Thar Shaddin

"We'll be hitting Athena by tomorrow, around midday."

Under moonlight, and star-lit skies, the small ship cut through the sea with grace. Onboard, most of its passengers were either sleeping or close. Mahmut stood near the stern, leaned against the railing; eyes locked on the water. For him these past few days had been something of a nightmare made into reality, to which he was recounting in his head.

---

The crowded streets of Semerkhet made it impossible to walk without having your pocket emptied by some street urchin. Perhaps it was his intimidating size, or the rarity of his people's in society, but Mahmut managed to create a void around him. But the way he carried himself signified the appearence of a burden.

The fact of the matter is that he had lost nearly everything less than a day ago. Exiled from his tribe and the only way of life he had known, Mahmut was tossed outside without so much as a map to guide him. Sent out with his posessions, a camel, and a few precious stones to trade, the young Hayawani had to carve out a new life in this unforgiving new world.

Through conversations, Mahmut deciphered that this was a bad city to live in and a more peaceful way of life lay beyond the sea. Without any proper money, he was forced to sell his camel and precious stones for proper currency. But even with his newfound riches, it would not be enough to book passage to the city of "Keltaris".

The Hayawani was trapped as a vagrant in this backwater port.

Mahmut strayed off the main roads and huddled against a large tavern, arms crossed and deep in thought. He thought of returning to his tribe and begging forgiveness only to remember their nomadic nature; by the time he'd reach the original campsite, they'd be long gone -- not that they'd take him back anyway. The young man's thoughts were interrupted by two grizzly voices within the Tavern.

"Yeah, that's the plan. Charge less for transportation across the sea."

His ears pricked up.

"But you have a dingy little thing; who'd want to risk their lives on your ship?"
"Those without their pockets full."
"Well then, where do we sign up?" a third, more foreign voice piped up.
"Look for the ship with sails stiched with red. There should be a rather tall individual standing nearby, looking to collect."
"Then I will see you again soon."

When the foreigner left the tavern, Mahmut was nowhere in sight; he had rushed to the docks.

---

"Oi, you lookin to fall overboard?" a familiar, grizzly, voice said.

"I was just thinking." the Hayawani replied.

The sailor grunted and returned to his duties. Mahmut pushed off the ship's side and slid onto his rear; his back using the cabin's walls for support. His eyelids became heavy and, eventually, closed with the mesmerizing music of the sea.

As raucous as the merchant streets of Keltaris proper are during the light of day, so empty and desolate are they at night. Under the moon one seeking a drop to drink, a bit of a gamble, or the warmth of a night's passion might find any or all in the shadows of the back streets - but not the stone paved main road. No, here every step echoed dully against the sun-baked brick walls, and the only companions one might find are the lizards and rats who scurry about and feast in the night hours on the remains of city life.

This was Ruadha's hour. Here he needn't worry about losing his way in a crowd, or being tripped by ornery children. He welcomed the hollow thud of each leathern footfall, and the scrape of his long ebony cane against the cobbles. He tasted the night air and relished the scents of sea salt and moisture. In the foreground lay stale spilt beer - an unpleasant scent and nearly overpowering. He must be in front of the old pub. Only a short way longer.

Thirty-five... thirty-six... thirty-seven... On his fortieth heavy, uneven footfall past the tavern, he tasted the air again. The stale beer was much fainter, and he could also smell burning cedar and sage, as well as cinnamon, and camphor.

His heavy, carven cane lead him to the doorway, which he knocked seven times. "Damn!" He pulled back in shock. Old wood. He sucked the splinter out of his knuckle as the door swung open.

"Ruadha! It is so lovely to see you again. Is Mineveh with you?" The cool minty scent wafted from her fingers, titillating every one of Ruadha's pleasure centers. He wondered for the thousandth what this woman looked like. Her voice was like velvet to his ears, and she always smelled of fresh herbs and perfumes. Twenty years he had purchased supplies from her father, and never once been so daring as to touch her.

"My sister remained with Mother. She is not well, and my potions are doing little to quell her coughs. Is my package prepared?"

