Thar Shaddin

"Then there it is," Spoke the large warrior. He made his way toward the crowd that had assembled. They uneasily parted for him, willing to see the spectacle but not willing to be a part of it.

He unhitched a buckskin gelding and turned to all present. "This belonged to that man."

He pointed at the decapitated body outside the bar room doors, the spikes of his caestus still dripping. "I see there is no dispute to my rights so now it is mine."

He hoisted himself up into the saddle with a creaking of leather and the mount trotted over to his companions. Taking one look at Shann, he fished a piece of jerky from within the saddlebag and tossed to the elf.

"Settle your stomach a bit."

When the only reply he received was an uncomprehending blink, he pantomimed the motion of eating. "Eat."

Then, he spurred the horse and closed the gap between himself and Vexako.

"By my estimation, you are the only other capable fighter here."

This time, it was not a lack of comprehension that denied him a response. He was very obviously being ignored.

"Very well. One of us should be on point, and the other at the rear."

Once again, all was silent. Ceallach grunted.

"I will go to the back of the line, then."

The mercenary wheeled his horse about and galloped to the back of the line.

After some time, his eyes began to wander. He took in the green trees, the movement of birds in their branches, and the sky itself.

The sky was still blue, but it was beginning to darken with the onset of twilight and a few gray clouds. It reminded him of her eyes.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked and exhaled slowly. This was no time to be thinking about his wife or his son or his homeland. He needed to...

Ceallach felt something running down his chin. With his ungloved left hand, he reached up and wiped the moisture away. He glanced down and, to his surprise, saw a single crimson streak on the back of his palm. He was not even aware that he'd been biting his lip.

"Focus", he chastised himself. He shook his head roughly like a dog drying itself as he cleared the thoughts.

He rubbed his temple with his free hand. It felt as if his head would split in two. He could feel his guts bubbling up and threatening to escape through his mouth.

Now was not the time to vomit. Not now. He couldn’t get sick in front of his new companions. He snatched a piece of jerky from the saddlebag for himself and tore off a chunk like a ravenous animal.

As he chewed and focused solely on the mechanical action, his mind and his stomach finally began to calm. He had just made it past the hardest part of killing.

He hoped he would be able to sleep that night, but knew it was for naught. His wife would be there in his dreams, her dress drenched in blood and her wrists bound with chains.

And she would call him a murderer, as would the legions that he had killed in his lifetime. Countless faces, an entire gallery of victims, most of their names he couldn’t even remember, would be screaming at him in agony and he cut his way through them all.

He would hate himself for his deeds and he would hate the world for making his work so necessary but for now, he would continue. He would fight, he would live, and he would kill.

Sometime past midnight, he would wake up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat, his hands shaking so much that even drawing a drink from his waterskin would prove almost impossible. Just like every night. And just like every night, he would sit awake and stare into the darkness as he contemplated his own soul until the dawn came to take away his evil thoughts.

Ceallach growled and spat in disgust. He was getting weak in his old age, it seemed.

Zain continued to stare at the bodies on the ground. Realization over what had just happened was starting to sink into the poor boy's mind and he struggled to fight off the thoughts that came with it. They had fallen under the hands on another man and they lay on the ground spilling out their insides. There was blood, lots of blood and it was puddling in the street with the grime and the muck of the dirty fishing village. Muddy water of a dull brown color was tinted with the red of blood as it ran off the unevenly place stones in the street and into the pot holes left by overuseage and an utter lack of repair. The blood flowed over the top of the stones, made smooth by the many years of being walked on and rained upon, it pooled in the crevasse between them a mimicked a river in the way it separated, came back together and separated again. The dark little rivers were at the mercy of the stone walkway and whatever way it dictated the liquid to flow in.

The longer he stared at the blood the closer it got to him. He had tried to step backwards, away from the sticky mess on the ground that slowly approached, but there was somebody standing there blocking his retreat. However Zain felt not the upper body of the man he had walked into on the hand that had been placed on his shoulder, but what felt like that of a wall. A wall that stood behind him, trapping him up against the bodies and the blood that leaked from them.

It was Shann that finally took notice of the boy. It was not that he had forgotten about him during the traumatic scene, well maybe he did a little bit, but when Zain had backed up into him, Shann couldn't help but to take notice of the boy and how he looked to be desperately trying to avoid coming in contact with the blood on the ground. The look in his eyes was one of shock and horror. The boy boy must have been frightened by the scene even more than he was.

After catching the piece of dried meat that was tossed at him, Shann regarded the man who had thrown it with a concerned face. He didn't trust this man. He was dangerous. Not only had he just killed two men in the street but now he was proclaiming before a crowd of angry villagers that he was a companion of Shann, Zain, their human friend driving the wagon and even the gnome. He was going to get them all chased out of town and blamed for these crimes that they had not been involved in. The way he saw it, they would be lucky to get out alive with the way the day was going.

In order to calm the boy, Shann helped him up into the back of the wagon. He removed the bag from Zain's back, tossed it down near the pack already in the back of the otherwise empty cart and told the boy to lay still and cover his eyes. The dog was next into the wagon and was quick to cover his young master with his furry coat. The last thing we need right now is for him to start screaming again.

