A break for the hunted

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

Sunrises are often better viewed when one has gotten up especially to watch it, rather than stayed up all night to be confronted with it with tired eyes.

His eyes not on the rising sun though, Xyon's gaze was set firmly on the gates to Marn. He'd walked for many years, to get this far, and knew that staying in any one place was a bad thing. That being said, those gates were fairly sturdy... if only there were someone around to open them for him, he could finally get some food and rest.

Letting out a good-volumed cry, to the world in general, Xyon annaunced his presence.

After a few moments, the echo died away, and the face of a young-looking guardsman appeared on the walls.

"You look like trouble, stranger. What are your intentions?" he demanded, clearly in no mood to have the city attacked today.

Which was good, because Xyon didn't have that in mind. "I intend to go get something to eat and find a bed once you've opened those gates, if you'd be so kind." Xyon squinted as the early morning sun glinted off this guy's breastplate.

"Alright. Step inside the gates once they're open and don't even think about drawing that greatsword unless I ask you to." Xyon hadn't thought about it. Marn seemed a friendly looking place, and he was in no hurry to end that feeling.

The gates swung open slowly, as presumably they were very heavy. Once they'd opened far enoguh, Xyon stepped inside the city and stopped.

The gates made an unholy bang as they closed agan, but Xyon wasn't concerned by that. The guard whom he'd just been speaking to was approaching, broadsword in hand.

"Good morning, sir. Might I ask you to step outta that shadow where I can see ye? Slowly, please..." Xyon complied, not wishing to anger the local guards.

"Alright, I'm convinced. Just hope that sword of yours stays on your back." The guard finally stopped analysing Xyon and stepped back, sheathing the broadsword.

"Thank you, I'm sure she will," said Xyon, referring to the sword, Inohen. "Do you know where I can eat, and maybe get a bed to sleep in tonight?"

The guard simply pointed down the long, straight road, at the end of which appeared to be a river. Looking up, Xyon saw a sign, indicating that this was Main street. He began to walk, slowly, trudging his tired body into Marn proper.

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

As he plodded down Main street, a curious smell assaulted his nostrils that he could not quite place. It was somewhere in the middle of tar and blood, and it was wholly unpleasant. He wandered some more, semi-dazed, until he reached a likely-looking tavern, the Central Inn.

Ducking inside, the smell on the street was instantly replaced with a much more pleasant one, that of food cooking. He approached the bar slowly, and unhindered, semi-stooped to avoid smacking his head on the roof.

The barman's eyes looked him up and down... but mostly up, given all seven feet of Xyon. An odd look flashed across his features, quickly replaced by a professional smile as he said to Xyon, "Name your poison, outsider."

Xyon's mind was thrown slightly - he'd never heard the expression before. Looking around the tavern revealed a few people trying to look at him without being noticed - and failing badly. Turning back to the barman, he enquired, "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that... what was it you were asking?"

The barman's exasparated sigh caught in his throat and was replaced with a cheerful, "Name your drink, sire. And do be quick about it, I've others to serve."

"Ale please. And any food you have going." He'd ask about a bed later, he thought. Putting his fatigue to a backburner for the present moment, he drew Inohen.

This got him a whole heap of odd looks, which he promptly ignored, and leant the sword against the bar whilst he took off the scabbard. Sliding Inohen back into it when he'd done so seemed to calm everyone down a little, and he sat down, carefully. It was uncomfortable standing up when he was too tall to do so fully, but a lot of bar stools had collapsed beneath his weight before now.

Fortunatly, this one looked like it'd been made for a troll. It supported him easily as he raised the beer to his lips and drank, savouring every drop. It wasn't particularly awesome ale, but he hadn't drunk anything except the stale water from his hip-flask for several days now, and the sensation of the beer on his throat was like liquid ectacsy.

A plate of meat was brought before him by a serving wench, who promptly vanished before Xyon could ask for another beer. The food was so inviting, however, that he simply turned to it and began to devour it quickly, enjoying the feeling of it hitting his starved stomach.

The food took minutes to eat, after which he managed to catch a waitress's eye and get himself another beer. This one went the same way as the last, and before the girl could scarper, Xyon asked his next question.

"Do you have any rooms available for tonight?"

The girl looked at him, eyes boring into every inch of him. He was suddenly very uncomfortable, as she said,
"I don't know. Give me a moment, please, and I shall check." She vanished again, and Xyon suddenly felt much better. He wondered at that.

