Magical place. Picturesque. Sure. But in the dark, it looked a tad more menacing. Nearby streams and eddies gurgled in their graves, and a cool wind stirred the trees, casting long-limbed shadows along the earth where moonlight dared to glow. And where was our forest girl? In the middle of all this, bathing her feet in the lake, sitting on a grey slab of rock that might've once served as a brick to someone's home. Now, all was ruin, as Time had chiseled at it, strewn its brothers across the ground. All these things, the seer dwelled upon, picking up pebbles and tossing them into the middle of the lake.

?Lady, wake. Wake and show us your sword, buried where you used to walk on two feet,? she whispered. Perhaps she had one legend mixed with another, perhaps the scenery was affecting her. Land had memory too.

She padded around the footprints of the trees, predator silent as alert senses tailed smells and sounds. Though she was human, she was learned and practiced, and her perception was quite sharp. Something had come to the city. Maybe something had come for her. And when she went back to the scene, she realized that something had gone missing. To the glen, thinking, wondering, holding a blade at her side. Wake up you sonofabitch. Wake and show me your teeth, show me where you bury the things that you steal. Head to toe, all in black. Maia was at work again, the very last place she ever wished to be.

Another whisper from the seer: ?Perhaps you are naut for sleeping.?

She turned, sharp as the sword she pictured at home within the depths, but the seer was a surface dweller, and plunged her feet into the lakebed to prove it. Mud settled between her toes, casting perfect imprints, were she to stand. Off-blue leapt into the dark. She had that blood. She could see quite well in the dark, especially if she squinted.

Creeping still, Maia had yet to see the Seer. Eyes were up, to the trees. She did not like the sounds. Probably just birds, but the last time she had believed that, she had gotten that set of scars on her jaw. Slow steps. All caution.

Birds. Birds that bore razor beaks and broke the silence with a snap of air in flight and folly. She looked up too, and as if on cue, one tore across the sky, black as pitch. The girl rose, turning her attention toward that which crept closer. A headtilt. It wore a familiar scent. Slowly, she smiled.

Maia's gut ached, that intuition she had always trusted. It was here, but where?

Her rapier caught a ribbon of moonlight as she slipped it back to the sheath, to reach for the handy little thing hanging from her belt. It was small for a crossbow- a gift from the matrons, but it would do. One silver tipped bolt was already armed, she was ready to let it fly.

?My-ah.?

A sound on the wind. It was her name. Eyes shot immediately to the source. Her reply was not loud, but she had the impression she might be heard.

"Little Soldier," came the once-pirate's reply. A scraping behind, around, above. Night sounds.

Ears, so distinct in their shape, picked up instantly. She was three for six tonight, as far as senses went. Her smile seemed plastered, as if it were a part of her, two-dimensional, lacking muscle and mobility. Moonlight turned for her face, but it was already aglow. She brushed a curl from her eyes.

?Hullo.?

One finger to lips. Shhhh. Then she moved, with speed that did not look right for a thing so short. Every stride found soft patches of ground, and was economical. To the Seer, without delay. There were things to see to. Bump.

She mirrored the motion, with her finger over her own small mouth, pressing lips in place, to muffle sound. She stepped forward, oblivious to the sound her soles made through mud and water. Things that go Bump. A blink. And there was a Pirate.

She neared Viki, and if she were a wild cat, those ears would be twitching every which way. Eyes narrowed and she looked carefully to the other woman.

"Not safe."

Two words, all that were needed. The hat was at home, that whitecap and the waves had been brutally plaited and wrapped in a dark cotton scarf. She looked like walking death. Maia felt like it, too, and it made her nauseous.

Walking death, meet the waking dream.

Viki nodded serenely, if not seriously, with large eyes, but no stiffness to her shoulders, no tightness of her stance. Half aware and not, mesmerized by what lay beneath the water in the backdrop, by feet sinking into damp earth, by what the trees whispered.

Oh.

That.

And finally, levity died, but it was a natural death. The Seer's skin crawled as the words spilled from her mouth.

"It came this way."

Maia placed her empty hand on Viki's arm. She wasn't asking the Seer to move. Maia was telling. Fingers wrapped around it with purpose and she pulled as she moved them further from the water, where it would be easier to run.

"Do you know, Viki? Can you tell where it has gone?"

She pressed her lips together and let her fingers fall in place, to her middle, then out, as if to gain a feel for the air, a tuning fork, if you will. Dark brows dipped in quiet contemplation. Tension rising. Her voice was hushed.

?It did naut like the light, the fire. Said I would burn. It likes the cold.. It likes...? And off-blue dove into...

"The water," Maia finished the sentence. Mirrors again.

Viki was pulled further and further from it before Maia let her go, contemplating. Water dweller. The other one had been, too, she knew it now. She could smell them. They were dreadful things, voiceless creeping things that walked on two legs and looked human enough at a glance and moved through the settled places. Looking for hosts, or food, or both.

?But it breathes.? More from Viki, who glanced sidelong with a tilted head, curiosity overcoming possible terror. Away on heels, she dragged her feet through the mud, settling into Maia's shadow, half killing it with her own radiance. The seer didn't think it would mind. For a moment, she marveled at her hat. The fog slipped in and out. Little cat feet, and the like. Glazed, dazed, her eyes skipped across the water.

The name slipped out of her, a sound like poison. Maia knew then just exactly what it was. The Seer's words confirmed all previous suspicions.

"Koru'ucan." Its name..at least, the one the matrons had given it. They could be difficult to tell from several other things, but the water sold it. The ominous stillness of the pond would not last long. She handed the cross bow to Viki, formulating a plan.

"They are weaker in the water, but so are we...Do you fight, little soldier?" Maia was getting out of her boots. No good could come of this.

She took the bow in both hands with some sense of familiarity. It was not an alien relic. She looked a little strange in the middle of the night, in muddied patchwork, barefoot and bearing a crossbow. Her brows wrinkled, and she looked up, chin high above Maia's own head.

