The Estates, Chyril 22nd MT

[Jack Farrell]

He circled his opponent, his mind at peace, empty as the desert sands. It was a blissful state, one without any sense of past or future. He moved as one man, his mind unburdened by the concerns of this world. A leaf turned slowly by dancing winds. If one could spend their life in this manner they would surely waste away, forever enchanted by the simple purity of a single breath.

The blades clashed, jarring his wrist and he was thankful for the extra leverage his left hand gave. He tried to force his opponent, but he danced away his feet skipping lightly over the soft desert sand. Jack lumbered around and parried a blow from his second assailant determined to cut his legs from under him. He could barely move his blade as the third attack came crashing down onto his shoulder, driving him to one knee. He laughed as three children tackled him to the ground, their wooden swords clattering to the desert floor.

“Suhke, Nara, Tomor!” A woman’s voice called. “Stop rolling around with that dog and come in for breakfast!”

Jack laughed and picked up Nara, letting her two brothers run ahead. “You three have to stop bullying me you know – Ill talk to your father.” The young girl giggled and held onto Jack’s shirt. He kicked off his boots and dropped the little girl to the floor where she ran to where Badar’s servants were preparing the morning meal. Jack was a recognised face in the estate having lived here for nearly two months. The sight of him playing swords with Badar’s own children hardly raised an eyebrow. Jack had arrived last night with the caravan but Badar had something to discuss with him and so he had stayed at one of the guesthouses at Badar’s own estate a few days south of Sabata.

“Is he about Lara?” He asked of the young girl who had called the children in. “I haven’t seen him in weeks, I must make sure he has not added too greatly to his girth.”

[Morg]

(OOC: Apologies for letting this beautiful post waste away for so long! *pledges to mend his ways*)

Owning property in Terra Incognita was not a problem. Not in terms of space, at least. If one wanted a domicile of one's own, all one had to do was lay claim to a portion of flat, sandy wasteland and make sure that they had the manpower to uphold this claim. A few of the merchants had taken advantage of this possibility, Badar among them. While far from glamorous, the salt trade was very reliable and extremely profitable. Even without running any export operations of his own, Badar made easily enough to live in comfort - and to be one of the few men in the city with enough money not to be immediately outmuscled financially and brought under the thumb of one of the Councilors. Such wealth had a price, though, and it came in the form of notoriety. Badar, Gethis, Silberstein, Taymar... such names were frequently bandied about in the taverns of Sabata by the jealous and ambitious. Especially now that a seat on the Council was open once again.

Lara glanced disapprovingly at Jack. The dark-haired girl's role in the household wasn't clear by any normal standard. She wasn't a servant, or a slave, or a full member of the household. Her presence at the estate, and that of a few others belonging to the tribe of Badar's wife, was simply understood. She was referred to as "sister", but then most females among the People tended to refer to each other in that way, so there was not necessarily a blood tie. Lara was short for a tribeswoman, a full head shorter than Jack, and with a few more curves on her wiry, sinuous frame than were common among her people - a younger, compacter version of Badar's domineering, matriarchal wife, and sharing her fierce temperament.

"We will worry about kurdi-gol's waistline, Jack Farrell," she pronounced authoritatively, using the term for 'grandfather' that the People of the estate as well as the merchant's own children used for the head of the household. "You would do well to see that your own does not expand too fast," she continued, glancing down at him. "Lest you become like the desert hound who wandered into an oasis and gorged himself to death on its bounty." She regarded him frankly with her dark eyes, her lips holding only the barest hint of a smile. "Kurdi-gol Badar is back from the town. I believe he is in the steam room at present."

The steam room of Badar's estate was something of a luxury. It was nothing more than a simple building of dry stone construction with a small antechamber for changing into bathrobes, but the water was brought by cart from the sea each morning, there being no reliable fresh water source on the estate for large enough quantities. If he were to look inside, Jack would find his mentor reclining on one of the benches in a light bathrobe and wooden sandals, humming cheerfully to himself.

[Jack Farrell]

ooc: Its no problem, i know modding can be very demanding
ic:

"Nara, make sure you don't turn out as mean as your sister here." Jack smiled and then whispered into the little girl's ear, loud enough for all to hear. "She is just angry because someone keeps stealing the morning cakes." Jack grinned and rose, slipping a slightly crushed pastry into Nara's hand. He grinned at the boys then made a break for the door before Lara could belt him with the skillet.

