Memento

[Oneiro]

(( Closed to Crystal Suncrest
All bunnies approved by both parties))


Seven days ago, encampment on the outskirts of the River Attireyi

The circle of torches encased the three women sitting in its midst in a dome of warm, orange light. The air reeked heavily of sweat and the chitinous fuel used to keep the fires ablaze. As far as Rabyr could see, all thirty members of their clan had relinquished sleep tonight, opting instead to attend the annual congregate of their shamans. At a safe distance from the seven raging fires, they had formed a second circle around the wise seers, their eyes converging upon the three in silent expectation. Although he was not entirely convinced that the shamans stood in direct connection with the Mother Goddess like they adamantly avowed, Rabyr had to admit that the congregate itself remained an imposing ritual. However, since Mother Layareh had prophesied five years ago that a horrible affliction would ravage the clan, nothing particularly grave or noteworthy had ever been revealed during the event. Moreover, although the pox had spread amongst several of their brethren some time after Layareh's prediction, they had been able to recover as a clan fairly smoothly.

His peculiar eyes scanned over the women at the centre of everybody's attention. They did not wear any clothing, and all hair on their bodies had been shaved off; their only cover consisted of myriad tattoos, in abstract, tribal imagery, running from head to toe. Each shaman bore different patterns, and it was said that those of the eldest shaman were the most intricate, to reflect her experience as a mystic. Their eyes were closed, and they were sweating profusely - it had often led him to wonder how they were even able to breathe, so close to so many flames. A sound of mellifluous humming, softer than a desert breeze, sprang from their lips in perfect unison. It was not a melody, nor a language, but, as they called it, 'riding the waves of magic'. He took his eyes off the enthralling scene and glimpsed through an opening in the circle, resting his gaze upon the tribe leader. Again, a woman, though this time one he respected far more than these mystical advisors in their midst, for he had seen her bravery and skill both in- and outside of battle. One of the few amongst those gathered that he could truly call a rival.

"Hearken now, the word of Suravani." The statement was barely more than a whisper, and it was difficult to discern whom of the shamans were speaking. Perhaps all three of them; between the flickering fires and the black ink on their faces, it was impossible to say whether their lips were moving, at all. Despite the low volume of the command, all tribesmen seemed to be drawn closer to the circle, leaning in, prepared to hang on their seers' every word. Rabyr sighed inaudibly as he followed their example, inclining his head towards the mystifying scene. The flames atop the torches danced wildly in the breezeless sky, as though a whirlwind had taken possession of the sandy pulpit inside.

"The Earth Mother weeps." The three voices became louder now, and the eerie atmosphere tightened the uneasy knot around his throat. He could not recall the congregate having ever been this ominous. He moved his head closer to the seers. "Foreign calamities lay waste to our lands, shatter the memories of the sands, revive the sin from before the Cleansing, Vadhya." Rabyr was perplexed, and judging from the expressions of the other tribesmen, he was not the only one. These foreboding words did not concern the clan, not even the folk of nomads, for that matter. As the seer solemnly continued, it became all too clear that Suravani's care and worry was not for them, not for this year, but for the entire continent - and its entire future. It confronted them with the prospect of conflict and violence, of war even. The flaming torches appeared nothing more than a blur as the mystical wind surrounding the shamans took an even stronger hold, almost making it seem as though the seers were within a veritable ring of fire.

"For the sake of the clan, secure that which was stolen. Return the Eye." A command, harsher than he had ever heard, and yet there was a pleading tinge to its tone, as though the shamans themselves felt so strongly about the assignment that their empathy showed even through the power of the Goddess's word. The crescendo of divine purpose lasted only for a second. Then, the fires were gone, their intensity doused by an unseen force, the desert wind stopped raging, and the three wise women collapsed upon the sand, their bodies trembling heavily with the effort of channeling even a spark of Suravani's power through their frail, mortal bodies. Their leader was the first to rise, and Rabyr soon followed suit, as did twenty-eight others in nigh perfect synchronization. They looked at each other, and in their eyes, the Heart of the Hunt saw reflected the confusion that had breached the confines of his consciousness.

But deep inside, they knew that regardless of the vagueness and mysticism involved in the task, the will of Suravani must be done. The Eye - whatever it was - must be retrieved. Rabyr did not care much for the remainder of Fallien, but if his tribe was in danger, then he would go to any length to avert catastrophe.

