Ranger of the North, Book 3, Chapter 4

Taking a few steps through the hall, Rune glances around at the quality work put into the structure; marble floors, smoothened walls and columns bearing the weight of the cieling bear little to nothing in flaws. The shadows - as scarce as they are - linger where the soft white light of lanterns fail to reach.

"Stop where you stand," an airy voice orders, "and lay down your weapons. Failure to comply will write the end of your story."

"Relax," says Rune, leaving his hands at his sides, "I am here to harm nothing."

"You are taking me for a fool?"

I am, Siden says with a snicker in Rune's mind.

"No," Rune replies. "I am taking you for someone sensible enough to talk of words instead of fight with swords."

A section of the smoothened wall parts, sinking into the floor to reveal a hidden cavity in the hall, and the occupant within. "You are trespassing," the airy voice - belonging to an elven man who looks rather displeased at Rune's presences - says, "how I was not able to detect you earlier bewilders me. You should have been caught by the other sentries as well, if it was not for their incompetence." Thin, gloved fingers wrap around the hilt of his curved sword. "I demand to know your name, else you'll regret sneaking into here as your last mistake."

The bold threats of aggression coerce Rune's hand to squeeze Gwynt's hilt. "Runeshot, Ranger of the North." It would be wise to respond respectfully, to avoid as much confliction as possible; especially if this elf is one of the Reapers. "I'm looking for Leina."

"Leina Shadewood, my little rose?" The elven male steps closer, his frown deepening. "What of her? How do you know her by name?"

"I was traveling here with her. Due to unfortunate events which left me in extreme conditions, she and the others had to leave me behind in the care of others. When I was no longer incapacitated, I made my way through the Uskbight mountains and here I am." Rune keeps his ground as the elf draws on step closer.

"If that is the truth, then we shall ask my beloved herself." The elf plants a hand on Rune's shoulder, and Rune jerks away from it. Before he can ready Gwynt, the fine edge of a curved blade leans against Rune's throat. "Resist again, and you will suffer a fat worse than death," the elf snarls, harboring a dangerous glare for Rune. His offhand gripping Rune's shoulder again, he escorts him further down the halls. "Why did you travel here?"

"To join the Reapers," answers Rune, "I can help fight the Queen--"

"Anyone with a sword-arm can 'help fight the Queen.'" Beginning to climb up a large set of stairs, the elf moves his scimitar from Rune's throat. "What could you possibly have to offer that will do than ward off a demon or two, then sleep in a coffin?"

"You'll have to trust me, I can help banish her back to her realm." Rune climbs the stairs with the elf, only halfway to the top.

"I would learn how quickly, else your conversation with grandmaster about recruitment will be unpleasant. He has little time to waste these days, if any at all." Reaching the peak of the stairs, the elf leads Rune to a large, black pair of doors. Though no knobs or handles are apparent, the elf's hand glides along the door's surface until a loud click is evoked. The doors swing open to reveal a sight Rune has never seen before.

Braziers hold bright, young embers which cast a warm glow on the runed floor. Pillars hold up a high ceiling, which is out of the light's reach. The pale glow of crystals imitates star - spanned skies. Standing before a throne of stone is Leina, who turns around to smile brightly at Rune. "You made it!" she says, approaching him.

"Miss Shadewood," the elf says with a more gentle and sweet tone. The sheer disdain displayed only moments ago is replaced by a warmer persona. "I take it you know this.. being?"

Turning her gaze off Rune and onto the elf, a subtle decline in her excitement makes Rune smirk. "Sir Silverfall," she addresses him, "this man here is a good friend of mine. Terzogue wanted him to join our cause, to turn the tides of war. He is talented in battle, and I vouch for him and his heroism as well."

"I see," Silverfall mutters, looking Rune over as his scimitar returns to its sheath. "But I don't see what separates him from the rubbish you and Zaphen dragged in before."

