing. What a pity.” She hoped that the tone laced within her voice would incline him to further explain.

”Excuse me for a moment. I must see an old friend.”

A gust of wind billowed through the cracks of the inn tossing back her ebony mane. Perplexed Iona shot a glare up towards the ceiling then refocused her attention on Cezar with a ‘what-is-this-devilry?’ look. What exactly was the man prattling on about? She saw no other enter the inn. But before she could shoot a purposed question he stood and exited leaving Iona alone in her befuddlement. The guarded undertones of the Novosi did little to clarify the situation that had unraveled. Pushing out from her chair Iona strained to see what had caused the commotion within. Silently her feet scrpt over to the window near the Novosi and girl; she trusted them little by a child. Stretching up on tip-toes Iona pressed her fingers against the glass pane and held her breath. Her eyes narrowed in search until finally settling on Cezar and a mysterious figure at the end of the road. She smirked. It was near impossible to overlook the Ajurah’s thick frame. Murmurs of the cloaked stranger passed between the lips of the men pointing out the supposedly divine creature; a god they called it. Peering ahead she breathed aloud, “There is only one God.”

Pushing aside Iona marched onto the front stoop of the inn. The boards cracked beneath her weight. Her motions had switched to automatic and a cold tingling surged through her limbs. With prolonged caution she extended a foot and slowly descended one step. “Cezar?” she whispered to the air, speaking his name for the first time. What did the man address? Unconsciously Iona slipped a hand into her dress’s pocket; she stroked a small fragment of topaz. The stone was believed to possess a promise of safety within her religion.

[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

Lifting his hand to slowly rub around his lips and chin in a single motion, Cezar listened to the man carefully and could feel the usual collection of questions building up inside him. However from personal experience he knew he'd have limited to so he would have to ask only the important questions. ”Where will I find these people once the senate comes to me?” he asked, moving closer slightly so he lessened the risk of not hearing the answer. ”Their gods move them closer together. A mix of religions as it were. The wolf protects the dragon rider. The dragon rider protects the people. The child is protected by both. Follow the stories. They will be tested and it will be known.” The answer was cryptic as ever yet Cezar knew it was as detailed as it'd get.

Inside the inn, the Novosi by the door heard Iona comment about there only being one god. With a shake of his head, he corrected ”There are many. Every man follows a different to the man beside him. Just because yours only talks to you doesn't mean it's the only one. The man out there only talks to Cezar. That's his one god there.” He watched as Iona crept to the window to have a look and as she went to the door. The child remained at the door still curious as ever. Outside, Cezar turned at the mention of his name and behind him the dark figure dissolved into a dark mist of smoke before disappearing completely. Turning back to where he once was, Cezar was greeted with an empty space. Slowly walking back to Iona with his men, his thoughts went back to the reason he was here. A wendigo attack. Could it have really been a wolf instead? It seemed more likely to him.

Reaching Iona, he announced ”I have spoken to my old friend and we are done talking. Shall we both return to the warm inside? I fear we have a long week ahead of us and I think it's best we were all well rested. However there is time for a few more drinks if you will join me. That's if you can handle a drink.” With a smirk, he believed she'd take that as a challenge and join him. Ducking in through the open door, he returned to his seat and shortly after the young girl from the door came over, carefully carrying his mead with two hands. ”Why does the ghost talk to you?” she asked. Taking the mead from her with a thanks, Cezar looked puzzled and questioned ”the ghost? He's not a man nor beast so perhaps he is a ghost. The ghost sees the future and tells me of it. He sees the bad men who come for me and warns me. And he tells me of friends coming to aide me.”

With a giggle, the girl ran back to the bar to gossip with one of her siblings and Cezar turned to his drink with a happy smile upon his face. Taking a gulp of the mead, he shifted slightly to his left as one of his men asked what the plan was. Placing the mug on the table, he explained ”We remain here for a few days. In that time we will meet some of the senate. Or someone for them. Regardless, they will have word for us. It would seem we are travelling east. I have a feeling we should see where this wendigo attack happened. It could be the trail we are looking for. Any stories of a wolf, dragon rider and maybe a child working together and you let me know. We'll be paying them a visit some day soon.”

[Iona Cordale]

“There are many. Every man follows a different to the man beside him. Just because yours only talks to you doesn't mean it's the only one. The man out there only talks to Cezar. That's his one god there.”