It was a short while before she reappeared, and Xyon spent it finishing his beer. The girl informed him that yes, they in fact did have a free bed, and it would be ten bishani in total, including the food and ale.

Reaching into his pack, Xyon opened his purse. 100 Bishani stared back at him, as he withdrew ten of them and proffered them to the waitress. She toddled away again, and Xyon stared once more uponthe contents of his purse. 90 Bishani. Wouldn't last long. He knew he had some other valuable items, but the amount he'd get for them was questionable. He needed a job.

The serving girl returned, with a key in her hand, which she gave to Xyon. Thanking her, he stood up, smacking his head hard on the ceiling and knocking a small hole in it. The noise of the impact carried accross the tavern, causing people to glance over. So much for subtle, Xyon chided himself.

The inkeeper came striding over, demanding recompense in the form of fifty Bishani. With a sigh, Xyon took the requested amount from his purse and handed it over. He knew it was probably too much, but from the look of some of the people here he didn't want to start a fight.

Ducking his head, he grabbed his sword and turned to leave.

[Vladimir Sidorov]

"Ay there! You! Where the 'ell you think yer goin'?"

A scruffy, middle-aged man slapped his right hand on Xyon's back and gripped his pipe with the other. He grinned widely and gestured back toward the bar.

"C'mon, lad. 'Ave another. You hain't got th' best this pub's got. This 'un's on me, yeah?"

He rummaged through his coin sack and pulled out two five-Bishani coins, tossing them on the wooden surface in front of him and winking at the barman.

"Give this fella some good ale. None'a that goddamn sewer water yer try ter pass off as liquor. Give 'im the real stuff. An' I know yer 'ave it, mate, so don' even try it."

The barman glared at him and growled back. "Vladimir, you've really got a whole lot of nerve, insulting my drinks like that. I could kick you out of this establishment in two seconds and have you sent right to the authorities if I wanted to---"

"Lissen, mate," Vladimir cut in, exasperatedly, "if yer want me outta here, go call the goddamn guards yerself, right now if yer 'ave to. You know damn well that'd be too much of a risk, perchance they'd come upon yer cellar..."

"That's enough!" The bartender's face reddened. "I don't know what the hell you're doing in my cellar, but that is my business. No one else's."

"Good. Then we won' 'ave a problem, will we?" Vladimir smirked maliciously. "Bring th' lad a pint of the good stuff. And get me a scotch."

The barman grumbled and headed off into the back room to make the drinks. He returned with a pint of ale for Xyon, which was a bit lighter and clearer than the ale he had originally served, and a pint of scotch. He pocketed the Bishanis and walked back into the room, muttering curses under his breath.

Vladimir took a swig of his drink and chuckled. He turned to Xyon.

"Stay 'ere a while, mate. I ken tell yer new 'round these parts. Butcha can't let these bastards take 'vantage of yuh." He gave Xyon fifty Bishani, smiling proudly. "So'm I, really. New 'round here, I mean. But these fellas at the taverns know me well. So relax, an' tell me a little about yerself. Lor', I never seen a man as big as you afore, and -- whoa now," he noticed the greatsword, "you hain't in th' milit'ry, are yuh?"

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

"Ay there! You! Where the 'ell you think yer goin'?"

Xyon ignored the voice when he heard it, assuming that the shout was for someone else, but the hand on his shoulder quickly changed his mind. Fighting back his impulses, he half turned, and tried to listen to what was being said.

"C'mon, lad. 'Ave another. You hain't got th' best this pub's got. This 'un's on me, yeah?"

Relief flooded Xyon for a brief instant, finally having found someone remotely friendly in this desolate looking place. Wandering back in with this new face, Xyon smirked slightly as he watched the little exchange of unplesantries unfold between the bartender and this pipe-smoking character.

A pint of beer was set down before him, and Xyon noticed that the colour was significantly closer to that which he'd come to associate with beer.

As Xyon watched, the man took a large swig out of his drink, a liquid Xyon had never seen before. Remembering that the guy had asked for a scotch, he figured it must be similar to beer, particularly since it came in the same kind of glass.

Straining to listen to what the man was saying over the background noise of the pub, Xyon graciously accepted the money proffered to him. Aware that the man had asked him a question, he took a sip of his beer before replying.

"Military... no, not me. Just an average guy, really. Back at home I was with the city guard though."

A thought entered Xyon's mind, directly related to his fiscal situation. He decided to ask.

"I'm in need of a job here, I guess. I wonder if you know anything about the guard here, and whether I could join up?"