"Very nearly so, Ruadha. I was just finishing up the camphor and menthe bundles - the shipment from Trelham was quite late. It's exceptional quality, though. I think you will be very pleased with the roots particularly. Thick and full of magic, they are. And don't tell Father, but I added in a glorious piece of rose quartz - no charge. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you could use a little soul cleansing."

Ruadha tried to manage a smile. The tightness in his face made him give up before getting too far. "I have crystals that need the cleansing too. I thank you. While you finish, I'm going to sit by the fire. Is the chair still there?"

"Of course. Father has it bolted to the spot. Enjoy."

He woke little more than an hour later, his face bathed both in firelight and in moonlight from the window. He felt refreshed in a way only moonlight can make one feel, and the coarse softness of the bear fur cushions didn't hurt either. He could make out no more movement in the building. She must have gone to bed while he rested. Reaching for his cane, his hands rested upon a large cloth bundle that was light for its size. Ah, good girl.

He was especially glad that she had not asked him where his companions were. The truth was, he did not know. It wasn't particularly unusual for Ruadha to lose an apprentice or two at a time - for anything from his short temper to the occasional breakout of parasitic larvae in large portions of his skin could serve as a reason for nearly anyone to want great distance between him and them. It was, however, the first time anyone had left him alone outside of Marn. He knew the streets of Keltaris well enough to conduct his business, but now that it was done, he had to find a way home.

Well, this was no hour to worry about such things. Ruadha made his way to a small local inn, where he always stayed while in Keltaris. He offered the innkeeper a small sum of coin, and allowed himself to be shown to a private room with a locking door. The herbs in his satchel were far too valuable to risk a less costly common room. He found the cool iron with his fingers, slid the bolt into place. He threw off his robe as he collapsed upon the cot, and drifted off into sleep.

Screams. Women crying for help, men roaring loudly. Mahmut was in his tent as arrows of fire destroyed the camp. He looked outside and saw men cut down, women being lasso'd and dragged, children hunched over a dead parent. As if everything became a blur, Mahmut's father stood out among the violence -- using whatever weapon he could to bring them down... just as an arrow pierced-

"Oi! Wake up you!"

Mahmut sat up abruptly, his eyes bloodshot from waking early. The sun's bright rays caused him to raise both hands and massage his face. The screams of Mahmut's nightmare were replaced by gulls and waves, crashing against the docks. Athena.

"Yer tossin and mumblin was bad enough; we've reached Athena, now geddoff my ship."

Still drowsy, Mahmut's stance was fragile while he used the railing for support. Even worse was his vision -- everything was too bright. When he had finally made it off the ship, the Hayawani's first move was to sit on the docks with his feet dangling inches from the water below. The weight of his personal cargo seemed heavier than before his sleep; no doubt the effect of rude awakenings.

When Mahmut started coming to, a shadow cast over him. It wasn't a tall shadow, but enough to cover the Hayawani. The man spoke, but his words were groggy and drowned out by the natural ambience of the docks. Barely able to talk, Mahmut gave a questioning grunt as if to say, "huh?"

"I said," the man spoke, "you're the one heading for Keltaris, right?"
"Yes," Mahmut replied.
"What if I said... I could get you there in less than a day?"
"From the map I saw onboard, Keltaris is easily a two-day travel even by boat."
"Quite, but I know someone who can zip us across the sea easily."

Mahmut was interested and with his mind too groggy to think straight, he was open to suggestion.

"What's the catch?" he asked.
"You need to help deliver something," the man replied.
"And if I refuse?"
"There's no choice in the matter, you've already got it on you."

"'ey! Where's my possession box?!"

Reality smacked the young man with no hesitation.

"Now you can help deliver the box, or you can meet the fine end of a cutlass."

No pause. Mahmut stood up and was walking in no specific direction; just away from the docks. With the man's grip firmly on his robes, he obeyed the direction in which he was pulled. They were rushing as the captain's voice became garbled rage, stopping at an isolated pier where a very short man stood tapping his feet.

"Where have you been? Any later, and I would have left without you!" he shouted at the two.
"This one decided to sleep in. I had to convince him to help us," the man replied.

