Completed Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Hirem's first preaching results in him meeting two peculiar young women.

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Built into the cliffs overlooking the Suvan Sea, Riverfall resides on the edge of grasslands of Cyphrus where the Bluevein River plunges off the plain and cascades down to the inland sea below. Home of the Akalak, Riverfall is a self-supporting city populated by devoted warriors. [Riverfall Codex]

Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Hirem on June 3rd, 2014, 8:07 am

2nd of Summer, 514 AV

For as long as Hirem could remember, he had struggled with the idea of becoming a priest of Yahal.

It had all started with his name. Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. An undeniable, powerful connection to the priesthood of Yahal - the Rapas of Yahebah - had been within his blood from the very first day that he was born, from the first moment that his eyes had opened to the sight of the world's wonders. At an early age, he remembered listening in rapt attention to the stories that his father and mother would share about the wandering Rapas and their struggles. But even better than the stories were the guardian figures themselves, whose arrivals always coincided with a string of good luck for the nomadic Tent. These are not just men! Hirem remembered himself thinking, back in those innocent days of his youth. These are souls that have been pledged to Yahal... their belief in him makes them wiser and stronger and a thousand times greater than anybody else in the world! They're not men, they're... they're something better! The boy loved the Rapas and their constant visits, for they always brought joy to his home; the Rapas were friends and teachers, counsellors and grandfathers, they served all roles and chose none.

Just nine years ago, Hirem had been on the cusp of becoming a Rapa himself. Four years of devoted study to the faith, countless memorized prayers and rituals and sayings, intense personal devotion to Yahal... all of that effort might have allowed him to don the title for himself, had he not decided at the last minute that the path was not for him. To this day, Hirem still could not decide whether it was Yahal's intervention or his own blind stupidity that drove him out into the desert that fateful morning, not to return to his home for another three years. I doubt that Yahal intended for me to leave my entire life behind in Yahebah for some foolish cause of revenge and self-delusion. If I had just made a different decision that day, my fate might have been changed for the better... I must trust in my teacher, that this is the path that he meant for me to have. Regardless of the grand scheme that was governing his decisions, the fact remained that Hirem turned his back, seemingly forever, on becoming a Rapa when he left Yahebah at 21.

Until now.

For some reason, he had felt strangely rejuvenated by the time that he returned to his room after work, his body fighting off exhaustion easily and embracing a curious sense of... exuberance. The Benshiran, incredibly, started unconsciously smiling as he tidied up his things in the inn room, sorting away his old clothes and rucksack and supplies, his face lit up with brightness and hope. His gaze had, by chance, shifted to his small bundle of Penita scrolls... grinning widely, Hirem had suddenly found himself tucking the scrolls under his arm, dousing the candle on his desk, and closing the door to his room. Before he could realize what was happening, the Benshiran had already left Atri's Place, head down to the lowest tier of Riverfall, and positioned himself neatly on the busy docks, just some ways off from the famous Kulkukan Tavern. It was only when he started mounting a small tower of boxes that Hirem understood what was compelling him.

Blind idiocy, of course.

Unless this is Yahal's work.

And he isn't that cruel a god.

Feeling self-conscious immediately after stepping atop the boxes, he let the chill sea wind wash over his large form and reduce him to shivering. His bright eyes were glancing in all directions for signs of... he supposed, hopeful converts. Riverfall's docks often found themselves growing busier at nightfall, and tonight was no exception; the low tier were bustling with activity, from both native Rivarians and recently arrived sailors. A throng of people were constantly moving on the docks, carrying packages and other cargo from one ship to the other, occasionally giving Hirem a glance... occasionally. Towering overhead was the cliff-bound city of Riverfall, hulking above the shore of the Suvan like a self-obsessed parent casting their judgmental eye upon an unruly child. As just one part of this incredibly lively city community, Hirem felt terribly small then, and completely ill-suited for the task of delivering sermons. I know my faith and I am assured of the strength of my belief... but to try and introduce that same belief to others, who might worship other gods or consider the entire divine realm forsaken ground? The thought thoroughly intimidated him.

But, at the same time, another internal feeling galvanized him. If nothing else, I was brought here for a reason. My long travel from Yahebah, starting on that fateful day nine years ago, has led me here... to these docks, on this stack of boxes, with these people as my audience. The very least that I can do is to show some appreciation to Yahal for what he was given me. Feeling his resolve strengthen and his legs be bolstered from underneath him, the Benshiran took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he felt that he was ready to begin, he unrolled a random Penita scroll, held it tightly in his grasp, and started to speak.

"Falim, friends!" He announced to no one in particular, trying to push his heavily accented voice over the din of the crowd and be heard by all. From the looks that the Rivarians were giving him, it was clear that he had at least some success. "My name is Hirem... I have come to bring you tidings of Yahal's will." Seeing that some in the crowd were already beginning to roll their eyes and stamp irritably from foot to foot, the Benshiran quickly shook his head and tried to smile towards them. "By all means, keep on walking if you have no interest in hearing. My words may take root another time, if you permit it." At this, half of the people in the crowd immediately began to resume their paused trips, followed quickly by the other half. In only a few seconds, the still crowd that Hirem had been addressing transformed once more into a raging river at his hip, stopping for none and caring little for his words.

Disheartened but still determined to speak, Hirem cast his eyes down and focused upon the Shiber text written in his Penita scroll. "From the summer of the Locust:" he exclaimed, making sure to hold onto his scroll tightly. "There once lived a farmer named Nizam, whose fields were often prey to sickness, disease, and - " He was forced to stop upon encountering a word in Shiber that couldn't translate effectively to Common, and cleared his throat to avoid addressing the error. "Every day, Nizam would kneel down before his many-faced altar and offer a hundred different prayers to the different gods of his family. He prayed for healthy harvests, for long summers, and for cold winters. His gods, however, were not gods that governed moral disciplines... they were depraved pleasure-seekers obsessed with nothing but their own celestial affairs. They were gods that he admired, gods of wine and song and combat and greed, gods that he strove to live up to. None answered his begging."

