[Grasslands Near City Gates] Pilgrimage for Futility (Kav)

[Khellendor Lor'el]

OOCI hope that it's okay to start off here and not in the entry thread. I figured that since a banned Cerulean can't and won't enter Rivenfall, my first thread could be a full one spent outside. 2nd Day of Summer, 511 AV There is no solace for the weak hearted. The slightest tinges of peace are quickly taken away to be replaced by a storm. For it is the acceptance of one's sense of self that gives strength; the paradigm of self-hatred only grows insidiously like a cancer. *** "Khel... why? Please don't do this..." *** The image that flashed, searing into his mind's eye, completely jolted the Akalak from his attempt to quiet his mind and steady his bursting nerves. The last words of his mother were uttered with pained love and desperate wishing. A woman who had already lost something precious only had another tragedy unfold in front of her, taking her life. Her eyes were pleading again. Her form bloodied and betrayed. Her love shattered. Her life forsaken. Khellendor fought to steady his breath. Opening his pale blue eyes to drink the clear light of the Plains, he let his gaze rest on the grasses to ease the blackness of shutting his eyes. His eyes glistened with extra moisture. However, he was unable to stop himself from stealing an agonizing look at the gates of Riverfall that was some ways away from his position. The grass and the road that lead to the entrance were almost a like a dream sequence drawing him into its depths. Consciously, he avoided the lure. The last time he approached the gates almost tore Khellendor apart from the inside out. There was very little in the way of comfort in that act, but he had learned over the years to deny himself of anything that did not help to assuage his torment. But for now, it is selfish avoidance that is driving him to keep his mind away from his one-time home of Riverfall. Stretching, he shifted his position on the thick bundled cloak that he sat on. Once more he closed his eyes, and straightened his torso to align his spine for better breathing and nerve connection. Slowly, he drew long breaths; expanding his rib-cage while using his diaphragm to add more to the intake. The Akalak's discipline helped to keep his mind a little more focussed, but the roiling fears within worked in opposition. It has only been a few years since he embarked on his journey into meditiation, and it has been a tough path ever since. His vantage point was always out of the path of travellers entering the city. The echoes of his reputation as the Blooded, and the recognizable blood-red face ink, still reverberate through others' memories after the brutal death of his mother. Through the last sixteen years of banishment, he had found this spot that kept him well away, but still able to cast his longing glances at the Akalak home city. Sixteen years of a futile process that only served to cause him more pain, but in his brokeness--a welcome pain. There were no short-cuts in his mind. He could turn his body over to the darkness at any point, and in his mind the only heuristic that made sense to prevent this was to subject himself to conditions of the emotionally draining sort while desperately figuring out some way to keep the dark brother from usurping control. But they both knew--the pain was punishment, not utility. There is nothing I deserve. There is nothing I should want outside of bringing myself to task. Pathetic... you are everything that this body does not need, a sneering voice echoed loudly at the back of Khellendor's consciousness. Trying hard to break his mental exercise, the voice applied pressure. The light brother shook visibly. Paralyzing fear, guilty remorse, deep hatred, all jolted at his psyche. There was never a time where the battle ever took a recess. Never. His relaxed state rudely broken, Khellendor ignored the voice and began the process over once more. Mentally he forced his fists to unknot themselves, and plunged his palms downward to the earth on each side, stabilizing his body. An evil chuckle escaped into his mind. Do what you will. "Begone hateful one," Khellendor muttered darkly under his breath. It was only recently that the light brother decided to even acknowledge the other half residing inside. The strangest thing was, it was only recently that the dark brother even knew that the light side existed. It was a twisted dance of the blind and emothionally clouded perception. Even so, only the light side retained memories of the past, the dark side only started to retain its own memories from a few years ago--completely ignorant to the tragedies that he had created single-handedly. And like a slow poison, it has been eating away at the light brother for sixteen years. One of the most dangerous forms of the dual personalities that had no place in society. Trapped in its own childish delusions, the dark brother caused nothing but pain, and exuding nothing but wild malice. Khellendor lost his calm again, and once more started his labors from the beginning.

[Kavala]

The white mare screamed. It was a vicious bloodthirsty sound that Khellendor's dark brother recognized as pure rage. In fact, the mare was so quiet before her scream that she'd advanced upon the Akalak's position without herself, her rider, or even the Akalak himself knowing it. It was only when she once more started fighting her rider that her frustration and fury was forthcoming.

