The hunt

[Zebren Avern]

"Who's there?" he cried, voice faltering slightly as he craned to see in the dark.

Silence was his answer.

Then footsteps, impossibly loud and heavy, sounded far too close for comfort. He jumped, heart racing a mile a minute, as heavy, distorted breathing joined the steps, each intake of air a death rattle in his mind.

Again, he cried out, "Who's there!?", his voice fading to little more than a squeak in the face of terror.

Again, no reply. If anything, the breathing grew more disturbing.

And closer.

Rising to his feet, the gatekeeper hefted his spear and squinted into the distance. The night was an impenetrable curtain of black, punctuated merely by the flickering lights of the city, a little way down the road. His own breath caught in his chest as he sought out the source of the footsteps, and the breathing.

Two red pinpricks in the night were his first discovery.

His heart skipped a beat.

Old as he was, and unaccustomed to being spooked like this, anger flashed within him. A skilled fighter, he raised his spear and once again called out to the source of the noise.

"Who is there? Answer, or be damned by my spear!"

His voice was soaked up by the inky void around him. The wind picked up, howling about his person, taking with it any illusions of comfort the old man had been clinging to this night shift.

Again, no answer was forthcoming.

In fact, total silence fell.

Whoever was before him was holding his breath.

The spear tip flashed in the red glow as he lunged for the unknown figure in the dark.

Snap.

More silence.

Then footsteps, heavy, imposing footsteps, marching toward the town. Hideous breathing, rattling as if from a deep cavity, like some infernal gnomish creation.

The guard lifted himself to his feet, dazed. He limped into the guardhouse, in a state of complete bewilderment. In the light from it's candles, he saw his spear. Surprisingly intact, the head held no trace of blood on it.

The arm holding it had not been so lucky. Snapped at the elbow, he remembered a hand clamped to his mouth. Stifling his scream.

He took one look at the arm, bones splayed out, sticking through the flesh at odd angles, and collapsed onto the floor.

He would be dead before the healers found him.

[Daq Bekkar]

Daq had left the derelict warehouse where he'd been staying to survey the area for ingredients. His arm was tingling too badly for him to sleep. He'd found worryroot growing from between the cracks of a broken cobblestone the other day, so he allowed himself the hope that it wouldn't be an entirely fruitless search.

Lightly sniffing at the stink of the alley, he could dissect it into its components--acrid chlorides, stinking sulfurs, and a hint of cadaverine--waste by-products of the factory operations... nothing he'd need.

Something glittered in the moonlight, and life sprung into his arm as he saw it. It darted out and grabbed at the shining shard. It was an old knife. As he walked, his left hand flexed, carving it against the wall, sharpening it against the rough stones. Daq couldn't feel his arm when he had awakened.. he couldn't feel it still, but he figured that its movement was an improvement upon its former lifeless, rubbery hanging. He kneaded at his shoulder, hoping to restore control as he went on. His eyes never left the pavement, constantly searching for a rare night-time bloom or, more likely, a particularly pungent pool of rot.

He saw a shadow dart across his field of vision with wicked alacrity. At first he thought he'd imagined it, the outline of a giant man, but his left arm began to burn with a white hot, insistent intensity... Something was there... Something he'd need.

He turned the corner sharply, breaking into a run to chase after the phantom image, and he was badly surprised to see it stopped short around the bend It seemed to be searching for something, and its red, hateful eyes glowed like hot crucibles under a burner's flame. Looking at them, he understood.

He wasn't sure how he knew it, but the creature was a Xenetian, and he'd need one of its eyes.

His hand, holding the newly sharpened but ancient blade, darted out before he could think and slashed as high as he could reach at the monster's throat.

Watching the silver blade flash in the moonlight, he was filled with regret.

[Zebren Avern]

The city was filled with hate.

He could feel it, gnawing at his conciousness, nagging his attentions away from the quest.

His self-discipline ignored it, forcing himself to focus on the matter in hand. A brief flash of memory jolted his senses, like the crack of the whip many years ago.