"Finally, despairing of salvation, Nizam offered one more prayer to the god of his forefathers, and their fathers before them... Yahal. And, before Nizam could blink, Yahal appeared before him, waving his golden sword at Nizam's fields and filling them with life. Nizam was very, very happy, but Yahal told him that a price needed to be paid for this intervention. Swear to half of your gods tomorrow, he asked, as well as to me. In doing so, you will save your crops and your family. Nizam agreed enthusiastically, and on the next day only offered prayers to half of his usual gods. Again Yahal appeared upon being summoned, raising the sun in the sky and summoning a cool wind to refresh Nizam after a long day of work. And again, Yahal demanded something of the farmer... Swear to half of your gods tomorrow, and also to me. And, once again triumphant, Nizam agreed happily."

"Days passed, and Nizam continued to strike some gods out of his nightly prayers, denying some out of his life while simply ignoring the rest. But soon he began to feel restless about abandoning his many pleasure divinities, and stopped listening to Yahal when the god asked him to swear to less and yet less. Eventually, Nizam began to add gods back into the nightly prayers, restoring the list back to its original length... and, just like back in the old days, Nizam stopped offering prayers to Yahal. Furious at this betrayal, Yahal cursed Nizam's fields to forever lay barren, incensed that the man had abandoned faith in him so soon after being rescued from ruin. Don't you understand? He demanded of the foolish old man. I asked for your faith, but instead you cling to the countless gods that have done you wrong time and time again. And so it was that Yahal forever excluded Nizam from receiving his divine grace, leaving the farmer to die alone a few years later."

Sensing that the story didn't have much impact on the local Rivarians, Hirem nonetheless grit his teeth and continued on to the next. He wasn't going to be satisfied tonight until at least one person had grown intrigued by his sermon. And if they do become intrigued, and wish to learn more... I suppose that I will have to guide them.

Word Count :
1,627
Last edited by Hirem on July 10th, 2014, 4:22 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Edith on June 4th, 2014, 6:28 pm

All day Edith has resisted crawling back under the covers of her bed and waiting for tomorrow. It has, quite simply, not been a good day. Having visited the Labour Aid office the previous morning, she had dedicated today to finding herself a steady job. But her resolve quickly weakened as she traveled the city proper, hunting down all the suggestions the Akalak had given her.
 
At the last minute, standing dopily in front of a building she had spent the better half of a bell hunting down, she would decide that she is not qualified; or that she simply doesn't want to admit to that she is almost halfway into her third decade and has never done honest work. Or at least work that didn't require her to lie on her back. She fears that her scars and voice will prevent her from working in service as a barmaid or a shopkeep, and that her meager skills will knock her out of any sort of community position, or that she will be shunted into an apprenticeship along with snotty sixteen year olds who have already been groomed into craftsmanship.
 
And so, twelve bells later and just as jobless as she was this morning, Edith all but stomps down the waterfront street in front of the docks as the workday draws to a close. What she wants, more than anything, is a nice strong coffee with a spoonful of honey to sooth the edge off of this bad day. But she is diligently denying herself such a pleasure; as punishment for being such a pussy. Besides, if this keeps up she wont be able to afford such luxuries much longer anyway.

Mist from the cascading falls floats lazily across the docks, jeweling in Ediths hair and soaking through her high collared blouse and soft gloves. She tugs at her wrists absently, watching the bustling, purposeful strides of the people jostling each other as they go about their business. She wonders where they are going, and if their situation is any better than hers just because they have a job. Maybe not, but there is something so bitter about having your life stall on such a simple barrier you just cant overcome. She's not strong enough to be a traveler, not talented enough to be a worker, and not pretty enough to be a whore. The thought sickens her.

And she can really, really go for a coffee right now.

The mist in front of her takes on the reddish glow from the open Kaluka tavern door; igniting the stones in a soft haze and giving everyone a warm halo of light. Including the nutcase scaling a pile of boxes in front of the pier.

What?

Standing atop his stage, the already tall man looms over the passing pedestrians. His dark skin does nothing to hide him in the slowly darkening shadows, instead it makes him stand out among the pale Konti and colorful Akalak. Edith pauses in the act of brushing him off as another corner busker to simply watch him. He doesn't look comfortable up there -he might even be nervous-, but his bright eyes are alight with something the woman cant name. zealousness? Faith? She's not sure. Her eyes flick to the scroll he is holding in his rough, wind-burnt hands. Then, gradually, trails up his right arm. Angry white scars travel across his skin like rivers across a desert, only to disappear into his sleeve. Her stomach rolls thinking about what might have done that to him- and how he could have survived his appendage being shredded like that.

Unbidden, her mothers smiling face rises out of her memory, pointing a phantom hand at an old man across a street, and holding her insubstantial young daughter with her other hand. "You can trust a man with scars Eedee, for he surely knows what he's doing."

His appearance has caught her attention long enough that she finds herself unconsciously absorbing what he's saying. His deep voice is so saturated in some foreign accent that she has a hard time understanding him, but gradually the story of an unlucky farmer unfolds across her mind like a book. A farmer that deserves her pity, who is given a gift by a merciful god, only to have the gift snatched away when his obedience slips under his greed- or so she understands.

What a stupid farmer.

What a jealous god.

She is still processing the last story and what it might mean when the brown-skinned man launches into another tale. She considers speaking up to bring his attention back to his last story, but doesn't want to call attention to herself. So instead she holds her hands clasped in front of her and listens to the strange man and his new story. She doesn't know this god of his, Yahal. She's never had much interest in the illusive deities and their ambiguous cults. But the way he talks gives her the impression that he's not just devote- he loves his god with a passion.

And then as he scans the crowd below him their eyes meet for the briefest of moments. She doesn't smile at him, or shyly look away, but rather holds his gaze with an attentiveness thats rather like a dog; full of interest but little understanding. Deep in the back of her mind, she realizes that his eyes are the exact colour of honey and coffee. Her ruined lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. Surely this is a sign, along with his scars, that she should trust this strange foreign man
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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Jaye on June 10th, 2014, 10:02 pm

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Jaye meandered across the docks, seeking to appear purposeless. This falsified purposeless was all under the guise of spotting the sailor from Spring. Natalia was the reason she had forgone Endrykas in favour of the effervescent rainbow city that was Riverfall but in staying here she had found a menagerie of colourful characters, the sailor one of many who had captured her interest. So, here she found herself, mist uncomfortably dampening her silk white dress, scouting the docks aimlessly in search of the familiar face.