Jack made his way over to the steamrooms. He had to be careful with Lara, goading her too far could be a very dangerous thing. More than once a kitchen knife had spun from her hand, his shirt had a small hole to prove it. He smiled and rubbed his neck where his stubble itched. A steam room was not a bad idea, he had been riding for the best part of the last week, he could not have smelt so fresh. No wonder he had had such a frosty reception from the girl, he proably did resemble a dog. He examined his armpit.

Yep, definately ripe.

He coughed and tried to stop his eyes from watering, he needed to invest in a few more shirts. Reaching the bathouse he stripped down and changed into a bathrobe, leaving his shirt and breeches to one side, they would most definately need laundering. He neatly folded the red coat. It was a little more battered than it had been on the decks of the Scillus. He traced one rent in the sleeve, that bandits arrow had nearly cost him his arm. Still, he was here to tell the tale.

He stepped lightly into the steam filled room.

"I find you in a good mood Kurdi-gol." Jack remarked, "I take it all is well in Sabata?"

[Morg]

"Jack." Badar rolled his eyes at Jack's use of the tribal term. "All's well here. Sabata... well, that's a different story. It's times like this that I'm glad I have my own place out here in the desert." He shook his head. "The city police are getting worse and worse. They seem to think they can get away with murder." The portly merchant laughed shortly. "Well, actually, I don't doubt that they have, several times. I just wish Boss Harkhebi would send them out to sort out some of those drebi-ferkit brigands roaming the area." Badar himself had had to invest in additional guards for his estate since an attempted attack a few weeks back, recruiting mostly from acquaintances of his wife in the Red Tribe. "I don't know which side is worse. Best case scenario, the two sides would decimate each other, and it'd be a win-win situation."

Badar let his eyelids droop, and leant his head against the wall of the room, pointing his face toward the ceiling. "Do join me. How're you holding up, Jack? You haven't died of boredom just yet, I see, so that's a plus. Estate life not dragging you down too much?"

[Jack Farrell]

Jack nodded appropriately, taking a seat where he could sprawl out a little. He felt comfortable around Badar and his household. For Jack this place was an oasis, a home of sorts to a man who had rarely slept under the same stars twice. Jack loved the simple peace here, the regularity and the permanence. He wanted the same in truth, but he would first have to eke out his own name, make his own fortune and form his own household. He had dreamed often on the matter, happy dreams for the first time in a long while.

"Have I out-stayed my welcome so swiftly?" Jack replied laughing. "You have a wonderful home here my friend, I only regret that it is not my own." Jack sighed and reclined back, feeling the warmth of the steam room flood his aching back. Days in the saddle had worked his muscles into tight knots, the heat would do them good. He smiled at Lara's comment about his girth, weeks on traveling rations had ensured he stayed lean, walking as often as riding kept one in shape over long journeys. He had gained a little weight over the months, but it was more the seams on his shirt that suffered rather than the buckle on his belt.

"The war to the west has left many soldiers destitute. I think the world will suffer bandits and pirates for a few years yet friend. Still, its an excuse for me to keep an edge on my blade." Jack smiled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "In truth I was thinking of riding; out for a while at least."

Jack let this hang in the air for a while, trying to form the next few words in his head. For all his elloquence, sometimes these things required preperation. "You have been more than kind Badar. The simple things you have taught me count for more than I can express, and I do not just mean my letters." He smiled, remembering painstaking hours poring over parchment by candlelight. Few men could read, fewer slaves still. Jack had found a whole world of literature opened. The idle pleasure of reading a book was totally alien to him and often in the heat of the day Jack could be found with a slim volume stolen from Badar's collection tucked away in the shade.

"What you have shown me here I want for myself and to do this, to earn that respect and love I must first make my name. I hope my investment in Aveas will pay out and I entrust that to you friend." He smiled, he had promised Badar a generous cut of any profits he made. "But I am not a merchant, we both know it. Maybe when my joints ache I could finally sit back and watch my fortunes grow, but I hope that is yet a long way off." Jack sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and felt the sweat drip off his chin. The question of howto make his name had been the only flaw in his plan. Jack believed that life was what you made of it, he could coast through life as a caravan guard, or try his hand as a minor trader but he wanted more, much more. He would take his name - his father's name - to undreamed of heights. From the shadows into glory, his ancestors demanded that honour.