The animal wasn't a typical horse, that much was evident. Her hooves were razor sharp and she slashed the air with them as if frustrated she couldn't strike her rider from where the woman perched on the enormous animals back. Barring her teeth and fighting the bit clenched between her teeth, the horse bounced on two legs, lashed out again, bucked, then spun. The form on her back got smaller, no sound at all coming from her. The mare wore no true saddle, only a Drykas Vyas around her middle which the woman clung to like a leech too long starved for blood. Unlike most Drykas, however, the mare had a headstall on and reins that lead to the woman's hands. The hands were pale, so too was the woman's form clamped onto the mare.

It was obvious the horse was a bloodbane once screamed again, baring sharp wicked looking carnivorous teeth.

The woman, so white she could be nothing but a Konti, calmly sat her, as if she'd been waiting for the tantrum the mare obviously was having and rode it out, silent in her judgement. "Hurricane, knock it off sweets. You are the absolute rottenest of your sisters. I mean that, in a nice way. This isn't the way to get things done. All I want is for you to walk to the gates and back. That's all. How hard can this be? You will do it. We'll do it together." The Konti said firmly. The mare obviously rejected the idea because her head whipped back, snake-like sideways, and snapped at the rider just at the rider's knee level. The rider would have lost a chunk of her knee, but thickly booted foot kicked the mare square in the nose as she struck. The horse bounced forward, cow-hopped, and then backed up again stubbornly.

The Akalak, from his vantage, could see it was a battle of two extremely stubborn women - one the Konti appeared to have won for a moment. The mare calmed, arched her neck and snorted, then began to walk forward. The Konti relaxed, praised the horse, and released one of the reins to stroke the animals neck in some positive reinforcement. The mare kept walking forward at a sedate pace. But, what the Akalak could see and the rider could not was the enraged expression on the animals' face. Sharp intelligence reflected back out of the mare's eyes and there was no love in them for the woman perched on her back. The Konti picked up the rein again and rode quietly, but the Akalak could see she was relaxing - too soon - and that it as all the mare was looking for.

The explosion was sudden. The mare went from a sedate walk to an upwards explosion that involved a vicious twist and a lashing out of her back legs. The konti didn't have a chance. She was flung off straight up in the air and she hung there momentarily. As she started to fall, the mare was ready for her, turning savagely on the woman and snapping with her teeth aiming at the woman's head as she awkwardly landed. The Konti landed on her feet, strangely enough, as if she'd practiced the move a thousand times, and rather than let the horse take her head off, she lunged forward, twisted her fist, and struck the mare straight in the nose as hard as she could. It was obvious the woman was trained in a bit of hand to hand because the blow landed true and the mare shrieked in pain. Backing up, the horse snarled at the woman again, whirled and started off through the grass at top speed, reins whipping in the wind.

The Konti was still actually committed to both the fall and the punch, so even as she froze in the extended position with her fist outthrust, there was no way she could keep her balance. She pinwheeled her arms, cried out finally, and went down not forward, as one might expect, but backwards landing hard on her rump. The Konti kept her eyes locked on the direction the mare ran off in, and once she was satisfied the mare wasn't returning, she seemed to finish the fall, laying flat down on her back, knees bent into the air. A sob escaped the woman, then a series of muttered curses in Pavi, and finally nothing but a set of very deep breaths.

"Bloodbanes. Who's brilliant idea was this?" The Konti asked herself out loud, her voice soft but still carrying over the distance between where she lay to where the Akalak had been meditating. And then she went still, eyes closing, and just let the earth hold her in stillness after the wildness of the Bloodbane's ride.

The Konti, in dealing with the bloodbane mare, hadn't noticed the Akalak sitting there.