Having little need for money in Endrykas, where everything had been supplied by her father, though she was running near skint she was ignorant to the consequences and roamed the slated walkway with the same childish demeanor as children half her size and twice her age. She had eyes for no other face than the one she searched for. Despite the focus she had on her mission no one could ignore the massive shadow that rose before them.

She had never seen a man so dark, nor a man so broad and tall. Even darker than his skin Leths dark hairy leg lay draped over his mouth and chin in a beard. Jaye couldn't help the shudder that trembled her dun form as her eyes scaled the white raking scars over his arm. The shuddering rainbow that was the crowd had caught her by surprise when she had first tread in to Riverfall and she had learned that for the Akalak that dominated the city this was the norm. Never had she met one, who was so apparently human, be any other colour but shades of faint brown and pink. This man seemed to be descended directly from Leths sky.

Stopping to stand before him, in a small crowd that had slowed and gathered on the outskirts of the bustling pathway, Jaye took in his terrible and enormous visage. "Finally, despairing of salvation, Nizam offered one more prayer to the god of his forefathers, and their fathers before them... Yahal..." Jaye couldn't help but grin to herself. This man, who could by his mere form, be a leader of men was a god totting lecturer. The realization disappointed the young girl and she would have moved on if it weren't for the charismatic glint of his eyes grazing hers. So like her own chocolate eyes as a horse, she found a small shred of the home she missed so terribly. So she stayed, if just for another soft kiss from those eyes.

"And, before Nizam could blink, Yahal appeared before him, waving his golden sword at Nizam's fields and filling them with life. Nizam was very, very happy, but Yahal told him that a price needed to be paid for this intervention. Swear to half of your gods tomorrow, he asked, as well as to me. In doing so, you will save your crops and your family." Jaye furrowed her brow uneasily, that was the gods price? Why would he wish to be prayed to amongst all the other gods? One couldn't deny there were plenty of gods that took an active role in the running of Mizahar. None should be hated or despised, for simple self preservation but it wasn't unusual for one to pray to only a handful of gods.

The god continued to do things for Nizam and Jaye couldnt help but wonder why. Why did Nizam deserve such attention? What could he offer the god? "But soon he began to feel restless about abandoning his many pleasure divinities, and stopped listening to Yahal when the god asked him to swear to less and yet less." Jaye grinned, she finally understood. Yahal was a clever god, to do so much to convince one person of his power seemed ridiculous, but it was a clever way of convincing someone to be devout. However, having one truly faithful follower was more powerful than legions of frivolous followers.

Jaye nodded along with the story as it reached its close. Nizam was foolish to act so carelessly with a gods adoration but Jaye understood Nizam as well. Every god had their old realm of power, being devout to a single god offered one significant protection but it also gave a god credit for more than they did.

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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Hirem on June 11th, 2014, 2:44 pm

He spoke with as much conviction as he could muster, preached with as much fervor as he had in his bones, devoted his sermon to Yahal with a passion that was almost unmatched... but try as Hirem might, there was just too much difficulty in reaching out to the Rivarians.

Part of the problem lay with the citizens of Riverfall, and his foreign nature in their city. Once, long ago, the Benshiran had considered himself a storyteller of some skill, and had delighted in sharing what tales he knew around the evening campfires of fellow desert nomads. And, back in those distant days, Hirem had relished getting the chance to speak aloud to his fellow Eyktolians - but he was no longer with his own people, the people that he had grown comfortable with. Instead, he was among the Rivarians, whose attitudes he was still struggling to comprehend and whose culture he was still a stranger to. Their gods demanded vastly different things than this own god; whereas Yahal only asked that the worshiper demonstrate faith in both him and the paths of virtue, both Wysar and Akajia demanded that their followers mold themselves in their image in order to receive their divine graces. It's not a bad attitude to have, Hirem forcefully reminded himself, just far different from what the Benshiran believe. It was also hard to try and preach to them when they considered him some sort of oddity, gawking at his dark skin like he was some sort of monster they had never seen before.

But he also knew that, no matter how poorly receptive the Rivarians proved to be, the greater share of the blame rested in his own inexperience with speaking publicly. Back in the days when he regularly attended Benshiran Mashas, he had known little fear in speaking his mind to a whole crowd of people. Nine years of travelling through the desert alone, however, had changed him, robbed him of his confidence to speak and rendered his nerves weak-willed when dealing with large groups of strangers. To try and speak to one man or woman is easy enough... but get enough unfamiliar faces together, and suddenly I cannot see straight or feel the tongue moving within my mouth. Even now, as he continued to read directly from the Penita Scrolls, his tongue often faltered and tripped over his words, his stomach for preaching draining steadily. His native accent did not help matters - Shiber, by design, tended to slur the words together, an unfortunate habit that persisted when Hirem attempted to speak Common. I wonder... can they even understand what I am saying? he thought as he perused the crowd.

Judging by the disinterested midnight faces that were staring back at him, he guessed that they probably weren't listening, couldn't understand, or couldn't be bothered to attempt either exercise. The throng of people that he spoke to didn't pause for his speech, but instead continued on their way, leaving Hirem to proselytize to their departing backs. However, in that constantly moving mass of people, he managed to spot two sets of eyes that didn't shy away from his gaze but instead met it head-on, intrigued by what he had to say. The first pair belonged to a woman, neither ugly nor fair in appearance, that was staring at him attentively and was possessed with this strange, inner liveliness. Hirem managed to spot her nodding along with the end of his first story, and at this he couldn't help but smile, feeling that even a gesture as simple as a nod was enough to embolden his spirits. The people I preach to need not agree with me. I only ask that they think about what I have said.

But it was the second pair of eyes that made him stop mid-story, a sudden gasp coming very close to tearing itself from his lungs. It wasn't the gaze itself that gave him cause for shock - in fact, the eyes themselves were fairly pretty, and stared at him with an eagerness to learn. But the face that those eyes were set into... Gods, what happened to her? It was as if Ivak's fiery hand had seen fit to rest upon her chin, scorching her skin, turning it black and twisted and then smooth again. From the look of the girl's form, it seemed obvious that the rest of her body had endured this same, horrible treatment. Hirem wasn't disturbed by the image of a long-burned woman, but rather by the memories that her appearance summoned. She looks, so very much, like one of those twisted women from Hai, beaten and abused by the world around, sentenced to carry her gruesome scars until the end of her days. The simple act of remembering the prison made his knees quake underneath him.

