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“The universe holds within it, three distinct realms;
The realm of nature, Arul,
The realm of spirits, Kishi,
The realm of illusion, Botsu,
They exist unto their own, yet at the same time exist together, and are equal.
By this balance alone, life and order are sustained.

The Akavian, and their ancient cousins, the Ankanet, are forever connected to the realm of Arul.
The Dylan, and their ancient cousins, the Dire, are forever connected to the world of Kishi.
The Bokaruki, and their kin, are forever connected to the world of Botsu. ”
-“The Inner Workings of the Universe”

“In the realm of Arul there are four elements of nature,
Lo-Hao, the energy within the wind
Che-Ku, the energy within the flames
Vo-Nis, the energy within the water
Gre-To, the energy within the stone

These energies are collectively called ‘Toratei;’ with them the Akavianis and Ankanetis are able to harness the powers of elemental nature.”
-“A Brief Primer on Akavian Culture, Volume One”

For a long while, since in time before recorded history, the three realms were kept together and in balance. This balance ensured that life, in all its form and spleandor, could continue unabated. Now there are rumors of an upset in that balance, the vanishing of the Ankanet, the sudden near-extinction of the Dylans and their kin, the Dire, and now the slow, steady rise of the Bokaruki to power.

“A typical Akavian can be described very quickly; Tan, Strong, and confident. The first physical feature you meet with are their eyes, they seem to glimmer, even in the lowest light, in a full range of colors and hues. Their pupils appear normal at first, but they are slightly oblong; older and stronger Akavianis have eyes more befitting a serpent than anything with legs. Their hair comes in as many colors as their eyes, normally two or three-toned, but never in a specific ‘pattern,’ as it were. As they age, their bodies gain Ankanet-like features, elongated fangs and tongues, scales, claws, some even have horns, tails, or even vestigial wings. Yet despite this, they are unbelievably attractive, their bodies ripple strong, lean muscle, their mildly acrobatic bodies surprisingly strong and resilient. They are a force to be reckoned with, and a powerful ally.”
-“The Omnibus of Species”

“Ai~ This is too much! I think somebody wants to get me drunk!” A young man, with unkempt, wavy, brown hair grinned as he brought the heady cocktail to his lips. He took a large gulp and set it down, shaking his head violently.
“Perhaps our young server is looking for some evening company,” A man with bloody red hair nudged the younger-looking fellow, “Whattaya say Krey?”
“I am a gentleman, dear Bargus, I am a loving slave to any beauty’s request.” He made a drunken half-bow, before sipping more of his cocktail, his mottled turquoise eyes making a suggestive glance at the now blushing bar-mistress.
“Be careful, too much Ciravis makes for one hell of a wake-up the next day, yah?” another young man seated at the table, by the name of Gresun, nodded, carefully sipping his own drink. He had avoided the dangerous proposition of a roundabout of Ciravis, in favor for a tamer beverage. Ciravis, being a sort of very hard, very spiced apple cider, normally served piping hot. While astoundingly delicious, it is also extremely easy to lose track of exactly how many one has had; a dangerous thing, indeed.
“And who plans to wake the next morning? I will surely…”He stumbled for the proper word, “…be found to be quite dead-“
“Yah, nearly so by the looks of it.” Gresun nodded, half in agreement, half in pity. His heavy-lidded eyes were a soft brown, which faded inward to brilliant sandy yellow; seemingly fixed in a half-asleep, bored stare. His thin eyebrows arched slightly, sending a quizzical glance over at Bargus.
“I think we should…” Bragus groaned slightly as he set down his drink, “Get to what we all met here about, if you ask me.”
Kreys face remained seemingly drunk, but his eyes flashed, just for an instant, “Ae~Right, right! Oh young flower, as much as it pains me to ask this of you, please do me a favor and leave us be? Errant ears are a dangerous thing, eh?” Krey wobbled slightly, his eyes fixing up at the young woman. She made a quick bow, and quickly vanished amongst the crowded, noisy tables.
“And so, the acting ends and the board is set, yah?” Gresun quietly retrieved a small metallic device from his pocket. It was a strange and exotic Bokaruki device; it shielded anyone in its influence from outside surveillance, muddling their speech and their gestures subtly, so that they could not be observed.

As it touched the tabletop, the device sprang to life, emanating a small, light tone, which seemed to cancel all outside noise into an indiscernible jumble of half-syllables and murmurs. The instant that happened, Krey’s drunken wobble vanished, and he brushed back his hair carefully, purposefully. With a quick flick he threw his long, braided ponytail over his shoulder, and set his fingers into a steeple. He stared over at both of them with utter control and total seriousness.
“Bargus, Gresun. You are men who I can trust; wholly and inexorably. I suppose the sudden changes in our state of affairs, as it were, have not gone unnoticed.”