[Khellendor Lor'el]

The worst of what could befall, is only the worst when your language shapes it to the reality that one unconsciously predetermines it to be. *** The breaths came in deep steady streams of air that seemed to ease Khellendor's ruffled mind from before. That is, until the Bloodbane screamed. Inwardly, his steadiness felt apart once more, giving way to frustrated agitation. The lids of his pale blue eyes flew open to the scene that was unfolding before him. Recognizng the form of a Bloodbane, the light brother did not flinch, and was completely unaware at first of the bravely struggling Konti that was eventually flung off, but in the grasslands you keep yourself wary when you encounter one. Hot summer air quivered off the grass that surrounded the strange scene, almost seeming like a violent mirage of sorts that caused the Akalak to doubt what he was seeing. The scream however, was hard to dismiss out of reality. An inner consciousness had suddenly become more alert, almost pressing against Khellendor's mental state from behind with coiled threat and interest. The Akalak's body shivered a little with the strain of keeping control of himself. In better times, Khellendor would have viewed the happenings with a little dry humor tagged to them. In front of him were two very strong personalities taking stands against the other, the raw will of each seeming to thicken the air with their physical and intangible battle of wills. Neither wanted to give. Neither wanted to back down. Frowning, the creases on Khellendor's forehead mangled the two blood red splashes there, turning his steely, but gentle, looking features in to a mixed bag of strain, violence, and confusion. The BloodedI think the large ruckus caused by the murder and his branding was too long ago for Khellendor's inkings to be recognizable except for residents who have been in Riverfall at least sixteen years ago. But stories still do propagate. marks on his face were a terrible reminder of a twisted ordeal. What had held most of his attention was the sight of the Konti. Time in his mind slowed to a series of heartbeats, and reality seemed to be punctuated by the dull throbs of blood being pumped at regular intervals, marking time in an extremely slow pace. Like an illusion, his mother's face seemed to transplant Kavala's actual features. Cognitively he knew it was impossible, but the humanoid mind is a unfathomable web of convoluted connections that are really quite easy to reroute. The visual delusion corrected itself from a shudder of remorse that arose from a jerking pain in his chest and neck. Her face shifted slowly back to its real form, and Khellendor shook his head out while placing a few fingers on his right temple. He knew not to trust his visual senses completely, the healing process had never really taken many great strides forward. It will be a long time coming where he could safely assure himself that nothing in his field of senses nor in his mind's perception are completely real. Except for one. And that one is hovering at the edge of his consciousness like a vulture. "Stay yourself hateful one," Khellendor spat through gritted teeth. There was no way that that could possibly prevent the dark brother from doing what he wanted, but the internal battles were tests of strength, and a show of strength could do no harm. "Akajia cover me in your shade," he went on with a whispered prayer. The dark brother ignored him. Without faltering the pressure kept up. He fixated his attention with mental baring of teeth; a hunger to satiate his own twisted needs. Those were motivations too chaotic for Khellendor to grasp intuitively for he lived to reject all of it without question, and completely drove forward with strong denial. There was only one thing to understand, and that was to hold the hate close at hand. "Bloodbanes. Who's brilliant idea was this?" The tussle between the carnivorous horse and the stubborn Konti lady had finally ended. It was difficult not to be a little humored by the way she ended up on the ground, but Khellendor held back, even though he really wanted break a small grin--it was hard enough holding onto his mind. However, like a small storm, the dark brother let loose a sardonic wave of mirth into their shared consciousness. The only thing the two could ever have in common with each other is their sense of humor; a commonality that the darker brother uses as a weapon sometimes. But Khellendor could not help himself through gritted teeth, "That's what most non-Drykar would say, while still standing," he quipped drily. Catching himself, he went on, "But you shouldn't stay here". Carefully, the light brother got to his feet, and started to back away with his arms at his side. His face suddenly tighted into a firm look, but touched with fear. "Please..." his eyes pleaded at Kavala. Trust you to only be smart when it counts; Irritates me to no end. The reaction was menacing, and like a storm the mental rage began.

[Kavala]

Kavala froze when she heard the voice. She slowly opened her eyes and carefully sat up. Her eyes were not a troubled pale blue but instead a brilliant azure that would indicate to the people that knew her that despite her grumbling, Kavala had enjoyed the battle even though the victory wasn't hers. Her gaze swept around, met the eyes of the Akalak nearby, and nodded. To her, the form of an Akalak was safety, and she did not immediately see the crimson tattoos on his face. It was careless of her, but she had caught and captured his eyes and only those for the briefest of instances before she felt safe again and started doing an internal inventory.

Nothing broken. Her rump was sore as was her fist where she had extended and struck. She'd wrenched an ankle slightly, booting the vile mare in the nose to drive home her point. But all and all, she was whole. Kavala smiled thankfully, and climbed to her feet stiffly.

It was then his words registered and she noted he was backing away.