So marked was his shock, that Hirem did not even notice that he had stopped entirely in his sermon. The awkward pause elicited a chorus of laughter from a nearby trio of young Akalak men, talking to themselves loudly and roughhousing. Realizing that he had let his mind get the better of him, the Benshiran bowed his head. "Apologies," he announced, glancing once more to the burned woman. "Let us continue with the last story - "

"Please, let's not!" came a sudden cry from the Akalak trio, followed by a loud guffaw from his companions. The leader among them stepped forward, staring back at Hirem with his own glittering eyes, comely looks, and easygoing smile. "In fact, don't even bother opening your mouth again. All you're doing is boring us all to tears." Glancing over to his comrades for support, the Akalak leaned his neck over to either side and cracked it, a wolfish grin clear on his face. "We're all very tired with your stories of old, useless farmers, boring maidens, and your dithering god. Hey!" He suddenly exclaimed, throwing his arms out to either side and spinning to face the crowd. "You know what might be more fun? Why don't we knock this venhrehk off those boxes, and see if he can't back up his god's will with actual petching force?"

Hirem felt a surge of hot anger flare up deep within him at the interruption, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. He dares to mock the Penita Scrolls? He dares to so openly mock Yahal?! Every instinct in him was screaming that he throw himself from the platform and confront this man directly... but his better judgment told him otherwise. He is a drunk and a fool. Nothing will be gained from battling his logic on his grounds. Besides, even though Hirem was constantly training to become a more competent fighter, he would not exercise those abilities when he was championing the cause of Yahal. I take out enough trash working at the Rat Hole. I refuse to pollute the words of my god with violence... I've done that enough for one lifetime. In response to the Akalak, the Benshiran only turned his head upwards and grit his teeth. "I will not fight you."

This seemed to infuriate the rowdy young man. "You won't fight me?" he asked with his stinking breath, looking up at the Benshiran with eyes untainted by fear. Then he glanced back at his companions, faking his shock. "He won't fight me! We'll just have to make him fight!" Then, with a sudden burst of energy, the Akalak launched himself at the pillar of boxes that Hirem had erected and lashed at it with a mighty kick. Even though the Benshiran had his immense weight resting on top of the pillar, it was still of hasty construction, and easily went down after the Akalak's foot shattered one of its supports. Feeling the ground tumble away from him, Hirem did his best to try and fall forward, rather than let himself be pitched backwards into the sea. I can't swim, he thought, before crashing onto the wooden pier.

Thankfully, his weight wasn't enough to shatter the pier, but the impact of the fall winded him, hot pain blossoming from his chest. Groaning, Hirem pushed himself to his feet, only to be viciously shoved back by the petulant Akalak. "So go on! Fight me!" The man was crying, holding his fists up and entering a trained combat stance.

"No." Hirem wheezed back, stepping away from the drunk and reaching for his fallen rucksack. The Penita Scroll that he had clenched his hand around during the fall was most likely ruined, but he thought to preserve it on the off chance that it was still whole. Slipping the scroll inside, the Benshiran left the rucksack laying on the pier, convinced that it would only come into greater danger if he took it with him. Best to defuse this situation before anything else. "My friend - " he began.

"Petch you!" The drunk cried, lunging forward and slamming a fist firmly into the Benshiran's stomach. The blow was powerful enough to rattle Hirem's bones and drop him onto his knees, his face contorted into an expression of pain. Another attack looked to be imminent, as the Akalak preparing to strike again with his friends jeering in the background.

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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Edith on June 11th, 2014, 5:04 pm

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Perhaps it's just a female thing. Their secret inner alarm bell, as it were. But Edith is pretty sure all women feel the same, prickling sensation at he sound of gawfing, drunken laughing.

The dark man's verbal stumbling elicited the sound from a trio of massive Akalaks barely older than boys. Boys jockeying for position in the social hierarchy, who grin stupidly at each other to judge their amusement and spur their ego. In Edith's rather extensive view into the cities most foul barflies, this kind of drunk is one of the most dangerous.

She holds her breath as the drunks threaten the preacher, the leader turning towards the crowd as if asking: want me to entertain you?

Edith backs away from the line of fire, loathed to get involved in a struggle between four massive men. Her dry tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth as she mentally begs the preacher to play the dead fish, another thing she is pretty sure if engrained in the female psyche. The drunks want attention, a reaction, don't give it to them and they will grow bored and seek more reactive targets. She twists her gloved fingers in agitation, her eyes flitting between the four of them.

"I will not fight you."

The preachers words, full of the gravel of the moral high road, make her groan quietly. That is not what you are suppose to do!

That groan turns into a gasp as the crash of boxes and a heavy body hit the weathered wood with a vibration she can feel all the way to her teeth. Franticly she scans the gathering crowd for someone to help the man, but she is met only with morbid interest or indifference as people gather to watch or hurry along to avoid. A curse and the dull thud of flesh and bone pulls her eyes back to the situation at hand, where one of the Akalak's hands is pulled back for another crushing blow. The preacher wont even defend himself.

Before she's had the chance to think things through, she is shoving her way through the crowd, her eyes alight with the malice that the preacher seems incapable of.

"Dont you dare." Edith shoves herself between the two of them at the last moment. They are already so close to each other that her ankles touch the preachers knees and her face is inches from the Akalaks chest. "Don't you petching dare." she snarls, the rasp in her throat inflamed by her anger, her hands balled into fists. "Hit him again and I'll scream. I'll scream so loud every guard from here to Syliras will come running."

There is a pause as the drunkard tries to bring her into focus. And then -"Petching void, what happened to you?"

The man is not looking in her eyes but at her ruined chin, which she is sticking out defiantly. Oh dear, he's not responding to the threat. He doesn't seem to even be registering her; all he wants is the preacher. And he'll go through her to get to him. The jeering from his friends turns angry; they want the show to go on.

"As much as I'd be interested to see if this"- two thick fingers trace down the front of her trousers to cup her sex- "is just as chewed up as your face, I've got places to be darling."

Edith folds her arms, completely unmoved by the dismissal or his crude fingers. "Once the guard are here, though", she continues cooly, "I'll tell my heroes that you're getting your dick-waving jollies from harassing a woman and a holy man. I hear they chop off your testicls for things like that in Riverfall. Think that's true?"