“Ankanetis have vanished, either by death of battle, old age, or simply disappearing; something like that, yah?” Gresun nodded, his straight, sandy blonde-brown hair bobbing about as he did so.
“Not only that, but certain council members have begun to change our foreign and domestic policies.”  Bargus ran a thumb along his thin, well-trimmed beard, wiping a bit of Ciravis which had managed to collect there.
“That’s beating around the bush a bit, Bargus.” Krey lowered his head behind his hands, only his dark, almost hypnotic turquoise eyes were shown, free to stare out at his comrades, “They are reacting much too peaceably. This is an age of war, a time of conflict and strife, and we are Akavainis, beings borne from the great winged Ankanet serpents. There are men of power, Bokaruki and Akavian alike; that are moving to take the power from each man and woman; and drain it into their own veins. I’d dare suggest a few are even fiends; if you may pardon such a dangerous suggestion.”
“Then why make a move like this; the three of us gathering, yah? They are watching, regardless of if that can see or not.”
“They don’t need to see us do anything; they will eventually make a move against us, regardless of if they plan on it or not.”
“And what’s worse, we will all be chosen to make journeys soon. It would be easy to send us off with some assassin as a partner.”
“Ai~too easy. These blowhards are old; older than dirt and dust. They’ll take their time; no need to rush what can be achieved so much more simply with a well-planned ‘accident.’ It’s those accidents we must worry about.”
“For the younglings to conquer the great old ones…it almost feels like a prophecy, yah?”
“Prophecies are for weaklings afraid of their death. I’ve died a thousand times in battle; not once have I been conquered.” Bargus growled low, as the skin on his cheek cracked, embers of flame seemed to glower underneath.
“Easy words for a phoenix, yah? We common folk have to rely on other ways of staying alive.”
“Commoner, eh?” Bargus grinned, “I’d love to see what one of you ‘commoners’ would do against me. Just for the fun of it.”
“I know more than to take on a firebird. I’m no fool, yah?” Gresun shook his head and took a small drink of the cup before him.
“As it so happens, I do need a new sparring partner, and as our business is all but done here…” Krey smiled, his seriousness now gone, “Perhaps tomorrow morning we can have a bit of a match, eh?
“Why not tonight?” Bargus grinned a bit wider, as more of his skin split, revealing, if only in a small amount, the fiery death below.
“For three excellently magnanimous reasons,” He ticked them off with his finger, “One, Gresun must be attending to dear Lunaria. Two, if Saine finds out you were drinking, she’ll have your head.”
“And three?” Gresun asked as he removed the device from the tabletop. With another soft sound, the noise of the crowded tavern around them seemed to blossom open, filing their ears.
“Ah! There you are Sir Krey!” the bar-mistress walked up to them, smiling nervously.
“Ae~And that, my dear Bargus is reason three. I believe you both have families to attend to, go now old men, let the younglings have their fun.” Krey smiled. It was true, for an Akavian he was young, much younger than both his colleagues. Of course, that didn’t mean he was their inferior in anything but military rank. Luckily, he’d get a chance to prove that soon. But, he pushed that thought out of his mind; he had much more important things to attend to.
“Yare-Yare~” Gresun smiled and stood, leaving a few silver coins, as did Bargus, his face one again looking rather normal.
“So, when exactly do you get off?” Krey grinned and set his eyes over at her, subtly flicking his head as he did.
“Well, I mean, about fifteen minutes, but I really shouldn’t be…” She tentatively searched for a proper word, but her train of thought was interrupted.
“Well, then, I’ll just have to last for twenty.” Krey smiled, as the barmaid turned an even deeper shade of red; he was going to have one fun night.

* * *

“In Akavian culture, duels of honor, or over a military position are very common. This is due to their natural violent tendencies, and their ability to regenerate any minor to moderate wound (given enough time). These wounds can include seere lacerations, broken bones, torn ligaments, cut muscles, and even severe head trauma. This skill is called ‘Sarchei,’ and allows an Akavian to fight for as long as he has Toratei. Duels consist of three ‘rounds;’ one is a challenge chosen by one challenger, the other is a challenge chosen by the other. The third challenge is chosen by a popular vote from a crowd of strangers. The third round is important; otherwise most battles would end in a tie, as each challenge is usually favoring the one who chooses it. Duels are fought for several reasons, including for no reason at all. The only way to advance in rank in the Akavian Military is to battle a superior officer. The challenger will go up in rank if he wins, but will go down in rank if he loses.”
-“A Brief Primer on Akavian Culture, Volume One”

The crowd that gathered was sizable, especially since the duel had been declared in private. As Krey walked through the crowd of spectators, he noticed Gresun with several baskets filled with money.
“Placing bets on your friends? That’s pretty low.” Krey grinned.
“Oh these aren’t my bets, although if either of you win, I look to make a very nice profit, yah. Go have fun beating each other’s brains out.” Gresun waved them off non-chalantly as he took another fistful of the gold-inlaid notes Akavianis used as currency.
“Oi. Krey, you gonna sit there or are we gonna fight?” Bargus shouted over the din of the crowd. Krey looked over Bargus, whose eyes were set in an arrogant glare.

This made for a terrific show; the youngling Krey going against the legendary Bargus.
“Choose the challenges!” The crowd shouted, clamoring for the spectacle to begin.
“I choose...” Krey began, a grin snaking across his face.
“Battle of Weapons. No Toratei.” Bargus cut him off, smiling even more wildly.
The crowd gave a collective murmur of astonishment; it was known that Bargus was very weak without using his prodigious Toratei.
“Well then, I think I’ll choose a simple battle of Toratei, no weapons.”
The crowd grew louder; how can Krey hope to defeat such a strong opponent in a Toratei duel?
“And…the crowd chooses….” Gresun rummaged though one of the baskets, it contained notes; suggestions for the third challenge.
“A Race to the end of the island?” Gresun read off the first bit of paper.
The crowd gave out a loud boo.
“”Ahhh…What the?! A naked wrestling match?!”
The crowd broke into uproarious laughter.
“Ok, ok not that one. Oh! Man to man combat, no weapons, no Toratei!”
The crowd let out a cheer; that would do very nicely.
“Let us begin, then; A battle of Toratei! Please give up before you die, yah?” Gresun grinned.
Bargus and Krey turned back to back.
“Younglings ought to know their place, Krey. I can’t be counted responsible for killing you.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t go easy on you just because you are old.” Krey smiled arrogantly.
They took twelve, relaxed, arrogant steps each, and then all hell broke loose.