This was a new scenario for her when it came to the Akalaks, who seemed to fear nothing in her experience. And yet he was looking at her like he was afraid. Kavala reached up and brushed her tangled hair out of her eyes causing the light to flash off her Udalas that graced her wrist like a silver manacle, a reminder of her social status. Kavala dropped her gaze immediately and stepped back herself. She lowered her voice unconsciously and lifted her hands to show there was nothing in them. "It's okay. Honestly, I'm not like that but with the bloodbanes you have to win their respect through violence. I've never seen anything like them and I'm still learning how to deal with them. I'm sorry you had to witness...."

Then she lifted her gaze again, assessing the situation. She took in his stance, what he was dressed in, and how he was armed. Her gaze slid across his body trying to read the language hidden in his motions and finally skimmed back up to his face. The crimson ink made itself obvious then, as if it had wanted to blend and be known as if the tattoos had a will of their own.

The Konti froze again. She wasn't exactly scared, but she was smart enough to know there was danger here. The Cerulean could enter the city, but they were rarely seen within. And if they were, eyes were always upon them. She'd talked to only one before, a man she'd made a deal with to do a favor for her friend's family. He had been easy to talk to, despite the dangers she'd been warned of, and the encounter had left her thinking nothing bad of the Cerulean.

But here was a stranger, someone unknown, and that made the situation unpredictable. Kavala could not read people like most Konti could. Her empathy was with animals and kelvics. She did not have the gifts that allowed her to reach out and know just exactly what he was thinking or feeling.

Instead she concentrated, shifted her vision, and tried very calmly to look at him with auristics to see if she could see anything unusual in his aura - perhaps even violence. She was a new practitioner of the art though, so her control and speed was not what perhaps another mage's would be. Regardless, she attempted it anyhow. And in her stillness, it gave him a better chance to look at her.

She was lean - built small but not delicate - and in good physical shape. Hard work had turned slim arms into those shaped with muscles that betrayed her ability to fight - even if it was just a little. There was nothing about her that was soft, like some of the women in Riverfall were. She wore a sleeveless black tunic that accented her paleness and caused her scales to gleam in the sunlight. The lack of sleeves also revealed delicate scars etched into her skin - so numerous that it was hard to discount them as random. Her sleeveless tunic was belted tight at her waist which held a pouch, several daggers, and a Lakan tucked into the small of her back that must have bruised her when she fell. Silvery white pants tucked into black riding boots completed her attire. They hugged her body revealing the muscled legs of a runner or swimmer as well.

"I am no threat. And I am sorry I disturbed you. My name is Kavala." Familiarity often calmed the beast. It was hard to kill people, sometimes, if you knew their name. "I live just a few miles down the road at the Sanctuary where they breed horses. I was just out working with one of the new arrivals. She's really a brood mare, but I like them all trained regardless. She's proving stubborn about it." Kavala said softly, talking to distract him, rather than to fill up the silence.

"I won't beg you not to hurt me. But I will tell you that you won't have an easy time of it." She said suddenly, changing tactics. Her voice was still soft, soothing, but pitched with a tone that didn't allow much in the way of argument. "I hope you understand that. I've let people hurt me before and I've vowed never to do it again. So if that's the way you like it, know that it won't be easy. And I will be missed, as soon as that mare charges back into Sanctuary's gates if she isn't there already." Kavala said, still speaking softly. This time she met his eyes, wanting to see what was in them.

Then she took a step towards him. It wasn't exactly threatening. It was more as if she was forcing the issue that she was equal to him and wasn't going to let the tattoos scare her away. "Now, we can converse like normal people out enjoying the day like we were moments ago, or we can do whatever it is your afraid of that's got you backing away. I prefer the former, but if your set on the latter, then lets get to it." She said firmly, hand resting on her the daggers at her belt lightly.