With a dismissive grunt the blue man takes his hand from her crotch and pushes her away with disturbing ease. Its not hard enough to hurt her, but she still loses her balance and sits heavy on her backside on the edge of the gathering crowd, much to the entourage's delight. Franticly she looks behind her for help- and is met with the longest pair of legs she's ever seen. And on top of the legs, a woman who seems barely out of her teens with a pretty, guileless face and rich brown eyes. Not the sort she would ever want to enter a fight, but she is out of options.

"Please, he needs help." she begs at barely over a whisper.
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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Jaye on June 12th, 2014, 5:07 am

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Jaye glanced about her, the deck was like a well used Zibri path that snaked through the immovable objects that were her and scattered other who continued to hesitate their day for the man a top the boxes. Jayes eyes met his only briefly as he hesitated over his next words making the girl blush meekly. This man was a man, there was no boy left in him, nothing for her to relate to or equate to in her own gaze. However, as pearly white teeth graced his face Jayes own lips were drawn into a smile despite herself.

His proclamating reminded her very much of the screaming calls of the stallions as the lead stallion shoved them from the herd. Once caressed by the lips of their mothers and mares they were suddenly aborted from the collective and left alone. As calmly as the man spoke to the crowd Jaye recognized the agonizing cry of a man on the outskirts. He didn't fit in with the rest of Riverfall, Jaye imagined he had come from another herd...from there her mind drifted, as if often did, daydreaming his history.

She imagined him in a herd of black men. A herd of black men stumbling through the thickets of a jungle, the symbol of afar in Jayes mind. Long tapered swords sharpened for skinning the hides of the foreign wild animals that threatened their village. Once he had turned man he was chased from his herd. Her mind conjure up the visage of an even taller black man rearing up like a massive stallion before the man. Running, running, running his feet hardly skimming the long ferns and thick grass as he tore toward Riverfall. Now, he was among a new herd and he was paying the entrance toll anyone must pay to be a part of a new herd. I will never have to pay that toll Jaye beamed internally, a selfish ring to the thought. Mares are coveted beings, hoarded by the stallions, they never fight anything but predators and each other.

Fortunately for him she hadn't noticed his slip up, nor his apology, lost in her own dream world. However, she did manage to catch the raucous laughter it had elicited that drew her out of the imagined running her mind had elicited. They were a young and pompous group of bachelor studs, rounding on the outsider. Was he fit enough to join them? Fit enough to challenge the studs as he was meant to? Jaye watched indulgently, as she did the beginning of all stallion fights. There was nothing so terrible and terrific as the screams that preceded the vicious and bloody fight of stallions

Jaye leaned back against the railing of the wooden dock grinning as the black mans fist curled tighter with each screamed threat. The storm was brewing, the threatening thunder that wavered on the horizon. More terrible and glorious in many ways than the storm.

"I will not fight you." The words were the precipice on which her smile fell. He wouldn't fight?! Cowardice in its highest esteem, too arrogant and self assured to fight. To say we would not fight in such a tone as to lift himself above them all. Disgusting....

Jaye was not surprised by the fury of the rowdy young men. They were defending and proving their strength, doing what was their duty in Riverfall and yet this man acted as if they were bullies. As much as he had a right to stand on those boxes and proclaim his love of Yahal they had a right to proclaim their boredom.

With all the strength born into an Akalak warrior he launched himself at the boxes. With a brilliant crash the black man disappeared onto his knees, bowing before the greatness of the Akalak man. Granting him the subservience he demanded and earned. Leaning forward slightly Jaye watched with almost blood thirsty zealousness, waiting for the blow that would end the brief fight.

"My friend - " he began and with as much rage as Jaye felt in that moment the Akalak lunged forward driving a fist into the center of the religious zealot. How dare he pretend at righteousness. How dare he pretend to extend the hand of friendship. It was dismissive of the Akalaks great power, and a stallion who had so thoroughly proved his vigour did not deserve to be so clearly disrespected.

"Dont you dare." A different voice spoke. Rough and charred like a rusty copper coin it pierced the air as shrilly as a warblers mating call. A woman, as dark as the rich soil in the Sea had risen from the crowd to shover her way between the two battling stallions. The move alarmed Jaye, a small horse squeal uttered from her human lips. No mare ever shoved their way between two stallions. It defeated the purpose, they would only get themselves hurt and prolong the dangerous battle that would inevitably ensue.

"Don't you petching dare." she screamed as if she herself were a stallion, "Hit him again and I'll scream. I'll scream so loud every guard from here to Syliras will come running." Yes, scream you petching mare. Scream and get out of the petching way, Jaye cursed. A teenager, exercising her freedom and ability to swear as Drykas were want to do. The woman was as pitted as the crater of Stardown in the Sea.

Like a stallion lifting its lip to take in the scent of a mare in heat the man roamed his fingers over her body. Decidedly not in heat the woman rebelled, though not in the way a woman or mare should Jaye reasoned. She battled like a man. What a sick and twisted display of gender manipulation.

The woman was shoved backward easily. Act like a stallion and expected to get treated like a stallion, Jaye huffed angrily as she fell sprawling and gangly at her feet. "Please, he needs help." The womans voice belayed her desperation.

"Please, save your begging for your men," Jaye snarled, her childish face twisting into a scowl. "He is a man, he can stand up for himself. He doesn't need some out of season mare acting stallion and stamping all over his battle. He will be run out of town, or he will find his place in the herd. Interrupting the battle only delays it coquette. Lay back, watch and learn and mind your place." She lectured.

Standing, Jaye placed a heavy foot on the womans chest. Keeping her pinned to the deck and out of the fray. I am doing her a great favour, helping her deny herself. Jaye thought valiant, puffing out her chest proudly as she continued to observe the fray.

The deep red Akalak had turned back on the man and lifting the shattered box high above his head he stared down at the black man beneath him, "Learn your place you boring Petch." His voice was low with anger, deep and rich in triumph as the box shattered down upon the black mans face, the brittle boards crunching as they broke upon his nose and cheeks.

The goring move, the final blow. The Akalak grinned back at his compatriots kissing his muscles in honour of their obedience. "Now THAT coquette. THAT is a man, and one worthy of following. Ignore your black zealout. A man like that will never have the strength to guide more than a herd of lost women and babes so broken that his fragile power is all they are worthy of resting upon."