"We have found him, excellency." the young, wide-eyed man had said.
"Are you certain, cleric? You know the price for mistakes here." The leader's voice was smooth, calm. Dangerously so.
"Excellency I am assured. It is he." the cleric had responded immediatly, looking up from his work.
"Well then. Approach the chair." the voice had continued, smooth and calm as before.
He had done so, eyes brimming with fear. Uncertanty had gripped him as suddenly as the security from the knowledge had done moments before. Nevertheless, he stood before the leader, straight-backed and proud, and declared his findings to the council.
"Excellency, our sources indicate that the last infidel was seen leaving the scene of our last ambush towards Keltaris. Our best attempts to search for him there failed.

"New evidence, gained by magical means, suggests that the scum has taken refuge in the city of Marn, in Thar Shaddin." there had been uproar about the room at this announcement.

The cleric had continued, still fearing for his life but drawing confidence with every breath, "I know many of you may never have heard of it. However it was once a key fort in the great wars of our time. Now it lies in ruins, and a city that once flourished from the trade there flounders in the dirt, still barely alive, just keeping stable.

"That is where the scum has gone." he had finished, avoiding the use of the Xenetian's name. It was punishable by death, a grim reminder of how many true Xenetian warriors had fallen to this ancient believer's blades.

The chair had been silent for a good hour following the news, letting the assembled members of the council bellow amongst each other until finally, when he had spoken, so quietly it defied hearing, they fell silent.

The voice of the leader had carried around the room, filling every crack in the walls with just three words:

"Send Zebren Avern."

A movement in the dark beside him halted his ruination on the past. Trained as he was, he could sense the creature hiding close to him and, as he focused, could hear his heartbeat as he had done the gatekeeper, mere hours ago.

This one was strange, as if inorganic in origin. Instinct told Zebren this was a bad thing. This was concreted by the thing flashing a dagger in the general direction of his throat.

Catching the stab in mid-strike easily, he gripped the wrist behind the dagger and turned it back upon itself, attempting to disarm his opponent. The creature had overstretched himself, trying perhaps to reach for a head strike, Zebren mused. It seemed to be a common tactic.

Still, this one had come too close. As easy as it had been to defuse this threat, Zebren chided himself for his lack of discipline. He would punish himself later. For now, there was much to do.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke to the creature. His voice shook the very ground he stood on, deep and grating from many years of tortured screaming which somehow seemed to be reflected in his voice.

"Your name, creature. Before I tear it from you."

[Daq Bekkar]

Daq was sure that the twisting and forcing of his arm would have been excruciatingly painful if there had been feeling in it. He could feel dim echoes of that pain in his shoulder joint, where the arm connected to his body, but try as he might, he couldn't will his arm to drop the weapon. It twisted itself further, flexing its strained muscles, to slash at the forearm of the creature that held it. All he could do was turn his back from the giant, only somewhat rectifying the ugly position of his limb.

He heard its roar, and his ears rang from the sound. Its raspy, gutteral voice caused a sour, fearful taste to pool in the recesses of his mouth. His heart throbbed in his chest, and he drew his breath in ragged gasps.

Daq tried to speak, but all he could manage were stutters. The night air was filled with tense silence, broken only by hammering of his pulse and the gentle scribbling noises as his dagger scraped against metal armor.

Try as he might, he couldn't will his arm to give up its futile attacks. The savage figure worsened his hold, bit by bit, until his shoulder screamed with pain as well, forcing Daq to the ground.

Nose pressed there, he inhaled sharply and was met with an unpleasant, but familiar scent.

"Oh God.. no.." he whispered to himself. "Don't make it worse."

But he knew he had to try.

Clawing between the cobblestones, he scraped up as much of the caked-on powder as he could. He wasn't sure if it was lucky or unlucky that the weather had been dry long enough for so much of it to collect there, coagulating from the drip of some unseen drain.

Daq spat in his hand and kneaded the scummy substance between his fingers. It began to fizz. He held his breath.

"1... " he counted in his head. "2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8..."