?I would go to war with you.? Her lips tightened. No airy fairy bells or singsong syllabic sound from her. She took up the bow, held it at eye level, and drew back the arrow.

The damp air whispered of heat...a rumor of sand and desert and bright sun(s) that never ends. But it was just a small rumor...perhaps all the more out of place for the amount. Perhaps it trilled out of the mouth of a cave staring blackly out of the surrounding hills.

"When it surfaces, do not miss." She ditched the shirt though the night air was chill. Maia wanted something dry when she came out of the water. Blues stayed focused there, for any sign of movement. The binding around her middle was pale, like the scarred flesh beneath the moonlight. The belt was dropped, another heavy thing that would not help. She handed Viki a few more bolts and chose her favorite dagger. "I can bring it up again."

Distracted. Scattered. Hesitation born as summer scents meshed with that of desert. Such a strange blend, heated and damp and heated and parched. Aqua cut clear across the water, into the treeline.

?It waits.? A warning weaved between the careful calculation of a killshot and the onslaught of the Lover's presence. She shifted her weight onto her right foot, and steadied her aim.

A deep breath. One week, and this would be two. Meager numbers, in the old days, but it had been months upon months since something like this had come up. The once-pirate swallowed that lump, fear (though not of the thing in the water) and she moved closer to the water's edge. "Do not fail me, Viki."

The cave exhaled its occupant, quiet and dark laced that he was. he watched less than listened to what the thick air had to say, iron-thick with tension (not blood or perhaps not yet). a dagger, then three, dragged out into hands, before the sandman moved the water's way in slow-silent steps.

Viki ushered a grunt, guttural and still quite girlish, perhaps for the plea, perhaps for the thing in the water. Eyes were frozen in place. She had painted a large target in red, right above the surface, and calculation of the creature's speed and velocity had nothing to do with its birth. She looked out with two, but really with one. Small, slow breaths, guiding heavy air in and out, waiting..

True to stereotype, the once-pirate clenched the flat of the blade between her teeth and Maia, without hesitation, began to slide into the water, toes sticking gently to the mud. She moved as quietly as a person could, keeping her head above as she waited for the moment to come. One of two things, no doubt. It would either be a clammy, long fingered, clawed hand to the leg or the hairless head of the thing would rise above the waters to claim a much needed breath. When either happened, she would be ready.

Nervous tension did not flicker into view. She wore a mask of simplicity, with distant, though well-focused eyes, a steadied breath and an open mouth, which perhaps curled at one corner as the sandman appeared. Fingertipped touch to the arrow's tail. She was ready.

He drifted at trees edge, an inky shadow in the thick air, watching the figures, the water's edge. No words for the occurrence... looking upon the scene, he felt it needed very little explanation. he readied the daggers in hand to join the eventual flight of arrows...

A bubble. Then three. Maia could not see them, but she felt something stirring, she knew it, the same way she knew all those things she could never explain to others. She got closer and closer. And then it happened...

The surface of the water broke, and the pale, yellowish head emerged, sickly beneath the particular light of night, a soundless mouth to open and gulp at the air needed. Maia's could feel the boil of her blood in her ears.

Time.

The seer sucked in the air and held the arrow in place, intent on an arial explosion in one second's time. The Lover noted. The Pirate well within view. The Monster on the rise, a sick mockery of a moon. She counted in silence.

It turned its head, as though looking at the pirate treading water. Maybe scenting her on the air. Host. Maia hoped to god Viki was a decent shot as she sucked in a very large breath and ducked beneath the surface.

Duck.

Duck.

Zing! As the Pirate's head disappeared, the Seer took action. After all, perhaps it had been foretold. The arrow shot from its skeletal confines, a missile as lightning quick as any, tearing through the humidity to pierce its target through and through. Decent? Sure. She had the bow angled perfectly. It had been foretold. Yellow flesh parted in bloody folds.

The Sandman snapped forward as the arrow flew to add his own contributions in flying metal teeth. three knives, with small thoughts whispering that he should look to retrieve them if such was possible. he was good at what he did...afterall, it was an occupation.

It wasn't quite red, and it wasn't quite purple, and it poured from the neck of the thing. Water swirled and splashed around it as it writhed, hit again and again. Were it not a soundless thing, it would scream, but instead it just flailed as things stuck in it. This continued for a moment, and then it suddenly submerged. Bubbles. The stench of it on the air.

Two hunters, and one in training. Two seers, and one who hid from sight. The girl reloaded as aqua drew slits for the un-screaming thing. The blur of limbs distracted her, pulled her from course of action.

She shook her head, the realignment of eyes catching a snapshot of Blue, and then muted grays. She regrouped, drew back the arrow, but there was nothing. Nothing but water's rage in the form of bubbles and dying breath.

Twenty seconds.


Thirty.


...and only bubbles, and that rush of almost purple blood to the surface.

The sandman had joined on the low ancestral chord that was a pack hunter, deep in muscle and mind memory. He hadn't asked for explanation, and wasn't even inclined to do so. He slid forward in an oily darkness to the water's edge, shedding the indistinct blur of the thick jacket in the process. A night's shadow and the flicker of a much larger knife. Counting...seconds or bubbles.

It had nearly been a minute when the surface was breached again. Not hairless. Quite the opposite. A very loud gasp came first, followed by some obscenity. Probably her favorite one, which started with an f and rhymed with...

The seer lowered the borrowed bow and shot forward, rushing to the sandman's side. Bare feet found the lure of muddied water all too soon. Eyes peeled through the distance and the dark, waiting, and ahh, there was the Pirate. She whispered:

?Given it to the damp.? Little echo of affirmation, as if sound made it real. She looked up, off-blue to meet black, before tearing to the Pirate again, concern shaping her small features.

Maia swam with one arm back towards the water's edge, towing it with the other hand. She fought the weight of the water, and the weight of the unconscious thing she towed. Disgusting lot. Yellow skin, that stench, and such an ill purpose.