"I do," another person in the room states. Standing up from the throne is a dwarf, with a long beard - white as pure snow - and flesh, wrinkled and seasoned with time. THough his legs seem no longer than any other dwarf's, his gait is slow and in strides. Leina has informed me of everything, from the mission's success due to this man's contribution, to the demise of an Ar'taian slave operation. Runeshot, Ranger of the North, if I am not mistaken?"

Rune offers the nod of his head as a response. "I assume you are the grandmaster, the one who leads the Reapers?"

"Yes, and no. While I am thought of as a head authority within this guild, I have no true control over the will of these warriors, hence why I have chosen them. They do not lose sight of their own opinion. They simply respect my wisdom and will." The dwarf looks up at Rune, offering his hand. "My name is Talbot."

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Grandmaster Talbot," says Rune as he meets Talbot's surprisingly strong grip in a handshake.

Turning his gaze to the two elves, Talbot gives them a dismissive wave. "I request you both vacate this chamber. There are some things that are meant for for only this one's ears."

"Of course, Grandmaster. Miss Shadewood and I shall depart immediately." Silverfall opens the chamber doors once more, following Leina after she exits. The doors shut, a series of clicking followed by silence seconds after.

"Now," Talbot resumes, "I have been playing defensive with our strength in wait of your arrival."

"You have been waiting for me?" Rune asks, a little surprised. A god he could understand expecting him, but how did this simple dwarf know he was coming? Why?

"Aye." Talbot walks back to his throne, sitting down with a near-silent grunt. "When the Reign of Darkness - as our archivist calls it - I was visited by Anto in my dreams."

"The King of Light?" Intrigued, Rune approaches one of the braziers, watching the embers glow.

"Yes. He told me that I must hold my ground for as long as I could. The gears to conduct victory over this darkness were already in motion."

A faint memory plays in Rune's mind; had the choice of strict defense not afflicted morale? "The Exiled said you had the power to end this terror when it came to Erelith."

"And Anto told me otherwise. But, I could not go around saying the holy deity told me what to do. I would appear a madman." Talbot's eyes wander up to his false skies. "Regardless, I am glad you have found your way here. Unfortunately, I have bad news to greet you with."

"What is it?"

"Your brother, Goldshot, departed from our compay without warning, nor a trace."

"Then we must find him," says Rune as he strides towards the door.

"I already have our best trackers looking for them, you will be ineffective. Besides, you must be inducted into the Reapers so we may begin the ending of this disdainful chapter." Talbot beckons Rune closer. "Let me get a good look at you."

Approaching Talbot, Rune kneels down, as directed by Talbot's hand gesture. He looks up into the worn, grey eyes of the dwarf, twin pools of indefinite wisdom and grace - the likes of which should not belong to a leader of warriors.

"Interesting," comments Talbot. "Though your destiny is as opaque as any other, I can feel the raw power and potential of what is to come. You may make a fine Reaper, indeed. But, you should know the origin of our guild before making such a decision.

"What is there to know?" Rune asks as he stands up again. "I thought it was just created to preserve humanity."

"More than you can even fathom." Talbot inhales deeply. "At the beginning of mortal times - the Manifestation of Mortals - Anto was extremely paranoid of running a truce with Byzix. It was only natural that one be nervous to make an agreement with the deity of all things sinister. He kept one of his angels intact to subtly amass an army of those faithful to the cause. However, that angel was no longer an angel. As a bringer of death and destruction, mortals called him Reaper.

"And so it began. Our numbers grew, yet we remained unseen. Our horizons broadened, as we took to killing those who have the potential to destroy humanity, along with the will to do so."

"What happened to that angel?" asks Rune.

Talbot shrugs. "Disappeared. I am his successor. He left us so we could become independent of leadership."

Silent, Rune only clears his throat before giving a nod.

"Now that you understand our story, we can begin the process of writing your chapter in this story." Reaching behind the throne, Talbot retrieves a crystalline bottle.  "Before you drink, you will repeat the Reaper's Oath, after me."

Rune bows his head. "Ready."

"I draw my weapons--"

"I draw my weapons--"

"-- mind--"

"-- mind--"

"-- body--"

"-- body--"

"-- and spirit--"

"-- and spirit--"

"-- to watch over the threshold of life--"

"-- to watch over the threshold of life--"

"-- and purge those who seek to destroy it."