"I think I will venture west Badar. There I can fly again." It was a simple plan, one could only hope it would be as simple in practice.

[Morg]

Badar remained in his relaxed position as Jack spoke, his only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest and the gentle wobble of his expansive belly as he breathed. Jack's earlier comment to Lara had been entirely justified. The merchant had indeed put on some weight while he'd been away.

When Jack had finished speaking, he sighed heavily. "I guess you're right," he replied noncommittally. "Well, in this sort of situation, if you think you're right, it means that you are. Although I was really hoping to convince you otherwise." The middle-aged merchant paused here, too, mulling over how to put his next words. "You know I was a late starter in life. Only married when I was old enough that I should have known better. The children are there, but I'm worried that when I go, they won't be ready." He brushed a bead of sweat from his eyebrow. "It was my... plan, if you like... to give this place over to you when I die, until my own children are old enough to run my concerns themselves. I built this place up from nothing, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let the sands swallow it up again after I'm gone. Or worse... let a jackal like Councilor Ramessu get his filthy paws into it. So, you see, you've far from outstayed your welcome."

He shook his head. "But you're right - I think I knew all along that you were never going to just settle down here. I won't deny that it's a shame, for me, but I can see where you're coming from, and I can give you some advice on where you're going." He frowned. "I would warn you to beware their opportunistic mercantilism... and then I remembered we were in Sabata." Badar smiled wryly. "In truth, the sort of dealing that goes on there is no worse than what you've seen before, here. The difference is that in the West they prefer to hide it behind a veneer of civility, however thin. Whether that makes them more dangerous or less, I'll leave up to you to judge."

"I'll set you up with anything you need for the trip," he added simply. "If I have it, that is. One way or another, you'll need to head into town before setting off, I would say. When were you planning on leaving?"

[Jack Farrell]

Jack froze, stunned for breath. That Badar would hand him his empire on a plate... Jack could not have imagined. "I am honoured friend. Truely." Jack stuttered for words, his voice broken by the faith his friend placed in him. "You understand that I would do all I could for your children - regardless of what you willed." Jack stood at this, his hands outstretched in a gesture of fealty. The thought of this empire, Badar's life's work, swallowed by the desert. He could not conceive of it. He had thought that Badar would hold in stead one of his wife's relations. Honour was held sacred to the people, surely they would defy Ramessu.

"Besides, I am sure you have many years in you yet." Jack cracked a smile, "Just stay away from Lara's pastries, they do you no kindness." He sat back in his seat and considered Badar's other questions.

"I had hoped tomorrow morning with the caravan, though I could leave by the twenty fourth and catch it up inside the week." Jack's tone was muted. His plan left him little time to make his farewells. But then, the sooner he was away from the estate the sooner he would arrive at the mouth.

[Morg]

Badar shrugged away the remark about Lara's pastries with a grin, and raised his eyebrows as Jack mentioned his intended date of departure. "So soon? The children will be shocked as well as disappointed. Not to mention Lara and the others. They see you as adding a certain element of... edge to the estate, that I haven't been able to provide for at least the last decade." He patted his stomach ruefully.

"But in any case, don't travel the sands alone," he warned. "I don't know whether the bandits would consider that attacking a lone traveller is profitable, but it's certainly an easy option when compared to assaulting a guarded caravan. You've got too much potential for your life to be taken by an arrow from a rogue mercenary's bow."

Badar ran a hand under his mouth. "In fact... I'm not sure you know about it, but... there is another way to travel to the West. The Borodas over at the Bath House have a device they call a portal. Now, I don't pretend to understand the science behind it, nor have I ever used it myself. This is just what I've heard, but... I've been reliably informed that it allows you to travel from one place to another in a flicker." He chuckled. "Of course, they refuse to let it be used for trade purposes, otherwise certain of the city's merchants would be making a killing. Both figuratively and literally, I think... I can understand their decision." Shaking his head, he continued. "It's perfect for your purposes, though. Costs a few coronets, I think, but it's much quicker than trekking across with the caravans to Dragonskeep and then through the Border Estates of the Kingdom. Safer, too, although some people have made claims about it doing something strange to your insides. I heard that Councilor Bock threw up the entire contents of his voluminous gut when he came back from Kislovan." His voice, which had gained a note of amusement, now abruptly dropped it again. "You may want to consider it, in any case."