Iona paid little heed to the Novosi. Her beliefs would not be swayed; they were bound together with rope thickened by life-long preaching. She had informed him of what was true. It was his fault alone should he suffer damnation. But what exactly lurked at the end of the cobbled street asking only for Cezar’s attention. At the mention of his name the brute turned to face her briefly before returning to the supposed God; but the being evaporated into a dark mist leaving Cezar where he stood. Foolish guilt struck Iona; had her voice made the creature leave? Her fingers coiled tightly about the fragment of topaz in an ironclad grip; she exhaled shakily. Something about whatever had greeted Cezar settled poorly in her core. Perhaps it was the great mystery surrounding it as the woman loathed being troubled through ignorance. She stared at the dirt as Cezar drew near.

“I have spoken to my old friend and we are done talking. Shall we both return to the warm inside? I fear we have a long week ahead of us and I think it's best we were all well rested. However there is time for a few more drinks if you will join me. That's if you can handle a drink.”

He handled the situation as though it were but a casual chore. Blinking rapidly Iona’s head snapped up to glare in bafflement. She did not wish to appear so blatantly confused yet the cloaked figure caused a layer of ice to spread through her skin. It had seemed quite unnatural. The topaz within her pocket provided little comfort to her shaken nerves. She bit down on her lip pulling her eyes up determined to hide the puzzlement invading her thoughts. Long week? What words exactly had been exchanged in their encounter; had war broken out? Did Cezar lead the Novosi to assassinate a large grouping of members of Senate? He had spoken poorly of them before, implying a bitter disdain. Swallowing the lump lodged within her throat Iona inquired in as calm a tone as she could muster, “Who summoned you?” She wheeled about on the balls of her feet following Cezar back into the inn. “Why should this week be longer than any other? Running on full-forced curiosity his little quip went unnoticed until her lower lip curled into a grimace. “Of course I can,” lied Iona. In truth the pirate could not hold her liquor. One mug of mead was enough to dizzy her senses to a moderate degree. Iona cast a glance to her half-full drink.

“ the ghost? He's not a man nor beast so perhaps he is a ghost. The ghost sees the future and tells me of it. He sees the bad men who come for me and warns me. And he tells me of friends coming to aide me.”

As the girl ran off with a giggle Iona gaped. Had she not been frightened moments before? Iona weaved between the men carefully taking extra caution to ensure that she did not brush up against their armor. She cared little if it appeared rude. The table rested forgotten and she pulled out a chair remaining impassive as the legs scrapped the wooden boards with a high-pitched whine. At least now the brute did not leave a lingering impression of fear upon the child yet the exchange still seemed off in her mind. Ghosts did not exist. She was not impressed at him having put such thoughts into her young mind. Surely there was a logical explanation due to a specific type of magic that would give way to senses. Making to sit Iona reaffirmed to herself that only one God existed and that ghosts were not real. But in the manner the men and Cezar spoke a flicker of otherwise temptation ignited in her mind. But Iona pushed it aside. What would her father say if she presented such foolish thoughts to him? Argyle would find her gullible.

“We remain here for a few days. In that time we will meet some of the senate. Or someone for them. Regardless, they will have word for us. It would seem we are travelling east. I have a feeling we should see where this wendigo attack happened. It could be the trail we are looking for. Any stories of a wolf, dragon rider and maybe a child working together and you let me know. We'll be paying them a visit some day soon.”

Iona was fully drawn to the happenings Cezar spoke of. It was an enticing Riddle she found difficult to place as the pieces of the puzzle were scattered and hidden from her line of vision; she detested unfamiliarity. What could an animal, dragon rider, and child possibly have in common that would link the three together? She leaned forward towards Cezar pressing her hands into the wooden table; the circumference of her eyes grew slightly rounder. What an exciting notion that had been presented before her very nose! All leaden fatigue that weighed upon her bones lifted at once. Unable to fight back a small smile Iona shot, “How can all thrice be associated? What do you have in mind for the child; children are innocent and men such as the likes of you should leave them well enough alone.”

[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

Cezar was rather unprepared for the flurry of questions that suddenly bombarded him as he finished talking to his men. Such curiosity. What had happened to the cynical woman who had been sat before him moments before? And then he recalled. She witnessed a god appear before her. That kind of stuff usually messed with a humans head. Once the girl had run off to gossip some more he noted how much she looked like her younger, more nervous sister. Such observations were more a hobby than a skill yet it always paid to be observant. Playing it cool, he looked towards the bar more than Iona as he waited for their drinks to come. There was no need to order them as the Novosi always made sure he had a plentiful supply. The talk of drink on the way in had kick started a small chain of events; the Novosi heard, they ordered and now the drinks were being prepared. All ten mugs of them.