His heart felt like it would explode from the strain, and he had no idea what his arm would feel like if he survived to regain feeling to it. It continued hacking weakly at the thing's arm that held it so resolutely, whether or not it seemed to be meeting its mark.

"9... 10!" He exhaled sharply into his hand and whipped around painfully to face the enormous beast. The scum ignited into a putrescent green flame that he slung at the thing holding him. As it moved through the air, the reaction began to reach its peak. Finally, just before or, perhaps, just upon reaching the the beast's jawline, it exploded with a deafening, shrill screech.

Just as Daq squeezed his eyes closed, shutting them as tightly as he could manage, a wave of tiny condensed shards of the compound blew against his face. He could feel them stinging in his skin as collapsed into his former position, face sunk weakly into the grimy stones of the alley.

Hope fluttered in his chest--hope that the thing would lose its grip.. hope that he could run.

[Zebren Avern]

The creature's defiance puzzled him.

He had it in a valid joint lock, and yet it didn't seem to be in any pain, at least not until he wrenched the shoulder to force it to the ground. Quickly ascertaining that it couldn't feel pain in that arm, Zebren was about to change tactics when the creature flung something at him.

Reflexes as sharp as razorblades brought his free arm in front of his face, protecting his sensitive eyes from the debris in the explosion. Gripping the creature tightly, Zebren recognised the action as an attempt to flee, rather than an attack, and acted accordingly.

Hoisting the creature to it's feet, he noticed for the first time that it was, in fact, male. Somewhat aggrieved, Zebren wasted no time in planting a hand at his throat, hoisting him into the air that way, and grappling to control both arms, to prevent any further attempts on his vision.

Exactly what it was had been thrown, Zebren could only guess at. He'd never known anything like it, and although his eyes and face had been protected, his arm burned as particles of sizzling debris which had found their way past his bracers made themselves known.

Emphasising his grip, Zebren took a measured amount of force, cutting off just enough air with his hand as to cause discomfort, yet still allow him to speak his name.

"Your name. Now." he growled, patience hanging by a thread.

[Daq Bekkar]

Pinned hopelessly against his side, his arm continued to make stabbing attempts. He knew it was useless, but evidently the message refused to make its way down his left side. Thankfully, the beast had released him from the painful hold.

Unfortunately, it had him by the throat.. His last ditch effort had failed utterly, and now he found himself with no other option but to beg for mercy. His blade hit metal. Struggling to breathe, he hoped his puny attempts on the creature wouldn't make his supplications seem less sincere.

"Echhhh," he gasped, trying to pronounce his name. "Echhh........"

He twisted his head, loosening up the grip somewhat.

"Daq!" he managed to spit out. "Daq Bekkar!"

Something about the hold shifted, freeing up his arm again for an instant. It snaked out with the knife again, this time striking his captor's metal armor hard.

"I..." he said, hoping the look in his eyes would speak for him somewhat. It was a challenge to drawn in air, much less expel it in ways that sounded like communication.

"The arm--" He gestured with his eyes at the hand that now jerked violently, threatening to injure the body it belonged to as well. "--can't control it."

There was no response, only his strangled rasping and that infernal crushing. He decided that perhaps honesty would be best at this moment. He didn't have much to lose, and maybe the foolishness of it all would inspire pity in the thing that held him.

"...Desperate," he wheezed. He drew in a long, painful breath. "It hungers.. for a Xenetian's eye."

[Zebren Avern]

As the knife jerked out, yet again, to strike his armour, Zebren admired his new quarry's determination. Not, perhaps, intelligence in the matter, since it was clearly pointless to be trying to resist, but nevertheless his arm was darting in and out, trying to stab the arm beneath his bracer.

A particularly hard strike caused him to shift his grip somewhat, for comfort, as the human spoke his name.

"Daq!" he managed to spit out. "Daq Bekkar!"

Hmmm. Never heard of this one. Still, as the arm continued it's frenzied stabbing, now outraged that his own arm had moved, Zebren mused as to the possiblity this man might be useful. He was certainly determined in such matters as combat when there was blatantly no hope.

"The arm--"... "--can't control it."