[Vladimir Sidorov]

Vladimir grimaced when he heard the inquiry of joining the guard.

"Ach. Guardsm'n. Bloody devils they are. I'd rather shoot m'self in th' foot wit' an arrow than join up with them."

He swung both arms onto the bar surface and leaned into it, puffing on his pipe in thought.

"I 'ear they got a fella runnin' 'round they be lookin' fer. Chrish... Chrishton or somethin's, they call 'im. Some sorta weredog or summat. I 'ear th' reward's a hundred Bish'rs. So thar's some money for ya."

Vladimir looked over at Xyon and noticed he wasn't getting anywhere with his evasiveness.

"Oh, fine. Yeah, the Guard's been lookin' fer strong mates fer hire 'round 'ere. Hell, they'd pro'lly hire a damn cat if it asked for th' job. They say they're short 'o them." He looked Xyon up and down and grinned. "No pun intended, eh?"

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

Xyon leaned onto the bar as well, not quite trusting his full weight to it, but enough to give his feet a rest. He'd travelled for too long. Looking at the man he was drinking with, he suddenly realised he hadn't introduced himself.

"My name's Xyon, by the way. Xyon of the city of Calhoun. Not that that'll mean much to you, I shouldn't wonder." It often surprised Xyon that nobody had heard of a city as large and as prosperous as Calhoun. It surprised him even more nobody had heard about that war.

Stop thinking like that he chided himself, rueing his little lie earlier on.

"I've heard tell of the Marn guard before, actually. But ninety bishani ain't gonna get me vary far, especially when it runs out. I do need a job, and policing's really all I'm good at."

Xyon looked into the man's eyes for the first time. What he saw surprised him, for it was not what he'd expected. The eyes of most people, when they looked at him, were filled with all kinds of strange things. These were somehow... different.

He could see the glow from his own eyes reflected in the man's, that was fairly normal practice. However looking into them further, Xyon saw no distaste, no prejudice. It surprised him for so long that he was sure the other man must have noticed him staring.

He blinked, several times, and took another swig of the beer. It was a damn sight better than the first two pints he'd had, and about a thousand times more refreshing. No wonder the bartender didn't want to share it.

[Vladimir Sidorov]

"Nice ter meetcha, Xyon. Ah'm Vladimir. Vladimir Sidorov. But 'round 'ere ya might 'ear me bein' referred to as th' dirty rat or th' rotten bastardous swindler or summat."

Vladimir stroked his beard thoughtfully and took another gulp of his scotch.

"Calhoun? Yer say yer from Calhoun, eh? I think I been there once. Yeah. No wonder. All big fellas like you. Musta been twenny years ago. Nice place an' all, but I couldn' really git settled much. 'Ad a buncha guys aftuh me, ya know? Gotta git movin' when ya got a 'unter on yer tail. Di'n't like my work, they di'n't. Hadta get goin' sos I could do it."

[[You don't have a tail, I do. And you weren't being hunted, I was. So quit shooting your mouth off and try being a gentleman for once.]]

A scraggily blue merle collie padded from the shadows toward them. Its fur was very long, but its wolflike features quelled any feeling of subordination its appearance had emitted.

"'Ey! Xyon, 'ere, this is Feirr, m'bondsmate." He noticed a sort of bewildered look in the other man's eyes. "Ach, I'm sure yer used to weirdness, but I oughta 'splain this one... Th' reason ya c'n 'ear 'im, at least in yer head anyway, is 'cos he c'n communicate wit' us. I mean, yeah, obv'usly, but... See, I met an ol' guy in the desert summea’, he was all spiritchul an’ all, an’ he kinda taught me howta make this bloodpact wit’ magic an’ stuff. Now, ‘cos I did that wit’ Feirr, he c’n transfer ‘is thoughts ter me an’ vice versa, or he c’n do th’ same thing wit’ other people, yah?”

He ruffled the dog’s fur and continued, a bit more drunkenly.

“Only problem wit’ th’ bloodpact is, well, if ‘e dies, I die wit’ ‘im, or if I die, he dies wit’ me. It ‘as som’thin’ t’do wit’ all that voodoo magickin’ sacrifice to th’ gods or som’thin’, I dunno.”

Feirr rested his head on his friend’s lap and looked up at Xyon.

[[It was a painful process, but it certainly was worth it. We can perform our work very efficiently now. Get done four times as much work, I’d say.]]

Vladimir closed his eyes and exhaled smoke from his nostrils.

"Aye," he nodded. "A good trade's always 'elpful, 'specially if'n yer like liquor as damn much as I do." He looked over at the other man and winked.