The sandman waded in, some trills of water steaming away where it dampened pants, and grabbed the foul yellow thing to help the unknown haul it to shore. He'd perhaps seen the pirate before, but he had no name to give.

Patchwork girl lifted the color riot in one hand, gathering fabric in a fistful while the other hand held tightly to the bow. She watched in awe as the thing was dragged, though she knew its name, even before Maia had given it up.

Ghostly yellow limbs trailed behind her, bobbing, the occasional sight of a creepy hand or that hairless head. When at last feet could touch the ground, her toes sank into the mud, and she walked. She was wary at the sight of the stranger, but the Seer was at ease, so she made no protest as he grabbed it and helped.

"They regenerate, while they can still reproduce." Like its brother which she had felled two nights past, it needed to be separated from the parasite brain. Then it would die. A shudder. These things were so gross.

The sandman did not smile, but he offered a simple picture of the weapon he held, with its curve of a wicked serrated edge. the khanjarli was quite useful for hacking things to pieces... or he could set it on fire...

She nodded, the motion pulling curls back into her line of sight. Like worms. The seer did not like worms. They resembled snakes.

?Maia, Skado.? Clipped, short intro, but the way she said the latter name, well, it held a certain softness. This was clearly the Lover.

The water clung to her pants, the cotton around her chest. Maia's damp curls were tamed into that plait, how heavy it felt against her neck. A nod for Skado as they flopped the thing on to the shore. Her own dagger had been driven into the back of the neck, into a nerve cluster to stun the thing. Arrows and foreign metal stuck from the creature at odd angles. She nodded to the unknown blades sticking from the demon.

"Those yours?" He'd already started gathering the errant daggers as she asked.

?Se?. It sounded like an affirmative. He dropped them aside on the ground, waiting to clean them before they were re-sheathed. Water steamed away from skin and cloth, and for the moment, the Sandman wore no shirt, save for the leather trapping of sheaths here and there.

She waded toward the duo, an easy gait to the horror that awaited her somewhere up the shoreline. One look over her shoulder, just one, to the tree dweller, then back to the situation at hand. She wore questions, long and winding, but all she could muster was a whisper.

?It is Want.?

?Does it have an origin, your stinking monster?? Soft in volume, the Sandman spoke a sentence for the first time since the turmoil with the creature started, crouched beside it with the tip of the khanjarli resting against the lurid flesh. The pirate had said that it regenerated, afterall...

"Tiria. It is Koru'ucan." Outside of that, she did not know beyond how it was made, and how to unmake it. To Skado, she gestured to the part of the thing where the parasitic brain lived, situated where a human might keep their liver.

"That needs to come out." She drew a circle with her finger, pressed to the clammy skin of the Koru'ucan. It needed to come out, and it would be a hell of a lot easier to do with her dagger still lodged in the nerve cluster that kept the thing still.

Down and down, blue-green bled into yellow, ripe with impending rot and weeping crimson. The longer she stared, the harder it got to focus. Reality bent all around her, as if by someone else's whim.

?Koru'ucan.? He said the word more to taste it, even as the khanjarli slid into the yellow flesh with a wet snarl of metal and muscle. A little cookie cut-out of the shape she'd circled.

The brush held the promise of crickets, but it was much too early for their rituals. She released the bunched cloth at her hip, which spilled down her side, a rainbow waterfall, weighted by water. The bow was cradled like a toddler. She pressed her cheek to her shoulder, staring between the two and the thing beneath.

The stench was instantly worse, the same that had covered her clothes the other night. Satisfaction and horror were at war within her, causing that nauseous feeling. God, she needed a drink. She reached in and pulled that writhing segmented organ out of the viscera, casting it away from the body before she retrieved her knife. This had been easier with three.

A swallow, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. The Exxon Valdez's focused on his target, not the three of them.

Still somewhat in tune with the scenery, she side-stepped toward Domikai's crouched form, but did not join him. She was as keen on being closer to the rotten thing as being up in the trees. After all, the floor was so very far.

?And that?? the tip of the khanjarli pointed at the writhing object, dripping purple blood and threads of muscle.

"That, we dice. Or burn. Or bury." The demon was now just meat, the part of it that drove its existence laid nearby, dying far too slow for her taste. It still pulsed gently. A shudder.

Lashes fell in unison. Half-aware that she beheld some foreign thing, she pressed the bow back toward Maia. ?I do naut think this is mine. Is it??

She reached for it, a soft look to her eyes as they raised up to meet the off blues of the Seer. "Nay love. Not."

As she took the small weapon back into her hand, she smiled gently for Viki. "You did very well." Approval, gently spoken, rarely offered to anyone.

?Fire...? The sandman was drawn to the idea of fire, slid over to the gently pulsing item, started a small ember in the slick flesh. It would simply take time to be consumed.

The smile that followed said much. One, that she was not exactly sure what had just transpired. Two, that the creature underfoot was not entirely there. Three, that the Lover was nearby, and that was a pleasant surprise.

?Oh. Xas. Okay.? Fingers went loose, giving up the bow, then hovered in the air, half waiting to be tangled with something (someone) else.

Maia moved to where she had dropped her belt, that she might put her things together and clean her blade. The blood tainting the water would draw others to the surface, if any were left. They did not like the scent of their own death. A while came and went as she wrung out her hair and moved to claim her dry shirt, left on a rock. Nothing. So why couldn't she shake that feeling that something was still wrong. It wasn't the nauseous feeling of pending violence, but it was that unsettling feeling that things were off. Maia looked to the water and saw nothing. She looked to the trees and saw nothing. Nothing. Just a feeling.

She inched closer to Viki. "Are you so often out at night?"