"-- and purge those who seek to destroy it."

"Do you, Rune, swear on your life to fight the evils reality harbors, 'till you or the last manifestation of darkness draws their breath?"

"I do."

"Will you give every ounce of your strength to the benevolent cause of the Reapers, and pardon yourself from personal goals so the weak may achieve their own?"

"I will."

"Shall you hold our banner high in your heart, even in secrecy?"

"Are you worthy of being a Reaper, death incarnate to the darkness and hero to the those oblivious of your identity, and maybe even the danger itself?"

"I am."

"Then hold your head high, Reaper Runeshot, Ranger of the North; Erelith needs you now more than ever!"

Raising his head, Rune takes the bottle from Talbot, and pours the sour contents down his throat. As the bottle is emptied, the world around him grows unsteady. Losing his balance, he crumples down on the floor, taking one last glimpse of Talbot before his eyes shut.

Easy, Siden says with a chuckle, it's perfectly normal after drinking an angel's blood to awaken yours that your body would shut your conscience as it resists the assimilation. Siden's chuckle echoes through his mind after a period of silence. I forgot how you can't speak here. Well, you're doing well, to say the least. Considering your recent reactions to simple trauma, I was expecting you to be in another coma after a change like this. Regardless, congratulations on drinking the blood of a Predecessor; I hope what it is going to cost you won't ruin the glamour it projects now.

Ranger of the North, Book 3, Chapter 3

"Your attempts to kill me are tiring. Perhaps you'd like to trying to talk?" asks Siden, looking rather unimpressed at Gwynt's fang stopped at his pale flesh. "The weapon to me is a vessel for my soul. And now that your soul is threaded into it, there is no turning back; your fate is now aligned with ours." With a low chuckle, he stays in his sitting place on the rock, raising his hand and brushing his fingers along the blade. Upon contact, his fingers turn Gwynt's fang a crimson color.

Pulling the blade away, Rune glares at Siden. "You made me kill all those people," he snarls, "they didn't deserve death."

"Don't be foolish," the archdemon retorts callously, "those who were not strong perished because of their weakness. You managed to worm your way into a city claimed by Ar'taian influence, and only escaped with stealth. You wouldn't have come close to bringing them past the first gate without being cut down by hundreds who watched the gates."

"That is no excuse."

"Regardless, there is a situation at hand, which I can help you survive, if not conquer." He chuckles lowly as the chittering comes again, much louder.

Frowning, Rune gives Siden a cold, hard glare. "If what you say is true, then stop wasting my time; help me survive this god's 'test.'"

"It is simple, to do my work, I need two things. Your consent to my presence with your soul, and your energy."

"Energy?"

"Everyone has a life force. I feed off that energy in order to function, to give you the strength you need this time." Hopping off the rock, Siden offers Rune one of his pale hands. "Do we have an agreement?"

Faced with the worst of ultimatums; a deal with a demon, or outright death. Rune's frown only deepens. "Do I even have a choice?" he mutters, watching the snow trap his vision of the mountains as it cascades down ever more densely. The spider could attack at any moment, and the still-fresh image of the cultist's rather messy demise in Rune's mind only increases the pressure. "Fine," he says, "I'll do it."

"Excellent!" Siden exclaims, "now close your eyes, both hands on the hilt, and listen to my voice. Oh, and don't die. It's an unhealthy habit." Physically vanishing, he leaves Rune alone.. at first glance.

With clear orders given, Rune inhales and exhales slowly while tuning out the tasteless noises again; looking past the howl of the wind, the chittering of the spider and the faint shouting of the remaining devotees, he hears an even more subtle sound; the air splitting apart at Gwynt's sharp edge. Focusing in on that sound, Rune is greeted with Siden's voice again.