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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Hirem on June 14th, 2014, 12:16 pm

OOC :
Sorry for the delay, everyone! I've been meaning to reply to this for a while, but I've found it difficult to get started. Apologies for keeping you waiting.


It would be so easy for him to just fight back.

There was no guarantee that he would win, but Hirem knew that, if he just managed to push himself to his feet, he would at least give the drunk a few bruises in exchange for the blows he had already received. What good was his training at the Sasaran, after all, if he did not put it into action when it was most needed? Even now, as the Benshira stared up at his aggressor, stared at his waiting hands and snarling expression, he could already see a few avenues for attack opening up to him. His chest has been exposed, his legs can be taken out from under him, and, if all else fails, a strike to his pelvis could disable him. All he had to do was just make a fist, stretch out his arm, and swing a returning blow at this evil, twisted man.

Yet he could not find the energy even to attempt that. There's no way I could win a fight against him, Hirem thought, his mind worriedly trying to analyze the situation even as it was ringing from his last hit. Not in this tight space of people, and not with his two friends hanging around for support. If there's no way I can win, any attempts to defend myself will only infuriate this brute more. Best to let him have his brief bout of fun, wait for the guards, and then head to the Gilia first chance I get. But it was more than just Hirem's reasoning that prevented him from defending himself - he felt sick all over at the prospect of fighting someone tonight, when his primary goal had been to spread word of Yahal's will. I wanted to keep myself as pure as the message I hoped to preach... yet now it has been tainted by violence. What is wrong with me, that I cannot live in Yahal's light without being forced into combat?

It was all Hirem could do to put his arms around his head - a feeble, shaking guard - before the next strike from his opponent came raining down.

But the attack never came. Opening his bright eyes once more, Hirem realized that there was a woman sitting before him and the Akalak, separating the two combatants and sparing the Benshiran from another blow. What's more, the woman turned out to be the burned woman that reminded him so much of the dreaded prison, a fiery intensity storming out of her damaged voice that gave him cause to be impressed. By the Gods, what brought this on? She went from actively listening to my sermon to suddenly leaping to my defense, saving me from a group of men that tower over her. Realizing that her presence in the brawl would summon the guardsmen more quickly - Riverfall was filled to the brim with brawling men, but no Akalak would tolerate a bruised woman - Hirem struggled to push himself to his knees. Whatever I do, I cannot let her get hurt on my behalf. It's a sacrifice that I cannot accept.

The Benshiran, however, could not bring himself to rise. Though his Akalak opponent stumbled frequently and stank of swill, his punch had still packed a wallop, his proper technique signalling to Hirem that he was a well-trained fighter. The pain that radiated from his core, washing over the rest of his body, was crippling. It was all that Hirem could do to keep his teeth grit and his fists clenched, pushing in vain against the ground. Come on, Hirem the Strong, it is time for you to live up to your namesake! What's the good of all that training if you can't even push yourself off your knees? Oh Yahal, give me strength to persevere through strife!

Dismayed, through the hazy gaze of agony, Hirem watched as his savior was very casually disposed of by the drunk, thrown away from the fight with as much ease as the man would toss a sheet of parchment into the breeze. Once she landed, the burned woman begged the long-legged woman - the other woman that had attracted his attention during the sermon - for help... only to be answered with a foot pressed into her chest. "No!" Hirem gasped, reaching out a shaking hand to his savior. "Leave her be! She has no part in this!" Even as his attacker hoisted the shattered remains of a box high into the air, displaying it to the world as if it was a fresh kill, he could only keep screaming, "Leave her be!" No! I never asked for this! I never asked for any of this!

And then the box came down upon his head.

The wood broke into two as it smashed into his face, its long gashes raking down the sides of his cheeks, forehead, neck, shoulders, raining splinters onto his unprotected flesh. The blow completely dazed him, turning his vision black and foggy, making his eyes water and his jaw go slack. His head felt like it was going to crack open, like an egg, pure torment exploding down the rest of his body. Wordlessly, the Benshiran swayed after the hit from the Akalak, looking almost drunk himself, before collapsing forward onto his stomach. His eyes, struggling to focus, stared blearily at the surroundings.

He stared at the drunken trio, looking to each other and congratulating themselves for a successful bout, ignorant that they very well have killed a man. He stared at the burned woman and her captor, writhing against the wood of the pier, trying to save him from men that clearly tormented her as well. He stared at the surrounding crowd, a crowd that was already beginning to disperse for fear of the guard's swift retribution. He stared past the docks and up into the looming city, the whole of Riverfall perched on the cliff above and staring down at him, judging him. If there is anything I hate about this city, it is the mindset of the men... so glory-eager and ambitious, they are blinded to the chaos their actions create.

I will not accept this, Hirem groggily decided, his thoughts stumbling painfully through his own dizzy, concussed mind. I will not accept that the strong get to tower over the weak without repercussion. I will not show these people that Yahal's servant will abide for this cruelty. I will not lay down and serve as this man's punching bag. Rising to his feet was easier for him to accomplish this time around, in spite of his own deteriorating balance... for there was a fire lit in his bones now, that would not be so easily quenched. Clenching his eyes shut from the strain, the Benshira pushed himself off the ground and extended, shaking, to his full height. Though I am outmatched on all fronts, I will fight anyway. My faith is the only weapon I need to possess. Let this be my sermon.

Thankfully, the drunkenness of the Akalak blinded them to Hirem's rise, as they continued to converge on the other and celebrate their most recent victory. The Benshira's gaze seized upon his aggressor. Clenching his fists, the man lumbered over, trying to make sense of the confused and muddled thoughts that circulated through his wounded mind. He had no strategy to speak of - his only plan was to attack using his instincts. Seeing that the lead drunk was currently kissing his muscles and chuckling with his peers, Hirem knew what he had to do. He lunged clumsily forward, wrapped both of his meaty hands around the unsuspecting Akalak's coiled arm, and wrenched the arm backwards with all of his strength.

The audible crack convinced Hirem that his attack had been successful. The drunk was no longer laughing or boasting of his own prowess; a pained howl erupted from the man's lungs, his arm having been pulled from its joint and broken at the shoulder. White bone broke bloodily from red-tinged skin, mixing crimson and scarlet together. Stumbling away from the Benshira, clutching at his ruined shoulder, the Akalak bumped past his companions and fumbled his way through the interested crowd, evidently thinking first of a medical facility. The two thugs that had joined him stared furiously at Hirem, caught between their better instincts - on the one hand, Akalak honor demanded that they revenge themselves upon the Benshira, while on the other, Akalak duty demanded that they see to their friend's injury. Eventually, dedication won out to glory, as the two drunks cursed violently at Hirem and turned to join their fleeing leader.