Bargus spun, and made a wide, sweeping gesture with an outstretched arm. A wave of flames appeared in the same wide arc, flying quickly towards Krey. Without thinking, Krey stomped his foot down hard and raised his hand up in a block, and a pillar of compacted dirt sprouted up from the ground. He then slammed his shoulder into the pillar, sending it at high speed at Bargus, splitting his attack in half. As it flew, Krey kicked the ground hard with his heel and whipped his arms hard outward, creating a fracture that also headed for Bargus. Bargus lowered his stance and punched hard at the incoming projectile, with a shout it exploded, fragmenting in a fiery explosion. Yet in his distraction, he was caught off guard by the fracture which quickly widened below him. The ground collapsed a good foot, and Krey pushed his advantage; he brought up another column of earth directly in front of Bargus, and with a leaping jump, kicked off of it, sending both his heels into Bargus’ chest. Bargus fell backward hard, rolling in a backwards somersault. The crowd silenced, as Krey couched low made a scooping motion with his hand. As he did, a large chunk of gravelly earth was pulled up, and with a quick spinning motion, Krey sent it flying towards Bargus. He rolled out of the way and punched again, sending another burst of flames as he stood and ran in a wide arc around Krey. The blast of flame went wide, as Krey tossed another compacted clod of gravel at Bargus’ skull. Bargus batted it away and with a wide swing, send another arc of flames at Krey.
“You’re holding back!” Krey let out a winded laugh, as he ducked under the attack and fired another clod of earth.
“Thought the crowd might like it!” Bargus heeled the ground; a large clod of dirt flew from the ground in front of him, meeting the clod Krey had thrown.
“Stop playing around and get to fighting for real!”
“Only if you do the same.” Bargus rushed at Krey, grinning wildly. He leapt into the air, landing hard, with both feet on Krey’s raised arms. For a moment they seemed to be frozen in time, Bargus crouching atop Krey’s defending forearms.

Krey broke into a truly psychotic smile.
“Deal.” His voice seemed to rasp loudly, and his tongue suddenly seemed a bit too long.
Bargus returned the smile and leapt off of Krey’s arms, soaring high into the air, his arm raised.  Krey’s foot stomped the ground and he made into a ready stance, as Bargus’ skin began to crack and darken. As he fell it turned the color of black coals, and flames erupted out from his body. His hand roared with a furious inferno, and he brought it down with a howl. Krey shoved both his fists into the air, twin pillars followed the motion, both exploding from the hard ground and smashing into Bargus. The noise was incredible, as was the flash of fire and cinders. Bargus landed hard, most of his arm and upper body entirely gone.

“Not bad, punk.” His charred face broke into a wild grin, as thin wisps of smoke escaped from between ebony teeth. His wild, silver-flecked blue eyes burned like the hottest furnace, and his red hair was now made of flames. He paused for a second, staring into the black and blue-green eyes of his advisory, before renewing the onslaught.
Krey knew he needed to keep Bargus at a distance; he struck the ground with both his open palms and extracted a massive chunk of earth, as wide around as he was tall. With a hard swing, he sent it around and then released it, sending it careening at Bargus.
For a second, Krey though he might have won, it sounded like a solid hit. Then Bargus stood, as large amounts of gravel attached to his body and ignited. Before Krey’s very eyes, Bargus’ arm regenerated in its entirety.
“Ai~ You are truly as they say, Bargus the Phoenix.” Krey smiled softly. He took a step back, and Bargus charged, attempting to catch Krey off-balance. Krey uncorked a decent sized gourd on his belt nonchalantly, as Bargus raised his burning hand to strike.
The crowd let out a shout of surprise, as did Bargus. He backed away, his face smoking and sputtering.
“Bury a flame and it will live, but douse it and it will fall into nothing.” Krey smiled. He gently cradled some water in his hand, it floated calmly, placidly, with a soft motion he dismissed it and the water fell to the ground, “But I don’t have enough water to douse you. I concede defeat.”

The crowd fell silent, as the spectators murmured amongst themselves. A few booed, but most were simply shocked.  As they tried to make sense of what had just happened, Krey walked near to the center of the pit.
“Well, I suppose we should finish this before I die of boredom, ai?” Krey soocped up a lare object, swathed in thick, black cloth .
“Greshuno…The crushing depths. I show you the reflection of your death in the deepest water, just to draw into it.” Krey laughed and revealed the monstrosity.
It could only be called a large club, yet the upper two-thirds were wrapped in steel, expertly formed to three spiraling blades. At the bottom there was chain, about two and half yards long, ending in a small Kamas-like weapon.  The crowd broke into a wild buzzing; such a weapon had never been seen before. Krey hefted it silently, as if testing its weight. With a flourish the chain wrapped around his right forearm, passed his back, and wrapped around the other forearm, where the Kamas landed neatly in his outstretched hand.
“As unconventional as always, Krey.” Bargus nodded and lifted his own weapons. A sortsword, with a  simple brass guard, and a small, elliptical shield for his left forearm. He calmly walked to the middle of the pit. Krey followed suit, and after another twelve, long steps, the chaos began anew.