[Oneiro]

Present day, The Outlander's Quarter, Irrakam

He felt as though he was walking amidst a quarantine, even though the exit pass he had acquired upon entrance meant he could come and go whenever he pleased. It felt like a festering breeding pit of corruption and decrepit, desolate habitats. No wonder that so many foreigners had such a sordid image of Fallien; this abject neighborhood was the first place they were literally incarcerated in until they could, by virtue or less, obtain an authorization to leave this ulcer upon Irrakam. Low-roofed residences lined the dilapidated street. Most had no windows, and those who did apparently did not enjoy the ability to watch outside every now and then, for every opening apart from doors that Rabyr could discern had been boarded up or otherwise covered. The smell of sweat and darker odors lay heavily upon the evening breeze. The sun had long since begun its descent towards the horizon, but even at this hour, Fallien's eminent heat remained unrelenting. Very few people shared the road with him, and those who did were all walking in groups. Paired with the continuous feeling of being watched with evil intent from any alleyway he came across, his heart was filled with unease, though an actual encounter was unlikely. Even amongst other Fallien, nomads were known as rugged, hardy people. To foreigners, they just looked plain dangerous, covered in multiple layers of isolating cloth and face-concealing turbans. Not to mention the steel scimitar that lay clasped behind his back, always at the ready.

So, he was relatively safe from harm, but that was about where the good news ended. He vividly remembered the events that had transpired in the days following Suravani's haunting behest. His clan had been in uproar - not some open conflict about shares of water and meat, for once, but a silent, brooding turmoil that had sprung from various interpretations of the memorable evening before. Many rumors circulated about the essence of the Eye they had been told to retrieve. Some said it was, literally, an eye of some great beast that had to be slain in order to gain the Goddess's favor. Others say that it was a person, a messiah that would lead their clan to a place where they could finally settle, cease to be nomads - particularly this second interpretation brought bitter gall to Rabyr's lips whenever he heard it. After long, private deliberation with the seers, the tribe leader had eventually provided a third, and by far the most plausible, explanation of the Goddess's words. According to her, the Eye they seeked was a jewel known as the Eye of Astaka, an artifact of Calerian origin. According to the seers, who had combined their mystical prowess to seek the owners of any objects that reeked of powerful, Calerian magic, the Eye now found itself in the hands of a greedy black market merchant named Yerodin. A merchant that currently made his business in the Outlander's Quarter upon Irrakam. Rabyr sighed heavily as he passed a particularly shady group of three men, his mind caught up in thought and unaware of the three pairs of prehensile eyes that followed him and the glint of his valuable weapon.

"Oneiro, get over here." That woman! Sure, she was the leader of their clan now, but they had trained together, and though she was certainly skilled, he matched her in almost every aspect. Apart from, perhaps, that natural talent to seem completely disinterest when you were makinga point and then laughing at you for trying. Still, he turned around and faced her. She was completely identical to what Rabyr had thought she would grow up into, her dark beauty having only matured, and strangely unmarred by the thick scar that cleaved the left end of her lips apart. Sometimes, he thought it was unfortunate that she, like the seers, had shaved off her hair - she'd had rather beautiful curls in her youth. Of course, he could not talk about that in public, and he knew that if he tried to start on the subject in a one-on-one conversation, she was liable to gut him. His eyes twinkled mirthfully at the thought as he came to a halt in front of her.

"Need something, Sychia?" he asked casually, knowing that the use of her given name would infuriate her.

"That's 'leader' or 'commander' to you, little Drow," she jabbed back at him, in reference of his unusual eye color. "And yes, I need something from you; more importantly, the clan does. I need you to retrieve the Eye from the Outlander's Quarter." Their playful exchange came to an abrupt end. Rabyr's brows furrowed into a grave expression. He had somewhat expected this to happen, and had slightly feared it. He knew that there was nothing he could say to sway her. Along with Sychia herself, he was by far the most down-to-earth of the clan, bonded more easily with outsiders, and was able to defend himself and that which he valued in times of need. Even if he could have thought of an argument, he would not have asserted it. Pragmatic he might be, but nomad's honor was definitely not lost on him. He closed his eyes in acquiescence and nodded. He'd departed for the Irrakam ferry the very next morning.