When Shann turned back to the crowd he saw them edging closer to the wagon and the corpses on the ground. Shann couldn't even look at them now. By looking at them he would be acknowledging their existence and that just wasn't something that he could stomach at this moment. He needed to keep his head on straight, he needed to keep busy, he needed to keep moving so he had something on his mind and something to do rather than to stare at his boots and notice the blood that he knew he was standing in by now. Later, he told himself. That was something he would worry about later when they were long gone and back on the safety of the road.

Then there was their friend Jinhuff the gnome. He too had just been standing there beside his little pushcart watching the whole thing unfold. Shann knew they couldn't just leave him now. He knew that the gnome was likely to face the same racist hatred by the hands of these fishermen that he was likely to face just for being named as companions of the murderer. If they left him here he was likely to be charged with some sort of wrongdoing and Shann just didn't have it in him to let that happen to somebody else. Too many lives had been lost today and he didn't want to see more people fall under such a blatant disregard for life.

He knew a part of him, however small he claimed it was, still wanted to hold on to the beliefs of his mother and his sisters. Their whole lives they preached about the importance of life and it's whole meaning but what had they seen of it and its shortcomings? When had they ever seen this? When had they been faced with the cold hearted evil in the world that mindlessly murdered men in the street and drove crowds of men to seek vengeance on those that were strange and different? No, he told himself. They played in their river all day and night and sang songs to Baresi of the good of the world and life and people without actually experiencing any of it for themselves.

And what of Shann? What had he learned from leaving the comfort of his secluded little home? He got to experience both the good and the bad of the world. He learned that there can be those that do cruel thing like leaving defenseless children to die or killing men out in the street without any regard for their lives whatsoever.

After being yelled at by Jinhuff for trying to lift the short man up into the wagon without first asking, Shann then exchanged a few words with the gnome and finally let him struggle to pull himself up to the wagon all on his own. He grunted and pulled his upper half up to the bed while his legs dangled below as he kicked his feet, trying to pull them up underneath him. Meanwhile Shann occupied himself with placing the small gnome cart inside the bigger one and climbed in the back. He didn't bother asking the other human to join them, he seemed to find his own form of transportation and as far as Shann was concerned, the farther he was from the others the better.

He checked on Zain one more time to make sure that the boy was situated within the wagon, then he slid up to the front to speak with Ko as they pulled out . "I don't trust him. If he's willing to do that out in the open, what kind of things does he get away with after the sin has set? I don't know about you, but I have grown accustomed to having my head attached to my body and I wouldn't mind keeping it there for the next hundred years." He whispered into the ear of the man next to him only turning his head back to look over his shoulder and keep an eye on the other human.

Ko was no longer helpless.

He was hyper aware.

When the strange murderer came up alongside him, like they were chums discussing some recent lark, Ko didn't know what to do at first. Anger was still there, but practicality came first. He let his features sink into serenity, and tried not to think about how in addition to the new guy being a murderer, he was a horse thief. Murder, by itself, was pretty damn serious. But thieving horses was almost, in a way, more serious. Especially in a fishing village, where horses were rare enough to have a higher value than what they might be worth elsewhere. Especially when a clean limbed beast like what Hal had would pretty much be a family's ransom, worth more than anything else they might own.

Fucking gnome, bringing them a fucking madman.

But he needed to pay attention to the murderer. There was no telling what might set him off. So Ko nodded gravely, and opened his mouth to speak right as the other turned the horse and rode back. Ko gaped after. Had he heard what he thought he'd heard? One of them on point? One on rear? "Yer th'only danger here." He muttered, and could have choked on the sardonic laughter that fluttered in his chest.

Had it been three men? Two? Shitfire, right in the middle of the street. Right out of the bar they'd been in. Ko could have been one of the ones bleeding --

"I don't trust him. If he's willing to do that out in the open, what kind of things does he get away with after the sin has set? I don't know about you, but I have grown accustomed to having my head attached to my body and I wouldn't mind keeping it there for the next hundred years."

"Whoa!" Ko almost drew his cutlass, he'd been so absorbed in his own grim thoughts. The nag made a high, distressed noise, and tried to side step off the side of the road. Ko tugged hard on the lead, annoyed and discombobulated by Shann's sudden voice at his ear. He lifted his free hand to rub at the back of his neck. Too on edge, too preoccupied to be of any use. He gave a short laugh, waving away any questions Shann might have about his reactions, and tried to sift his memory for what Shann had said.

"Uh, uhhh." He said, to gain himself time to think. "We have t'keep movin'. Let Master Fishbait take care of th'bloodletter. Get t'harbor. Can't pull that mess on a proper ship." Which was pretty much what he'd been thinking anyways, whatever Shann had said.

"Hope 'twas justified." He continued after a brief pause. There was a slim chance it had been. Ko recalled the scene. Not much of one, but a chance. "'Ey, go off. Don't make him suspicious, hangin' around like some ol' hen." He turned just far enough to glare at Shann meaningfully.

Louder, he said: "We'll keep on through th'night. Quick as we can. Hear? Don't want t'be hangin' like halfwits when them villagers get it and start chasin'. Don't want more trouble than we need."