Before my imprisonment, I served the Dark Queen on the battlefield. I was the champion of Rynrt, God of the Battlefield, Rage, and Keeper of the Flames. Siden's voice grows steadily louder as it grasps hold of Rune's mind. Millions fell before me, and I was known as the Archdemon of Slaughter.  Multitudes of foes were butchered by me, and even most of the champions crumpled before my might. I was undefeatable, before Gavrie.

We were at a standstill for decades, neither capable of destroying the other. Disappointed with my... inability to dominate the archangel, Byzix cast me into Gwynt, the relic my prison for my rival and I. The centuries passed as I sat, awaiting inevitable freedom or to be forever forgotten. Then, I took my chance to spread my soul, as the perfect vessel presented itself.

I seeded part of my being into a child, on the day of your birth. I watched the life pass from the mother's eyes, severing my connection as her soul was sacrified to keep me at bay. I watched as, against all odds, that seed grew, even against Tarlmisaac's will. I spectated the crucible both the child and seed endured, as that piece of me fought tooth and claw for control. Alas, it was too weak. But, it was in the adult years that the soul fragment called across the realms, summoning a bridge between the Realm of Darkness and Erelith.

It was on that day your home's - not to mention the rest of this realm - destruction began. Runeshot, your bother is that vessel of the seed that has started this catastrophe.

"You keep saying that you and this 'seed' are not the same," Rune comments, holding back the impulsive rage inside. It would do no good to get angry at a demon as old as the earth he stands on. "Is there a reason?"

It no longer is me. Once the connection was severed, it created another 'me,' so to speak. The hilt of Gwynt is suddenly warmer, the heat flowing into Rune' hand. Regardless, the Queen will likely favor whatever abomination has grown to replace me, having brought about her return. Seeing as my intentions are to be free of both that wretched vault and this Darkness, I will offer you my fire, to burn her away from this realm, and consume those who stand in your path. In return, you do not perish. You walk this world, so I may as well. Do you accept?

"Once again, I have no other choice," Rune mutters, nodding. Suddenly, a surge of inexplicably pure power funnels through his veins. A change in Gwynt's color - hauntingly nostialgic crimson - brings forth waves of intensive heat, overpowering the extreme cold. Though Rune can feel the heat through the hilt, it fails to singe his flesh.

My flames are born of Rynrt's Garden of Inferno, and none have yet to survive the flames when used against them. Fear nothing; my flames will burn away the spider."

"For my sake," says Rune, "I hope you're right." The chittering, louder than ever before, rips Rune out of his mental insulation. The snow lets up, giving away Rune's position in front of the massive beast, and vice versa. Watching one of the eight legs lift upward, Rune turns around and begins to scramble through the snow. The sunlight is blotted out as the leg comes down, narrowly missing him as it crashes down into the snow and ice.

Now! Attack now! Turning around, Rune brings Gwynt down against the thick spider leg. A dark, red flame flares flares upon contact as the blade moves through the leg with little resistance as it scorches through. Pulling the blade away, Rune looks up at the retreating spider as it strides away from him, staggering around. At his feet is the smoldering segment of the leg he severed.

Ah, now the tide of battle has turned, Siden says with a laugh, don't leave this one alive. I want to taste its soul.

Silent, Rune nods in acknowledgement. When the spider approaches again, he readies the blade to be put to work once more. The spider swoops down, its fangs dripping with venom. Reacting quickly, Rune rolls out of the way as and penetrates the side of the spider's thorax. Once more, the bright flash of flames erupts and feeds into the spider.

Letting out one last chitter, the spider lays still. The burning subsides, and Siden releases a sated sigh. There is nothing better than feeding off the direct spawn of a god itself.

"You've had your fill, now how do I return Gwyt to normal?" Rune waits for a respons, only to find Gwynt's blade return to its normal state on its own. Siden controls the blade's power, it would seem. As silence settle over them both for the moment, Rune feels what must be the toll of this flame on his own body; soreness throughout his body, he wheezes and fights to catch his breath as the wind struggles to stay out of his body.

A drawback to the god-like power. But, the cost is worth its effect, is it not?

"It's strong," Rune admits, coughing now and then. "But, how do I know you won't try to control me again?"