Their departure was fortunate for Hirem, for all of his strength had left him after that attack. Feeling winded and dizzy and sick all over, the Benshira still found enough inner reserves to carry him over to the burned woman. "Let her go," he growled weakly at the long-legged girl, staring at her with blood oozing from the cuts on his cheeks and neck. "Let her go, or I will break you."

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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Edith on June 17th, 2014, 9:35 pm

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Edith's look of desperation is replaced with shock at what comes out of the girls mouth. She begged her for help. Begged. And when all she needed was another x chromosome to stand between the blood lusting Akalak and the preacher, she found instead a female misogynist who speaks entirely in equine metaphor. Her first instinct then is to leave the madwoman and scramble back into the doomed fray by herself, but a sandaled foot at the end of a long leg kicks back on her chest and forces her to the ground.
 
NO.
 
She feels rather than sees the box shatter across the man's face a moment later. It rattles through her bones and makes her gasp in imagined pain. He weathered the blow on his feet, but she can see him sway with the dizzying aftermath. Stay up, stay up, she begs. But the vague prayer is useless, and he falls forward onto the unforgiving wood.
 
Is he dead? Edith's eyes betray her fear. He never deserved this. He was calling for peace and preaching for his god. Choosing not to resort to violence proved to be his undoing, and Edith was too weak to do more than watch as he was walked over by the very thing she has delt with numerous times. If she had the faith he did, she might have been able to stand her ground and protected him instead of asking strangers to stand with her.
 
A voice from above her gives a verbal nod of approval to the idiot in the red skin. And berates the preacher as weak and unworthy. A metallic taste coats her tongue at her words, which are just as strange and degrading as what she said before. Wait, what did she say before? She remembers the load of symbolism relating to herds and the laws of the wild. And of course the metaphors relating to horses. Either she is a nut, or those weren't metaphors. Something in her mind slides into place with a slow click... Oh shyke, she's Kelvic. A horse, it seems. Though there is no way to know if she is a mighty Seme or little mountain pony. Unless the legs give it away.
 
 Edith has never (at least, to her knowledge) spoken to the animalistic race. She's not sure what rules the shape shifters go by. Can she even be reasoned with? Misplaced anger and indignation course through her blood.
 
"Broken to the saddle, are you?" she snarls, and her voice crackles like tinder. "You'll follow the heaviest human hand or the biggest horse because they'll keep you safe, right? This is why my race has been enslaving yours for years! There is more to strength than muscle you dense sheep, and there is no safety than crawling meekly behind the biggest dick. And if you want to figure out how I suggest you follow that black zealot. Or you can follow that lovely red drunkard, by all means. I'm sure he'll give you fine, burly children and keep you warm with his fiery temper."
 
But her venomous tirade stops short when the dark shadow of the man on the ground moves. Edith's mouth pops open with an audible sound. After all that, not only is he not dead, but he's still moving? He shakily gets to his knees and then to his feet. Edith holds back the impulse to bark encouragement, fearing that will alert the drunkard. For she knows exactly where this is going.
 
A second later the meaty red arm snaps out of The Akalak's socket, popping forward and hanging grotesquely from his shoulder. And while inner strength forced the preacher to his feet, the Akalak holds no such determination, and he breaks through the crowed and away, howling like a beaten dog.
 
Eventually the dark man turns towards her and the kelvic. And Edith is surprised to find how embarrassed she is to be seen by this obviously powerful man on her back under a pretty woman in strappy sandals and a silk dress. He staggers over with blood oozing from his face and shoulders, a few large splints of wood still embedded in his flesh.
 
"Let her go." he demands, exhausted. "let her go or I will break you."
 
The sight of his battered body poised to protect her, even though she is both unharmed and failed to protect him in the first place, ignites her shame. Colour fights to rise under her dark skin and facial scars.  
 
"No need" she snaps, more at herself than him. She claps her right hand over the woman's ankle with her elbow at a right angle. And with djed hastily and sloppily pulled from the heel of her hand, she erupts a thorn of granite from the surface of her palm. The thing punctures the tough tendons at the back of her heel and almost makes it to the other side, but without anything to brace on Edith's hand is forced back a few inches. None the less the damage is done and she pushes her leg away with her other hand and rolls away from what she expects to be a swift retaliatory kick, if she is still standing.
 
 
 
Secret :
 Sorry there isn't much to go on here guys. I couldn't think of a way to move forward without monopolizing Jaye's reaction. Great thread. :nod:
 
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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Jaye on July 7th, 2014, 5:19 pm

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"Broken to the saddle, are you? You'll follow the heaviest human hand or the biggest horse because they'll keep you safe, right?" Jaye scowled down at the tan form beneath hers. She still doesn't understand. It isn't about strength or size it is about ability to lead and fighting is sometimes necessitated.

"This is why my race has been enslaving yours for years!" The comment enraged Jaye enough that she could not help the heel of her foot sliding into the delicate nexis at the center of Ediths body, grounding out harder than it took to help the woman prostrate on the docks.

"There is more to strength than muscle you dense sheep, and there is no safety than crawling meekly behind the biggest dick. And if you want to figure out how I suggest you follow that black zealot. Or you can follow that lovely red drunkard, by all means. I'm sure he'll give you fine, burly children and keep you warm with his fiery temper." She still managed to groan out under the pressure making Jaye hiss internally tears starting in the corner of her eyes with each vindictive phrase that threatened her ears.

"You don't think it is about size or strength kitten? Then how do you plan to protect you and your own trapped beneath my heel? A leader is not all brawn and size but do not belittle its value." She knelt as she spoke passion bringing her mouth within inches of the others.

So focused was she on the woman beneath her the battle between Hirem and the Akalak goes unnoticed. Her heart beat boils in her ears so loudly it dulled the pain of Synas tendrils on her back and the frothing beat of the audience that was gathering. Though none stepped forward to intrude whispers had begun to circulate. At some point, if not already, the guards would know of the fight. But all this was beyond Jaye's scope. At the moment all that mattered was the broken battered beaten woman beneath her.