The rest of the trip to the harbor was uneventful, but that didn't keep the entire party from glancing over their shoulders often. When they finally arrived and the little man haggled with a local boatcaptain to book passage, Ceallach simply had to fix his piercing gaze on the man once or twice to emphasize certain points of the bargaining process.

They were able to board, cheaply, and the mere presence of the swordsman virtually guaranteed that the rather shady sailors would not be up for any questionable business.

Everyone else headed below decks on the ship that they had procured to stow their belongings and to choose racks, but Ceallach lingered topside.

He did not like enclosed spaces. He did not like being crammed in with other people.

He had been on ships quite a few times in his past, mostly as a member of an expeditionary force or some other and a couple of random times in his gladiatorial career.

Those times, the ships had been the great triremes of his homeland, but this was something entirely different. It only had a couple of sails, no bronze ram affixed to the mast, and no oars.

Allegedly, it was fast and agile, but he couldn’t get the image of a warship from his native lands smashing it in half with the ram or skewering half the crew with one lucky shot from a ballista.

Before leaving, he had to sell his horse. The gnome was actually quite an astute merchant and barterer. He was able to fetch quite a hefty price for the animal and Ceallach mulled that over as well as he prowled the forecastle.

A good merchant means he’s probably a good liar, his inner voice said. The silver tongue was often just as deadly as a knife to the spine. He would watch this one.

The mercenary cracked his neck and sat his heavy pack down. The two elves were no issue. The elder of the two seemed to be just as afraid of any real dirty work as the little one, just the little one made a bigger show of shitting his pants.

And the roguish one... That one was hard to judge. He had seen some action, but to Ceallach’s seasoned eye, he seemed to be more talk and bluster than anything. If he was able to hone that steely edge, though, he would be a deadly opponent.

Who knows? Maybe he could even make a living in the arena. He certainly had the raw charisma.

He had dawdled long enough. The soldier scooped up his travel sack and made his way down the ladder. He chose the first rack closest to the exit. If this pig sank, he wanted to be the first off.

It was dark down below. There were a few corners that one could be attacked from and this not at all comforting. Ceallach removed his boot knife and slid it discreetly under his pillow. That would make things at least a little bit better but for the time being, he would not allow his sword to leave his side.

As he looked around, it seemed that most everyone had went somewhere else for the night. They sailed at dawn, so it was quite possible they were enjoying a last night on shore.
He shrugged it off and climbed back up topside. As he emerged from the hatch, he heard some commotion from the quarter deck.

Someone was leaping about and making a great noise of it. His feet thudded, his breath was ragged, and more often than not, he landed unevenly. A dog barked and yipped. It sounded like someone stepped on its paw.

Ceallach stuck his head around the mast and saw the younger elf flailing about with the mediocre short sword that he carried on his belt.

He watched closely as he hadn’t been noticed yet. The boy had a sort of speed, that if nurtured, could make him a contender. But he was uncoordinated as all hell, especially with that damn dog nipping at his heels.

He had a natural sense of balance but he just didn’t know how to land, his defense was non-existent, and his offensive blows seemed to lack power.

Perhaps, worst of all, he seemed insistent upon using the short sword as a slashing weapon. If his other faults didn’t get him killed, that surely would.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The whelp would get murdered in a real fight.

Finally, he spoke, “If that’s how you plan on fighting, you’ll get yourself killed. Do you want me to teach you how to use that thing?”

After leaving the dirty little fishing village, the small mixed group had traveled South along the western coast of Eyropa. It took them six days to reach northern Corezo. They traveled by horse and wagon during the day and when the sun had set and it was too dark to see the road before them, they would stop for the night to rest under the trees and stars. They passed several small villages on the way but it was decided early on that what bishani they had would be better saved for their trip over seas than on a lumpy mattress within one inn or another.

Over the last several months, Shann had grown more accustomed to such conditions. He was even starting to like the time he spent out of doors and away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life that never really changed all that significantly from one town to the next. Sure he missed out on getting wasted and finding a nice piece of ass to keep him company that night but at the same time he got time to think when away from all the distractions.

He took advantage of the time they had on the road to reflect on himself and his plans or rather lack thereof. Since leaving his cozy little home nestled in the back streets of the far away harbor town on the edge of the island, he hadn't had all that much time to himself. It was nice being able to relax and enjoy the simple pleasure of a smoke while pondering some of the stranger entrees into his sister's diary. In the months leading up to her disappearance it had seemed that she had been greatly troubled with something, but there were parts of the writing that was either far too vague for him to make out or they went off into an older form of script that he was having trouble translating.

When he once again got the feeling the the book was leading him around in circles and digging up more questions than it was answering, he realized that he was getting nowhere. He had had to put it away and concentrate more on his surrounding and his new acquaintances. During the journey he had had some time to become better acquainted with the gnome and speak to him in greater length about business and trading. If any of the racial stereotypes he had heard were true, the gnome proved to be a business-oriented individual. The two of them could sit and talk about finances into the night.