[Khellendor Lor'el]

What hope is there in a life where one could as easily befriend as well as hurt? *** As the Konti took Khellendor in her vision, she could see the worn clothing that he had donned and never replaced for the last sixteen years. Dark brown splotches marred the already cracked hide vest--numerous old bloodstains. Some were self-inflicted, some were from past opponents, and the oldest of them were his mother's... He refused to let go of this disturbing tapestry that fate had woven, and his own inadequacies had brought about. There were two Lakans visible on his person, but only one that he would ever use. The Lakan that the dark brother had drawn to kill his mother would stay sheathed; his father's Lakan, on the other hand, rested on Khellendor's right hip near his dominant arm. But he made no sudden moves. His body was locked up in a storm of menace from within. "I hope you understand that. I've let people hurt me before and I've vowed never to do it again. So if that's the way you like it, know that it won't be easy. Khellendor's heart felt crushed when he heard her speak. The rigid expression softened into a deep sadness that welled from the part of his mind that was truly his, and blessfully--his alone. "Lady, it pains me to hear that," looking at her arm, he noticed the silver bangle adorning her wrist. "You have a similar strength of will to my mother, Nakivak. You already know what these colors entail". This is whetting my appetite. Khellendor frowned and struggled to speak, "I... fear what could happen if you stay any longer". Let me out. "I seek no contract. I murdered one of your own people, my own mother. You have every reason to now hate me Kavala," the light brother was desperate to push her away. He could never feel at ease in the presence of innocents who deserved to be left in peace. The beautiful Konti in front of him--even more so. The sight of whom, was a stirring reminder of faults committed and transgressions to be paid for. He observed her stature and physique, and concluded that this Konti, unlike his delicate mother, was no stranger to the roughness of physical activity. And judging by her scars--physical conflict as well. Khellendor had no fear of being in a fight. His life had been one battle after another at chaotic intervals. He feared the insanity of needless bloodletting; with his other self as the bloodlusting instigator. When Kavala took a step forward in peaceful challenge, the Akalak noticed, to his chagrin, his bundled cloak still on he ground where he sat a moment before. Cursing inwardly, he opened his palms to her, ignored the voice and his pressure, and slowly bent forward to pick it up. His sandals scraped a little on the grass and the seasonally dry earth as he bent forward with his weight on one leg, and lowered his torso to reach for it. All the while keeping his pale eyes fixed on her form. "I'm afraid that enjoying my days, and peaceful conversation, are luxuries that I cannot afford anymore. You can call me Khellendor, but maybe it is best that you one day forget that name," he shrugged sadly while straigthening up, and dusting his cloak off. Draping it over his left forearm, the Konti also noticed a number of dark brown stains littering the worn cotton fabric of the cloak. Khellendor relaxed his shoulders for a moment... You are a pathetic fool! LET ME OUT! A sudden surge of rage ripped into the Akalak's mind like the felling of many boulders crashing to weaken stone foundations. While Kavala watched, Khellendor dropped to his knees with a desperate cry of pain and inhuman effort, scraping his knees through the fabric of his pants from the dead-weight fall. The scream was guttural; it grew from weary sadness and hopelessness. Both his hands shot upwards to clutch at his face and head, fingers curled to press firmly against his dark skin. His eyes were squeezed shut from the concentration as he braced against the strength of his dark brother.

[Kavala]

She noted the clothing, worn but bloodstained. She noted his condition and the suffering even as her auristics augmented eyes was suddenly assaulted by the weave of menace that seemed to curl around him, no doubt from the dark brother within. She watched the dynamic, one strong but pleading, the other pushed back but threatening. Sometimes it happened like that, where the two souls within the Akalak could not abide each other, not at all, and they waged a silent war that never ever gave them a cease fire or an opportunity to sleep soundly. They damaged themselves, their psyche, and killed any chance at real happiness they'd ever had.

And mostly, the worst of them, the ones with nothing left, were inked. The Akalak were so few, so painfully on the verge of extinction that they refused to end the suffering of their own. Instead, they assigned them tasks that no other Akalak could or would do. They gave them a chance at life, even a bitter shadow of one, that allowed them to utilize skills that others might not have in tasks the sound of mind were unwilling to do.

But this one looked feral. He looked completely and utterly feral. Sure, he was dressed, armed, and able to function somewhat, but in her mind, she could see his eyes and know he'd been living without kindness, without joy, and with some overwhelming burden for a long long time. It didn't take a konti with sentient empathy or divination to know this.

And it hurt her, because she was a healer... at the forefront of a war she inherited but wouldn't still call her own. She wanted to save them, the Akalak, from themselves. It had started with Sorian, who reminded her so much of this one. He was a killer and vicious and at terrible odds with his dark brother. He'd wore no ink, but it was because he'd taken himself out of society long before anyone could have inked him. Hatot was the same way. She'd been terrified of each of their dark brothers until she'd gotten to know them, and in doing so had understood that they weren't so dark, weren't so terrible, but were instead so utterly repressed by their light brothers that they were on the verge of rebelling and filled with an uncontrollable rage that could be helped and could be healed.