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

From his small pack, Xyon took out a small pouch. He withdrew a cigarette paper and tobbacco and proceeded to roll himself a smoke. Fingers deftly poised, they flicked the cigarette about in such a way, and with such practised speed, that the whole process was over in all of about a minute.

"I don't suppose you'd have a match, would you?" He smirked slightly, remembering the last person who'd had a go at him for the dangers of smoking. Silly fools didn't realise that his race was near-impervious to most smoking-related diseases. The smile broadened as he remembered the guy's face upon hearing this.

"Yeah, Calhoun," he continued waving the unlit cigarette in his hands like a prop to a story, "there are those from Calhoun who hunt me, still." His voice, by this point, had dropped to almost a whisper for him. This was still easily audible, given the usual power of his voice, but served to emphasise the urgency in his statement.

He smiled then, and leaned back, still waving the unlit cigarette, all but forgotten in his fingers, as memories of Calhoun assaulted his mind and beat the living snot out of his concious thought ability.

A crash from the kitchen jerked him back to his senses. Realising that the kitchen staff must have simply dropped some plates or whatever, Xyon turned his attentions back to the conversation, and remembered his desire for nicotine.

"Sorry, do you have a match?"

[Vladimir Sidorov]

"Eh? Oh, right. Yeah 'ere, mate." Vladimir reached in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a soggy matchbox, which read The Red Chalice Inn on the slip-on cover. "Don' worry; they're still good."

He coughed a little and proceeded to guzzle the rest of his drink.

"This hain't enough ter 'old a man. Oi! Chuckles!"

The barman stormed out of the back room, angrier than before. "I told you never to call me that again, you bloody jackass."

"Tha's a good man. Go get me anotha' onna these, aye?" He threw another couple Bishani on the table. "Make this 'un stronger."

For a second time, the bartender took the money begrudgingly and grumbled, turning toward the back.

"Oh, and Chuckles?" The barman twitched. "If'n yer put any damn poison in this 'un, I'll 'ave yer ass sent to th' authorities, yeah? Just make it good." Vladimir half-giggled loudly as he waited for his second drink.

"Xyon, mate, yer got a nasty little scar there on yer 'ead. Those types'a thin's don' get where they are from fallin' down a cliff or nuthin'. What 'appened? Lost a swordin' match or summat?"

Vladimir lowered his eyelids, knowing quite well what the answer truly was. He had seen too many wounded men not to know what weapons or sorcery could do. But he inhaled some more smoke from his pipe tobacco and waited patiently for a response.

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

Xyon took the match, struck it, and lit the cigarette. Relaxing, he exhaled smoothly as he all but dissappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Once this had dispersed a little, Xyon handed the matchbox to his companion, noticing the name on it without particular mention.

"Xyon, mate, yer got a nasty little scar there on yer 'ead. Those types'a thin's don' get where they are from fallin' down a cliff or nuthin'. What 'appened? Lost a swordin' match or summat?"

Xyon's heart rate increased suddenly, as questions about his scars always caused it to. He had pretty much figured that this guy would know a sword wound when he saw one. Besides, he was tired of lying.

Tired of running from his past.

"The war happened. We lost."

[Vladimir Sidorov]

This caught Vladimir slightly off guard. He assumed Xyon had been part of a great battle, but he never thought that the scars were from a war that ravaged the man's birthplace. He jumped a little, accidentally knocking Feirr's muzzle against the bar. Another drink was placed before him -- this time by a serving waitress -- and he stared hard at the larger man.

"A war? In Calhoun? Tha's... tha's jus'... absurd."

Vladimir frowned and relit his pipe.

"I mean, it's not absurd thaddit's a war. I mean, tha' there wuzzawar there an' all. I believe that, yeah, I'm jus' all... I dunno... shocked's I suppose th' word."

His speech was becoming less and less coherent, from both the effects of the alcohol and his current state of absentmindedness.

"Now, I'm sure it's 'ard on ya, mate. All that rememb'rin' an' all. I mean, take this 'ere---"

Vladimir stopped talking to raise his left hand from beneath his cloak, but the collie beside him pulled it back down with his teeth.

[[Don't... you... dare... You'll regret this if you do it.]]

The bearded man gazed groggily at Xyon's sword, staring with a very catatonic look on his face.

"We... we all got... brands on ourse'l's. From one thing or anotha'... Marks tha'... leave the skull... patter'ned... wit' a map of... our 'speriences..."