As for the human Vexako, Shann seemed to take a liking to him from the start. He appeared to be a rather like-minded individual and among the group he was the easiest to relate to, even if he was a human. More so than that, Shann felt that he could trust the other man. He still didn't fully trust the gnome, something about the way he insisted on guarding all his business secrets and constantly changing the subject with his ramblings had left a sense that there was something questionable about his dealings. The other human had already proved himself not to be one to take lightly, so Shann had taken it upon himself to try to form some sort of quasi friendship with Ko if for no other reason than they could look out for each other. It was much easier to sleep at night when you knew that you had a knife tucked in hand and somebody to help take watch.

When finally the trip came to a stop and it was time to find passage aboard a ship headed East, Shann left the work to Ko and Jinhuff. Jinhuff had a way with haggling merchant and consumers alike. He was able to sell off both horses and wagon for far more than he had been expecting and with Ko's supposed connections, Shann doubted that they would have much trouble at all boarding such a vessel. While Ko spoke with dock workers, ship captains and those working aboard the ships, Jinhuff followed him around and seemed to be making his own set of calculations on some kind of homemade abacus.

While preparations were taking place, Shann had taken the opportunity to make up for the lack of alcohol within his system that he had been neglecting over the past few days. For him it was something that he both wanted and needed. He had spent much of the last day impatiently taping his foot and rubbing his tongue against the top of his mouth in an attempt to rid himself of the dryness he felt building up within his throat. He could even swear that he could taste sting of a nice elven spiced brew on the tip of his tongue. So with this opportunity preventing itself for what could be the last time in who knew how long, Shann had to make the most of it.

When Shann, the boy and his dog made their way back to the docks, they had found that passage had been booked and like the others they went to place their few belongings below deck. With few valuables to speak of, Shann felt safe in leaving his stuff along and unprotected while he went to explore the vessel that would would serve as his temporary home while they traveled aboard. First, and foremost, he went above deck to take in the nice sea breeze that reminded him of home and then tried to drown it out with another smoke.

Zain had taken the opportunity to play with that toy of his that he called a sword. It was small, lightweight, and meant for nothing more than practice for a young child learning how to hold and swing without cutting his other arm off in the process. It was old and besides some much needed love, the thing wasn't capable of much more than tiring the boy out and entertaining the dog in what he thought was grand came of fetch, only one in which the stick was never thrown.

When the human had approached Zain and started talking to him, the boy immediately stopped his game and took on a much more reluctant stance. He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't even look the other man in the eyes. He just stood there staring at his own feet and that of the dog who was now whimpering for the game to continue.

Shann saw this from his position along the rail and made his way over. With his cigarette in hand and a trail of smoke drifting behind, he approached the two from behind. He placed a placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and after whispering some encouraging words to him, he addressed Cheallach.

"You might have a hard time getting an answer out of him, he rarely speaks more than a few words and as far as fighting goes let's just say that he doesn't."

Ko was greatly irritated. The amount of ugly out of Trelhan had skyrocketed so that at least once a day he was having to slither off into the woods for a 'piss break' while he dealt with the various deformities -- small and great -- his curse had burdened with him. He did not think any of his companions had noticed, for all he sometimes caught the blasted gnome giving him speculative looks. The sooner they could reach their destination of Keltaris, the better off he would be, and the less chance of him being persecuted for perceived evil magic. Or for being a monster. Or for being killed as some bug or animal. None of them particularly lent the sort of dignity to death he felt he was deserving of, and the continued scraping away at his ego was wearing at him.

Even the diversion of Shann had worn thin, moreso due to the machinations of that fucking gnome. Even the cold fear of the killer Ceallach had grown stale when compared to the constant trashing his delicate sensibilities were assaulted with. Not that he didn't still feel a wrench in his gut every time the other human deigned speak with him. At east the warrior was not necessarily ugly; he could hardly stomach the thought of what the hardened man might do to Ko if he suspected Ko was cursing him, or whatever.

And Eyropa was supposed to be open to the idea of magic.

He knew that eventually he'd have to make some sort of peace with the man, Ceallach. It was an odd thing, for since Trelhan the man had not shown any more psychopathic tendencies. There'd been no more bloodshed that Ko could detect, which lead to some uncomfortable thoughts about what had triggered that moment. Had it been justified? Ko wasn't sure he wanted to know, but in the meantime he made sure Ceallach could not fault him.

And as for Zain. . .

"Hurry up!" Jinhuff snapped.

He sighed and reshouldered his burden. Jinhuff had calculated that Ko was the new packhorse. Zain was too young and skittish, Shann was too much a companion, and Ceallach was simply too dangerous. That left good, ol' reliable Ko. But, at the very least, Jinhuff was putting up the money for their provisions, occasionally selling off one of his bits of junk for extra leverege in trading or extra bishani. It irritated Ko to find how good of a trader Jinhuff was, especially when some of the points he'd brought up about prospective ships had been rather necessary.

Ko rubbed two day old growth on his face, and trudged after Jinhuff. They were on their way back to the ship to sort and unload the various sundries Jinhuff had acquired at what was proving to be shockingly low overhead, and he saw the ship they'd be on.

It was a glorious thing, seeing Corezan docks again. Even if they'd been at political war with Ko's own home territory, Hasele, he preferred Corezo over his home. Corezans put an emphasis on shipbuilding, and and the resulting lines of their masted ships, boats, sloops -- whatever -- were gorgeous, powerful, and quick.