The shuffling of footsteps, very close by, finally ripped him out of the memory. The voice of instinct that screamed a warning in the back of his mind was overruled by the blow to the back of his cranium, and color danced in front of his eyes as he fell forward, landing harshly upon the road. Disoriented, he tried to turn around, but was caught by a vicious kick to the side of his ribs. The bearded man standing over him grinned malevolently, and from the left and right, the riff-raff's two companions closed in.

[Crystal Suncrest]

Crystal was wandering arond almost aimlessly, while taking in the sights. Not to say there was much to take in. What she needed was an oasis or a town or something. What she got was a cactus here, a tumbleweed there, a man getting ganged up on by three other men, another tumbleweed, a sand dune, two more cacti...

Crystal was so exhausted that it took her this long to realize she saw an unfair battle going on.

She rushed in at what looked like the leader of the three and rammed into his left foot with her fork. The leader dropped his weapon almost immediately from the pain.

Leaving the fork sit there for the moment, Crystal turned her attention towards the cronies. which was a good thing considering one of them had noticed her and pulled a scimitar on her. She quickly dodged the slash and hid under the leader's shirt, knowing that they didn't dare attack the leader. Crystal continued flying up until she reached the neck of the shirt. It was really refreshing to be in the shade, and she really wanted to stay there, but that fantasy ended too quickly as the leader took his shirt off and tossed it aside. Almost taking her with it.

Crystal wondered why the man was wearing a shirt in the first place, but didn't question it. It wasn't like she had time to ask questions, though.

When she realized that she was discovered, she shot a crystal shot into the right eye of both of the leaders cohorts and picked up her fork, which by now had fallen to the ground, and a flew straight up with it in an attempt to stab the leader where it really hurt, the groin.

The leader saw it coming this time, sidestepped, picked up his shirt, and swatted her away with it.

Luckily for her, the leader didn't think to twist it up like a bath towel before whacking her with it, otherwise she would be hurting a lot worse. Either way, she wasn't going to last much longer on her own.

[Oneiro]

The moment of respite came unexpected, but he quickly made use of it and crawled to his feet, grunting as the movement sent another stab of pain through his ribcage; the bearded brawler's boot had been everything but pleasant. Instinctively, his hand reached behind his back and retrieved the steel scimitar from its protective confines with a dull, scouring sound. The scene that took place in front of him, however, abruptly ended the surge of adrenaline that had overcome him upon gripping his weapon. It would have been comical if not for the physical abuse that had preceded it; the man with the beard stood jumping around like a madman, tearing and swatting at his shirt while his companions looked on, dumbstruck. Rabyr's eye immediately fell upon the rusty blade that one of the ruffians held clenched uselessly in his hand, and a renewed sense of battle returned to replace the grim farce.

He bridged the distance between them with unnecessary speed; the blade-wielding enemy was still captivated by his leader - who was now doing his best to take off the piece of clothing that seemed to be pestering him so much - and he wore an eyepatch that obstructed his sight in exactly the direction Rabyr was coming from. Those weaknesses in his prey allowed him to take note of the environment as he rushed over the path. It had been silent before. Right now, it appeared there was more life to be found within a sandstorm, reaffirming his suspicions that even the best to be found in this district were cowardly backstabbers. But then he was next to the one-eyed rogue, and his scimitar slit through the man's lower arm with terrifying ease, prompting a scream from his unfortunate victim, quickly stifled by hooked punch he placed upon the man's jaw with his free hand. As his quarry staggered backwards, he kicked away the man's blade and directed his attention towards the two remaining bandits.

A loud, growl-like "HA!" momentarily distracted him. Apparently, the bearded had managed to rid himself of whatever had been plagueing him. Rabyr thought he saw something tiny flying away from the scene, but he had no time to pay heed to it, for there were still two opponents to deal with. Both did not appear to possess a weapon - unless one counted that sweaty, smelly shirt that the bearded giant was still holding in his paw - but that did not stop them from coming at him with murderous intent. Only now did he see that the bandit that had kicked him was limping pitifully, as though someone had crippled one of his feet. Regardless of that handicap, the gaiting barbarian was still the first one to reach him, having been much closer to his eye-patched companion.