But this one, in front of her, was an unknown quality. Cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothing he'd be as handsome as all the rest of his brethren. He was in shape, though worn more than he needed be most likely from his isolation. No doubt, he was guilty of something horrible. They would ink him for nothing less.

When her words softened his expression, she guessed that she was talking to his light brother and soon enough had a name. Khellendor. She rolled it around on her tongue, then whispered it softly aloud. She studied his face, his eyes, even his stance as he spoke it. The light brother was Khellendor.

And he was a killer.

Kavala stood there watching him, knowing the situation was delicate. His warnings were all she needed to know that the light brother was a good man, most likely not responsible at all, though the brothers who were so unbalanced as Khellendor and his were would never see it that way. She did. She knew intimately that two people dwelled inside him, and that one did not control the actions, thoughts, or feelings of the other.

"I am not your mother. Just because I wear scales doesn't mean I am Konti, not really. I'm Drykas, and we live hard and die young though we never flee from danger but are taught from a young age to face it. I am not unafraid, but I will not run from him. Those that prey on others that are weaker than themselves deserve no such attention or fear. They deserve scorn instead. You are an honorable person, Khellendor, to warn me you harbor a brutal coward inside." She said firmly, holding her ground but taking no steps closer.

She wanted to talk to the darkness. Kavala wanted to hear his words. She wanted to see just how much of an animal he was or if there was some darker deeper pain lingering that caused him to be what he was. The Akalak were never just murderers. They were never just brutal senseless unfeeling creatures. She knew two dark brothers, and loved them just as much as she'd loved their lighter halfs. But in both cases those dark brothers were horribly abused, unknowingly, by their lighter halves.. shut out, rejected, repressed and caged. Animals, when confined for long periods of time struck out and often became what they were unjustly accused of as a defense mechanism.

Kavala thought for sure it was because the Akalak society was lacking women and most Akalak's grew into their manhood without a mother around. It was a rare man who had a mother that didn't die of child birth, which in many ways added to the guilt. For a mother would coax both sons out, love them both equally, teach them to share with each other, and make sure rather than have one trained, one educated, one loved and the other ignored... that they woudl both get what they wanted.

Kavala didn't believe one was required to be dark and one required to be pure and beautiful and all things good. She thought, instead, that both were equally worthy and if they shared time in a body, they'd redouble in strength and be an unstoppable team together.

Her words were in truth a challenge, baiting at the dark brother to come out and talk. He might want to do more than talk, but she wouldn't let him kill her. In the early days after her rescue, she'd walked around in a numb fog of disbelief knowing that now she was transformed from slave and zith meat to another kind of slave. But when she'd finally started to heal and to wake up from her pain, she'd understood quite a few things more easily. She'd been raped, repeatedly, so that act held no fear for her anymore. Her body was not her mind and soul and she'd discovered a disconnect there and had ran with it.

Pain was not something she feared either. When the physical violence of her initial capture on the grasslands had started resorting to a shutdown in emotions, one of her tormenters had turned to pain. He'd began carving at her flesh, teaching her to fear it, loving the screams that his knife on her flesh could bring when his flesh in hers had ceased to give him that reaction. He'd carved at her so often, seeking that fear and pain pouring off her, that her mind had cracked just a little and had twisted its own ability to receive sensations until it had rewired its pathways so that her pain became pleasurable enough to endure. So eventually, instead of screaming under the knife, she'd shivered with anticipation and lain there wanting it, needing it, coveting it.

It meant that Kavala understood damage on a primitive level, the kind that one battled ones whole life. She'd have no qualms facing the dark brother, talking to him, keeping him from killing her.

When the Akalak dropped to his knees, she stepped forward. It was a foolish move but she knew this might be his one chance to actually speak to someone who might understand. She drew a single tamo dagger from her belt, leaving the Lakan alone, and brought it forward. Careful with her grip and stance, she rested it at his throat. After all, his arms were busy clutching his head and his concentration was deeply removed from her at that moment.