Fool. I claimed control so Gwynt would not devour your mind. Show some gratitude, you are still breathing your own breath, are you not?

"Devour my mind? Why?"

You lost control of your emotions, and your focus on the goal. Without a clear goal in mind, you would be prey for the blade. It holds no mercy for those unworthy of its possession; those who do not know their place in their destiny, and where the blade fits in.

"Why did you save me?"

What's worse; being in the hands of a mortal, or on the pedestal in that forsaken vault again?

Smirking, Rune wipes Gwynt in the snow before sheathing it where it belongs.

Suddenly, the snow underneath Rune's feet bursts into the air, bringing him along with it. Trying to recover in mid-air, Rune feels thick fingers - the size of men - wrap around his body. "What are you doing in my sanctum, Ranger of the North?" The burst of snow fades, leaving Rune staring into the eyes of the booming speaker; a giant.

Awed to silence, Rune stares at the giant. Having only heard of these rare beings in stories, he recalls how emphasized their strength is. One line comes to mind; '.. with the raw strength to flatten the mountains of Uskbight with their bare hands.' "I..." trying to formulate words, he tries to push back the fragile feeling creeping through his veins. "I'm just passing through. How do you know me?"

"A god never forgets." The giant sets Rune back down on the ground, before sitting down in the snow, body dressed in an assortment of rags. He looks down at Rune, a cold stare grants neither hostility nor pacification.

Rune meets the stare of the god-giant for a moment, before clearing his throat. "How do you remember me if you have never met me?" he asks, slowly relaxing in place.

"The prophecies whispered through the air are what the gods know will come to be. We know you would come here, but not when." With a simple shrug, Uskbight looks at the remains of his servant. "If you were an impostor, you would have been slain by now. And, with the return of the Queen, it is fitting that you appear."

"For the god of spite," says Rune, "you don't seem very spiteful. And don't you serve the Dark Queen? Why haven't you killed me off, in that case?"

"Would you prefer if I stop with my friendliness, and ended your prophecy on the bottom of my foot?"

"No."

"Then stop questioning what is not necessary to question. I owe no allegiance to Her Dark Majesty anymore, nor do any of the gods. Even those bonds of loyalty have withered away. Now, I have a reward for passing my test." Reaching into a bank of snow, Uskbight withdraws from it... a door?

"There isn't much to do with that out here," comments Rune. Approaching the door, he examines it for some distinct difference from any ordinary door.

"It is no door, Ranger; it is a portal."

"To where?"

"Wheere you are to be." Gesturing towards the door with a nod, Uskbight stands up, turning his back to Rune. "Now, off with you. Being generous sickens me.

Not wishing to test the patience of a god, Rune opens the door. As if opening the air itself, it reveals a pocket of pitch darkness. Without second guessing himself, he steps through. The howling winds and their chiilling airs suddenly vanish. Solid stone beneat his boots, Rune takes a few steps forward- Thunk! He pulls his head back, rubbing over where his forehead and a wooden suface met.

"Is someone there?" a muffled voice calls out.

Rune clears his throat. "Yes, it appears that I'm stuck in here. Can you help me get out?"

A series of clickings sound from in front of Rune, and he finds a wooden door swinging open to Myrzen, out of his-- his? Without Myzen's abundance of clothing, all that is left is a nightgown covering a slim, feminine body.

"How did you get in there?" she asks, her dagger in hand.

"Well," Rune starts, "it's a long story. And what about you? You're a woman?"

Even in the dim, warm glow of the fire across the room, the faint pink tint of a blush is visible. "Well, she starts, taking a few steps back, "I would have preferred nobody would know for n ow.."

Entering the room, Rune clears his throat. "I get it. The path you took is dangerous for anyone on their own, even more for a woman on her own." Taking his eyes off 'Myrzen,' he walks towards the only other door in the room. "What is your real name?"

"My mother named me Tulia." Tulia stands straight, stiff as a statue. "Please, tell no one!" she pleads. "Nobody can know."

"It's had to keep secrets from people who are supposed to trust you," Rune says, staring at the door.