?Xas. I am often.? Echo. Casual and clipped, she looked back at the Pirate before turning to the Lover. Was that not something he worried about? She seemed to step around the monster without actually making eye contact, even for the taint of smoke in the air as the fire picked up. She crouched low at last, and pressed her mouth to the shell of the sandman's ear. In his own language, she called him a name.

Her response was troubling, particularly if things like the Koru'ucan were going to roam the countryside. It troubled the hunter, but many things did. She fastened the buckle of her belt, quite ready to be out of the woods. Skado seemed very capable, and Viki laid her claim on him with eyes and whispers, so she did not worry much about the Seer. Still, she worried for the trees...

But the trees had their own hunter, did they not? Heated breath and full lips lingered there, at the Lover's ear, before she withdrew. She seemed a far cry from lucidity, and made for the path, slipper-shoes collected on instinct with her toes. As she walked, she hummed, and slowly tore the patches of yellow from her skirt. The Lover was to follow, no doubt, and the pirate watched a while as they departed the scene.

Another one gone. How many more sets would there be?

The witching hours hung beneath the night moon, and the events of the week had stirred the once-pirate into habits of old. She was dressed for business, all in black, and the only thing sharper than the blades she carried was that wit of hers. The alleyways served as a hunting ground at night, and here would the predators perhaps become prey.

It was an oddity in the sparse, crushed pools of candle light the lamps threw down onto the Market. His head floating over swaying hues of midnight aqua, stone gray, and black. An apparition rolling forth through the cobblestone street, no noise made as he walked, and if not for the sculpted facial features of bronze shining a metallic luster, he would have been completely concealed.

She stalked through these alleyways, the dark corners of the world where things went bump in the night. Soft soled boots fell on cobblestones, Maia was quiet, too. From the darkness of the alley, glacial blues watched the apparition in the street, icy regard mingled with interest. He didn't seem just another passerby. He was too quiet, too hard to see.

That meant that he was either one of them, and she would find a way to turn him to dust, or perhaps it meant that he was like her. Instrument. Virulent Virtuous Violence. The only kind she knew. She crouched low against the wall, and thought on this a spell.

The illusion broke when inaudible steps ceased. There was the distinct feeling of being watched, forcing the hairs upon the back of his neck to stand on end. Earthen irises swept the darkness. Toiling hues scrawled across the cloak disdainfully when he parted the ocean of hues, indiscernible colors seeming to roll like waves in and out upon the odd garment. Nostrils flared as he picked at the scents upon the wind.

Perhaps her scent was there, clean and strangely feminine, considering the source. Maia was reminded of the rangers of the Agnothran, her home for a spell. It was in the way he moved, and in the way he didn't. Dangerous. She did not reach for the hilt of the cutlass, though. It slept still in her baldric. Instead, she slipped further back into shadow, a bite of her lip capturing the smile that threatened to bloom. The white lock tearing through her hair would be the only thing to betray her. The rest was too dark to see by what little light spilled hither and yon.

Present was the scent of femininity, of soap. But of steel as well. Something definitely female withdrew into the shadows, and that only caused him to peer closer with his enhanced vision. He purposely clutched either of his hands upon the edges of his cloak, more colors fluttering in and out upon it as he did so. Thick soled leather boots made no noise against the road as he approached the alleyway. But it was too dark to see.

She would bide her time and count the distance. The upper hand was always preferable, and surprise was an advantage she would use, whenever she could. With catlike agility, won through many hard years of training and her relentless warrior life, she sprang. Her goal: to drive a shoulder into that which approached and topple them both. The upperhand would be perhaps be hers for long enough to make a better appraisal of the situation. Besides. Hello or Who goes there were entirely too overdone.

The cloak closed once more upon his lithe form, giving it the momentary illusion that broad shoulders were the true girth of his lithe frame, but began to conceal again as he walked further between the two stores. Until a blur of vision caught the corner of his eyes, and it was rushing at it. He himself moved in streaking movements, bringing his hands up and at the ready, but too late. Time seemed to slow to him, and both hands shot out to grasp his assailant by her sides pulling her down with him as he tumbled to the ground.

She did not resist the fall. Maia had been banking on it. The ground often helped to lessen a size difference, and the diminutive thing was nearly always at a deficit there. A grunt through clenched teeth as she hit the ground, and her rough hand flat against his torso. Warmth. The natural kind, not the flushed, feverish warmth of a Lick on the feed.
The fierce thing sought the sight of eyes, anything to make contact. Four scars on her face told a few tales of other hunts, other times. She did not yet reach for steel.

Her hand would be met with the stringent, sinewy muscle his body was composed of, broad shoulders were the deception, but the muscles held definition, not size. His face only contained one scar, but it was the sinuous blade of crimson embedded over his left eye, streaking downwards to his upper lip. Earthen eyes were bred of patience, his entire face seemingly carved from stone. He had not yet reached for steel either, but she could feel the unnatural strength inherent in his grip.

As she registered the muscle, the solidness of that grip at her sides, Maia was frankly surprised she had taken him down, although it was clear that she was cetainly fit. She walked a walk. It was a peculiar way to meet, but no stranger than the awkward way people said hello in bars, about all anyone seemed to do in this place. Maia eased up, just a little, just looking at the stone face, the long scar, gaze to gaze. Dangerous pair. Her first word aloud, a single word, a single question.

"Hunting?"

?Walking.?

He corrected, his voice awash in a flowing baritone that rumbed out from his lips, flowing like water from a broad cataract into its adjoining pool beneath. His grip never faultered, a wonder how he could hold so tight for so long. When she eased he took his hands away the tension and the relaxation visible against his taut sunkissed flesh.

?I take it that you are hunting. Is it I that you seek?? The words were spoken in indifference almost, never once betraying an outward emotion.

"Most don't walk my way, love." Her direction? Her demeanor? Hard to tell which she meant, perhaps both. She took a breath. The grip released and she canted her head, narrowed eyes and a raise of the right brow, the one left whole.

"I do not think I seek you, no." His flesh was warm, but his eyes were nearly cold in their stoicism. A strange thing to see. "Not looking for a man."