With a smile crossing his face, he rubbed his hands together in a greedy impression and thanked the siblings that brought over the drinks. Five before Cezar, five before Iona. Placing his hand around the first, he explained ”This is no race. Take your time to enjoy the drink. Perhaps your questions will make more sense the further in we get!” Lifting the mug, he gently tilted it gradually, gulping long bursts of the mead before placing the mug down, pausing just before the table to give it a small slam with a flick of his palm. As he picked up the second, he took a moment to take in some air and this time he began to sip the drink. By his count he was one ahead already. Never a race to be first. No that would be daft. A competition to see who could remain on their feet the longest. With more body to fill, he felt confident in his success. However he felt he should probably address her curious ramblings.

With another tilt of the wrist, he sipped his drink before musing ”To summon me is to summon a wendigo. You just don't do it. No one summons me. They merely ask for my time and presence. This week shall no longer nor any shorter than any other week. The concept of time is not something that I can change. Every soldier is born a child and becomes a monster. A wolf of sorts. For all we know they are one and the same. Perhaps I am to save the child from the others? They could be three different sides of a multi sided war. Perhaps you should mind your own business? A child is just that to me. A child.” Concealing his lips with the mug for another sip, he swallowed and whispered coldly ”To me you're all children.” It didn't make much sense until he placed the mug half drank upon the table and concluded ”To a rajegh you are all children. A man's death, a woman's and even a child's, there is no difference. If that is what is needed, then that is what is done.”

Feeling a pat upon his shoulder, he turned to see one of the Novosi with his hand upon him bidding him a good nights rest as they were all heading to the beds. This talk of a long week had made them incur desires of rest. Lifting his mug as they raised their swords, they spoke their words in a group chant -

Roses of black
Roses of white

Red be the hills
Screams of the night

Ajurah be awakened
Hollow thy name

East in flood
West in flame

South in rebellion
North in revolt

Consume the filthy race
Mankind be appauled.

[/i][/b]

As the men left the room, Cezar turned to look at Iona. ”Drink up” he teased as he lifted his second mug to finish it.

[Iona Cordale]

Five drinks were set before her widening eyes. Iona blinked down towards them feeling a sigh slip out between parted lips. She had yet to finish the mead originally ordered and her stomach clenched at the thought but one glance up sealed her fate; she would not deny his challenge. It was a matter of pride, simple as that. Iona would not allow herself to cower down to the brute. The excited chatter of the siblings snapped the pirate from her dizzying reverie and she peered out towards the girls; the oldest had her hands cupped to the smallest’s ear and was whispering insistently. She did peel her gaze away as Cezar spoke though her sense of hearing prickled with anticipation. Iona could feel the superior smile blistering from his mouth. Her expression grew stony yet there was an odd glimmer within her eyes.

“This is no race. Take your time to enjoy the drink. Perhaps your questions will make more sense the further in we get!”

Iona snorted. Downing alcoholic beverages for sport was a sheer waste of time; a sign eliciting worthless energy. But the trick was to show one’s standing; who could support themselves the longest? A voice lurking in the depths of her conscious warned Iona not to lift any of the various mugs provided to her as she had not even finished her first. It had been quite some time since she had last partaken in a drinking standoff. She had strayed in fear of alcohol for an entire year out of embarrassment before daring to venture into another pub. Mead did not dissolve well in a body filled with pointless resentment. She would lose this waging battle, but Iona did her best to shove the thought aside as Cezar picked up his mug and drained in clean in a single chug. Iona’s mouth slightly dropped from its hinges. Cezar gave it a small slam. He began on the next with a casual normalcy. Terribly competitive Iona eagerly grasped her own drink and lifted it to her lips, pouring the mead down the depths of her throat. She guzzled the last half of her mead before letting the mug slide along the table top away from her. With a spare napkin from her dinner Iona dabbed her mouth clean. “I have little worries, after all I’ve drunk before.”

“To summon me is to summon a wendigo. You just don't do it. No one summons me. They merely ask for my time and presence. This week shall no longer nor any shorter than any other week. The concept of time is not something that I can change. Every soldier is born a child and becomes a monster. A wolf of sorts. For all we know they are one and the same. Perhaps I am to save the child from the others? They could be three different sides of a multi sided war. Perhaps you should mind your own business? A child is just that to me. A child.”

Iona screwed up her features in offense. Leaning forward in her seat as to make her meaning perfectly clear she spat, “Perhaps you should make your business less well-known? You flaunt about with little care as to who or what overhears. You may be an Ajurah but you hold little influence over those in this section of land.” She let out a noisy groan. “Well you were not granted official power here. Only those with a fool’s heart heed your words.” At least he was not so arrogant to claim possession of time; but he did state that no being could summon him. And she was still unsure on the definition of a wendigo but it slid, figuring there were more important concepts to what would be said. She could garner the gist.