"It's worse to have them prying where they shouldn't be," rebuffs Tulia.

Raising his hand for the door hand, Rune acknowledges her response with a single nod. "Stop worrying. Your secret is safe with me. After you've gone so far to keep it hidden, I won't be the one to cast of the shroud."

Sighing in relief, Tulia loosens up in her posture. "Thank you," she says, "I won't forget this."

"I'm sure you won't." Opening the door slowly, Rune adds, "It's good to see you as well."

Update!

Hello all! I just wanted to keep in touch with everyone and assure that this blog is still kicking. I've been busy, and with a slam poetry competition in mind I had little time to type up my current work. I hand write every bit of my work before posting it up. It helps by forcing me to refine everything I have written down (removing redundant sentences, typos, adding things, etc) so that when I put it up on the computer, it isn't just a raw rough draft. Anyways, I'll be posting a bit from Ranger of the North this week, and maybe return to Wolf of the West this weekend. See you soon!

Wolf of the West, Chapter 3 (Part 1)

Chapter 3

The sun bursts over the horizon, swinging wildly at the darkness that thrives in its absence. Replacing what gentle illumination the moon gave, the sun’s empowering rays wash over a titan of stone -- a tower, ascending from the heart of a collection of buildings that it dwarfs. Wrapped in the secure embrace of high-reaching walls, the city is alive with the chatter of folk on the street. Discussions of earlier affairs mingle with the heated bartering between experienced merchants and experienced customers.

Having left the horse hidden away, Ryuden idles in the sea of conversation. He sits on the rim of a fountain, discerning voices from the gentle gurgling of water. Most of the conversations hold nothing fruitful. They have not for a few hours. Then, just as he stands up, a phrase catches his ears.

“He is still snuffing out that inn out in the country, then?”

Turning to face the speaker, Ryuden peers past the civilians moving about. He spots a couple walking through the market. An entourage of four or five men clears the way for them, while keeping them protected. Taking a similar pace, Ryuden tails the guarded couple from a distance. Pushing gradually closer, he keeps listening for their conversation.

“Mascil,” the male says, looking disdainfully at one of the citizens shoved to the ground, “ I can assure you that my cousin has everything under control.”

The woman glares at him. “Regardless, what he has done now is unethical -- it is unlike him to do something this… barbaric!”

“Keep your voice down. The innkeeper crossed a line he shouldn’t have, and since robbing him with overpriced goods isn’t working fast enough, this will.”

Ryuden’s focus shifts back to the guards as they stop before a large, iron gate. Invoking every squeak and screech possible, it swings open, and the couple proceed as their escorts stand watch at the gate.

The walls surrounding block any view of where the couple has gone, leaving Ryuden to find out the hard way. However, the difficulty lies not with the walls themselves, but rather the guards nearby. Before attempting to bypass the guards, he carefully draws his dagger. Embedded to deep in the surrounding crowd for it to be noticeable, Ryuden carefully palms a stranger’s coinpurse with his offhand. With a careful stroke of his blade, he severs the string binding the bag to its owner. He loosens the coin purse’s neck, then flings it into the air.

As the coins rain down onto the street, the crowd erupts into chaos as it surges forth to collect them. The sudden flocking of citizens leaves the guards overwhelmed, and Ryuden with his chance.

Keeping his distance from the mob, Ryuden uses the aid of a vendor’s stall to reach the height of the wall. He pulls himself up and over the wall, landing in the soft soil of a garden. Keeping low, Ryuden silently creeps through vegetation and floral brilliance. He raises his head to look past the plantlife.

A lone guard patrols the front of a small yet well built house. His lack of enthusiasm shows in his lazy, reluctant gait, his feet barely lifting from the ground. “Bloody Void,” he grumbles, “I’m always the one pinned at the door.”

As the guard mutters further gripes under his breath, Ryuden uses the garden to conceal his approach. Like a predator waiting for its prey, he watches the guard come close. And, when the guard turns around, Ryuden strikes. Dagger in hand, he closes the distance with a few quick steps, and covers the guard’s mouth. His dagger sinks itself into the back of the guard’s neck.