His eyes remained fixed to the sword. They became glassy and entirely immobile.

"Aye'ssat, mate?"

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

"A war? In Calhoun? Tha's... tha's jus'... absurd. I mean, it's not absurd thaddit's a war. I mean, tha' there wuzzawar there an' all. I believe that, yeah, I'm jus' all... I dunno... shocked's I suppose th' word."

For the briefest instant, the glow in Xyon's eyes intensified somewhat. Softly, as if from a great distance, he heard the sounds of war, yelling, screaming, the sounds of sword on sword. And that terrible noise of the war machines the fallens had brought...

Snap out of it, he thought to himself, chiding his lack of mental discipline.

Focusing back on the man in front of him, he noticed that the guy was starting to intoxicate. Intoxicated after two pints? How lightweight is this guy? his mind giggled. The smile never reached his face though.

It was interceped by a flash of concern. Perhaps the drink had been poisoned... He'd dismissed those earlier comments by Vlad as a joke, but the thought played on his mind... what could he do? His healing ability was only really effective for superficial skin and flesh wounds, nothing so internal as a poisoning. Plus, he was pretty sure it'd be disallowed here, in a place where humans lived.

Most humans he'd met had been afraid of him, not just due to his size, but his ability to channel energy into others. They, like many others, had assumed that Xyon could use it both to heal and harm.

Xyon hadn't.

He suddenly noticed the animal by the man's feet. It was pulling the guy's sleeve down. Obviously, there was something there which ought to remain hidden. The animal looked at Xyon. Xyon looked away, aware of what can happen if you annoy familiars.

The guy's eyes were fixated on Inohen's hilt, the remainder of the sword concealed by the scabbard. Accidentally, he realised he'd left a small portion of glowing blade showing, and noticed the man's staring.

Not everyone was even that discreet. People had tried to steal Inohen before.

They'd failed. Painfully so.

Absent-mindedly, Xyon altered his stance, inwardly, and focused a tiny portion of his mind on the sword. It slid, slowly and quietly, fully into it's scabbard, without Xyon touching it at all.

"Are you alright, friend?"

[Vladimir Sidorov]

Vladimir was still staring at the sword and did not respond. Feirr used thoughtspeak to try and break the trance, but the attempt was merely futile; he focused on Xyon.

[[This is his eighteenth consecutive drink. He usually doesn't start acting up until he's had about twenty-six...]]

The man was still completely motionless. His pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, smokeless, and yet Vladimir hadn't even noticed. Feirr's ears perked up, alarmed.

[[He's not well. This is very strange, even for him.]]

"Upravlenie," Vladimir whispered.

The dog instantly grabbed hold of his mate's cloak and flung him to the ground with an audible thud. He took no notice of the other patrons, who were staring at him oddly, and growled fiercely in Vladimir's face.

[[Shut up, shut up, shut up! Do you have any idea how much trouble you're costing us?!]]

Vladimir came back to his senses and shoved Feirr off his torso.

"I know ver' well wha' I'm doin', ya goddamn mongrel. Gerroff." He brushed the dirt from his shoulders and looked straight at Xyon. "You, mate, you go an' join th' damn guard. Take that bloody weapon'a yers an' force us t'do whaddev'r ya want." He smirked roguishly. "You'll be seein' a lotta me if'n ya do. Com'mon, Feirr."

Vladimir walked hastily past the tables, and managed to discreetly snatch the wallet of one unsuspecting customer before heading toward the door. The collie followed suit, keeping a watch for any eyewitnesses.

[Xyon_of_Calhoun]

Xyon grabbed his sword and followed, hastily downing the remainder of his drink.

He wasn't accustomed to people running away, not from social situations, and wanted to ensure that the guy was okay.

"You ok, friend? You don't have to leave..."

[Vladimir Sidorov]

"You ok, friend? You don't have to leave..."

Vladimir smiled secretly to himself and decided to turn right back to the bar.

[[Are you nuts?! Don't you have any idea what you're doing?]]

"I know 'sactly wha'I'm doin', Feirr. 'Sactly wha'I'm doin'..."

He tucked his pipe away and stepped toward the counter. After guzzling the last bit of scotch in his glass, Vladimir wiped his mouth with sleeve and grinned wildly at Xyon.

"A'course I'm alrigh', mate. I hain't drunkennuff yet. Ya wan' me t'stay? I'll stay. But you gotta watch m'back, mate, an' I mean lit'r'lly."

Vladimir fully faced the bar, with remnants of a smirk still on his face