?The wrong place at the wrong time I take it.? Another flare of his nostrils as he attempted again to pick the scents of her. She was what he had smelled earlier. How he did not get tangled in the length of his camouflaging cloak was a wonder as he deftly picked himself up from off the ground. He lowered his right hand to help her up, the fingers and palm lined with many scars, a rearing dragon in gold brandished into the back. ?That I can understand.?

Eyes trailed the lines on scars, the color of the dragon. Details were absolutely everything to her. She marked them and relished them. Fingers wrapped then around the offered palm and she pulled to her feet, the attention of that pale blue gaze back up to the calm mask of his face again. She had thought to jest, to brush off the behavior, and that comment, but that instinct of hers told her to stay with this thread of conversation.

"Aye. You look to me like exactly the sort of person who can understand." And then she released his hand, to back a few paces from him, that they may look properly on another. He would see her blades- tonight, a cutlass and a trio of different daggers, all sheathed. He could also see quite a few of the scars she carried, the three on the jaw, dappled ones about the neck and shoulders. Evidence of hard living.

?Most do not walk my way either.? The edges of his cheeks, the square jawline all seemed to soften subtly. His rugged looks were hewn from living bronze stone, but he was master over them, and although she was armed she wished no threat on him.

?But I do not tackle them when they do.? A roguish grin tipping the side of his cheeks. Peace favor your swords. His long torso tipped forward in a slight bow.

?I am Hawk Jahad.?

A friendly look would win him one in return. The left brow raised this time, the promise of her own lopsided smirk evident in her eyes. "You came over here..." She was indeed glad she had not drawn steel. This one seemed a good deal more salient than the rest of the drunken buffoons that walked this world. His greeting did have that noble warrior flair to it, but she liked the sentiment all the same. She regarded him at length, made a note of the name, then gave an upnod.

"Maia."

She was still in the habit of leaving the rest out. Old habits died bloody hard, even if it probably had been a decade since she had been actively wanted for piracy. A thought. Why not? "Walk with me." She had a bad habit of making requests in ways that did not make them sound very... requestful.

?An honor Lady Maia.? A fine haze of dust seemed to cling to every bit of the clothing underneath the cloak, especially upon the boots of brown leather, travelers dust. Locks of burnt flaxen hung down from his head to his chin, unkempt but cleanly. Odd how he spoke in titles and niceties. An odd accent tinged the words he spoke with, otherworldly, like the language was not his native.

?Walk with you? Aye.? He tilted his head forward. "I shall."

And so they walked...

?Lady Maia.? Her name hung out into the air in warning, he unfurled his arms from beneath his chest and held out an open hand. ?I would not open that if I were you. It reeks of suffering. Let me open it, if I am unharmed, I shall tell you what it is and you can decide if you would like to be rid of it.?

Appraising eyes shot to Hawk.

Noble.

Not like her, not really.

If it was suffering in a bag, she would let it be hers. She shook her head to him, pulling away. "My name. Mine to face." A humorless sentence. Fingers worked the knot at the top, a grim set to the line of her mouth. Just before she drew it open, she cast a glance to him, warmer, softer, perhaps reassurance.

"I will be fine." It took a lot more than what they could put in a little bag to harm her, seriously?

?Or so she thought.

A bloodied piece of cloth was the first sight. She pulled it from the sack, matter of factly, and held it in the flat of her hand, unfolding it. It actually took a second for her to place it. Some things did not look right out of context.

One pointed ear, flesh so pale it was almost white, three very distinct rings through it. Maia went completely pale. It had not been sliced. It had been torn.

One word. One syllable. Four letters. The only one she knew then. ?fuck." Whispered. Nothing scared this woman, not really, but all the same, that hand began to shake.

He saw the striations in the flesh that meant it had been torn. The left hand emerged up, covered in a terse leather glove that grasped tightly to the form of his hand, clinging to his wrist. He had caught sight of the pointed ear. The pale flesh could be none other.

He did not know what it was he was doing but he wrapped his wide palm around the cloth that covered the ear and covered it again in her hand.

?Peace.? He said in somber exclamation.

?Look upon it no further.? He noted how all the color in her face had fled. The ear was snatched up and put back into the bag, wrapped firmly in the cloth. He tightened the bag and let it fall to the ground a short distance away.

An odd gesture for the man who most often abhorred touch, but he set a reassuring hand upon her shoulder and led her to a nearby bench, applying slight pressure to the shoulder to beckon her to sit. He stood just off to the side she sat, throwing wary glances out over the darkness of the Marketplace. His gaze returned to her a few times.

One rough palm traveled up to meet the flesh at the base of her neck, the rough scars there, ten years old now, and the only that remained pink. Something about the particular taint of those fangs. At last she spoke, her face still blank, her mind racing.

"My lover, once. Saved my life." She pressed into the scars, kneading them. "Taught me how to survive this."

God, she sounded so very distant.

?It was his.? He breathed out gravely, his voice lower than he had intended.

?Peace.?

Again that word used in exclamation. ?I am sorry." He did not need to apologize but felt as if he should. Idle habit forced him to rake his fingernails at the sinuous scar of crimson over his left eye. When the veil of his lid closed the scar joined and became one line.

?May the Light illuminate him, the Creator shelter him, and the warm embrace of the Mother carry him home.? He said in a whispered mutter. A prayer from his homeland.

And suddenly, she was up again, fire brimming in the ice of her eyes. "Ear isn't a necessity. Doesn't mean dead." Hell, you could not even bleed to death losing an ear.

"If he's here, I save him." Never mind that they hadn't laid eyes on one another in eight years. Maia knew that she still had the means to track the Paladin.

"And if he's gone..." That gaze flashed in the direction of the messenger. "I find out why."

?Aye.? He nodded his head, glancing to her again thoughtfully as she stood, suddenly aflame with passion. "You are right. Where was it the last time that you saw him?"