[Jack Farrell]

Jack smiled, he would always be able to regard this place as home. The thought brought warmth to his heart, hardly tainted by his departure. He would return in time, the desert couldn't devour these stones that swiftly.

"A Portal? I had heard only rumours." Jack mused, stroking the day's growth on his chin. That would make his life very easy, he would be able to monitor his fledgling investment in Aveas from the mouth where he would doubtless make further contacts. On a personal note it would mean he could visit the estates whenever it was convenient. He smiled, it would be as if he were not really leaving.

"I fear I have no choice but to venture alone friend, a caravan will take weeks to reach the mouth. I will look to this portal however, it is an interesting notion." Jack grinned and scraped the dirt from his skin, breathing in the heavy steam. "I will leave you to your steam Kurdi-gol, this land gives me thirst enough without coals." Jack smiled and stood. "I must lecture three children on the evils of kicking a man when he is down." Jack's eyes shone roguishly, Red tribe... who would have imagined.

[Morg]

Badar frowned. "Maybe you should applaud them for it," he mused. "Much as I hate to say it, or even think it, my young'uns are going to need to be cut-throat when they're old enough to take over my holdings. Solgoi may not like it, but tribal honour in Sabata is far more of a hindrance than a help, and that's just the way things are."

The merchant grinned. "Don't tell Sol I said this, but I married her for her body, not for her moral code. And for her beautifully fearsome temper, too." In an undertone he added "And especially don't tell her I said that."

A thick, rolling patch of steam rose up from the floor, and Badar closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Once it had risen past him, he continued. "Go on with you. Back to giving the little ones a hard time. But make sure you give everyone a proper round of farewells when you're ready to go. Like I said, you'll be missed."

[Jack Farrell]

Jack pulled a fresh shirt over his head. The fabric was corse with a loose weave, rough to the touch. He knew he'd have to visit a tailor once he hit the mouth, probably get a few silks. He needed to make a list. Jack tugged on his smalls and tied off the belt on his breeches. He sighed. Robes were much easier... Jack glanced back at the sweat house, the old bastard would just have to stay alive a little longer and pass it on to his own. Jack stooped under the door and stepped into the courtyard.

Outside the sky was fire, he winced and let his eyes get used to the blinding light. The soft sounds of community drifted to his ears and he smiled, making his way towards the guest house where he had stayed the last few months. He regarded this place as home, it would be a shame to leave it. The door swung open on creaking hinges and Jack stamped off the dust of the courtyard before he entered. His bags were still packed from the Caravan he had just arrived with, he would need to sort them in any case. Sighing, he hung Rezon's greatcoat on a peg and chucked his boots near the door. One glance at the bags told him all he needed to know. Everything needed cleaning, more than a few things needed a couple of stitches. Jack sighed.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he had sorted his effects and cleaned his linnens. Now, with everything washed and packed he regarded the saddle-bags and the backpack that carried every material possession he owned. His stolen armour he had left till last, it needed oiling and a little repair, a tiresome task. Jack bundled the Cuir-bouilli together and headed over to the stables. There would be some oils for the care of saddles there, it was near as damnit the same stuff. He took a few burns to rub down Amile' his thoroughbred filly and make sure she had fresh feed then set about cleaning the dirt and stain from the Leather. It was a bastard job to do and he had not yet had his lunch. Still, it would leave his afternoon free. Jack grabbed another handful of straw and started scrubbing, working oil into the nicks and scratches. By the gods this stuff stank.

[Morg]

Jack's laborious task saved him from the rays of the morningtide sun. The hottest, driest part of the year was approaching, and Chyril 22nd seemed set to be the hottest and driest day so far. The estate being well enough supplied with water for washing even on such a day was a testament to Badar's relative wealth and prosperity.

