Fate - First Reply Ashes In The River

[Sylvian Artesto]

He'd always thought that after so many years, maybe he'd find just a little bit of peace. Perhaps, he'd hoped, if he turned his head away from the rubble of his old life for long enough, some unseen custodian would eventually get around to tidying it up, and the people who'd burned everything he'd ever loved to the ground would forget about him. It was funny, how somebody getting up there in years like him could still be so naively optimistic.

There would be no forgetting. Today had been a sobering reminder of Sylvian Artesto's reality. The flecks of ash that clung to his clothes and the smell of smoke that caked his nostrils like badges of shame as he floated down the river that flowed away from the burning remains of the freshly-razed city of Vel Farris. The city he'd helped found so many years ago, the place he'd called his home for the last decade and change. After so long, Artesto had finally gotten his hopes up, finally convinced himself that he no longer had to be afraid.

But they'd come for him. Sylvian didn't know why it had taken them so long, or what had tipped them off to his presence, but the Republic of Vel Anir had deployed a Dreadlord and a contingent of Guards to turn the entire city to ash. The small, single-person boat that carried gently down the river led him away from the massive smoke plumes in the distance behind him, the smoldering wreckage of yet another life they'd taken, another light they'd extinguished.

Why didn't he feel angry, he wondered. Why was all he could muster a sigh of resignation as he leaned back on the boat and readied his fishing rod, the only belonging he'd saved from the blaze? He supposed he'd always known that this would happen someday. It had been a matter of time until the tension and conflict of Anir found him once more. As he cast his line out into the river, he paid a thought to his son, Silas. Could he have been amongst the Guards that razed Vel Farris? He would be getting to that age by now, wouldn't he?

Such idle thoughts, the gentle lullaby of the water beneath him, and the fatigue from escaping the burning city he left behind him led Sylvian to fall asleep atop the boat. An aging man, covered in ash and soot, with a fishing rod hanging loosely from his hands drifted slowly down the river. Perhaps those Guards would find him there. Perhaps he'd float through a town, or even off of a steep waterfall.

These thoughts may have even crossed his dozing mind. What, though, did he have left to care for? Fate had found him, and now all he could do was let it take control.

 

[Shakarri]

If there was anything Shakarri had learned over the years, it was that life was a short, brutal road filled with disappointment and regrets. Through no fault of anyone but the enigmatic gods themselves, pain and misgiving was a common feature in the cruel fates given to every man, woman, and unwitting child. Even the beasts of the wilds and skyborn birds were not spared. It was the curse warranted by the varying species of a greedy, selfish, abhorrent world doomed from the start.

Such a waste…

Atop her massive, direbred panther, Shakarri stared at the plumes of smoke rising steadily from far, black and malevolent against the blue of the sky. She could smell, even from here, the sharp reek of fire and burnt wood and scorched stone. Black snow fell from the sky even now, ash sent loose seething hot into the air. Flecks of it landed on her bare cheeks, and she wiped it away absentmindedly, leaving grey streaks across her skin. Beneath her, Azura growled, his huge muscles rippling under his black coat as he shifted, impatient to escape the foul nature of this place. She loosened her grip on the nape of his neck, letting him move as eh pleased. The panther turned and padded silently next to the river they had stopped at. Despite the fire and destruction, the waters had had escaped relatively clean, bubbling and sloshing along with clear waves.

Shakarri hopped of her panther and walked beside the beast before taking a detour to a wet, rocky bank, kneeling down to cup some water in her hands for a refreshing drink. When her thirst was slaked, she washed her face before lowered her hands, sighing in relief. She cast her eyes over the rivers, back towards the receding city, far beyond anyone’s help. She had heard of the city, Vel Farris, a quaint, calm city of elves and known for the intricate scarves and delicate lace they knitted from wild spiders and special silkworms. She simply though it would be a nice spot to rest and perhaps buy a piece of that lace. Figures she’d come to see this.

Suddenly she stood up, seeing the shape bob up and down in the current of the river. It crept closer and closer. It was a boat. With a man. Both were streaked with soot, stained with ash and smelling rather awful. Shakarri hesitated, wanting to turn and walk away, leaving the man to whatever fate the river had in store for him. She knew better than to meddle… but she knew, too, that bad karma was all too real. If she refused to help, that bad energy would follow her around for ages. That, she didn’t need.