He turned now, the troubled look scrawled across his brow. He turned and peered off into the distance where the messenger went. ?If you have needs, I shall find this Arden Cale once more and ask him who it was who ordered the package delivered. Kindly at first. Then not so if his answers do not suit.?

She would have answered him straightaway, but then he offered to chase the messenger, and she stopped, startled a little. A thousand little realizations creeping in at once. That cold hard gaze of hers went so soft as it peered up to him. Kindly at first. Heh. Brows raised in a plaintive arch, that harsh english horn voice a mellow note, a melancholy song.

"Hawk, it will not be safe."

Her once-lover was peaceful, but he was, in his day, an extraordinarily powerful paladin. Something would have to have a pretty significant bite to take a chunk out of him.

It was an odd noise, a roll coming from his throat as he tilted his head back and glanced to the sky, the veil his hair created thrust back to reveal the high cheek bones, declining downwards in a line over smooth cheeks to his square jaw. He was laughing.

?Safe? You must mistake me for a crofter. Or think that perhaps I got this from a dispute with a lover scorned.? He traced the curving line of his scar without touching it. ?There is not much I fear. Magic I may lack, but one will find that the Ranger is hardy without it.?

"And I do not..." A deep breath, she felt like she was about to get emotional, and that never served her. She was only for the fire of the fight. The other things would hold her back.

"We do not know one another."

?Aye. Perhaps we do not. But does that mean I cannot assist someone who is in need of my help?? A slight furrow of his brow as he glanced down at her.

?Consider it a favor...? He said with a shrug and a slight grin. ?...For sparing my life earlier.? He gestured with a thumb back to the alley where she had attacked him.

He sounded like her, actually. Only deeper. And with perhaps more disjointed words. It brought a watery smile. There was no telling what she was getting into, but at least she would not be alone. Slow steps carried her to where the Ranger had dropped the bag. She would not leave the ear of her poor once-lover in the streets for the rain and the rats. "Sorry about that. Hope I didn't.. dirty anything." Lame apology, a day late and a dollar short, but offered all the same.

He chuckled this time, a pale shadow of the laugh he had uttered earlier. ?You have no needs to apologize. I should have known better than to be too curious and approach a dark alleyway in the night.? Broad shoulders lifted in a slow shrug. He seemed pleased that she was not going to go on this endeavor on her own.

She had done everything on her own for years. It was going to take some getting used to, allowing someone else to help. That jaw squared, and she carried the pouch carefully in her hand, as though she could do more damage. She could, but it would be irrelevant. It probably wasn't going back on.

"I need Arden Cale. I do not need to know where the paladin is. That I can manage without him. I do need to know why." She had obviously done something that had gotten under somebody's skin. She had to learn how to undo it, or undo that somebody, perhaps.

?Aye. This Arden Cale should not be too difficult to track.? He flared his nostrils exaggeratedly. ?I have the scent of him, but I could not call myself Ranger without knowing to track someone, even without prints left in the dirt.? He nodded his head firmly.

?But the next move after that?? He gestured to where the Inn glowed bright. ?We must get our strategy before we make any moves. And you have needs of a drink.? He said knowingly. ?Or many.?

"I am going home." She did not look it, not in the least, but she was ill. She needed to regroup, and then she needed to get to the West End and clear out of Bernie's. If they found Dylann, the gentle coachman might be next, and that would do her in. Maia was sick and tired of burying her lovers.

"I will wait in the Inn, to learn what you learn. I will find my paladin." She had not called him that in years, but how powerfully she felt it then. They had parted, yes, but not with spite, just with sorrow. Maia hoped she had not been his end.

?Then I shall go to find Mr. Cale.? He said with a simple nod of his head. The next he offered with a bit of intuition. The smooth young face held little age, but there was wisdom beyond it within those haunted eyes.

?I am sure we shall find him. But do not let that token..? He gestured to the bag. ?Eat at you. Whatever has occurred is not your fault. Peace favor you Lady Maia.? He did not specify her weapons this time, but dipped a bow, the folds of his cloak wrapped firm about his lithe frame, but this time the hood was drawn up as well. She would see his outline for a few steps into the distance, the way Arden had gone, but after that he had disappeared, joining with the night.

She watched until she could watch no more, then headed for the flat, for the privacy she needed in the sanctuary she had built. There were things to do.

The trail went cold a bit west of the Inn, but it did not surprise the once-pirate. It was almost noon when she threw in the towel, at least for the time being. Maia, frankly, had bigger fish to fry. It was not that she disliked the Seer. Quite the contrary. Her focus had just shifted to a pair of questions that pressed on her more (and knowing this town, it would be buzzing with the disappearance of the Little Soldier by nightfall).

Maia did not sleep that day. Shortly after returning to the flat, she clasped a seven point pendant in her palm, and found her way to the roof of the bakery. She was away from the prying eyes of the locals as she knelt in something like trance, the heat of an afternoon sun bearing down on her face. The sun's rays were relentless, its heated kisses on her cheek like yesterdays with the silent elf, days long gone.

Gone forever, like him. By the time she left the roof, she had her answer.

The paladin was dead.

Though she had not seen him in eight years, it pained her, cut a few more lashes in her scarred heart. Weeping, however, was a luxury for those with all the time in the world. She had been found and had paid a price, but she did not know what she had taken to warrant this end. Maia had to know. More importantly, she had to protect those most likely to become casualties in this war against an unknown enemy.

With her lips in a thin line, she moved to the corner of Orror and Skint, to the dusty mansion and the arms of the man that threatened to mend her heart. If she did not break his, at least for a little while, Maia was certain whoever they were, that they would find out, and that they would take him too.

Two men had stirred her precious hope in her short time back in RhyDin. One was dead already. To lose the second...

To lose her Ghost.

It was a fate she refused.

Mad as hell.