“To me you're all children.”

She jolted at the coldness within his voice. A cruel taste of her own medicine; he had shoved that spoon straight down her throat. But it left Iona baffled. She had grown a woman’s body and could drink if she pleased, her father could no longer keep her prisoner at home. Iona was certain she was no child.

To a rajegh you are all children. A man's death, a woman's and even a child's, there is no difference. If that is what is needed, then that is what is done.”

Her confusion eased vaguely at these words but Iona still found herself growing surprisingly shaken. For one who claimed an abundance of emotions could only cripple she herself wore her heart on her sleeve for the whole world to witness. Iona was a hypocrite to the highest degree, she was just too stubborn to admit to such a thing and instead wove a fantasy of lies to sloppily mask her trail Staring wide-eyed up towards Cezar Iona placed her palms upon the table. “But there is! There is a vast difference. Perhaps not between a man and a woman’s but children have done this world no wrong. They are innocent in all entirety. It is not needed, it should not be done.” Iona breathed out slowly but held her gaze with his. Granted it was possible Cezar would not harm this child the cloaked figure had spoken of, but had he in the past? Iona opened her mouth but only a muted wisp of air shot out. She closed it just as a hand came out and wrapped about Cezar’s shoulder. The men were preparing for bed. The Novosi lifted swords with the brute.

Iona watched, torn between anxiety and sparked interest as a poem broke through the inn. She had always loved the formation of sentences, crafted into stories or other works of art. But it was a rare treat as of late as the ocean lacked any sources of books save for the ones upon her ship; and Iona could not afford many of those.

Drink up.

Furrowing her brow Iona looked down and realized how terribly behind she had fallen. She quickly snatched up another drink and forced it into her mouth drinking heartily. “Did…did you fashion that poem together yourself?” she inquired, swallowing the mead. It burned slightly on its way down into the pit of her stomach.

[Cezar Boguslaw Volkova]

He was well aware of how slowly she was drinking. Even if he were to pass out on the forth he would have time to sleep it off, recover and regain consciousness in the time it'd take her to reach her third. Wrapping his hand around the third, he mocked her drinking style slightly with an over exaggerated sipping motion followed by a smug grin. With a few strong gulps down went the third. By now he was starting to feel the slight pressure within his head and his senses were getting ready to switch off. By no means was he drunk but he was not sober. That much was clear by the way he slammed the mug down so hard it went through the table. Letting it fall in order to grab his remaining drinks, he coughed and looked to the inn keeper. A meek smile presented itself to him and Cezar turned back to Iona. The talk of a child's innocence was flying straight over his head.

”The only part of a child I'm interested in at my age is making them! I'm only 732! I'm still young!” he bellowed followed by a loud laugh. Tipsy. That's what he was. Simply tipsy. In the halls of the Ajurah castle this was a common noise as the men drank together and the woman sought a warm bed for the night. Both were seen as equal. A rare thing in these lands but they were joined by one thought. They were the top species. The rest simply did not accept this fact. ”Those words are as old as our clan. An old member, gods rest his soul, came up with it after a battle. They were his dying words and to this day we honour his memory with it. We all have our little sayings. My sister talks of shadows, some of the Novosi talk of honour and loyalty. Me? I talk of fire. Fire and love. After all, don't they always come hand in hand? The fire in your heart gives the heat your loins long for!”

Picking up the forth mug, he drank a gulp before placing it back down. Even he was aware he needed to take it a bit slower now. There was enough of a gap that he could do so safely. The more he drank, the more he wanted to know what she was like in the bedroom. A woman of the sea was surely a lonely one and a chance to let herself be free in the bedroom, well Cezar was very curious to see what that was like. ”Do you like the words we speak then? The perks of being an older species. We hear all the good works. I'm sure I can recall one to match your beauty. Let's see.” Taking a moment to think, he rubbed his head slightly before taking a sip of his drink before slamming it down as he recalled one, spilling some of the drink.

”I know which one works. How does it go? Love is like....love is like.....love is like the sea. It's a moving thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from the shore it meets, and it's different with every shore.” Pleased with himself for remembering it properly, he lifted his drink as if to celebrate and finished it. Letting the mug roll from his hand to the floor, he leaned forward across the table and smiled at her. ”I know another one. I think you'll love it. Ahem....