"If he wants out, let him out. I'll talk to him, but not on his terms. Only on mine. And if he just wants to play, I'll remind him he needs to be invited to the party before he can come. And he earns an invite by making friends, being nice, not pushing any of us around." Kavala kept her voice soft, purposeful, without any arrogance tinged to it. She knew she'd put herself into range closing the distance with him. But she knew he'd bleed out in seconds if she nicked the right artery in his neck. She wasn't afraid to kill, and suspected there would be little punishment for a proven breeder dispatching a Cerulean if she managed too or even needed too.

[Khellendor Lor'el]

One has to answer for oneself. But what of two selves in one? *** His frame was worn and utterly distraught. His world torn and completely shattered. Living in a shell that housed two warring souls. A duality that spoke of an intangible, and unfathomable, divine intent that was reared from a crossing of two beings beyond mortal reach. A cycle of clashes that repeated itself in the most chaotic way possible. And yet he was still alive. They were still alive. In this confounded context, the two souls drew pain from the other and spun it into their own coping mechanisms. The light brother received the original pain, and spun it into an agony that kept him at ease. The dark brother gave pain, wrung it out, and eventually fed himself with it. It was a strange kind of symbiosis. A framework that somehow allowed the two to carry on into blistering days one after another. Within this shell, they both knew that there was no way for either of them to hold back the other. They would always struggle, but the inevitable switch always came, and always without warning. The dark brother had never taken a name. He was content to be called hateful or cursed, and embraced the appellations with a twisted sense of pride. For when he was born, it was a birth unto a scene of death--Khellendor's father lay on the floor while his wife cleaned his body. Their son stood there with his heart struck with the deepest shock and sorrow. And in release of these, he was born. Born into a rage that sought release through spilling blood. And he reveled in it; he wallowed in it; he loved it from he moment the Lakan drew blood. He loved it from he moment the pleading eyes of their mother rested on them. He loved it from the moment her screams pierced the sobriety of mourning. This twisted yearning, became his sole purpose for existence. The release that the spilling of blood gave, was almost a sacred act to the dark brother. Sacred to a point of being fanaticism. Like a child he acted upon his desires and beliefs overtly. Over the years and countless switches, he grew to understand the value of prudence. The Hateful One, never really needed to struggle for dominance. It always came eventually. His love for bloodletting, also became a love for mentally torturing his brother. Relishing in the pain that he was giving, he heard the words of the Konti before them. If he had a way to express his warped mirth he would have laughed. *** His throat was dry from the screaming. Khellendor fought his brother only because of the presence of another. He knew as well as his dark brother that it was futile to stop the swap. The meditation that he so faithfully practiced only provided as much relief as his mental stamina could provide before collapsing. Through pained eyes he looked up at Kavala. The images of past hurt could be seen on her form in intangible, but somehow lucid signs. She seemed no stranger to the fluid but broken natures of the Cerulean. Her status as a Nakivak also indicated that she was no stranger to the loss of freedom. There were so few ways that one could be Nakivak, and her mention of past hurt only leaned toward the fact that she could very well be one of the "rescued" Nakivak. A status that is protected, but was also a prison as well. Khellendor could scarcely imagine what her life may have been like being a slave and plaything before she came to Riverfall. But most of all, despite what may have befallen her, Khellendor sensed a passionate, caring, but iron-like will that permeated the air around her like a warm threshold that could turn into spikes at will. A cold sensation was felt at his throat while he fought inwardly. The light brother felt the icy blade at his neck and instantly stiffened. He stared up into the impassive face of the lady that stood before him, her body now suddenly close enough to lay her tama directly at his throat. Slowly, he closed his eyes once again, and took a hoarse breath to center himself like the beginning of his meditations. With supreme effort he kept his mind within a semblance of clarity to formulate his words. There was very little time left. The release that Kavala was asking for was imminent nomatter what either of them did. In any case, it was too late for Khellendor to run, or to remove her from the vicinity. He knew that she spoke out of honor. Her actions spoke of split decision to act upon her beliefs. He knew not whether to be appreciative, or to chide her for stepping impulsively into this chaotic swirl. "I can only wish that you were right about his cowardice. In the madness that he professes, lady, there is very little to be cowardly about," he let out hoarsely. Khellendor took another deep breath, and lowered his eyes towards the slender arm that held the knife at his own throat. "Death would be welcome for one such as I. No... your hatred for a killer would be more welcome," he continued while shaking his head slightly. "You hold the weapon seeking to help a Cerulean, and at the same time with a committment to kill if need be. I wonder if you can see the real coward before you? I keep my sanity by running away from everyone that could come into contact with us. And when my brother comes forth he seeks out anything that he can slash at." "Whatever the case is, you will meet him soon enough. I could never really keep him at bay for long, and when it is his turn, he could never do the same to me," Khellendor confessed resignedly. "But if you could humor a broken man--why are you doing this Kavala? I am invisible to my people, rejected out of fear and scorn. Why?"