The sight of the loping forms, cutting through the alley on the fringe of town didn't help matters, not one little bit. She had read about it and heard about it. They were celebrating Beltane. How many Gaelic people lived here anyway?

No matter.

Drunken party guests right near a primary shelter for the beasts would look like easy spawning and simpler eats. Maia owed these people nothing, and yet... she couldn't allow it, and she had suited up. Where were they all coming from? She counted as she tailed them, quieter than the breeze. She needed to find a place to start it. Six was too many. But it couldn't wait.

Armed with her best tools and her righteous rage, the pirate sprang into action. Silver tipped bolts gleamed from the crossbow. She fired the first, hit her mark. That nerve cluster- at least one would be still. Just enough time to reload and tear at a second, but that one was just off the mark. Five coming her way. She took a breath...

...and then she ran. Hot on her heels, maddened by the smell of blood, and quiet as she. It was likely that the people living in the flats above did not sense that anyone was there. Drew a pair of daggers, and let them fly behind her. Low, to tear at legs to slow up another and another. They would heal, but they would also lag.


Attend the Beltane celebration, or not to attend. That was the question of the evening. There was a part of her that wanted to, but another part that dreaded it. The full moon that loomed over her in the sky was a reminder why she wasn't looking forward to much in the way of celebrations. She told Erin she might show though, so she hadn't ruled it out completely. She was moving down the street, attire simple, hardly festive.

Pale blues started to betray her, show the world how tired she really felt, how little sleep she had actually been getting the past two weeks. But a recent nap had her feeling slightly refreshed. Lips pursed, her gaze was cast to the stones beneath boots as she walked, the world around her not paid much mind. Always a fault. No matter what, she always neglected her environment. Sure she listened, but when things around were silent it hardly helped.

The pirate needed a little more space. The street. Three followed at speed now, two limping behind as they tore her knives from their flesh so that it would close again. A flash of green in her eye line. That cursed exclamation point in her head, but nothing could be done. The elf passed and the pirate crossed just behind as she poured into the street, drawing a particularly wicked dagger as she did. One syllable as she turned,
barked.

"Run."

Dagger flew into the current leader of the pack, distorting its face in a silent sneer as steel carved through the flesh of a neck that was too long. Maia drew the rapier at last, its speed would be paramount to face the two that came for her as the third writhed behind a while.

It barely processed that it was Maia running and being chased. As she passed, attention turned towards the oncoming ..beings. They weren't human, nor elven. Could barely qualify as humanoid. Brows crinkled and distorted, both in confusion and fear. One thing could be said for them, whatever they were? There was something inherently frightening about them. Run. Maia didn't need to tell her twice, especially when she caught the look in their eyes, sensed the tension in the air. The world a blur, she spun quickly upon a booted heel, following after the woman. Getting away from those... things.

Recognition. Lydia. Maia owed her a shirt. "Don't look back, Lydia, find shelter." She spoke in that flat calm, even as her blood boiled in preparation of the kill. That nausea rose in her, reminding her that she was still a woman, after all. She would ignore it. Abrupt halt, and she prayed the elf would keep going while she did what she was destined to do. Straight into the line of fire, those gaping snakelike jaws and jagged teeth. Their stench, their yellow flesh, their almost purple blood. All would hang from her blade. With a guttural battle cry, she attacked the Koru'ucan, rapier swift and precise as she hacked at the pair, to sting them, to force them farther from Lydia.

She would have been overwhelmed by the stench if she weren't in panic mode, acting on adrenaline and instinct. Instinct clashed with Maia's words. Don't look back? Just leave her there to battle whatever they were? She was outnumbered, and even if one possessed power, what good was it when the numbers overwhelmed them? She barely knew Maia, but she barely knew a good bit of people she had helped. This was no exception.

She hadn't passed her by much before she was skidding to a halt, turning to face her do battle against the yellowish beings. Ignoring Maia's words. The green haired elf could be a stubborn one at times. Her movements were quick, without thought. She ducked close to the ground, hand pulling a couple dagger darts she kept hidden within, losing her bag on the ground in the process. The pretty one Erin had knitted her, purple and green, holding her treasured personal effects. It wasn't noticed. Not now. Those now white eyes were locked on Maia. Locked on those beings. All in close proximity though. Too close to allow her to truly act. Her aim wasn't quite that good, with magic nor dart.

It happened so fast. A few low swipes brought the creatures to their knees, and as even as she was driving her long blade through the throat, to hit the off switch behind it, she was rounding the second to reach up and plunge the main gauche into that nerve cluster. The first had not slumped to the ground entirely before the second started to fall. She drew a sharp little knife, one best used for gutting fish, and set to the gory task of removing their parasite brains. It was done with her usual economy, that electric thrill of victory as each one hit the pavement. Two down.

Where were the other three? Reloading her cross bow with a bolt that would buy another minute. She held it aloft and scanned the shadows. She knew her ears were of little use. Silent. Waiting.

She didn't have time to be disgusted, feel sick, or even feel fear. Gripping dagger darts in one hand, she straightened and moved swiftly towards Maia, keeping her steps as light and quiet as she could. There was no way she would abandon her. She wouldn't abandon anyone in a situation like this. How could she? There had been more, that she had seen earlier. Lower lip was taken between her teeth and bitten hard, a bit of anxiousness finally showing through.

Things were quiet. Eerily so. Too much so. White eyes shifted to the side, watching where Maia wasn't, turning where she wasn't turned. One could only cover so much ground after all. She could only hope Maia covered her where she could not be covered as well. Grip upon daggers very nearly relaxed before she saw it.

A blur of yellow moving all too quickly towards Maia. Still close proximity but the shock of it caused her to react. Another step forward, hand that didn't hold the daggers shot up towards the creature, white eyes growing even more so.

"Molito!" The incantation shot from her mouth without thought. Fire was too risky, but sparks certainly weren't. They erupted in front of the creature's face, almost as if it were being sprayed by water, though instead of water droplets, each drop was a brilliantly shimmering spark spraying towards it's face.