Rabyr lashed out with his sword, but forgot that he was facing a human, not an animal, although that was an easy comparison to make. With a malicious grin, the muscular rogue grabbed his wrist in mid-swing. The young nomad just barely escaped the wrath of the ruffian's free hand by ducking away, but no matter how much he tugged or pushed, the iron clamp around his wrist would not budge. Desperation came over him as he was forced to dodge a veritable flurry of right hands, and even his trained reflexes could not save his face and chest from being battered with half-hit strikes. Moreover, he had completely lost track of the man's companions - his mentor would flush in deep shame if he saw how his protegé was being backed into a corner by two simpletons. The thought caused something in him to come to life; a bloodlust that did not suit him, for no true hunter hates the animals he slays. But here, things were different. This was a fight with no reason but greed. Angered, he rammed his foot into the man's crotch, eliciting a satisfying yelp from the maniac as he doubled over. Rabyr's next strike hit him straight upon the nose. The nomad grimaced. Dirty reaped what dirty sowed.

The shadow that suddenly leaped over him was something he should have expected, but he had been too busy revelling in his victory over his bearded foe that he'd forgot about the third rogue. With one enemy slumping to the floor in front of him and one attacking him from behind, there was no safe place to go; he turned his body and braced for impact, his eyes locking with the triumphant grin on his final foe's face. Only for a second. To the nomad's great surprise, the bandits head suddenly clapped backwards, as though he'd ran head-on into an invisible doorpost. He spared no moment to capitalize; with a sweeping kick to the knees, the ruffian quickly lay spread-eagled upon the road, just like his leader. The backstabber was gripping his face desperately. What could have happened?

His thoughts were disturbed by the fluttering of wings, and swiftly, his eyes were caught by one of the strangest beings he'd ever come across. It appeared to be some sort of hybrid of a light-skinned woman and a night butterfly, with frail wings in many different hues. She could not be any longer than his right hand; then again, he did have abnormally long fingers, but regardless, it was hard to conceive how something so small had been able to cause so much trouble for three wild brawlers. Still, to the best of his knowledge, this being had saved him, twice, now, and she was far more deserving of his gratitude than he of hers, for having noticed her this late. With a curious smile, he stretched out his fingers toward her - perhaps too threatening of a motion, because she backed away from him, despite his friendly gaze and his sword hanging lazily by his side. Of course, from her perspective, it must not have been much of an inviting gesture.

"What in the name of the Earth Goddess are y-" Yet then he noticed that her small, beady eyes were not aimed for him, but for a location behind his back. In an instant, he whirled around and placed his blade between him and the eye-patch-wearing rogue that had tried to sneak up from behind. The man's hands rose into the air, and he backed away, his remaining eye brewing with fright. Rabyr took grim satisfaction in the stream of blood that still oozed from the gash that his scimitar had delivered earlier.

"Wait," he spoke softly, but threateningly, as the man backed away further and further, obviously trying to escape. "If you can tell me where I can find a merchant named Yerodin around these parts, I'll let go of the thought of stabbing you as you run away. And believe me; I am a lot faster than you." At the mention of the name, the man's tanned complexion grew rather pale. It was strange - such deep fear did not befit a warrior. The rogue shook his head violently from left to right before taking his chance and sprinting away into the nearest alleyway. Rabyr sighed; he could have skewered the coward, but he chose not to, as that would bring him no closer to the Eye than he already was. Instead, he returned his attention to the tiny, flying girl that had helped him.

"Okay, let's do this again," he spoke with a smile, and this time, he made no movement save for removing the cloth from before his mouth, so that she could see it amidst his Drow-like features. "Thank you for helping me. My name is Rabyr. Rabyr Oneiro, of the Mistshard clan. Would you please tell me the name of the... woman... to whom I am indebted?" It was almost like an oath, but like his nomad kin, Rabyr took matters of honor and debt very seriously. If this peculiar, winged being had a wish, if it lay within his power, he would grant it to repay her for the bravery she'd shown moments before.

[Crystal Suncrest]

Crystal's arms were in pain from flying straight up at the enemy's chin at full speed, back when she saved the man for the second time. He seemed to be looking at her like there was something wrong with her.