Amile was content in her stall, although her hide would likely shine with sweat once again before the day was out. The desert of Terra Incognita was not ideal for horses, or in fact for any living beings at all apart from its own phlegmatic breeds - camels, lizards, the People of the Sands. Still, a well-trained horse that could tolerate the heat and that was provided with sufficient food could get by, if not comfortably.

The oiling of the Condotierre armour was another tedious task, and one that had to be carried out far more often in the desert than in more temperate areas due to the dry heat rendering the leather brittle and inflexible. Persistence and elbow-grease meant that not much of tradetide had elapsed before the armour was in as good a state as Jack could hope to get it.

[Jack Farrell]

He stretched, cracking his back as he stood. There was something gratifying about menial tasks he reflected. Jack could have taken it to an armourer and paid for it to be cared for, there were even a few at the estate who would have done the task for a few coppers but Jack liked having the time to think. It kept the world in perspective. He gathered the armour and wandered back over to the outhouse.

The rumble from his stomach dictated his next course of action.

Jack knew he had missed lunch, but surely there would be something in the kitchen he could scrounge. He knew he had to attend the evening meal, such things were important but often the tasks of the day meant that the midday meal was a haphazard thing at best. Jack stashed his kit and drew his long blade. It had a few nicks, but that task could wait till later. He picked up his hat and walked outside. Of course now the question was, did he have the wrath of Lara to face in the kitchen? Or had she wandered off. Jack decided to risk it. After all, it had only been one pastry.

[Morg]

The estate's main kitchen was underneath the north face of Badar's solid, compact house, with steps leading down from the outside to its floor a short way below ground level. A row of open arches in the outward-slanting wall allowed for smoke, steam and heat to escape when someone was cooking. More usefully for Jack, this design feature allowed those standing outside to see if there was anyone within. There was not.

There was a fire in only one of the three great fireplaces under the arches, and it had almost died down. Above it, however, hung a cauldron of still-steaming water. Suspended over the cauldron was a fine metal lattice, and on it a line of the rotund meat-filled dumplings known as bhuuz were sitting, still cooking gently in the steam. On the other side of the room, further underneath the main house, were items that were to be kept cooler, such as a jug or two of cold water, a barrel of ale and a slab of smoked sheep's milk cheese.

"Hai! Jack Farrell!" Lara's accusatory voice cut across the kitchen. The fiery tribeswoman was descending the steps that led from the house itself. "I see you, returning to pick at the carcasses. Coming back to the scene of the crime!" In one swift movement she slid a long skewer the length of Jack's forearm from a rack by the entrance, and, holding it in her right hand, jabbed it menacingly towards him, adopting a combat-ready stance. "You have brought dishonour upon me by stealing the food I have prepared while my back was foolishly turned, guarrdi," she intoned. "Now I have a mind to even the score!"

Once again she brandished the wickedly sharp utensil, advancing towards Jack with the slow, assured steps of a predator. If it was a joke, she was doing a damn good job of seeming serious about it.

[Jack Farrell]

The sharp recollection of a hundred spinning knives flooded Jack's memory causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck. Jack felt a bead of persperation on his temple, he tried to swallow but his throat was dry. He knew running was no option, he would have to walk from this room or crawl on his knees.

"Whoa now!" Jack exclaimed, raising his hands. "You could cause someone a harm with that there spike m'lady." Jack kept his face still as a stone's knowing his comments would incite rage. He mocked her ability's as a fighter and refered to her in the manner of the gurradi. She would not be happy. But then again, at least anger was certain. Jack knew where he stood with anger, being toyed with cat and mouse put Jack on the back foot and he did not much care for that.

"How about we put down all manner of things sharp and talk about this civilised? Over a little wine, or a morning cake?" Jack grinned, raising one eyebrow in question and shifting his weight - ready to spring away from the shining skewer.

[Morg]

Jack's first deadpan taunt merely caused Lara's visage to darken dramatically, and she did not miss a step in her hypnotic advance. Such comments, she told herself, were perfectly predictable from a guarrdi, and especially from one as ill-bred as Jack Farrell. Being derisive of another's skills was a part of the People's repertoire of taunts, although a peripheral and somewhat underhand one. It was the suggestion of sitting down to talk it over that triggered the explosion. Jack had crossed the line by mocking the method of settling disputes itself.