[Kavala]

There was an unusual sensation flowing through Kavala's small still form as she pressed the blade against the Akalak's sapphire neck. It was a sensation she rarely felt but one that brought her a strange sort of comfort, especially for someone who'd been through all the physical violence human men had to dish out to those more vulnerable than they were. It was one of momentary power - control - that caused her lips to part slightly and inhale rather sharply.

She could kill him so easily, with just an expert twist of her wrist. But deep down it wasn't what she wanted, not at all. The Akalaks to her were endlessly fascinating, as damaged as some of them were. Most were elegant, regal, and lived within a strict honor system that left Riverfall one of the safest cities in the world for women anywhere in some aspects. But if you gave your heart to one and eventually your body then Riverfall became one of the most dangerous places possible, especially to the human. Kavala wasn't human though. She was built of different material - both stronger and weaker - and knew this man suffered.

His words, delivered so suddenly and heartfelt, surprised her. Kavala's eyes, having gone to an icy place leaving her stare resembling that of a blind woman's, met his for a moment and she looked angry then, the first expression she'd given him other than confidence. "And that's probably why he hates you and sees you as weak. Don't so easily take the blame or call yourself a coward. It takes strength, light brother, to wage a war within yourself for the whole of your life. I can only imagine how hard it is for you and him, constantly fighting with someone you can never escape from never close your eyes too. I can't imagine you've had a day of peace in your life, either of you, nor one without suffering because you're never going to be free of each other, ever, not even perhaps in death." She said, pressing the dagger harder into his throat, sensing Khellendor's control was incomplete and failing. It bit into his flesh, blooding him, but not yet threatening his life. It was a warning and a sign she meant business and would kill him if he gave her a reason too.

"I've met two Akalaks I've been friends with, two..." She started out softly, firmly. "Each warred within themselves and it was only a matter of time before someone inked their faces like they have yours. Their dark halves were bastards, raging inside, ignored, neglected, unloved. Do you know what it does to a person to be unloved by the very person who should love you most? It twists them, bends them, and eventually breaks them. If you wear ink, its absolutely your fault he is like he is inside you and I won't hear badly of him until he proves to me he is what you say." She was speaking accented common before, but she'd started using Tukant words, blending the two languages, even using whole Tukant sentences when she had enough of the vocabulary.

He asked her why, and she paused in her passion which had been rising with each breath. Kavala had a fire inside for all dark brothers, those cast aside by their light brothers who saw them as burdens, bastards, and useless. It reminded her of her time with the slavers, friendless, naked, huddled in the corner of the saving wagon against bars exposed. In many ways they were the same. Navis and Radris both dark brothers were some of her best friends, people who understood her the best. And she missed them both terribly though she knew that life brought them away from her for good reasons.

"Because I am like them, or once was. I know what it feels like to be scorned, thought of as less than a beast, and locked away in a cage, only to be dragged out and used when someone else decided I was useful. I find dark brothers some of the best of you Akalaks, though unappreciated and mostly unwanted. It's no wonder they snap. Its no wonder they turn to ways that sicken others. And I miss my dark brother friends, who time and space has pulled away from me - maybe forever. " She said intently.

The blade pressed harder, more blood flowed...

"How dare you warn me against him? How can you poison a stranger against someone who should be your best and strongest ally in this world? Let him make his own impressions, even if they are foolish mistakes. Let me judge him for him, not on your thoughts on him. You idiot... no wonder he hates like he does." She said, shaking her head. "I'm the one with the dagger at your throat, not he with the dagger at mine. Think more clearly and warn him against me." She snapped, not sure if she liked the man before her or not. It was so hard to judge. The Akalaks in their prime working together united in their personalities were creatures to admire. Their strength and sheer presence was almost like standing in the presence of muted Gods.

Broken, though, like this one they became something else. But they weren't completely lost, not while they lived. And so she held her tama to his throat not for the light brother kneeling before her like a subject but for Radris and Navis and whomever the tortured brother was beneath the dark skin under her blade really was.