With a nod, the gnome led the two into a strange-looking vehicle. It looked like a simple rowboat, but was solidly attached to two large balloon-like creations floating above it. On the stern of the vehicle was a large propeller, tied into a gear set up which lead to a pair of pedals. The vehicle in question was but a few inches off the water, the bottom of the propeller dipping into the cold sea.

The three entered and Mahmut was instructed into the pedal setup, along with the man who had gotten him into this. The gnome, in the meantime, was reeling in large buckets, filled with water, and dumping their contents out until they were a little higher off the water. When he gave the call the two men began kicking their legs, causing the propeller to spin. Although shakey at first, the vehicle began picking up speed -- its destination: Keltaris.

One, two, three...

Persimmon was hungry.

One, two, three... one, two, three...

The fae was perched atop an elevated tree branch, glaring down in the direction of what she hoped would constitute her next meal. Below her, plodding through the underbrush, was a wild boar too preoccupied with its own search for food to notice that it was no longer alone. Stupid animal. Persimmon grinned slow and wide, sharp teeth grazing her lip as she did so.

One, two, three...

The boar continued on and Persimmon stalked after it, her wiry body twisting through the branches of a gnarly old oak. She was mindful of where she stepped. The faerie felt the bark of the tree beneath her fingertips, could feel the crawling-things as they moved across her skin, their spindly little legs tickling her flesh as they went. She had one palm splayed along the tree's massive trunk, the other wound tight around a protruding branch. It would not do to lose her footing at this distance.

One, two, three...

The forest was noisy, and it became increasingly difficult for the fae to orient herself. The rich sounds of cicadas seemed to come from every direction, low and persistent; it was overwhelming, and before long the combined sounds of thousands of insects began to drown out the quiet shuffling of her prey as it moved through the underbrush. The situation was far from ideal, but Persimmon's nose knew what was important even if her ears didn't, and kept the beast's location from becoming a mystery.

One, two, three... one, two... three...

Persimmon was very hungry.

One, two... three...

It was hard for the fae to stay still up there in the boughs of the tree. Her meal was so close, and she was ravenous. She trembled with the effort of holding herself back, telling herself to wait, wait, wait. There was drool pooling in her mouth, threatening to spill out over her lips, evidence of her lust for the kill--

Onetwothreefourfivesixseven!

She leapt from her vantage point at the tops of the trees, bearing down on the startled creature with about as much finesse as a drunkard in a dance hall. The boar let out a high-pitched squeal of terror as Persimmon's claws caught it just below the ear, close to that hot, pulsing line in its neck but not close enough. The fae hissed with frustration and pain as as the thing twisted out from underneath her, throwing her meager weight off with little effort, its great and powerful tusks ripping through the skin above her temple like so much rice paper. She could hear it grunting and slobbering, poising itself for another attack before Persimmon even had time to right herself.

If anyone could see her now, in the dim light of the forest with no one but the beasties for company, they'd see a wan creature with a dazed expression and too much blood seeping down the contours of her face. She winced as she combed her fingers through the tangled mass that was her hair, prodding gently at the wound, careful not to aggravate it too much. Persimmon could feel the blood dripping over her eyelids as she blinked, and the faerie wrinkled her nose at the sickly-sweet smell of gore as it pierced her senses. Maybe this one had been a poor choice. She didn't usually go for live meat, but the gnawing hunger in her belly and scarcity of food had overshadowed her natural tendency to scavenge rather than hunt. She'd trailed the boar through the woods for ages, it seemed, waiting patiently (or not so patietly) for an opportunity to strike. She figured it'd be easy pickings, a solitary creature unmindful of its surroundings, practically begging to be eaten. Persimmon, ever the enthusiastic carnivore, had been eager to ply her trade on this one. But now...

Now it was hard to move, and harder to think. Her body, and her brains especially, protested with every movement she made. Slowly she rose up off her haunches to face the creature responsible for the ceaseless throbbing in her skull. But Persimmon had an inkling that the boar was far from finished with her, as evidenced by all the grunting and shifting she heard just a few feet away. It wasn't running. In fact, the creature was readying its tusks for another assault; this gave Persimmon the distinct impression that this beast actually intended to put another hole in her head, as if she didn't have enough problems already.