A stifled scream fails to travel far as the guard raises his hands out of a natural mix of instinct and panic. Within seconds of the daggers intrusion, the struggle dies down, and the guard limpens in Ryuden’s hold.

Lowering the corpse, Ryuden pulls his dagger free and wipes the blood off on the snow-white petals of nearby flowers before sheathing it. Glancing at the gate to ensure that his victim passed without raising any alarm, Ryuden then pats the guard over. Taking a silver band, a few pieces of silver and copper, and a piece of fine cloth, Ryuden tucks them away out of habit. Taking a key stringed to the guard’s belt, he slips it into the front door. A twist evokes the most satisfying of mechanical clicks, and he pushes the door open. But, before slipping through, he reaches down and grips the hilt of the guard’s sword.

Being drawn away from its previous owner, an elongated fang of steel reflects the daylight clearly. Its weight distribution makes it unwieldy in Ryuden’s grip, but manageable. Despite a niche in the blade, the sword’s quality is admirable; whoever the couple is, they are not of any lower status.

Sheathing the sword in a spare band protruding from his belt -- host to his previous sword -- Ryuden enters the house and shuts the door carefully. The sudden isolation from the city’s boisterous ambience sets him on edge immediately. Treading without making unnecessary noise lets him only listen to the beat of his own heart. Stalking through a short hallway in his manner, he listens through each of the wooden doors that line the walls. When he hears voices behind one of them, Ryuden peers through a keyhole above the door’s handle.

In a candlelit room -- concealed from the light of day by crimson curtains -- the couple stands in each other's embrace. The man’s hands trail down the woman’s sides, taking his time as he caresses her lips with his own. The woman’s arms snake around the man’s neck, pulling him close before breaking the kiss.

“I can’t,” she murmurs, looking away from his eyes.

“What is it--” The man frowns, noticing her facial expression. “Even if I could force him to listen, what can be said? You would are his wife, he would listen to you before me, and if he won’t listen to you…”

Pulling away from him, the woman rests back against the wall, her eyes shut. “I don’t know, but this isn’t right.”

“Then what is?” The man takes an advancing step, eyes steadily locked onto hers as his lips curl into a frown. “Is what we have been doing for years right?” His frown twists from one of disappointment to irritation. “He can’t undo it, anyways, that isn’t how it works!”

The woman slumps slightly, wiping her eyes of erupting tears. “I just…”

“It’s my cousin’s decision, not ours.” Taking a few deep breaths, the man pulls her into his embrace again. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

As the man meets lips with her again, Ryuden pushes the door open. Not immediately gaining the couple’s attention, he gets close before being noticed.

Pulling away from the woman, the man glares at Ryuden. “Who’re you? Why did my guards let some beggar through? Answer for yourself!” Suddenly, his aggressive greeting screeches to a halt when his eyes drift down to the hilt of the longsword in Ryuden’s grip. Taking a step back, he manages to feign a grin. “I can tell you’re a motivated man. What is it you desire? Riches? Favors? Anything, if it will appease you, just --”

“Quiet.” Ryuden draws the sword, his eyes piercing into the man’s soul. “The man you speak of, your cousin -- I want information.”

“Ah, I’m afraid he does not tell me much --”

“I can either find him where he lives, or at your funeral.” Raising the tip of the blade to the man’s throat, Ryuden takes a step closer. “I will make progress in either manner.”

“Let’s just settle down,” the man requests pleadingly. “I can’t just give such vital information, you see. He pays me and surrounds me with guards to keep my mouth shut.”

“Just tell him,” the woman says. Her face holds an interesting blend of fear and irritation. “No amount of coin can buy a life.”

The man turns his eyes to glare at her, before looking to Ryuden again. “Sea Wolf’s bay is host to the most vital of his operations. If you can’t find him there, I don’t know where. It’s at the opposite end of the city, in a large warehouse. You can’t miss it.” When Ryuden moves his blade away, the man exhales. “Will you please let us be, now?”