Even pot bellied merchant ships like the one they'd acquired passage on had a certain staid elegance to them that Ko couldn't help but admire, and he kept his eyes pinned to it as he more or less followed Jinhuff back to it. At least while on the ship he could help on deck and ignore the little shithead of a gnome. He'd wormed his help into the shipping fee, which he knew was the only way Jinhuff would leave him to it. Fucking gnome.

He heard voices as he gained the deck, and slowed even as Jinhuff impatiently blathered at him to hurry up to his room. Jinhuff was the only one with a cabin; the rest would be slung in with the crew. It suited Ko just fine, but he still couldn't help but be miffed at the gnome's presumption.

"Ho now, what's this?" He asked as he passed by Shann, head craned even as he took reluctant steps towards Jinhuff's impatient form.

Ceallach raised one eyebrow and then the other. He studied both elves closely.

Then, he laughed. A short, gravelly bark, but a laugh nonetheless.

“I don’t think many people CHOOSE to learn to fight. It just becomes an acquired skill over time,” said the big man as he cracked his neck.

“Someday, agori, when your balls drop and you learn to speak for yourself, you may find yourself needing to not end up with your skull split by some barbarian’s axe.”

Ceallach spat overboard and rested hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle.

“When that time comes, the skills learned not only from a lifetime in the arena, but also gleaned as the first spear centurion of a noble house may just be what saves you. You may never plan on fighting, but that’s how it always is.’

‘Because nobody goes hunting for the biggest and bloodiest battles. They find you.”

He unhooked his thumbs and turned around, walking back across the deck. He called back without even so much as looking over his shoulder, “And if you don’t believe me, ask the pretty boy how he got his scar.”

The mercenary climbed back below decks and sauntered over to his rack. He sat down and unfastened his caestus and untied his boots.

With a bit of shuffling, he managed to escape the confines of his scale armor. He re-donned his baldric and was immediately reassured by the familiar weight of the kopis by his side.

He slowly drew the blade from its sheath and marveled at how it still shined after its many years of service. He was initially trained with a gladius, but the heavier weight of the eastern sword made it much more of a dramatic weapon in arena combat.

It had not been his decision to change weapons and he’d at first balked at the idea, but over time, the sheer cutting power of the heavier blade became something he depended on more than an old friend.

Not that he had many friends left. Most of them had died in the arena, on campaigns, or during raids, some by his own hand.

He reached up and grasped the medallion around his neck with his free hand and squeezed it tight.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes and all was quiet, he felt he could almost see his wife again. He would trade anything to hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her.

He forced down the lump in his throat and gritted his teeth. Such thoughts were soft. Softness was something that he had never had a chance to partake in.

He let the amulet drop and slid the sword back home. He rolled onto his rack and withdrew a dagger and a small block of wood.

Ceallach began to sing softly to himself, a song he knew well from his youthful days when he had traveled with a minstrel.

“I won’t wait,
Let me go home,
I’m sick and tired
of fighting alone.
My woman is waiting,
waiting for me
miles and miles
over the sea...”

He began to carve, comforted by the tune that reminded him of happier times and by the fact that his voice was still a thing of beauty.

The two elves stood back and watched as the other man walked away. Where as Zain had been intently listening to what the other man had to say and trying to make sense of it and determine how logical his statement was, Shann on the other hand had ignored much of the conversation and even taken to resentment against the man for bringing up a comment about scars. He had not taken the time to rationalize that Cheallach was probably talking about Ko and the scar he had on his face, no Shann thought that the man was mocking him for the scar he had along his forearm.

How dare he bring up such a thing and try to use it against him. What gives him the right?

As far as Shann knew the other man had not seen the scar along his forearm from the long ago dog bite. He kept it well hidden within his shirt, but he couldn't be certain that he had kept it covered the entire length of their journey together. Just thinking about the scar and the argument that led up to him being bitten by his former brother-in-law's stupid pet made him angry.

Fuck him, Shann thought. What do I need him for?

When the other man had disappeared below deck, Shann turned to Ko. "Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Fuck him."

Zain didn't share in on his uncle's thoughts and feelings. He saw some sort of reasoning behind the man's words. Something clicked within his mind and he wanted to do something about it.

Maybe it had something to do with an old memory of his father. Zain remembered the man trying to teach him and his brother to be self-sufficient from an early age. He had tried to teach them to be able to live off the land, how to rely on nature to support them and when it came down to a final resort, how to protect themselves. Unfortunately, the boys hadn't had the time to learn such things from their father before his death.

Without speaking a word to his uncle, Zain headed below deck. Shann already knew where he was going but he didn't make a move to stop him. "Don't go get yourself killed."

He watched the boy leave. When the boy and his dog had descended the stairs and were no longer in sight, he turned back to Ko again and shook his head disapprovingly.
____________________________________________________________________________

Once below deck, Zain took a moment to adjust his eyes to the change in light before looking for the cots that would serve as their sleeping area for this next part of their journey. Several members of the crew passed him on the stairs. There were men carrying in sacks and barrels of foods and other goods that they would be transporting to the far away city of Keltaris and there were men unloading other supplies to be sold here at the local markets.