Persimmon hissed at her lunch as it bore down on her.

The land and sea below gave Mahmut a reason to gawk; never before had he, or most individuals for that matter, had seen the world from a bird's view. His head turned left and right to get a view, pointing and trying to yell over the wind. The human beside him just laughed and nodded.

Once the vehicle was within a certain distance, the gnome guestered the two to stop peddaling and began jerking at a lever. With one last pull, a large unpacked from it's folded position and caused the vehicle to jerk back and forth; nearly tossing off its riders. Once it evened out, the gnome pulled a lever near the empty buckets, which sent them plummeting into the water.

As it stopped near land, the man who gave Mahmut the one-way ultimatum held out a hand -- demanding whatever it was he smuggled into his bag. He dug into the sack and withdrew a strange-looking box made from wood. It looked no special than any other trinket, but the human seized it without caution. Taking that as a sign to leave, Mahmut jumped off the vehicle into knee-deep water.

Walking to the city, the Hayawani rubbed his head and moaned from exhaustion. Although the foreign vehicle had lived up to the strange man's word (the sun still sat in the sky, albeit horizon-bound) it drained him significantly. Tired and thirsty, Mahmut entered the city with only Semerkhet as a reference to the world he now entered. The architecture was different, in comparison to the desert port, but the atmosphere was the same.

The streets were nearly empty, but cluttered voices carried themselves in the wind. Perhaps there had been a riot, or some act of violence. Regardless, the Hayawani needed to find a place to stay for the night -- even if it was on the floor. Rumors of his people might have driven off thieves in Semerkhet, but around here... he was just a odd-looking fish in a large pond.

Pulling his keffiyeh a bit to hide his face more, and straightening his robes, Mahmut gave a flick of his tail and walked up the street; eyes searching any passing individual.

Ruadha slumped at the bar under the weight of his two packs. He finished the last bite of his johnny-cake, licked his fingers clean, and made his way relatively quickly out of the inn. The only thing he disliked more than a crowded tavern full of drunks, was a crowded tavern full of hungover drunks. The stench of old beer and piss coupled with the noise of idle chatter and moaning was enough to drive a person mad.

The streets outside weren't much better for noise, but at least the market smelled pleasant. Aine's shop door must have been open - the cedar fire was already alight, and appeared to be soaked in patchouli oils. The woman certainly knew how to drum up business. Fishmongers and bakers hawked their wares alongside potters and smithies. As Ruadha tapped his cane along the cobbled streets, he grasped bits of conversation from the passing shoppers. Amidst absurd rumours of airborne attacks and evil mages, he caught shreds of truth. A tavern had fallen! Completely collapsed! Dozens of people hurt!

Ruadha scoffed. Idiots. Probably some cheap-minded innkeeper using substandard material and not doing proper repairs.

He dragged his left leg (gods, it hurt him today...) behind him as he sought his final stop for the trip. He showed a small coin at the door, and it creaked open before him.

Several hours later, his business concluded, he made his way back toward the inn. He would rest and have dinner, then see about a travelling companion. He must be back at Marn before his hired hand returned from her duties.

The inn was even more crowded than usual. Ruadha expected it - same number of travellers, one inn short - but was still unpleased. He asked that a table be readied for him near the fire. At least the scent of smoke would blur that of the unbathed crowd somewhat.

As the gruff-voiced innkeeper set a plate of boiled meat before Ruadha, he said "We 'ave a visituh heah. I gotta let 'im sit wit' you, No one else will 'ave 'im, and I'm out o' tables."

Ruadha groaned. "And why can't he sit with someone else?"

"Well... 'e's a nice enough chap, but let's just say the only lass here who'd fancy 'im is my mouser in the barn."

Stupid road. Stupid people.