Bargus whirled and depressed a hidden trigger in his shield. The internal mechanisms fired a thick, three-pronged crossbow bolt directly at Krey. Krey smiled and dismissed the attack with a flick of his heavy club. With the opening move ending in a stalemate, they charged, Krey letting go of his club and swinging it underhand by the chain. Bargus raised his shield and braced for the impact, but it never happened, Krey tugged back hard on the weapon at the last second, it whirled around and prepared to smash into Bargus’ head from above. Bargus, caught off-guard, raised both his blade and shield upward, but the club passed in front of him by a hair’s breadth, only to be swung up, over and around in a wild whipping motion, ending with the club connecting very violently with Bargus’ ribcage. There was a brilliant burst of flames and it was over.

Krey had won, and what was more amazing, he had won effortlessly. The crowd broke into a surprised cheer, and Bargus reassembled what was left of his body.

“Next is the hand-to-hand combat!” Gresun was enjoying this; profit and violence all in one go.

They stood again, back to back, weapons returned to the very end of the pit. Formality had now been thrown out the window; whoever used the most dirty tricks would surely win.

“Nice move, I wonder if your flashy attacks work without the weapons.” Bargus growled, as he crouched low.
“Well, they say what works with the hand works with blades, but what works with the blade works with it alone.” Krey pressed his fists together and cracked all his knuckles at once, before stretching his neck out.

“Ready, Go!” Gresun raised his hand and chopped it down quickly, and they made a break for it. Twelve steps, quicker than before, Bargus took off in a running arc, charging at Krey from the side. Krey spun right, just as he had the last two times; while Bargus charged at him from his blind spot. The sky and ground inverted, as Bargus felt Krey’s strong, firm grip send him soaring into the air. He landed and rolled, kicking hard off the dirt and driving a right cross at Krey’s head. Krey checked it softly, and then brought his boot sailing into Bargus’ ribs. Bargus rolled away, and then continued the charge.
“Surprises work only an enemy who actually thinks ahead.” Krey smiled and suddenly vanished from vision. He had crouched low, driving the top of his head into Bargus’ chest, while pulling hard on the cloth of his pants. Again the ground became the sky, and Bargus found his head meeting the earth very painfully. Krey’s foot reached the height of its arc seconds later, and the heel roared downward at Bargus’ chest. Bargus anticipated it, rolling out of the way and again jumping, this time in a full on tackle. He bowled Krey down, and as the fell he drove his forehead into Krey’s nose. The cracking noise was horrendous, but the pain didn’t stop Krey, he used the momentum to launch Bargus over his head and onto his back. Bargus rolled sideways, and stood up, only to be met in the head by Krey’s foot. With a whirling motion Krey righted himself, and in the process had cracked Bargus fairly hard. Krey was now standing, a soft smile passing over his face, while Bargus kneeled there, eyes glowering.
“A true Akavian is never off guard.”
Bargus let out a primal shout, as he launched up, higher than a Bokaruki could, and drove both of his feet hard into Krey’s shoulders. The satisfying snap of Krey’s shoulders breaking apart was like music to his ears. Krey fell down, only to right himself in the same whirling kick again. He stood, and let out a nasal laugh. There was blood oozing from his nose and both of his shoulders were sunk low.
“Please listen. I am ranked as follows, Bargus.”
“What?”
“Toratei, Lowest. Crafting, Second-Lowest. Hand-to-Hand Third Highest.”
“So what?” Bargus rushed at Krey again, but this time Krey’s foot found Bargus’ temple.
“…As I was saying. Weapon Arts Second-Highest in rank. But wanna know what I have the highest rank of?”As Bargus tried to right himself, Krey gave him a quick kick to the jaw
“Now, you’ve gotta look and see this.” Krey laughed, and Bargus brought his eyes up to meet Krey’s’.
With a bit of concentration, Krey’s right shoulder made a loud, sickening, popping noise. It jerked into a normal position, no longer broken. He grabbed his nose and gave it a quick twist, as his other shoulder popped back into place.
“Guess what my specialty is?”Krey wiped the blood from his face; it had turned into sand.
“Sarchei…” Bargus spat. A few of his teeth had gotten chipped, and he could feel two parts of his jaw grinding painfully.
“Fantastic.” Kreys whispered, as he slid into a crouched, ready stance.
“Heh…Fantastic…I’ll break every bone in your body and crush your heart then.” Bargus smiled, setting his jaw and kicking off the ground. His fist touched Krey’s chest, but Krey seemed to crumble away, sliding to the side, spinning and unleashing a vicious elbow. He spun further, swinging his left fist into Bargus’ back. Pain shot up Bargus’ back, but he turned sharply and snatched Krey’s head out of the air, driving his knee hard into his head. He could hear the loud, sharp impact, followed by a low crunch. Krey stumbled and fell; only to right himself fluidly, before unleashing a painful volley of kicks. Bargus snatched one out of the air, but as he did, Krey jumped forward, wrapping his arms around Bargus’ head.  He swung his fist hard into Bargus’ nose, and then gave him a resounding strike to the temple. Bargus released Krey’s leg, trying in vain to retaliate. Krey’s foot touched the ground for a second, before sliding behind Bargus’ legs. With a shove Bargus went over; this time he had expected the fall and leapt out of kicking range.
“Ready to give in?” Krey smiled, lowering into another stance.
Bargus’ eyes were shining brilliantly in the fading light, pupils now bare narrow slits filled with unrestrained feral power, his voice thrummed low, like crackling thunder, “Fuck no.”
He leapt up high, aiming to disable both of Krey’s arms again, but Krey easily sidestepped, only to be clipped hard in the neck with Bargus’ fist. Using the momentum Bargus let out a savage kick to Krey’s knee, before turning for an elbow to the head. It missed, as Krey had fallen backwards, landed on both of his hands and kicked out at Bargus’ ribs. The sickly crunch for bone snapping once again drowned out the now barely audible crowd. The force of the kick propelled Krey up and over, from a handstand into a low crouching position. Bargus staggered backwards, before falling over. His breathing was harsh, pained. His lungs were punctured or bruised, and his jaw was crunching together painfully. He knew he couldn’t get up, and as his eyes returned to normal he broke into a wild grin.