"The word you are looking for is fairy, by the way, but woman will do for now. My name is Crystal Suncrest. I'd shake hands to greet you if not for the size difference. Hang on one second." Crystal said. Zooming down to the ground to pick up her fork. It wasn't like she was in any sort of hurry, it was just that the flapping of her wings plus the speed she was moving helped to her to beat the heat.

After picking her fork up, she swooped right back up.

"Ok, Now that we are introduced, I'm thirsty and tired. If you could find an oasis or some water somewhere, I'd much appreciate it. Also, I may need someplace dark, or at least somewhat shady to sleep for a bit. So, if you don't mind, I'll just slip in here right under your... uh... um... er... hat, or whatever you call it." Crystal said, zooming underneath the turban and laying down on Rabyr's head.

"In any case it sounds like you are doing something interesting. Can I come along? Well? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I?" Crystal asked, from underneath the turban in a hyperactive tone of voice.

[Oneiro]

A 'ferri'? As in, 'ferri' small?

Although she had answered his question with the name of her species, the common denominator did not help the rugged nomad's understanding in the slightest. Still, as she hung there in front of him, hurt but remarkably carefree after what had transpired only moments before, he felt oddly inspired by her energetic, high-pitched way of talking, as though every second left without a sentence were a second wasted. Her optimistic tone worked contagiously; the dull pain in his face and shoulder were quickly fading into a faint residue of violence, and he could not help but crack a smile at the tiny creature as she dove down towards the rough path, returning moments later with a fork. To Rabyr's surprise, the end of the pointy tool was covered with specks of crimson, and he snickered while he thought of how the rogue leader had been crippled before ever facing him.

Seems like she's not one to be underestimated...

He listened on as she spoke her wish, and was once again surprised. Drink and shelter - two of the most basic rewards one could ask for. In the eyes of a nomad, they weren't even rewards: the clan's code of hospitality required that any stranger who is not an enemy could expect a roof to sleep under, food, and water for at least three days. And here was this tiny being, requesting it as a form for recompense for an act that required far more courage and strength than building a hut, or making the journey to an oasis. At the very least, Rabyr would have expected a request for gold. It made him curious, though he did not ask any questions. Were all those ferri like this one? Could there be such a sweetly oblivious race somewhere, anywhere on the world? If so, they sure could teach the Fallien a thing or two about humility.

Smiling at Crystal's rather unorthodox definition of a place to find shade, he lifted the ridge of his turban, so that she could easily perch her small body amidst the mess of dark slate strands that made up his hair, to revel in the coolness that the isolating cloth offered. To Rabyr, it was a strange feeling, as though his turban had suddenly grown a protrusion on the inside, but if Crystal thought it comfortable, he would not complain. She had saved him, after all. But when her voice came beeping from behind the barrier of white bandages again, the words bore a request far more serious than her earlier wishes, and even more unusual. Go with him? Suddenly, the violet-eyed nomad wondered whether she was merely happy-go-lucky, or plain reckless.

"Well..." he started and his voice came tinged with hesitance. "You've been my savior once already, and I would never ask for more, but if you would help me of your own volition, then I will not stop you. In fact, I will be glad for the company. But I must say - what I'm getting myself into may be more dangerous than three street thugs ganging up on me..." and his voice trailed away. Somehow, he doubted that his argument would sway her. For her size, this 'ferri' seemed remarkably unintimidated by life-threatening situations - she'd proven that much in the brawl preceding their introduction. When no response save for a slight giggle at his mention of the seriousness of his quest, he sighed acquiescingly and turned around to resume his journey through the Outlander's quarter. If Crystal needed water, she needed only ask him for it - a gourd full of the clear fluid hung by his side. But, since the winged creature showed no intent of leaving his turban, he simply returned his scimitar to its place behind his back, and began walking off the main road in steady pace, this time careful not to drop his guard in the vicinity of more scoundrels.

"Oi, nomad-boy!" The gruff voice made him stop in his tracks, not so much because of the insult within as because of the sound coming from behind him, which meant that his eyes had once again missed a possible malefactor. He turned around, frowning, and saw that a door that had been previously closed had opened, and a white-skinned young male was leaning casually against the doorpost. Rabyr was instantly on guard; the outlander breathed deceit in every aspect of his appearance. He had red, long hair, and his thick arms were bare, as though he had ripped the sleeves off the black vest he wore. Both limbs were covered in intricate, tribal patterns of black ink, much like the skin of the shamans of his own village. The man's green eyes were not on the nomad he'd just called to a halt, but on the strange blade that spiralled through the fingers of his right hand, a knife that looked much like a butterfly crafted from steel. Rabyr, too, held his eyes upon the weapon as the stranger spoke.