Persimmon scowled at nothing in particular as she dunked her head in a nearby stream, scrubbing at the dried blood that'd accumulated on her face and neck. It was in her hair, too...and on her hands...and probably other places as well, but there was only so much she was willing to do to appease these humans with their...fragile sensibilities. The only reason she was doing this much -- washing away all evidence of her hard work, of the fact that she was still standing while it was in her belly -- was because the last guy she'd tried to get directions from had come after her with a pitchfork. (It turns out he thought she was going to eat him, which was ridiculous because she was still full from her previous meal, and he smelled funny anyway). After the man had calmed down -- i.e., had stopped trying to kill her -- he'd suggested she find somewhere to wash up.

"Thought Ah saw a stream neahby, bubblin' thang, would do you right good to go ahead'n git that mess off yer face."

Of course she knew about the stream. She could smell it, couldn't she? Idiot human.

But why did she have to bathe?! After a few long -- long -- moments of pussy-footing around the issue, the man responded with, "You'ont look right, miss. Best find 'em waters and warsh all that off ya, else they'll never let ya set foot in town." Then she pestered him until he went ahead and told her where "town" was, using the position of the sun as a guide. He'd gone on his way, thanking the little fae profusely for not eating him -- idiot -- and she'd spat on his feet in response, as it was always a good idea to leave one's scent on those who had proven themselves to be not entirely worthless.

And now Persimmon was...uggh...washing herself, scrubbing at her skin until it was raw, raw, raw and she was mad, mad, mad. But at least she knew where she was -- sort of. The road she'd been following was part of a larger trade route (which explained all the strange, foreign smells the fae'd been picking up), and she was at the southern end of it, near the city of Keltaris. Northward was Thar Shaddin, which her guide had insisted was a long way up and not worth the trouble, as "folks up that'a ways ain't got love fer none like you." Whatever that meant.

Persimmon sighed, and headed south.

Attempting not to stick out was almost impossible. His style of clothing, his size, and the fact he looked like a damn lion on its hinds sparked conversation amongst the patrons. Mahmut felt alienated amongst this tavern and did his best with what manners he knew. The innkeeper seemed nice enough, even going so far as to help him find a table.

The hayawani noticed that he had stopped at a table with a rather unkempt man, and took this as an inadvertent signal. Mahmut rested his arms within the robe's sleeves and walked with a cautious pace, his tongue twisting and lapping in an attempt to quell the rising thirst. When he had reached the table, he gave a short bow and spoke.

"Ah good evening," he said, mouth like a field of cotton, "I hope you don't mind if I sit down."

<tag Ruadha>

The young creature moved both hands up and down his forearms; fingers smoothing out muscles while his nails raked against his skin, creating red, horizonal lines. Now this close, Mahmut could make out more of this human's features. Whithering and blind, something wasn't quite right about the individual in front of him -- some debilitating sickness was eating away at him.

Ruadha took a bite from his pork, and chewed it loudly. He liked pork. He didn't like people he didn't know. He guessed it balanced out in the end. And he was going to want to talk. Damn.

"Ah good evening," he said, mouth like a field of cotton, "I hope you don't mind if I sit down."

"The hell's wrong with you?"

<tag Mahmut>

"I've been coming to this bar for twenty years. No one's ever sat with me before, unless I was paying them to be here. Barkeep doesn't sit a fella with a blind man for no reason. What's wrong with you?"

<tag Mahmut (feel free to take as long a discourse as you like here. ^_^ )>

"Lions, eh? Well, not much worse than myself I suppose. Hell, I can't even get my paid help to stick around long enough to get me home."

<Tag Mahmut>

Ruadha polished off the last of his meat, drained his cup, and loudly slammed his ebony cane on the table. He grinned slightly as he pictured the look on the barkeep's face as he scampered across the room to refill the tankard. After taking another long swig, he said to the lion-man, "I have a shop in Marn. I sell herbs. Normally, I'd pay for transport, but I've been caught in a bind. It is the end of season and I've just spent most of the coin on me purchasing supplies. I need someone with eyes to lead me home."

"The hell's wrong with you?"

Mahmut was taken aback by the man's words.

"I don't... nothing, I think...?" he murmured.