“You win, boy.” His body was engulfed in flames, and the silhouette fluidly changed from a prone position to standing. The flames vanished and Bargus stood, fully healed, and grinning, “Youngling is not a worthy title for you anymore; I think I have a better one.”
Krey looked over at him with mild bemusement, “What would that be?”
“Maverick.”
The crowd broke into a roaring cheer; apparently they all agreed.
After the crowd has quieted down, Krey looked around, an arrogant grin breaking across his face, “Maverick Krey, huh?” He held his arms out to the crowd, “What do you think, is my new title fitting?!”
The wave of noise that accompanied him almost knocked him flat onto the ground. The crowd loved it, the fight, the parody of what should have been a solemn end, and the grinning competitors.
“Then…” He waited for the crowd to silence, “Then I’ll take it! Now I think that my new title should receive a proper coronation…Bargus if you would…”
Bargus bowed low, and walked to the edge of the crowd. Gresun handed him an elegant instrument, made from dark, dense wood and inlaid with heavy bronze, in the pattern of flames; it closely resembled a guitar, in both form and function, but with a few small, key differences.

He strummed the instrument idly, letting the thrumming noise fill the air for a moment. Behind him a drum began to play, it set down a break-step tempo, like a steady heartbeat. Bargus fed Toratei into the guitar, and strummed it again; the sound had gone from a soft buzzing twang, to a low, roaring, soaring note, piercing all the noise around.
“Alright then…ladies and gentlemen…” the crowd didn’t make a noise as they all stared at Bargus and Krey. Krey had snatched a large megaphone-like device from the sidelines; it amplified his voice greatly. He looked around with half-lidded eyes, before breaking into a wild grin.
“This song is a return gift for Bargus being such a good loser…” He glanced over at Bargus, who was now entirely engulfed in flames, along with his guitar.
“Boom-Boom~”
And so the celebration began.

“It is worth noting, Akavian celebrations. Much like everything else in their culture it is just another way to hone their skills and to show off to each other. The celebration begins with a band playing, normally strange, loud and utterly atrocious music which more civilized cultures would do well to disregard as nothing but noise. Food is cooked on the spot, amidst wildly dancing, jumping, shouting, and screaming crowds. Most often it dissolves into several hundred Akavianis slamming into each other in what can only be called a barely veiled display of unabated aggression. This display is called a fight pit, or by more normally, a ‘mash pit’ or sometimes ‘mosh pit’, for the fact than an unwary participant can be trampled into pulp. It is best not to be drunk during an Akavian celebration.”
-“A Brief Primer on Akavian Culture, Volume Three”

* * *

The council meeting room was large, tall; more of a lounge than a proper meeting room. Sitting amongst fine draperies and cloths were three figures, already in intense conversation.
“While his little rebellion is nothing now, I know well and good that even Ankanetis grow from eggs small enough to be carried by hand. I begin to wonder if your loyalty is not with the council, Aikar?”
“To even suggest such a thing…” Aikar’s icy blue eyes sharpened ad his hands tensed.
“I mean it only in jest, m’boy.”
“Be aware, Torrek, I am not one for jesting.” Aikar stood, sending a warning glare at the man lounging comfortably before him.
“We are all too aware of your serious nature.” The third figure nodded, his dark, slicked hair shining slightly in low ambient light.
“Kuro is all too correct, you need to learn to relax a bit.” Torrek nodded, gesturing lightly at Aikar.
“I got to where I am by virtue of my serious nature.”
“Then meyhaps we should leave the job of removing this problem to you?” Torrek raised an eyebrow.
“Be clearer in your words, what do you want me to do?” Aikar hissed in irritation.
“Make every sight, touch, sound, taste, and scent of this little rebellion vanish. By any means and in any way you deem fit.” Red, smoldering eyes, Kuro’s, stared up at him, filled with sadistic malice.
Aikar adjusted his jacket, the same color as his eyes, inked with intricate, intersecting black lines. He turned about sharply, not in military pomp, but in irritation, and with a quick, violent gesture sent the doors of the meeting room flying outward, nearly killing the guards standing nearby. He paused for a moment in the doorway.
“Should I give you proof?”
“Only if you want a trophy.” Torrek laughed.
He left, the doors slowly creaking closed behind him. As he stormed out of the small fortress he stared ahead, with eyes that could pierce the heart of a lion.
“Krey…rest in peace.”