It was a busy day full of activity and Zain felt the need to avoid it as much as possible. He hugged the wall as the walkway became crowded with bodies and boxes alike. He felt crowded and confused by all the activity and it took all the concentration he had just to keep himself moving forward and not becoming lost in the madness that surrounded him.

Once he managed to make his way past the hall and the storage rooms beyond it, he found that the ship became quieter and much more calm. At this time of day the sleeping area designated for the crew and those passengers that couldn't afford a private room, was relatively empty. Other than their human companion, the place vacant.

Rather than approach the other man, Zain stood back and listened to the song the man was singing. He admired his woodworking skills and what appeared to be a rather human-like looking carving. Zain did not see the blood or the violence surrounding this man that he had seen before, this time Zain saw a man that reminded him somewhat of his father.

Ko had been taken aback by Ceallach's practical (if a little skewed) words, and Shann's bristling response. He'd thought the warrior had been talking about Ko's scar (which he didn't really care to talk about, particularly to the little elven nature brat), but Shann had bubbled up in reaction. Ko hadn't noticed any major scars on Shann's form, but then again the little time he'd been looking at Shann had been towards certain clothed anatomical regions. The rest had been spent trying to not look at anything ugly, which was more difficult than it sounded.

He avoided Shann's eyes and gave a rueful grin, shrugging at the other. He didn't like the dynamics that were beginning to form, and with them all being crowded on the ship, well, he would do his part to not create the sort of twisted competition that would get them all thrown over the sides. The Captain was a hard man, but a good leader for his crew. Money or no money, Ko knew the man wouldn't tolerate too much dangerous tension on his ship.

He hurried after Jinhuff, feeling himself slip back into the mentality that he had grown up with. Purposeful, with a hint of businesslike polish not seen off deck. He shuddered at the thought of the boy he'd been all those years ago, and jerked to a halt when he saw the room Jinhuff had gotten for himself.

Though the gnome was busy muttering about cramped space and how slow Ko was being, for a ship the cabin was almost stately in its luxuriousness. Well, Ko had not traveled on many merchant ships quite like the lady he was on now, having been raised on a sleeker trading ship built more for quick transport than this one was, but in his experience the bed, washbasin, shelves and porthole window were luxuries typically only the captain enjoyed.

Jinhuff had deeper pockets than he'd anticipated.

Ko kept silent as Jinhuff had him arrange and unpack things according to his whim, feeling a fleeting stab of respect and jealousy slip through his stomach. Perhaps there was more to the fishbait than he'd first estimated. He withdrew from the gnome's presence without his customary snark, though he didn't think the gnome noticed his exit at all, and instead haunted the corridors as he traced a roundabout path back to his bunk, unsure if he wanted to find out whether or not his bunk-neighbors were in there or not.

He paused at the sound of someone's voice, and stood there in wavering indecision.

Ceallach heard footsteps. He paused a second in his carving but still hummed lightly.

They lacked the swagger of the rogue, so it wasn’t him. He doubted he’d hear the swashbuckler anyways. Vexako seemed the sort that was used to not making much noise.

They weren’t heavy enough to be the drunk’s and they were not accompanied by the jingle of coinage, so they weren’t the gnome’s.

That meant that it was the boy. He had come to learn.

The warrior exhaled in a long sigh and resumed carving. This child had intellect. He was smart enough to not speak, which was one of the first things Ceallach had learned as a child as well.

“Boy, come a bit closer,” Said the big man.

His only answer was the sound of shuffling footsteps.

“I was a mercenary for some time after I left the arena.’

‘A lord hired myself and a small band of my confidants to subdue a small hamlet. They had revolted, as peasants are want to do from time to time.’

‘The lord did not provide us with any suitable siege weaponry and they had formidable walls.”

Ceallach brushed a bit of wood shaving off of himself and onto the deck.

“They had burned their fields. We started to run low on food.’

‘One night, I had an epiphany. I gathered my men and told them to capture all of the birds that flew out of this city when the morning came.’

‘We took these birds and we tied bits of twine and such to their feet. When twilight came, we lit the twine on fire and set them free.’

‘They nested in the thatch rooftops of this village and it burned. We brought our ladders to the walls almost unopposed.’

‘The glorious battle commenced atop the ramparts with the fires as a backdrop. It was like an ancient epic come to life.’

‘The village was ours and we were well paid.”

The warrior sat the figure down and cracked his knuckles.

The boy was quiet. Ceallach had not doubt that the juvenile had already grasped the point that he was driving at, but he wanted to make it crystal clear.

“Wits are much more important than strength. We had many strong sword arms with us that day, but what changed the tide was a strong mind.”

He made one last cut and appraised his work. It would do.

“In the morning, when the sun first rises, be topside. Your lessons will begin then, agori.”

For the first time, the fighter actually craned his neck to see the youth.

“Now, go rest.”

The feet scampered off into the distance.

Ceallach thought for a second. He needed a large piece of wood. The boy would need a shield to train with.

He had stood there. He had watched as the blade of the knife was carefully brushed against the wood by a well guided hand. The sliver of wood that had once occupied the place in which the knife was, peeled back from the piece, curled onto itself and fell free of the work. Like many other such unwanted scraps, the wooden curl had fallen among the pile collecting on the desk before the man.