Ah, that explained much. After a brief pause, Zebren set the man back on the floor, after listening to him talk of his arm wanting Zebren's eyes.

"How can your arm want my eyes, Daq Bekkar? Is it not then, that you want my eyes, and the arm is merely an extension of your own will?"

As an afterthought, he added "Sadly for you, my eyes are in use at the moment. But I know of another's eyes you may have, when I tear them from his lifeless corpse and hand them to you." Surely, Xyon's corpse would be passable without an eye? He would have to consider this.

Still, it wasn't like he would have to surrender the eye to Daq. The younger man might even get himself hurt during the fight.

This one could be useful, Zebren. Keep him with you.

Jeren's voice echoed in his mind, as it always did when the weapon's will was strong enough. He had learned from experience it was best to obey.

"You will come with me. I will provide you food, lodgings, and training. Eventually I may provide you with an eye, if you serve me well enough. Now walk with me, to the city, Daq Bekkar."

[Daq Bekkar]

Daq opened his mouth to protest but decided it would be best to remain silent. It was a long story, and the patience of the thing he had assailed appeared to be tried enough. Perhaps it would be a story for another time, but for now, the arm would remain best undiscussed.

Upon hearing the offer of the Xenetian, his arm deftly tucked the blade into his belt and made an elegant twirling motion, first two fingers extended, palm out.. an offer of acceptance.

After that, pain flooded Daq, and he struggled not to cry, let alone collapse to the ground. Feeling had returned to his phantom limb, and reports of the damage that had been done to it began to be reported. He held it against himself and tried to collect his thoughts.

Obviously, he'd need the eye, and, if the size of this Xenetian was any indication, it would be dangerous and difficult to get one on his own. If there was an opportunity to be had, this was it, but he couldn't imagine what fearful purpose the creature had for killing one of its own. Dark things were at work, and he was reluctant to be party to them.

"You will come with me. I will provide you food, lodgings, and training. Eventually I may provide you with an eye, if you serve me well enough. Now walk with me, to the city, Daq Bekkar."

On the other hand, what the Xenetian said seemed less like an inviation and more like a command. Perhaps he expected reparation for the attacks made upon him. Whatever the case, he fell in stride with the taller man, walking together with him through the paths of shadow.

Daq cleared his throat after awhile and said, "Now that you know my name, I think it only fair that you tell me yours."

He had tried to sound tough or important, but he was fairly sure the uncontrolled wavering of his voice had made him fall short of both of those marks.

[Zebren Avern]

As they marched easily into the city, dawn came. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting a reddish pink glow over the landscape. This wasn't a good thing.

In the harsh light of a winter's dawn, the ground looked harsh and unforgiving. Bare trees appeared to be tortured figures, writhing in pain of ages past, frozen into form by solid wood. The river, it's clear waters showing the bottom, seemed full of corpses, rotting slowly as the victims of war from long ago lay quiet, sleeping for eons as the world raced by.

Even the sky, with the red light cast upon it, looked twisted somehow. Evil seemed close by. In fact, it was closer than anybody in the city would care to think. True, pure, undiluted hatred filled the man with glowing red eyes, as he scoured the landscape in search of the only Xenetian to defy him.

Xyon and Zebren had met before, once, long ago. The Calhoun Arena had played host to their battle as eight hundred thousand people had tried to flee. A teenage Xyon, wielding the short sword his brother Keldos had given him, had stood between them and Zebren, holding him off to protect his people.

Noble fool that he had been. Jeren had easily carved through his sword, and had been on his way to doing the same to the whelp's neck when everything changed.

Xyon's hands had suddenly been at his throat, pouring energy into it in the opposite way he did to victims. Healing him. His arm had stopped in mid-strike, and he had flailed in protest as Xyon's own life energy flooded into his body, mingling with his own.

Sheer power had coursed through his veins, as a few of his old injuries had begun to heal again. He could feel the world around him with even greater awareness than ever before. But Xyon had not been finished.

For a party piece, it hadn't been bad. The boy had mixed both of their energies together - and then recalled his own, dragging it back out of Zebren along with the energy of the Danteri that had mingled with it. The draining sensation had hit him even harder than the power had done, as Xyon had straightened up and rabbit-punched him in the nose and about the face.