* * *

Bargus has elected to leave the party slightly early; he really didn’t like parties too much anymore. As Bargus made his way up the path which led to his home, he saw a man swathed in black cloth pass him. His face was hidden behind a thin veil, and on his back was a large bamboo tube, capped at both ends.
“Messenger, where are you coming from?” Bargus stepped in the man’s way.
“I have just delivered a note to the house down the path. But the recipient wasn’t home, so I gave it to his lover.” The messenger ran around Bargus, under his outstretched hand without another word. Bargus forgot the messenger, and broke into a full sprint. Whatever it was that the man had delivered, he could feel in his bones it was bad news.
He ran up the porch steps to his house and shoved the door open, his eyes rapidly searching for Saine, his love. She was sitting on a chair, her soft, fair skin looked like porcelain in the half-moonlight, her hand was pressed against her forehead, her shoulders low. Before Bargus could talk she interrupted him.
“ A mission to the South, into the Cracked Land. Some settlement…” Her resolve broke and she looked up at him with, angry, tear-filled eyes, “It’s a lie! All of it! They’ll kill you and leave you for the buzzards! They’re sending Gresun with you! You’ll both be killed!” She threw the note aside and began to cry bitterly.
He walked over to her, eyes calm. “I doubt that’s what they have in mind. Even if that is their plan, how would they go about killing me in a desert?”
“They can, I know that’s what they’re planning! I can feel it!”
“So you don’t think they are sending me to a settlement?”
“No, you idiot. Why would they have a settlement that far south in the middle of nowhere?” She whispered bitterly as she shook her head in disgust. Tears streamed down her delicate cheeks.
“Honestly, I’m more worried about you.” He crouched in front of her, “What they might do to you while I’m gone, I’m worried.”
“How can you be so calm? They’re sending you to die.” she looked into his blue, silver-specked eyes.
“Because I figured on this happening.”
“So you’re just gonna lie down and die then?!” She shouted as he stood.
“Nope.” Bargus smiled, looking back at her hazel eyes, so beautifully framed by her short, brown hair, “I don’t plan on going to this so called settlement. I plan on taking you on a vacation, of sorts.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, come with me and Gresun. We’ll go find an oasis in the desert and spend a year or so there, away from all this political shit, and when we come back I’ll raise hell with Krey. The youngling needs to learn patience anyway.” He held out a hand to her, with his classical arrogant smile.
“They’ll track you; those old men are no fools.” She pushed his hand aside and looked away.
“Nonsense, even if they do; you, me, and Gresun can take out a few trackers.”
She looked up at him for a moment, regarding him, “You honestly serious about this?”
“What, did you think I was kidding?” He smiled a bit wider, more comically, his hand again outstretched.
“Well with you I can never be sure.” She mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze. She tried to stay serious, but after a moment, a smile crept along her face, “An oasis, huh?”
“You know, water, sand, sun, fruity beverages. Maybe a little tavern if we get lucky.”
“Well, I have been meaning to work on my tan a bit. Of course avoiding an execution is a plus,” She smiled, all her seriousness gone, “but, it’s on such short notice, what ever shall I wear?”
“Hopefully, most of the time nothing but a bed sheet.” Bargus grinned as Saine took his hand.
“Aw, but poor Gresun, all alone like that…” She made a fake pout.
“I bet he invited Loony too, don’t mind him.” Bargus waved his spare hand dismissively as he tugged her upright.
“I guess they’ll have to re-schedule the execution, then.” She gave him a soft kiss.
“I’m sure they will.” He chuckled, as Saine pulled him into their bedroom.

* * *

“North?”
“North, sire.”
“Ah.”
“Pardon?”
“Sermil?”
“Yes sire.”
“Past the Ice Sands?”
“Yes sire.”
“Past the Nemal Mountains?”
“Yes sire.” The messenger tried to retain what little dignity his occupation allowed.
“Ah.” He paused again, letting the thought work around in his mind like very gummy caramel, “So what you mean to say is, those old buzzards want me to go up past the Nemal Mountains, through the Ice Sands, whose winds are known in legend, and into a barren little tract of dirt inhabited by nomads who are…”
“Consolidating a national army, which could be a threat to our own.” As the messenger said it, he realized how utterly stupid it sounded.
“Nomads. Up North.” He  pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, then looked over at the messenger, “Up North?”
“Yes sire.”
“To talk to some nomads about not attacking us?”
“Yes sire.”
“Well. Fuck.” He shook his head in annoyance, “Ai~ Tell them that they’re either totally incompetent, impotent, idiotic imbeciles, in line for impalement, or they are annoying avaricious assholes, aiming for an ass-kicking. Must deal in alliteration with their types, just makes them more annoyed. Make sure you give the whole message, from tip to toe.”
“Sire? But is it wise to offend the council?”
“Why do you think I’m being sent out into nowhere to act nicey-nice to a whole nation of knuckle-dragging Northerners?” Krey was already busy pulling out whole drawers, looking for his scant winter clothing
“Sire.”
“Ai~ what now?”
“Can you please not alliterate?”
“No.”
The messenger stared, bemused, for a moment, before bowing and leaving.

“Damn. I don’t have any fur coats.” Krey looked over the few things even barely worth taking; a rainproof cloak, a heavy denim jacket, and a silk sash for holding his jacket closed.
“Just great. I’ll have to buy some gloves, fur lining, a hat…” He looked over the rest of his equipment, “An axe, I’ve got my knives, but I will definitely need two pairs of boots. Ah well.” He shook his head, “I’ll just write it off as ‘Military spending.’”
He stepped out of his house, it was still an hour or so before sunset, a few places were bound to be open.

* * *

For hours she sat, staring out at the setting sun, concentrating, focusing her mind, bringing it to a point. She let her mind relax for a moment, as she let the Toratei flow through her body, generated by every one of her muscles, and feeling it flow softly along her veins, to her skin. The warmth was pleasant, especially for such a chilly night. She gathered the Toratei in her right hand, letting it build, feeling the warmth grow into heat. As it built and built the heat grew, and with a sharp snapping punch she released it. Her eyes flew open, but there was nothing. No smoke, not even a little wisp of flames; nothing but the ripples of incandescent heat that invariably followed her training. Heat enough, she knew, to turn a bowl of water into nothing but steam. But there was no fire.
“Fuck!” she kicked the ground angrily, “Why won’t it work?!”
No matter how carefully she tried, no matter how carefully she concentrated, fire was impossible. It wasn’t for lack of Toratei; the melted, deformed bronze amulet she wore was proof enough of that. Then why, she wondered, why no flames?