As he had listened to the tale the man had told him, Zain had counted the scrapes of wood that fell. One. Two. Three. He spoke of fighting, of killing and he had even called battle glorious. These were things that the boy had not heard before. Mother, what little he could remember of her, father, the long lost cold memory of a man and finally Shann, the one who had taken him in and cared for him, they all spoke of the evils of such a thing. Everything that he had been taught told him that such things were wrong, there was no glory in battle, no pride to be taken in death. Death was a loss of life, of mother's, of father's, and that of his brother.

When Zain left it was to sort out his confusion over the situation. The voices of his memory spoke out to him in a way that deeply upset the young men, they begged him to listen to them, to see reason in their thoughts and ideals, but at the same time he had stood there listening to a man speak to the opposition. He brought a different side to the argument and Zain just didn't know how to respond to it. Did he forget what he had been taught to listen to this man? Had the others been right? Had they been wrong? There were too many possibles, too much to think over and to sort. He needed someplace dark and quiet to think.

It was in a storage compartment that Zain found his solace, with his back against a barrel of salt, his legs pulled up against his body and his chin resting in his knees. It was dark. he could barely make out the name Keltaris printed across the side of several crates and as he sat there rocking back and forth, keeping rhythm with a song only he heard in his head, he thought about what the man had said.
__________________________________________________________________

After Ko had left on business of his own, Shann had taken up his smoke once more. For a while he had been upset over the remarks the human had made, but with time it passed. The sea breeze was too calming and peaceful to stay angry very long. Between the inhalation of tobacco, he could smell the freshness in the air that you could only get in coastal towns like this. The smell of freshly caught fish, of salt, of spices and food goods being loaded and unloaded onto ships.

He had stood there with his eyes closed, just letting the gentle breeze wash over him. He thought of his home across the sea. Not the tiny little village within the inner depths of the island but of the home he had made for himself in the far away coastal town. A part of him missed that life. He missed the livelihood of the locals, the barkeep that knew his name, the girls that had grown all too familiar with his reputation and called him out for it. Life was simpler then, he only had himself to look out for.

He had worked hard, well not hard, but he had established himself among the shadier business that had surrounded the dockside nightlife. When not drinking and gambling or feeling up a barmaid, Shann had made use of what skills he had learned as a record keeper. It wasn't legal work but that's what brought some of the excitement that the old dusty library lacked. He could picture himself now, sitting back in his favorite booth, at his favorite little tavern, back in the corner with the oil lantern burning in the center of the table and his beer sitting off to the right side of his inkwell. He would be leaning over some document of some kind, usually a permit for foreign imports, and he would carefully apply the needed signatures of the both the harbor master and the city clerk. It was easy work, but somebody needed to do it. Without people like Shann, the good elves of the island would never have a chance to drink the potent distilled beverages of dwarves or dress themselves in the elegant silks of Tian Xia. For all the good intention they had of keeping their people safe and pure, the elves of Darleone were xenophobic to their core and for that they would never fully open themselves up to the outside world.

With that, Shann found himself letting out a lungful of sea breeze that he hadn't even realized that he had been holding in.

I should check on the boy, he thought. There's no telling where he could be hiding on the ship and it's best to find him before he gets himself in trouble.

After taking one final moment to enjoy the breeze and the sight of night settling over the water, Shann headed below deck to find his nephew and claim himself a cot.

Ko moved into the room at the tail end of Ceallach's words to Zain. His face was inscrutable, and his manner was without hitch. He did not look at either the young man or the older one, instead moving towards a rear corner of the long, narrow room. Some sailors were already sleeping, having come in soused from shore leave and catching up on needed sleep before their hard working shifts would start tomorrow. Ko's would begin then as well, he thought with a certain grim satisfaction.

He did not think on what he had heard, but he had a gut deep apprehension he could not simply put away. He ran a hand through his hair, disordering it as he found an unoccupied sling, and stowed his belongings below it. He hoped Ceallach cleaned his mess up.

Disconnected fragments pelted his conscious thoughts, and he chewed his lower lip in a deepening concern that he was not terribly comforted by feeling. He didn't want to have emotional responses to these traveling companions who would be gone soon enough. A shallow tryst was all he'd been after, but after so many days even that. . .

He settled himself by stripping out of his leathers, exchanging those travel stained garments for a slightly fresher set that would be easier for his work the next day. He became mechanical, wooden in his movements, trying to abandon himself in excitement to finally be on a deck again, but no matter what he did he could not summon it. He probed the tense muscles over his stomach and biceps, the taut flesh bruised in places from the old nag on the trip down. But that was only a minor irritation, and the pain he drew from pushing at the ridged flesh was minor at best. He blew out a sigh, and loosened the laces on the shirt he'd donned to expose a patch of smooth skin.

As he lay down to sleep, he thought bitterly of Pethenas, and her hands, those tingling fingertips drawing him down, and down and down.

Not even the thought of Shann could distract him from that fever dream.

Ceallach scratched his head. Where would he acquire a training shield?

He put his baldric back on. He would not be able to sleep until he solved this problem. He grabbed his boots and climbed up the ladder silently.

Once topside, he donned the boots and cracked his back. He was far too tense. Someday, he would have to relax.

But there would be time for that, once he found his wife and son.