Zebren had, by this point, been in no condition to fight. Completely drained, all he had wanted to do was go and find a nice little cavity to curl up and sleep in. But Xyon pressed his advantage, with glorious effect. He'd even managed to assume temporary control over Jeren, using his own weapon against him to force a flight from the crowd of lovely innocent souls.

The rage consumed him, his mind reeling as his blood boiled in memory of the injustice. The arrogant bastard would pay dearly for that one.

So taken by his own memory was he, he didn't even hear Daq asking him questions for several minutes.

"Now that you know my name, I think it only fair that you tell me yours."

Summoning up what remained of his brain power, Zebren replied in the darkest tone of voice that his throat had used in a while.

"My name is Zebren Avern. I do not deal in fair."

[Daq Bekkar]

Daq flinched at the harsh tone 'Zebren' had taken with him and regretted disturbing his dark ruminations. But his left hand curled in anger, and he felt himself gritting his teeth.

"In my experience," he muttered. "I have found it dangerous to confront my new compatriots with disdain."

He wasn't entirely sure to what he had referred, but he was sure of what he had said, bolstered by the truth of dim half-memories that raced across his skin, prickles like the legs of spiders.

Bending over, making as if to fix a buckle of his worn left boot, he snatched subtly at the ground. Tiny thorns stung his fingertips, but he willed them closed around the plant. He straightened up and walked on, confirmed in his surety.

Corpseweed, he thought. Dangerous, indeed.

They reached the outskirts of the business district with the first tinges of morning light, so cold and distant on that bleak winter morning. This time, Daq took the lead.

"This way," he said, turning down a side-street. The buildings there were on the passable side of ramshackle, ashy and peeling, but sturdy. Thick shadows, vestiges of the night, pooled in their sunken eaves.

Daq knocked at a thick wooden door, reinforced with scraps of metal. A slat opened, two eyes appeared, and it closed again, with the unlocking of the door. Daq swung it open.

"This is where I'm staying," he said, scratching at the gray stubble under his jaw. He turned to the sallow, mistrustful woman who had admitted them. Her face looked brimming with questions.

"Another boarder," he preempted. "He can sleep in the adjoining room."

Casting a sidelong, mischievous glance at Zebren, the Xenetian who did not deal in fair, he added, "He'll be taking over the bill."

Not waiting for Zebren to protest or, perhaps, slam him into a wall, he turned a familiar corner and hurried down a dingy hallway to unlock the door of his room. He entered, leaving the door ajar for the Xenetian to follow if he so wished.

Skirting the jumble of alchemical gear, alembics and condensers, extraction columns, homogenizers, and a calcination oven, he made his way to his bedroom. He unstrapped his boots, kicked off his pants, wriggled out of his shirt, and donned a nightgown. He made his way to the window, avoiding a broken board with practiced skill.

Before drawing the curtains, he looked at the dawn, breaking with a red wash, the color of blood, upon the withered city. A dawn so full of auspice.

[Zebren Avern]

Zebren would have followed him into the room, were it not for the fact that he was simply too large to fit through the door.

The designers had evidently never considered the fact that someone over seven feet tall would attempt to use it. Zebren, already bent almost double to avoid smacking his head into the ceiling, however, did more than attempt.

Taking what passed for a deep breath in his chest, he hunkered back as far as the corridor would allow, and readied himself. A mental count to three was reached.

As he flung himself towards the doorframe, it occured to Zebren that it might have been a good idea to check what was on the other side first. Still, as he sailed through the wood with the obligatory cracking sound wood tends to make when 300lbs of Danteri launches himself through it, it also occured to him that it was a little late now.

Unfortunately, there appeared to be a large amount of delicate alchemist's gear on the other side of the wall. After picking various broken pieces of glass and ceramics from the chinks in his armour, Zebren noted with a little amusement that he was through the door.

[Daq Bekkar]

Daq started at the sound of breaking glass. He stumbled over piles of dirty clothes as he scrambled to pull on his boots and get back into the lab.