Her personal reverie was broken by a young man, his face wrapped in thick cloth. A messenger, whom left a small note at the side of the clearing, bowed in reverence, and left quietly.
She walked over and picked up the note, brushing a few stray braids out of her face.
“‘This is a formal statement of your mission. The mission will commence this following evening, and will terminate when the objective is completed. You will go North to the Sermil, and diplomatically ensure that peace exists amongst us and the Nomads who live there. You will be assigned in the regular Teacher-Student configuration, which will consist of yourself and a youngling Gre-To user named Krey. Please meet at Malvara Square at sunset. With regards, the Council.’” She read it aloud, and then groaned loudly, “Damnit! They stuck me with that delinquent?! He’s a bloody youngling, still!”
After a short time of similar griping, she sighed, “Well, I suppose I really don’t have a choice. I wonder if all those other rumors about him are true.”

* * *
The twilight before sunset began, the air stood still, the moon and sun shared one sky, and the air was filled with a strange, orange glow. A young woman sat, her back braced against a tree, her horse safely tethered. The square was empty, and remained empty. The twilight faded, and the glow slowly vanished into darkness. The light changed from orange to red, then to dark bloody red, and finally there was a faint noise. A horse, running like hell chased at its heels, and the loud whoop of its rider.  A silhouette appeared before the setting, bloody sun, a roan horse and a rider wearing sea-green. The rider shifted, and then with a heave, stood on the saddle, all the while as the horse ran at breakneck speed. His braided ponytail whipped wildly in the wind, as did the long bangs that normally framed his hypnotic turquoise eyes. As he drew as he drew closer, it was obvious he was heading for a collision course with the tree that the young woman was sitting at. At the last possible moment he leapt off the horse, sailing high into the air, his green and blue jacket whipping wildly. The whole tree shifted as he landed on a branch, which after moment, snapped. He landed hard, his knees jutting out in a strange crouched position. His ponytail landed neatly behind him, lost in the hood of his new coat.
“Meyla?”
“Y-yes?” she looked over at him; in an attempt to avoid death by foliage she had leapt to the side. Her thinly braided hair was askew, partially covering her violently red-orange eyes.
“Krey.” He nodded briefly, “You an assassin?”
“What?” She tried to make sense of any of it, and for the moment, failed.
“Nothing.” He stood, seemingly unfolding like some infernal contraption, and quietly adjusted his new coat. It was long, down to his knees, split at the back, and made from two layers of thick denim. The front was held closed by a simple black sash, which seemed to be particularly annoying to Krey at the moment. After a bit of fixing he finally gave up, and looked over at the still stunned young woman before him. She wasn’t wearing much, off-white slacks and a cut-off top, with a thin grey cloak over her shoulders. Krey didn’t mind too much; her lithe, cat-like body was a work of art.
As he fixed his ponytail which had gotten lost in his hood, he nodded over at her again, “Gonna be a bit cold for that kinda clothing. Che-Ku or not, I don’t think you have enough Toratei to burn all the way up.”
“I have other clothing, you know.” She finally regained her composure, standing and brushing a few errant braids back in place.
“Well, if you get cold, I’ll volunteer to warm you up.” Krey hopped up into his saddle.
“No thank you. I know your reputation, youngling.” She hopped into her saddle and trotted alongside Krey.
“Ai~ They said I was a youngling?”
“You aren’t?” she glanced over at him in mild surprise.
“Krey Maverick, just got titled yesterday. C’mon if we keep at this pace we’re gonna be late.” He heeled the horse sharply and it went into a brisk gallop.
Meyla looked ahead at Krey for a moment, then shook her head in a mix of surprise and amusement, “This is going to be one hell of a trip…”

“The island nation of Akavis, home and heart of the Akavian, is a peculiar place. The shore is rife with dangerous cliffs, once the nesting grounds for Ankanet. There are few harbors, all save one were made by the Akavianis themselves. The largest, the natural Western harbor, opens into the strangest and most unpredictable waters in the known world. The weather can change in a near-instant, leading almost everyone but weathered sea-dogs and residents of the island to steer clear of the port. Yet enough business exists that it maintains a very prosperous port-town. Almost all military actions are launched from the sizable harbor, for no other reason but its sheer size.”
-“Altas of the World”

* * *

Krey eyed the various crowds of the port town with a satisfied smile. Every now and then a familiar face would nod, or raise a hand in greeting, and he’d give a quiet nod of reply.
“Ai~ So many familiar faces. I’m gonna miss this place.” He nodded at a large, stocky Bokaruki as he pessed.
“Huh, you really are popular around here.”
“Well, this is the first place I lived when I came here.” Krey looked back at her grinning, “I got robbed twice in the same day. Keep your money purse tied around your neck. Maybe you can use your cleavage for something other than eyecandy.”
“I beg your pardon?” she sputtered in surprise.
“Nobody here will make a grab at somebody’s neck, or a woman’s chest; it’s just plain rude, but pockets, or a purse tied to a waistband? Easy money.” Krey nodded, and then gestured over at a young man who was walking near them, “He’s been eyeing your purse since he left the tavern two shops ago. Right?”
The young man stopped in his tracks and looked up, “A-aye sir. My apologies for-“
“No problem, honestly! Here, you look like you could use a shave. Go buy a quick trim on me.” Krey fished a few coins out of a pocket in his sash, and tossed them to the man. He stared at Krey, and the smiled amicably.
“Right then, many thanks. Keep up the good work, Krey.” He waved and walked off, vanishing into the crowd.
“He knew who you were? Then why was he going to-“
“It’s sort of an unspoken law here; money belongs to whoever can hang onto it. I suggest you keep a firmer grip on yours.” He looked ahead and heeled the horse, making it pick up the pace.
“Unspoken law?! What kind of law condones theft?”
“Why,” He looked back, smiling widely, “Natural selection, of course. Oh, here’s the ship!”