As of right now, there was a boy that needed to learn how to fight like a man, lest he die like a dog.

He wandered over to the pier. A chill had begun to descend with the thick mist that now cloaked the docks. Ceallach gave no hint of being bothered as he had endured many colder nights with far thinner clothing.

The warrior picked his way through a narrow alley, keeping an eye on the scrap heaps for anything useful.

It was then that he heard someone following him. He gave no sign of detecting the interloper and instead continued into the deeper shadows.

Upon reaching a particularly dark corner, he simply stopped and turned.

He drew his blade, unslung his shield from his back, snorted, and spat.

Two figures began to approach him. Their approach faltered for a second as they noticed his readiness but, as always, one was a loudmouth.

“Come on, now, it doesn’t have to be like this. You can just give us your...”

Ceallach didn’t even let the brigand finish his sentence as he leapt into action and slammed his shield into the man’s midsection. He could feel the wicked spike that jutted out from the center bite into flesh and a gasp of surprise, shock, and pain.

He barked a gruff laugh in response and hacked at the unwounded robber. Blood spurted and a hand clutching a dagger fell to the ground.

This one did not gasp.

He screamed.

Ceallach pulled back his shield, fell into a crouch for only a moment, and then stabbed with his kopis at the shrieking one.

The blade sunk deep and, when withdrawn, brought a slick string of intestines with it.

Then, pressing his advantage, Ceallach severed the head of the other man that he had impaled with his shield, flourished and withdrew, then stabbed the blade into the face of the other as he attempted to replace his leaking innards.

Ceallach grunted. He wiped his blade off. The decapitated man had a small buckler on his back.

It was of decent quality. It would do for training a callow youth, certainly.

He picked up the small wooden shield, kissed the medal around his neck, and exhaled slowly.

The combat high began to fade and he started shaking again.

The big man’s knees got weak and breathing got hard. He blinked hard as his vision began to swim.

He staggered drunkenly to the nearest wall and braced himself against it.

His heart had barely even picked up an extra beat during the killing, but now it was racing. He was sweating and he felt sick.

“Am I dying?” He asked himself aloud.

Then, slightly more quiet, he muttered, “What wretched creature am I to be this way after a clean killing? Surely, I am cursed.”

These spells continued to get worse as time wore on and he knew what they meant.

They were a certain sign that he was not worthy of his family. He would never see them until he could give up his murdering ways.

But how else was he to raise the money to free them when he found them?

Whatever gods there were were truly cruel and petty to torture him so.

With a great deal of focus, he forced his trembling hands to steady and regained his feet. He was unaware that he had sunk to his knees during his spell and this made him feel even more pathetic.

He growled like an animal and focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other until he reached the ship.

On his way below deck, Shann stopped a couple of crewmen asking about the whereabouts of the quiet elf boy with a large mutt at his heels. The boat was only so large, so the boy really couldn't have gone all that far without somebody noticing, but these men hadn't seen him and could only answer Shann with a shake of their heads and discouraging words about enjoying their last night dockside. As tempting as it was to join the sailors and revive his dying buzz, he knew he would feel better knowing that the boy was safe before passing out.

He passed several cabins where the wealthier passengers could room should they have the bishani to afford it, along with many storage rooms and coves, on his way to the back of the ship where the crew and poorer passengers slept. "Zain?" He called out for the boy. "Where'd to run off to this time?" It was much darker below deck than it was up top. With only the light of a few randomly placed candles to illuminate his path, he found it hard enough to navigate all the boxes and barrels let alone go searching through the dark for the boy that was most likely sleeping under a create somewhere. How humans managed to find their way through this maze at night, without tripping over their own feet, came across as nothing short of a miracle.

When his calls resulted in but a few disgruntled shoats from sleeping crewmen that had been woken by his yelling, he decided that it was probably better to just give up and look for the boy again once the sun came up.

So he found an unoccupied cot to call his own, placed his boots beneath them and settled down for the night. It didn't take long for the gentle rocking of the boat to help him drift off to sleep. It seemed so long ago since he had last been on such a vessel, yet it couldn't have been more than a couple of months since he had left his far away home and set foot on this journey that would take him from his homeland to the outside world. It was strange how a hundred years could seem to go by so quickly yet the last few months could crawl by at a pace that made them seem as if they were a lifetime of their own.

Morning came too soon.

Morning didn't come soon enough.

He rolled from his sling a sailor, and he didn't spare a glance at any of his companions as he moved with the dawn shift topside, more or less ready for the morning's work. And the afternoon's work. Then the evening's work. He had a feeling he'd be much hairier than he'd been since his extended stay on the land, but that was fine. He had a good noseful of salty air, and that was just enough to clear his head of all the idiocy that had occurred the last few years.

He presented himself before the first mate, expecting dog work, and was disappointed when he received it -- but not altogether surprised. He then picked a not-too-wet spot at the bow and sat down, dragging sail with him, and a small toolkit with the large needle and coarse thread necessary to fix them. It was work he hadn't done in a long time, longer even than his land stay. It was work typically afforded to younger crewmen, or troublemakers. Or strangers who like as not know fuck all 'bout sailing.

His lips twisted with dour humor as he settled into his task, just waiting for one or another of his land companions to catch him at it.