"Did I just hear you say that you're looking for a man named Yerodin?" the man queried, yet every tone suggested the statement's rhetorical nature, so the nomad elected not to affirm. Instead, he used the intended silence that fell afterwards to make an attempt at guessing the man's origin. His way of speaking Common was very harsh, with much emphasis on the more guttural tones; most likely an inhabitant of Althanas's northern reaches. Not many such people ever entered Fallien; it was a long ways from home, and most could not stand the constant heat of the continent. This man appeared to be perfectly accustomed to the climate, however, for despite the warmth of evening, he did not show any signs of sweating or other such discomfort. "Can you help me find him?" Rabyr broke the silence when the outlander showed no sign of following up on his initial question.

"Heh," the man snickered. "I doubt you will be the one finding him, after what you did to his lapdog, over there," and he gestured casually at the bearded thug that still lay spread-eagled on the road, now several yards behind him. There was a veiled threat within his words, but it seemed more of a mocking of the danger involved than a warning - the nomad had the feeling that whoever this man was, he was no friend of the merchant he sought. "Just do what the last three of you crazy desert-dwellers did and spend a night at the nearest tavern," the red-haired stranger continued while scratching his half-shaven chin in disinterest. "Most likely you'll end up..."

"Wait," Rabyr interrupted him, and this time the emerald eyes shot up, a glare of admonition within their pupils, but the nomad was too stiffheaded to heed it. "Did you just say 'the last three' of us?"

"So what if I did?"

"What happened to them?" Their rapid exchange of questions gave way to a full thirty seconds of silence, wherein violet clashed with green, both not willing to concede but a shiver. For a moment, Rabyr thought that they stood upon the brink of a new fight - the northerner's strange knife rolled through the slender fingers far more slowly, more calculating than before. He had almost thrown off his turban to allow the fairy underneath to escape, but then his shady new informant gave him a skewed grin.

"I don't know," he responded in grisly humor. "Let's just say that most of them were not entirely... whole... when I saw them the second time." He chortled darkly, and a non-nomad might have shuddered at the crudeness.

"So why are you telling me this? Are you telling me to stop looking for Yerodin?" Rabyr inquired, business-like. The man shrugged as he turned around, wandering back into the darkness of the hallway behind the door.

"Nope," came the casual answer when the man had already half-vanished, the door an inch from closing shut. "Go find that Ear or Eye or whatever you call it, all you want. I'm just tired of seeing all you blokes get cut up on my doorstep."

"The Eye is ours by right!" Rabyr argued, but the door had shut completely, and the stranger showed no signs of making a reappearance. The encounter left him with a lot to think about. He still did not know where in this godforsakenly large neighborhood Yerodin could be, so it seemed best to take the risk of visiting an inn, as the nomads that had come before him had. Those that had come before him... it unnerved him. Had all clans been given the goal of possessing the Eye? Did it truly have divine implications if it was not returned in time? Those questions, and more, pestered him as he made his way through the quarter, searching for a tavern to spend the night in.

[Crystal Suncrest]

Being half asleep already, Crystal only picked up a few words from the conversation. Something about a merchant, a tavern, three nomads, and an eye. It almost sounded like a bad joke. There was something about the tone that both men were taking that seemed to hint at the seriousness of the situation.

"Mind explaining what is going on? You seem to have something important on your mind." Crystal asked, peeking out from under Rabyr's turban.

"Later." Was all she heard him reply.

Crystal looked out from under the hat and saw where they were headed. When she saw it was a taver she suddenly got her energy back.

"Yay! You found a place for me to sleep, eat, and drink. Thank you!" Crystal yelled out in delight, not realizing that that wasn't the real reason they were here.

"Be quiet." Oneiro replied back.

"Not until you at least tell me why you want somebody's eye." Crystal whispered back.

[Oneiro]

"Not until you at least tell me why you want somebody's eye..."