With an incoherent, high-pitched nasal sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl, as perfected by frustrated females at the end of their tether worldwide, Lara abandoned all semblance of control. She lunged forward, right arm outstretched, the gleaming spike hurtling towards Jack's midriff.

[Jack Farrell]

Jack hardly had time to congratulate himself on the success of his baiting. Lara flung herself towards him and Jack danced to the side and fowards hoping that her outstretched arm would slide past him where he could hold the skewer at a safe distance. She was fast, he knew that much at least but Jack knew how to handle himself - she couldn't be that fast could she?

He didn't want to hurt her, but if he could pin her...

Jack tried to follow her movements, she moved like a cat. He hoped he did not get scratched that badly.

[Morg]

Lara was certainly fast. Jack could feel the sharpness of the thin sliver of metal as it cut the air, whipping past him by no more than a few fingerwidths. She was strong, too, as he found when he successfully grabbed hold of her outstretched arm. The Red tribeswoman tried to pull back around to face him, and it took quite some strength to restrain her from doing so.

But only a flicker after Jack managed to get a grip on her, Lara simply let her fingers relax, and the skewer dropped to the ground with a clang. Jack wasn't given enough time to entertain thoughts of a quick victory, though. At the same time she twisted sharply, bringing the bony and surprisingly heavy fist of her other hand round to connect to his midriff just below his ribs, knocking some of the wind out of him. All members of the Red Tribe knew how to use their bodies themselves as weapons, and some even fought more dangerously when unarmed.

No matter how she twisted, though, she was not quite his equal in strength, and could not break his hold unless he let her. It was just a matter of what damage she could inflict with the targeted flailing of her other limbs.

[Jack Farrell]

Son of a bastard whore. Jack hadn't expected that, girls were not meant to hit you so hard you saw stars. It wasn't right. He hadn't expected a boxing match - striking a girl seemed plain wrong to him. Even as a slave where more than a few fists were flung over something as simple as a meal Jack had never had cause to fight with a girl. It was a strange sensation.

In Lara's case however he might have to make an exception. He somehow figured that this girl would keep on scrapping till the air left her lungs. Jack had been in a few brawls before, he had other options to explore yet. He kept the grip on her forearm firm and stepped forward inside her guard, slipping one hand round her waist he hoped he could floor her with a hip toss. He was not about to let her go and pick up a cleaver.

[Morg]

With his strength and height advantage, the success of Jack's move was perhaps inevitable, despite anything Lara might have had to say to the contrary. She barely had time to glance a bruising fist off his ribcage once again before an arm encircled her lean, narrow waist, and before she knew it she was hurtling towards the cool flagged floor with a shriek.

Lara hit the ground with a muffled thud and rolled over to face Jack, sitting on her haunches and pressing herself back into the corner of the room. Her expression was reminiscent of a thundercloud as she hurriedly rearranged her robes over her long limbs and swept a tangled curtain of long black hair from her field of vision. The defeated girl was breathing heavily, and her frustration was evident.

"Not only do you dishonour me - you - now - humiliate me," she snapped between deep breaths, her eyes flashing. "I see I have grown weak and slow from my time with the kurdi-gol's people. Had I fought you two yahren ago, Jack Farrell, I would have won."

She gave a hiss and subsided, apprehension flickering across her visage for a flicker as she glanced up at Jack looming above her. "Well?" she demanded darkly. "You have beaten me. Go ahead and take what you came here to take."

[Jack Farrell]

"Now there is a proposition if ever I heard one." Jack smiled, too proud to nurse his ribs. Jack combed the hair from his face with one hand, it was growing too long now. He stepped over and extended Lara one hand. "But I don't think Nara would let me get away with it." Jack's grin touched his eyes and he gazed steadily into Lara's. All he wanted was a blush, something to indicate some victory over the girl he had been teasing for so long. Anger wasn't too far removed from passion. Still, he more than expected a slap.

Should he ask her? To come with him... She certainly would appreciate the freedom he felt. A warrior's rage would find this estate a woefully small pen. He could always voice it later.