His eyes darted quickly to the corner of the room, where a rack of chemicals rested on a small desk, shaded at all times from the sunlight--the master stock. It was untouched. Before tending to anything else, he moved it into his bedroom.

When he returned to the scene, he was sad to see that the same could not be said for his aliquots. And his extraction column. And his alembics. They were completely destroyed, and shards of them covered the floor and the black armor of the giant. He started trying to find the humor in the situation when he noticed the smell.

Skirting past the giant, he bolted to a locked cabinet at the room's far end. After fumbling with his keys for what seemed like an awkward, nervous eternity, he managed to open it. He removed a large wooden gourd and uncorked it. Wrapping his free hand with a discarded towel from nearby, he got down on all fours and began to sniff at the floor, occasionally spilling the gourd's contents. The liquid fizzed and gave off a white mist in some spots.

He made his way like this to Zebren, where the smell seemed strongest. He splashed a bit tentatively on his shinguard. It fizzed there, too, and evaporated quickly into a white mist.

"Take off your armor. Now!" For once, authority filled his voice as he spoke with Zebren.

"That is, unless you'd like it melted to your skin."

[Zebren Avern]

Zebren watched his armour cautiously as the white stuff appeared. Not used to people throwing various liquids at him, he recoiled slightly, and for the briefest instant his composure visibly slipped.

Almost instantly, it was back. As if it had never left, Zebren removed his armour as quickly as the fiddly process would allow. Handing it to Daq, he stood in his underclothes, a tunic and generic pair of trousers.

"I trust you can fix it. Do so." he boomed to Daq, before consulting with Jeren.

Unarmoured this guy could pose a threat. He's clearly no physical match for you but there's a lot of chemicals around that could do you some damage. Be careful. Jeren's influence upon him, the sword's own voice, echoed in his mind. Unheard by anyone but him, the sword knew Zebren's orders better than he did, and saw to it that they were obeyed.

Drawing the blade, he scanned it's faintly glowing length carefully to ensure nothing had come into contact with the blade. The consequences of such a thing were almost unthinkable, as the sword's influence tended to taint most things which came into direct contact with it.

He slid Jeren back into his scabbard, noting with a little annoyance a mild resistance on the sword's part. Nevertheless, the sword was sheathed fully, and Zebren buckled the back scabbard onto his body, fastening the straps with one hand.

A quick scan of the room showed the only exits were the now much wider doorway he'd just thrown himself through, and a small window on the far side. Doubtless if he had to use the window, it too would be made somewhat larger by his passing.

He turned to Daq. The gnawing of his stomach was by now almost unbearable. He hadn't eaten in six days; a weaker man would have been reduced to a pathetic crawl by this point. Needless to say, Zebren was no weak man, although the pain from his stomach made it clear that food would either be provided, or it would digest itself.

"We need food. You will give me directions to an eatery within walking distance."

[Daq Bekkar]

"It's not your armor that will be melting," Daq mumbled. "The chemical I tested for doesn't react with metals."

He put the armor pieces one a nearby table one by one as they were handed to him.

"Excuse me," he said. "I need to head into my room to get some reagents."

Daq eyed the scabbard in Zebren's hands cautiously. Why had he unsheathed the sword? A veiled threat most likely.. Thinly veiled. He noted with apprehension how reluctantly Zebren sheathed it again.

"I.. uh. I can't use this chemical on your skin. The heat of the reaction would burn you."

He backed away, eyes on Zebren. After fumbling with the doorknob behind him, he entered his bedroom. He leaned against the shut door, catching his breath. It was all moving a bit too fast for him.

Another cabinet next to his bedside held the antitoxins, buffers, and neutralizing chemicals he used for spills. He pulled out the indicator and the sequestering agent he was looking for. He set them on the top of the low cabinet to free his hands, so he could get up. Rising with some stiffness, he noticed what else lay on top of the cabinet--the corpseweed from earlier. It wouldn't be hard to simply break off a few thorns and mix the poison with the indicator...