"I've been coming to this bar for twenty years. No one's ever sat with me before, unless I was paying them to be here. Barkeep doesn't sit a fella with a blind man for no reason. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm foreign to these lands... my people, the Hayawani, have never travelled beyond Semerkhet," he responded slowly, "these people of the north only see the lion, not man."

"Lions, eh? Well, not much worse than myself I suppose. Hell, I can't even get my paid help to stick around long enough to get me home."

"This I can understand, as a man with your-" he started, only to watch his blind tablemate scurry off to refill his tankard.

Were all humans this fast with their conversations? He did not know where to start, most of the customs he learned of humans were of basic conversation starters... he was left oblivious to this blind man's behavior. Mahmut followed the blind one, paying close attention to his words.

"I have a shop in Marn. I sell herbs. Normally, I'd pay for transport, but I've been caught in a bind. It is the end of season and I've just spent most of the coin on me purchasing supplies. I need someone with eyes to lead me home."

"I too, am headed for Marn," he said with some small glint of interest, "If I were to accompany you, then safety would not be an issue."

<Tag Ruadha>

Mahmut's hands were no longer in his robes, but moving about and switching positions; his tail gave several flicks, as did his tongue while watching that tankard of sweet sweet liquid being swallowed by this sickly individual. His thirst tripled at the small waterfalls flowing into this man's mouth.

Oww...

Persimmon groaned as someone's boot-clad foot took a shot at her kidneys. She'd been sleeping rather well up til now, sprawled out on the side of the road next to twenty or so other squatters. Of course -- of course -- she had to be interrupted. Uggghh.

"Oi, scum! Get up!"

She scowled, but did as she was told. Cooperation was good...it meant not getting beaten by angry guards with bad attitudes and the not-so-subtle stench of alcohol on their breath.

"What's 'is about?" a woman asked. She sounded groggy and annoyed, like maybe she'd been woken up with a kick to the kidneys, too.

"'Ere's been an accident...or so't seems. Local bar collapsed. You scoundrels wouldn't happen to know some'n about that, wouldja?"

Sounds of disagreement could be heard, as well as a few indignant shouts of "What kinda man do you take me for?!"

"Awright, awright," the guard said. "Ah meant no offense. But there's talk'a strange folk about...a man can't be too careful. Y'all ain't allowed to sleep out here, 'n any case. But there's an inn up the road with beds for those 'at can pay. The rest'a y'...not my problem."

Perfect. Just...perfect! Persimmon happened to like the outdoors, thank you very much. Out here, she could smell the city around her, trace the people and their paths better than she ever could in some enclosed...building. But if it meant not getting harrassed by ornery guards, she might just have to use what Bishani she'd...acquired...to find somewhere decent to sleep for the night. Maybe.

The guard left and the group dispersed, some more reluctantly than others. Persimmon trailed after the few who'd indicated they could pay for a room if they wanted to, hoping they were headed to the inn and not to just another squat. She lucked out, because within a few short moments she could hear the sounds of soft music, the occasional guffaw or curse that told her this was a gathering-place. That, and the place reeked of alcohol.

The others went on ahead and Persimmon hurried after them, knowing that losing their scent would mean losing her way. And then somebody's meaty arm nearly knocked her flat on her ass.

"Cain't just come in, sweetheart. Money or yer out."

Oh. That's what he wanted. Idiot human.

Persimmon shoved her hands in her pockets, grabbing a handful of Bishani and shoving it in what she guessed was the man's direction.

"Over here, darlin'."

Oh. Wrong way. Idiot human. "Is this enough?" Persimmon asked. It wasn't like she could tell, and she had no patience for these things anyway. All she wanted was a bed.

The man grunted and gave her a light shove, sending her stumbling into unfamilar territory without so much as a, 'Can I help you find your room?' She could tell there was a light above her. And everywhere there were sounds, sounds of people laughing and shouting and snoring and...and whatever else it was people did in inns at night. She wrinkled her nose; this place was distasteful, and she was lost.

Slowly, the fae stepped forward. She held one hand out in front of her, searching blindly for some kind of surface. Aha! There was a wall. She spat in her free hand and smeared it on the wood, tracing its knots and gnarls with the sensitive tips of her fingers.

Now where in the hell was she?!