Her blink to Lydia was surprised. She hadn't seen that coming. The other that came from nowhere was met with her level gaze. Click. The crossbow stalled. So she threw the whole thing at it, watching as the heavy parts stunned it briefly with a heavy hit to the nose. No choice. Another bark to Lydia, this one perhaps even more authoritative than the first.

"RUN."

Last dagger flew, the thud sound of steel lodging into flesh and bone. She turned for a heartbeat, to retrieve her rapier.

The pirate drove that sword up further into the beast. Its silent scream loosed it's teeth and gave her the window to scramble out from under it. Too much blood poured from that shoulder. The smell of a woman's blood on the wind sent all the three demons that remained into a bit of a frenzy. Maia got to her feet and started to back slowly away. She had a few crossbow bolts and the fish knife left.

The pirate watched in horror as they turned their hairless heads with a similar tilt to regard her and advanced. One was quicker than the others, upon her in an instant. She grappled with it briefly and that wound burned with the strain that was set upon it. A second came to claim her,
and in its haste to pull the first away, swung and connected with the diminutive pirate. When all was said and done, she was in a bloody heap about ten feet away from the demons that briefly wrestled one another to claim her as Host, or perhaps as food.

The elf knew nothing about being a demon incubator, but she did suspect Maia was the one who was going to get herself killed. Everything had happened so quickly, it didn't register until Maia was the heap upon the ground. She knew one thing, she had to act. This situation wasn't normal, wasn't like any other she had encountered. It was, sadly, kill or be killed. There was no reasoning, there was no running, there was no solution.
Just to.. fight. The other two darts in hand fell from fingers to the ground with dull clunks near her forgotten and abandoned bag. Useful they were, but not against these things.

The virescent one should have known better than to resort to certain spells in her condition, but what choice did she really have? Desperate times called for desperate measures. When Maia went down, she stepped up. Moving quickly in a sprint, she passed the pirate, putting herself between her and those creatures. Their fighting amongst one another bought precious time, that was for certain, but she still had to act quickly. They moved with inhumane speed. Five feet away from the trio, both hands shot up and aimed their way. Burning pain shot through her head and body, but she didn't notice.

Not yet.

Her eyes glowed brighter somehow, that eerie white, as nearby walls rumbled, just faintly, and cobbles beneath her started to crack and split with the instability of the spell. One reason she never used it? She never did grasp full control of it, and it was always unstable.

She found her breath, tears at the corners of her eyes from the loss of it. She'd hit the ground hard, but she had been worse off. Eyes widened as she sat up, to see Lydia between her and them.

"no.." It was a mere whisper as breath did not come quite fast enough to let it sound with confidence. Elbow to knee, the pirate was almost to her feet again, terrified for Lydia. And then the earth started to move, and she felt that hair stand on end.

Magic. Of the big and powerful kind.

Maia froze, eyes locked on the Virescent Elf.

?Tiltowait!!" She very nearly screamed it out, and as soon as she did, the ground sounded out with one last *CRACK* before too bright fire of yellows, reds and oranges gathered and swirled in the air about and in front of her, finally shooting towards the trio in large plumes and clouds, threatening to swallow them all up if they didn't move fast enough.

Three bloodlusting wild Koru'ucan. Now on fire. Their wild movements showed their panic. Fire was a great enemy of this damp loving monster of the dark, and they were not smart enough the shed their stolen cloaks and roll.

She finally realized her pain. Knees buckled beneath her and she collapsed on them, scuffing them a little against the stones. Arms had fallen to her sides as well. Her eyes flickered and dimmed as she neared her limits. Her gaze locked on the panicked trio, and her mouth parted as she searched her mind for something else she could do, that was within her capabilities now. Gods they smelt terrible before, but this was near unbearable.

Feet were planted and she was solid, though a little surprised. Maia moved two steps nearer the elf. Then, the sound of steel clattering on cobblestone filled the strange silence of the scene as one of the flaming beasts knocked the rapier from its torso in a panic. Good. She would need that. Quietly spoken, to check on the woman who set the world on fire.

"Lydia?"

Slowly, she turned her head slightly, towards Maia. "M..mn.."

It was no good. She had exhausted herself physically, mentally, and now magically. She had reached her limits. Careless. The shimmering within her eyes finally gave out, revealing rather tired, pale, cerulean eyes. They fell to half mast as the world went black, and she went limp, tumbling to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Pulse was a touch slower, but still steady, as was her breathing. The girl wasn't on the brink of death or anything like that. But she didn't look ready to be waking up any time soon. Her usually warm skin would feel a little cool to the touch as well. She didn't stir at all when touched and hefted, didn't make a sound. She was a light thing too, not muscled and developed like her cousin, or even Maia. Around one hundred pounds, possibly a little less as of late.

Maia knelt, checked for that pulse before she rose again. It was likely they would run until sun-up in their fiery frenzy, but she needed to be sure. She was careful as she retrieved the rapier, thankful that the handle was hot, but not too hot to handle. With careful strokes, precise and strong, each remaining beast was sliced in such a fashion to let the fire into the parasite brains, to hurry things along.

As the flames consumed the strange viscera, each would drop in turn, and when the sun rose there would be nothing left of them but dust, no doubt to be carried on the spring wind. One had been left paralyzed in the first alleyway, but there was no time. She had to get the Elf off of the street and bandage her shoulder.

Maia retrieved what she could from the immediate area- a couple of her own daggers, and that pretty knit bag- then sheathed her blade and knelt beside Lydia, awkwardly hefting the woman of similar size into her arms, then up over the unwounded shoulder.

It was a rather unceremonious way to carry someone, but it left a sword arm (albeit a wounded one) free. There was a shop near enough, one which had a little display in the window featuring a mannequin that resembled this elf. With any luck, it would be Lydia's shop. The least the pirate could do was house her somewhere familiar. After all, the elf had probably saved her life.