I see the earth
In its impending doom
As earthquakes roared
And The last Colors gave birth
As the last flowers bloom
And the beauty of nature last adored
Cities in awry
As families say their last goodbye
But for all its worth
That last day
Moved my heaven and earth
For that night I lay
I lay with an angel below the hearth
As we watched the earth decay

With a smile he lent back into his chair and blew a kiss. ”I can say pretty things too. You should see what else my tongue can do” With that he picked up his final mug of mead and sighed before placing it to his lips. He was unaware that the innkeeper was now sending his children to their rooms before he got more graphic. Little did he know that Cezar wanted more than just words to be said. If he could bed a queen in the south, well then, the north needed to be conquered too!

[Iona Cordale]

“The only part of a child I'm interested in at my age is making them! I'm only 732! I'm still young!”

The mead splashed into the pit of her stomach like molten fire. Iona growled vaguely in both discomfort and vexation at Cezar’s comment. Of course his arrogance had ripened along with his age. His thunder-like laughter echoed out through the inn shaking Iona from her grumbling. Her eyes widened in incredulous wonder at its deep rumble. It had quick-started her heart and it took a moment for her to recollect her thoughts. He was not only big but loud. Tilting her mug so that she could eye the little liquid that sloshed within the basin Iona said, “Older than most. What sane woman would give you the pleasure of a child?” It was a dulled remark but held a flicker of testiness. 732 was far beyond her own lifespan; and for a minute crude thoughts faded into the realization of his race’s curse. Whispering silently into her mead Iona breathed, “What value is life when extended?”

“Those words are as old as our clan. An old member, gods rest his soul, came up with it after a battle. They were his dying words and to this day we honour his memory with it. We all have our little sayings. My sister talks of shadows, some of the Novosi talk of honour and loyalty. Me? I talk of fire. Fire and love. After all, don't they always come hand in hand? The fire in your heart gives the heat your loins long for!”

A hiccup burst out between her lips. Iona blinked before draining the last of her drink. The burning of her throat had eased in intensity and now pulsated in a somewhat pleasurable fashion; she was reminded of warm embers on a winter’s day. Regardless of her annoyance with his swelled head she was pleased by a glowing passion for those within his clan; he held each member with respect, something not entirely common with the time’s leaders. Her head rolled softly to the side as she stared up towards him. He was tall, more so than she originally believed. She supposed someone of his brute strength and size could get away with his haughtiness; who would dare encroach on his fun? In a low warning Iona corrected, “You know not of what you speak Cezar; you have mixed love with lust.”

Finished with one drink she lifted another mug and tipped its contents down her opened mouth. She guzzled half of it down with her eyes squeezed lightly in strained effort. Two drinks down, only half of Cezar’s accomplishment. A small pout painted her mouth. A soft, rosy blush dusted her cheekbones as her blood thickened with alcohol. She was not drunk but her better senses were beginning to wane; she had never been good at keeping her liquor. But she was not much of a drinker so it had never really been a problem.

“Do you like the words we speak then? The perks of being an older species. We hear all the good works. I'm sure I can recall one to match your beauty. Let's see. I know which one works. How does it go? Love is like....love is like.....love is like the sea. It's a moving thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from the shore it meets, and it's different with every shore.”

She jumped lightly from her slumped position as Cezar brought down his mug. Mead spilled out over the rim collecting in a foamy pool. It was true that the poems he shared had greatly perked her interest; it was not often that she could enjoy them when her home was staked upon the sea. She brushed past his remark and leaned back in her seat, listening to the light hum singing through her head. But it was not for long as Cezar leaned forward and to be better hear him through her daze she mimicked his actions hunching forward. There was something that lingered in his smile that Iona could not quite place. The poem he had recited was nice upon her ears; it related to the sea and her way of life something she was sure he had purposefully intended. “They are words, nothing more.”

“I know another one. I think you'll love it. Ahem....”

She listened intently as the poetic verses fell from his mouth. At first it took her off guard; it detailed destruction and death but she was reeled back in toward the end at the mention of romance. She peered curiously at him. It was a lovely piece of work, but how did the brute happen across such literature with keen memory? With a slight nod of approval Iona exhaled a breathy sigh. “Is this more from Ajurah warriors of past? Or are you a fan of literary work?” She peered up innocently at him. All sarcastic humor drained from her expression.

“ I can say pretty things too. You should see what else my tongue can do”

Iona stared as Cezar blew a kiss. The implication behind his words caused her face to flush scarlett and she took up her drink, scrunching her nose up towards him. Of course he would be fool enough to say something like that to her, especially after a handful of mugs of mead. Sobriety had left him though she was not sure if he was fully intoxicated just yet. Her mouth opened but flustered no sound came out save a whispered gargle. Slowly she leaned back in her seat glaring towards him over the rim of her mug. “You’re drunk and stupid,” she snapped childishly in a lowered tone.

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