“Azura!” she snapped.

The panther leaped into the river and paddled towards the boat. With snapping jaws, it seized the collar of the man’s dirty shirt. His body weight dragged the boat along and so both were hauled back to shore. Heavy, but an easy task for the dire panther to achieve. Once the boat caught on the rocks and was secure, the panther shook itself dry and glared at Shakarri.

She patted the beast’s head. “Thanks, kitty.”

She looked over to the boat and the body, kicking the boat and slapping the man haphazardly across the face. “Are you dead? Come on, don’t waste my time.” She looked to the fishing rod. At the end of the line, still dragging in the water, a trout flopped and splashed.

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

Oh, and what a peaceful rest it was. Perhaps it spoke to the perils that Sylvian had faced in his life that even in the wake of his home being burned to ash and dust, sleep came as quickly and as soundly as it did to a newborn infant. To face turmoil was simply his existence now, his default state of being. Artesto's mind had been faced with the choice to either adapt or perish...

A soldier always adapted.

Of course, his dreams made up for that ease by being relentless reminders of all his failures, every loss suffered and every tear spent. More often than not he woke up feeling just as if not more exhausted than when he'd laid down his head.

This, however, would not be one of those times. After all, it was difficult not to feel alert and awake when seized in the jaws of a beast and dragged into the frigid waters of a river. Even if Sylvian hadn't fallen asleep he'd have had no opportunity to prepare himself for the sudden jerk of motion, nor did he have any means of breaking free of the beast's grip.

So he simply did not struggle, save for keeping his lips tight and ensuring that he didn't inhale any of the water that threatened to swallow him whole, if the strange mammal pulling him to shore didn't deign to do that first. The water splashed into his eyes as he felt the teeth of the animal graze his flesh, the shore brushing the small of his back as he was pulled back to dry land.

His eyes were shut as he felt himself hit the earth, and even as the creature released him he did not open them. If he was to be devoured, he wouldn't force himself to watch it happen. The piercing pain he awaited never came, however. Only the sting of a hand against his face, knocking what little water had invaded his lips out of his mouth in an almost comical spout.

"Pthhbt!" Sylvian spat as his eyes shot open as he recoiled from the slap, bringing an arm to his lips to wipe at the stinging numbness the woman's hand had left behind. She was short and slight, dressed in what he would have considered to be ordinary clothes for a rogueish woman traveling alone. By her side was the creature who'd pulled him from his boat, a formidable panther that was almost as imposing to look at as it was to realize it had just had its jaws so close to his neck.

Propping himself on an elbow, Sylvian's eyes fluttered between the both of them, a brow quirking up as he wondered just why she'd felt the need to liberate him from the river, so to speak. "Rather rude to wake a man up from a nap and call him the time waster. No, I'm not dead. Not yet anyways." Bringing his other elbow underneath him, A coy smile grew on his lips.

"Unless that's what you're here to do."

Shakarri

 

[Shakarri]

Leaning back on one foot, Shakarri studied the mound of filth that used to be a man. Her eyes flickered over to Azura, who yawned, baring an evil set of fangs. Perhaps he was hungry? Shakarri attempted to quell the slight pang of disappointment inside her belly. If he was dead she could have been on her way, perhaps looting the body for whatever it had. Instead, she was here talking to a fool. She look again at him, and her lips curled in distaste at the smile. It was a smile that reminded her all too well of the monsters who'd ruined her life before it even began.

“Should've let you rot in the river, filth,” she growled. Straightening, she strode over to the trout splashing in the shallows. She lifted up the line, examining the fish. It was small. Pathetic. She seized the fish by the spasmodic tail and smashed it against the ground until it stopped moving. Then she removed the hook and tossed it to Azura, who caught it in midair. Chomp. Gone. She turned back to the Filth.

“What happened to the city over there?” she asked, gesturing at the pillars of smoke in the distance.“Vel Fannir, or whatever?” She paused, then added, “If you say don't know, you'll be a bad liar, 'cause you obviously came from there. Looks like someone got their ass kicked,” she smirked, then winced at her own tactlessness. If he was from there, elf or not,he'd probably just lost all his property, and by the looks of it, everything else too. And possibly everyone.