"Let her go." The voice is deep and thunderous behind her. His stern demands so like her fathers she almost recoils instinctively. She is good at following commands.

"Let her go or I will break you." The second warning.

Turning to glance over her shoulder she gazed at the black face looming above her so alike her own broad black face that she grins, as if she stares into herself.

"Now. Now he stands a man." She murmured, glancing at Edith as she moves to ease away.

"No need" Her voice snaps like the reeds in a storm. As Jaye rises her heel is caught by the mangled woman a sharp thorn of pain erupted through her sole making her squeal and arc her back in anguish. Collapsing as Edith swings her leg around sending her toppling roughly onto her side.

"No...no..." Jaye keens as the thorn pierces the tendons. Two primary tendons create the action of a hoof moving and flicking across the ground, one severed. It was possible to move and walk again with therapy but little of this was known to Jaye. All she knew was pain, inconceivable pain and horror as the control over her foot evaporated.

Instinct drew close, like a shroud over her shoulders. Shifting into the tall thick bastion of a horse that was her other self Jaye ran atop of the prostrate body of the woman, back right leg hugging close against her stomach. All three feet connected with the womans body and sides as Jaye lunged out instinctively.

She didn't lunge or hurt out of anger, or even out of instinctual fight, but out of a desperate need to flee. A need to stop the predator from following. Leaping forward cumbrously on three legs Jaye ran, awkward and off balance away from the docks. Desperately searching for somewhere to hide her smaller more vulnerable human form.

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Armed in Faith Alone (Edith)

Postby Hirem on July 8th, 2014, 1:14 am

It was good that Jaye had no intention of combating Hirem, for the preacher had no strength left in his bones to contest her. The last reserves of his power, he had used in combating the red Akalak, using all of his remaining energy to put a definite end to the drunk's ability to menace him. In a way, breaking the man's arm had filled the Benshira with a grim sense of pleasure - that, if nothing else, would put an end to the brute's rampage - but had also managed to disturb him a great deal. Memories of the tsana from a season ago, its bared innards proving fragile to Hirem's rending grasp, regurgitated in his mind, making him want to fall to his knees and retch into the Suvan. To think that he once been so cavalier with violence, that he had once thought nothing of breaking an arm to get what he wanted, made his stomach groan in protestation. His head felt weak and stung all over from contact with the wooden box, and he was leery of tilting his body in any direction, lest his brains spill out his ears and pool onto the ground.

He could see that the burned woman, the person that he was rushing to defend, was already taking some initiative to defend herself, struggling in vain against the captor that had her pressed to the ground. She was brave, so terribly, terribly brave, that Hirem felt awful for knowing that it was his foolishness that had plunged her into this awful situation. "Now. Now he stands a man." The aggressor woman said as he threatened her, feeling the Benshira with disgust. He was about to respond when a sudden coughing fit overtook him, making him take a wobbling step backwards and collapse onto his knees. Blood was hacked onto his clenched fist, blood that came forcibly up from his throat and smeared the corners of his mouth. This is what she thinks a man is? Violence and blood and bile and terror? What kind of people did she descend from, that she have this narrow view of the world? He longed to reach out to her - not with a fist bared, for he had already grown sick of fighting tonight, but instead with comforting words - but the weakness that had arisen in him was too crippling for him to even stand properly.

So powerless, he could do nothing but watch as the situation degenerated into pure, maddening chaos. First the burned woman shouted out and tried to attack her oppressor, though with what Hirem could not tell. Initially he thought that she was merely trying to use her leverage to break her attacker's angle, but what actually happened was far more sickening. The Benshira blanched as he watched the burned woman summon a shard of rock that pierced through the aggressor's ankle completely, his weakness forgotten in the sudden rush of panic. Rakva! The words of his people cried. Witch! He was shocked to see magic be used by this woman who had been the victim in his mind, but was even more surprised by what happened next: the opponent pulled away, shrieking, then lunged forward to trample over the burned woman, but it was not feet that connected with the wooden boards of the docks. Hooves instead slammed down into the ground and into the vulnerable form of the burned woman, as a horse was suddenly charging across the docks and hobbling awkwardly to the shore.

Hirem could barely make sense of what had happened, staring dumbfounded at the departing mare. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a faint memory called out to him, a memory of a strange traveler that he once had the pleasure of meeting. Dhanya, the goat-woman... she had borne the power of transforming between the shape of an animal, and the shape of a human. This person that I have just encountered must have an ability akin to hers, the difference being she adopts the skin of a horse rather than a goat. His mind was spinning with the revelation that the two women he had been staring down and trying to pry apart had both been touched by the supernatural. Then his stomach gave a sudden, final, shuddering quake, and he knew that he could not stand any longer. The Benshira collapsed to his knees and crawled over to the side of the docks, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach from burning their way up his throat. His efforts were in vain, however, and soon Hirem was retching into the black waters of the sea, his entire body shaking violently with the effort.

By the time that he had finished emptying his entire body into these dark waves, the crowd around the scene had started to disperse. Leaving to alert the guards, I suspect... or perhaps just trying to escape their notice? Knowing that he would have no adequate excuse for what had just transpired - he was alone with a woman that had probably suffered many bruises and broken bones - the only option now was to take the burned girl to the Gilia Medical Center. He could ignore the fact that she was a witch for now, preferring instead to concentrate on the fact that she had very courageously thrown herself into the fray for his sake and his sake alone. Limping over to her side, Hirem murmured quietly to her. "Do not move. Don't stress yourself in any way. Please trust me." Bending down, he scooped his shaking arms underneath the burned woman and hauled her off the boards of the dock, bundling her up in his grasp. I suppose this evening was not at a total loss. I may have ended up helping at least one soul.

As he shambled over to the shore with the girl tight in his arms, he could barely concentrate enough on his mouth to try speaking. The most he could do was murmur, "I am Hirem... from the tents of Alachi... of the sons of Rapa. I am Hirem... from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. I am Hirem..." Occasionally, he could also say, "Don't worry. You are safe now. Have... faith."

The word faith was still on his lips even as he reached the shore, saw a group of conversing Akalak take notice of their plight, and start to hurry over. It was still on his lips even as his legs buckled underneath him, sending his body crashing backwards against the stone ground. It was still on his lips even as he slipped into darkness.
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