"I know you are busy d'war." Jack cocked his head, cooly mocking the honourific. "But could you spare a few flickers to take a little water in the shade with a bastard dog?"

[Grant]

In an instant, Lara shot out with her hand in what Tribus Retilus might consider a killing strike. Her hand was balled into a fist save for her first and second fingers, both of which were half extended such that she could easily smash the hard and almost sharp proximal interphalangeal joint of these into Jack's voice box, collapsing his trachea and sending him down gasping for air in an instant. Collapsed upon the floor, his face turned a very satisfying shade of red...then purple...as he rolled from one side to the other, clutching and scratching where she struck him as if he might somehow dig the air back into his lungs...

Kruk! Lara ground her teeth in frustration, allowing her violent fantasy to fall away from her mind. She simply didn't have it in her to harm the guarrdi, and while she could never happily admit such a thing to herself, she couldn't ignore that she would not have opposed the dog's advances overmuch. Of course, in her more private fantasies, she was not asked nicely...the bastard dog would overpower her and take her...but even this recollection only served to frustrate and enrage her more, as if her own body and mind had come to betray her better senses. KRUK!

"I will not speak twice upon this, Jack Farrell. Rob this hearth and be gone," she hissed as her answer, her teeth clenched tight and her face dark and flushed...a satisfying sight in a people known for their somewhat excessive pride. She did accept Jack's offered hand, though...and once upon her feet she crossed her arms beneath her chest and glared at him evenly. "I must remain and prepare more cakes, for they have come to grow legs and leave far too often!"

[Jack Farrell]

He saw it, a flash of rage like embers in her eyes. The fire that burned hotter than the sands. She would have torn out his throat with her own bare hands at that moment and danced for the joy of it. For Jack, in that instant, she became that little bit more dangerous, more feral.

He would have to be careful with his baiting. Very careful. Smiling, he helped her to her feet. Then she did something totally unexpected.

She blushed.

Jack just managed to keep his jaw from hitting the ground, she was a contradiction personified. She flashed hot and cold, one moment blushing as she took his hand, then a gaze you could hone steel with. She intrigued him, this girl. A creature so wild in such sedate surrounds. She was one for the open skies.

Jack nodded in deference and headed over to the door. Going hungry here was perhaps a wiser choice. At the door he turned to face her once more. "Im leaving." Jack spoke clearly, there was no mistake to his tone. "Heading east tomorrow, to worlds mouth." He paused, trying to form the next few words in his head. "I... There's room for two on the road."

ooc: you and your games...

[Grant]

World's Mouth. Well beyond the Great Mountains...into the wetlands.

Lara's face took on a look of surprise...then disappointment...then resolution. She had no fear of travel...she could convince herself to go well enough...but she could not go to that place. The warrior might have been rather out of place here in the kitchens...but this would not compare to the difficulty she would have were she to find herself in World's Mouth. Flying machines...streets full of lights...flames with no wood... she had heard plenty of stories, and she refused to believe most of them.

"I..." she paused. "Do I seem to you fit to walk among the guarrdi in...World's Mouth, Jack Farrell? Do you think I would find my place more easily there, among the wet landers?" she asked, clearly rhetorical. "Why do you wish to live among them? Do you find life here to be unsuitable? Or do you seek something that can be found only there? You are not from this place. Why do you go there?"

[Jack Farrell]

"The latter." Jack replied, voice distant. "Im after an airship."

Jack was not sure what else to say. More than anything in the world he wanted one of those vessels. The freedom, the unbridalled freedom was like nothing he had ever experienced. To be as loose as a bird on the wing, with only the winds and stars to guide him. It was a drug. The time he had served aboard the Scillus had given him a glimpse of a life a slave could not even dream of. He persued that dream now with a powerful will.

"If I have to join the Condotierre, the College of mages or the Nashhorn Institue itself,
If I have to beg borrow or steal one.
If I have to wrench its broken hull from the clutches of dragons, I will have one of those ships."

Jack's voice held an edge like iron, the desire almost tangible in his voice. He grabbed a loaf of bread and headed back to the door.

"I appologise, it was a stupid idea. I would not ask to seperate you from your kin. Don't mention it to the little'uns, I don't want to risk souring the evening meal. Ill tell them after."