Rabyr had been glad that her yearning for information had been brought at a much lower volume than her initial shout of joy upon viewing the ramshackle establishment from beneath the rim of his turban. The common room breathed uncleanliness, the stone walls smudged with all kinds of liquor that earlier patrons had thought more fit for throwing than for drinking. A diverse collection of rickety tables and chairs stood sprawled upon the wooden floor. A single, secluded hearth exuded a heavy veil of warmth, along with providing the only source of light within the windowless construction. Rabyr had felt uncomfortable; he was used to heat, but not as pressing, and foul-smelling as this, and the disturbing news he'd received outside had done little to ameliorate the sense of edginess that the base hospice had elicited from him.

"It's not an eye, in the literal sense," he had whispered back at the concealed fairy once he had taken up a seat far away from the brimming fireplace, in a shadowy corner where the only other living creature present - the pale, skeletal frame of an innkeeper that had been polishing an ale mug with the same, slow movements for the past fifteen minutes - could not overhear his explanation. "It's a jewel, as far as I know - and a very precious one at that. I don't know why it's so special, but I've got enough reason to believe that if I fail to retrieve it, my clan will be in danger. That's why I need to find it so badly." He had left it at that, allowing her to choose something to eat and drink while he himself requested only a jug of water to quench his thirst and refill his gourd; the nomad's appetite was remarkably unimpressing for a rugged survivor. After paying a very slight price - albeit still too much for a tavern of this quality - he had retired for the night. The inn's accomodations had consisted of a single bed, without a mattress or blanket to speak of. He had not cared much for the lack of luxury; he had not been planning to get a good night's sleep, anyhow.

But as he lay here now upon the bed, Crystal having made her reststead upon the turban he had put beside him, his body strongly disagreed with that intention. It surprised him - he had often spent entire nights awake, but the darkness that encroached upon him from every corner of the room at the moment almost tangibly forced his eyes to close, spiralling shadow nauseating him whenever he tried to move or think. When the memory of the funny taste that the inn's water had had finally crossed his mind, he had already half-slipped over the threshold between drug-induced dream and reality, and it was too late to fight the foreign sedative scampering through his blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The two, black-clad men entered the nomad's room almost innoticeably, moving with a stealthy silence totally unfit for their bulky frames. Although their faces were almost entirely hidden from view by dark wrappings, they seemed pleased as they looked down upon the harmless nomad's dressed body, paying no heed to the turban beside the bed, or the tiny creature that lay concealed within it. They offered each other a brief glimpse of understanding before nodding in unison and lifting the limp survivor from his resting place, carrying him almost effortlessly through the doorway and down the stairs, where the innkeeper still stood awake behind the counter. An expectant gleam glistened in the lifeless eyes. Without any sign of physical exertion, the faceless thug holding the nomad's shoulders held his burden with one hand, while digging deeply into one of his chest pockets with the other. The clattering of coins upon the instable woodwork tore through the silence, and before the innkeeper managed to gather all the precious currency in his hands, the two abductors had already made their way out the door and into the cold night, carrying their quarry through the Outlander's Quarter's deserted streets.

[Crystal Suncrest]

Sorry it took so long

Crystal woke up with a start, hearing some coins hit the counter downstairs. She quickly looked around. She was alone. There was nothing else to it, he had left her for some reason.

Crystal could only think of three reasons Rabyr would leave her there. The first reason was he wanted to pursue this quest on his own. The second reason was He just went out for a bit and planned on being back shortly. The third reason was that somebody took him when he slept. Crystal thought about these and quickly realized that if he was in trouble, She'd need to sneak out to help him.

Crystal started walking out with the oversized turban covering her head, peeking out occasionally, so as not to bump into any walls. The innkeeper was too busy to notice the extremely strange sight of a turban walking out of his hotel on it's own. Crystal looked down at the ground, following two sets of footprints, one of which she hoped was Oneiro's. After a while the foot prints became harder to see, and crystal realized she needed to move faster if she were to follow the footprints before the desert winds covered them up. After realizin this, Crystal flew out of the shade found beneath the turban.

"Wow, that thing is heavy." She said as she started flying in a hurry to follow the footprints through the dessert. She needed to make sure her friend was ok, and the turban was just slowing her down.