A pause.

”Sorry,” she muttered. “Uh, that was rude. Look, do you need anything?” She pointed. “There's a village that way, and you probably want to get away from here, if it was an invasion. You don't look like much, but you're a witness.” Witnesses to evil of any kind tended to a short life. Unless he wasn't a witness but a soldier with a bad day... but judging by his appearance, she doubted it. Just a fisher who couldn't catch proper fry.

“Come on, get up.” She didn't offer her hand. “Shakarri, most definitely not at your service. This is Azura. Don't piss him off.” Touch me and you're dead.

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

Sylvian had thought his luck bad enough, but it seemed the fates intended to continue testing his will to tolerate fortune. It wasn't being plucked from the river that bothered him so much, it was the neurotic behavior of the woman who'd done so. The stranger almost seemed perturbed that he was living, stomping over to the creek's shore and taking out her frustrations on his catch like a petulant child.

By the time she was finished feeding the mangled fish to her pet and holding a decidedly one-sided interrogation as to what had become of Vel Farris, Sylvian had shaken off the cobwebs and managed to sit up. Whoever this girl thought she was, Artesto obviously wasn't impressed with her immature display. He'd met a thousand people who spoke sharper and acted meaner, this one certainly wouldn't get a rise out of him.

"Yes." He confirmed, slowly rising back to his feet and dusting himself off. "It was rude. But I've a feeling that manners aren't your strong suit, Miss Shakarri. Call it a hunch." He appreciated that she at least tried to rein herself in a little, but given her actions thus far, Sylvian was wary of giving her the benefit of the doubt. Pulling the rose-colored cloth from around his shoulders, he wrung the water out of it, grimacing as he tried not to damage the fabric too much. "Vel Farris was razed by the Republic of Vel Anir. Burned to the ground to stamp out any rebellious ideation."

Syl left out that he was the 'rebellious ideation' that they'd been looking for. This one didn't need to know that.

"You won't have to worry about me irking dear Azura. I've no intent to trouble you with my presence any longer." The words weren't spoken with bitterness or malice. On the contrary, he seemed rather unaffected, even wearing a slight smile as he draped the fabric back over his shoulders and wiped the soaking white hair from his face. Not once did he cast his stare to Shakarri or her companion, but he did offer them a wave. "Won't be long before they come looking for me. I don't intend to stick around. If I were you, I'd clear out too."

Shakarri

 

[Shakarri]

Far from stupid, the Filth’s words did not escape her any more than his lack of a name did. If the assailants of Vel Farris were after him, then he was clearly one of those very rebels spoken of. One eyebrow lifted as the Filth became slightly more interesting than some boring fisherman. Looking back at the plumes of smoke, she pulled herself atop Azura and nudged him into a slow, smooth stride that drew alongside the Filth. Riding Azura was much like riding a horse, if a horse was deadly silent with no saddle or reins, and its gait silkily even and straight. It had taken months for the giant feline to heel in giving her even a short ride.

“What do you intend to do now, Sir Rebel?” she asked, Azura growling softly as if adding an incomprehensible remark. “Are you headed to the village, then? I’ll show you the way, since I’m heading back as well.” It was true; there was nowhere else to go, and her provisions needed to be refilled after this remarkable waste of time heading to an unfortunate city. She only hoped the village would not be seen as a threat by the attackers of Vel Farris, though she doubted it would be. It was some distance away, with a local guard too small to come to anyone’s aid, much less harbor any productive ideas of avenging the elven population.

“What’s this Republic you speak of?” She asked as Azura moved slightly ahead. “I’m from Malakath. Looks like I should have stayed there, in fact,” she mused quietly to herself. It was too late now, but evidently the profit of being in this strange land was as dubious as her homeland. Mankind were the same everywhere, it seemed, burning and razing and destroying as wantonly as any group of bandits and slavers. No better than beasts.

“No, manners aren’t my strong suit,” she said lightly, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder as if proud of her tactless approach to strangers. “I’ve had little opportunity to practice. Azura has been my only company for a while, and speech isn’t a talent of his.” The slavers had taught her well, one of the kinder ones even showing her rudimentary numbers and her letters in between, but had never been exactly sophisticated.