But how quickly would it act on a man of Zebren's size? What if his metabolism was different? Daq would've been sure of the paralytic effects working quickly enough to prevent any struggle in a smaller man.. perhaps of his own size.. but he was reluctant to take the chance. The paralytics would work eventually, and Zebren would ultimately suffocate, but what use were the beast's eyes if he, himself, was killed in the process?

Daq decided against it and went back into the main room with the chemicals, untampered, to help Zebren.

"This will sting some," he warned. "But not as badly if I leave it untreated."

He sprayed a thin mist of the indicator. Several spots on Zebren's face and arms turned red immediately. In those places, he dabbed the second chemical carefully, and a crusty salt formed, which he then brushed off.

There was a place where Zebren's tunic was ripped. Daq carefully lifted it up and sprayed indicator. Red again. He started to apply the second chemical, but then he froze, staring in awe of the scars and half-healed welts that criss-crossed Zebren's skin.

Not wanting the giant to notice his discomfort, he hastily began applying the second chemical again. To cover the pause, he decided to answer Zebren's other question.

"There's a bakery just beyond the alley we're in, but I suspect you're looking for something more substantial. There's a butcher shop a few streets away that has good prices. I've been in a few times--make sure it's the one with the guy named Njord out front. He's a strange fellow.. a bit feral.. but he's fair."

He finished neutralizing the spots on Zebren's torso. His legs seemed mostly untouched, perhaps because he had barreled in head-first.

"Well; I'm done," he said. "If you don't mind, I'll leave you to find the shop yourself. I have some cleaning up to do."

He indicated with his hand the sea of broken glass and stinking substances.

[Zebren Avern]

Zebren forcibly stopped his instincts taking over as Daq came towards him with some odd kind of liquids. Instinct told him, and every muscle in his body screamed for it, to belt the little man flying and take his chances with a little irritation.

Intelligence told instinct to shut the hell up and go sit in the corner like a good boy. Zebren had no knowledge of alchemy, but he'd experienced chemical warfare in the war, surprisingly enough, and knew what these kinds of thing can do to the Xenetian body. Thus, he allowed Daq to treat the areas he'd been splashed, noting with a little distaste the smell. A slight stinging sensation was apparent, but it was barely noticable.

Also met with distaste was the expression Daq bore when he encountered a few of the scars on his body. Those scars were personal torment for him, ever-present reminders of his suffering and torture, most of them still not fully healed. Some never would, as magical weapons tend to deliver more severe wounds.

Thankfully, Daq seemed not to notice the worst of them, or the fresh ones across his back. Still covered by tunic, it was unlikely his back would have taken any splashing.

Once Daq had finished, and stepped away, Zebren felt a few muscles which had been under strain start to relax. The irritating sensations on his skin, a mild annoyance to a man of his size and power, had all but faded to nothing. Already he could feel the familiar grim embrace of slumber tugging at his conciousness, dragging his mind down, down into the depths of his nightmares.

He ignored it.

"There's a bakery just beyond the alley we're in, but I suspect you're looking for something more substantial. There's a butcher shop a few streets away that has good prices. I've been in a few times--make sure it's the one with the guy named Njord out front. He's a strange fellow.. a bit feral.. but he's fair."

Zebren nodded, indicating that the information had been heard and understood. He remained motionless for a moment, thinking things through. THe red glow in his eyes punctuated the gathering darkness in the room as it pulsed and flickered, almost an indicator of brain usage. After a while, he spoke, in his usual angle-grinder tones:

"Thank you. Your service thus far will be rewarded." From his coin pouch, still at his belt, he withdrew five bishani and laid them on the table in a small pile. Straightening up, he turned back to Daq. "Presumably the armour is safe to wear. I will put it back on before I leave. Do you require food, Daq Bekkar?"

The question hung in the air like thunder as Zebren reached for his armour and began the even fiddlier process of putting it back on. With one hand, he undid the straps on his scabbard once again, leaning the greatsword carefully against the wall before donning his cuirass with practised... not quite ease, it had to be said, but a certain grace, perhaps from over-familiarity with the process.