The ship was a small one, a triangle sail schooner. The red paint glistened with newness, but was already peeling and cracked. It listed gently as men of all kinds shimmied on ropes, checked lines, and did infinite amounts of other nautical work.
Krey looked up and shuddered, “Before I get onto that…thing. I’m gonna go get a very, very stiff drink. I’ll leave the horses to you.” He hopped off his horse and waved, before vanishing into the suffocating crowd.
“How dare he leave me to do this sort of thing?” Meyla glared over to where he had been, then looked up at the schooner. It looked in very decent shape, especially compared to the other ships in the harbor. As she looked it over her mind hit on an interesting idea, “Maybe Krey is afraid of the open sea, being Gre-To, he’d be off his element. That’s probably it.” She grabbed a hold of the other reins and headed toward the sailors loading heavy boxes.

* * *

Bargus looked at the Ferry with a mild measure of discontent. He hated the sea, even the promise of smooth sailing over the placid southern waters was no comfort. He took a short swig from his water skin, something he just bought for the trip, and glanced over at Saine. She was a bit of a ways off, trying to haggle with some poor merchant. By the way she was swaying her hips and leaning over the table, he could tell she wasn’t having a good time of it.
“Aww, c’mon~ I know it wouldn’t hurt you too much to cut the price a little bit more~” she cooed, flashing the most convincing false grin ever.
“Sorry lady. No dice on it, go tempt some other merchant.” He waved her off, as he counted a few silvers with his other hand, “You’re blocking my customers, scoot.”
“Well, how about 2 silvers less? That’s not so much, huh?” She was so busy trying not to strangle the merchant that she didn’t notice Bargus casually walk up behind her, “I’ll even give ya a little smoo-aah what the hell?!” Bargus boredly hooked his forearm around her waist and easily hefted her up off the ground.
“Bargus, put me down! You damned string-strumming, fire-launching, blue-eyed…” she trailed off as she tried to think of a proper insult that didn’t actually compliment him.
“Keep going, I liked where you were headed.” He smiled and with a small shift, set her back down, “We need to get going, I’m not waiting another hour for the next ferry, and neither is Gresun or Lunaria.”
“I know, I know, I just really wanted that.”
“What was it, anyway?” He glanced down at her.
“An encyclopedia of fiends. I was just trying to get an idea of what we might expect, the Cracked Lands are notorious for being filled with ‘em.”
“Well, I think I can handle any kind of fiend that comes our way,” Bargus shook his head, “you’d think I was a weakling or something.”
“Well, with you losing to Krey, I personally can’t be too sure.” A soft mature voice met his ears like a dagger.
“Be sure of this, I’ll cook you and eat you for dinner!” He growled, as his right hand charred. Long dark hair veiled grey-whorled, purple eyes. They glimmered back at Bargus, as their owner thumbed a rather dangerous looking short sword.
“Now, no need to get into each other’s faces, yah? Lun meant well, but…”
“I did not.” The woman flipped her hair, staring down at Bargus with a look of superiority, “I knew someone would defeat the oh-so legendary Phoenix, but I never figured he’d get so lazy as to lose to a youngling.”
“Just like I nearly cooked you to earn my title, Lunaria Windbreak? How long did it take for you to recover?” Bargus growled low, as most of his hand and arm turned black, glowing from within.
“Good to see you’re still somewhat aggressive, songboy.” She nodded, “I’ll have to talk to you later about all of this, away from unsavory eyes.”
“I’d rather talk now, so if you annoy me I can cook you without worrying about being flung into the ocean.” His hand returned to normal, and after a moment he nodded, “But still, it is good to see you.”
“If you all keep this up we’ll be late for the ferry, yah. Let’s move before we have to swim after it.” Gresun made a rather comical gesture at the ferry. After a short moment, Lunaria shrugged and headed towards it, as did everyone else.

* * *

The air was cool, relaxing. The salt spray peppered the deck, and the lone figure at the tip of the bow furrowed his brows, staring intently out at the choppy water ahead. He flicked his finger and pulled up a string. After a bit of winding he finally got to the small metal cup at the end. Even as the ship bucked, he carefully measured out a few drops of sea-water onto the ring on his left hand. The polished turquoise glimmered, and soon took on an ethereal glow. His face grew even more serious. He tossed the remaining water back overboard and stood neatly.
“Many thanks, Feken, for the accommodations.” He looked back at the colorful character who had appeared from belowdecks.
“Aye. What say ye, Devil? Be the seas a fine and fair lady this night?” He adjusted his bandanna, and wiped his scruffy goatee.
“Only ill will in these seas, captain. Ready the men, if you trust this oracle.”
“Oracle? Ha!” Held his arms out at Krey, “You must be getting soft, old scratch.”
“Wrong on all three accounts.” Krey looked back, standing precariously, “Not soft, not old, and not a scratch on me. I haven’t changed, Jon. I’ve become slightly more complete.”
“A woman other than the sea, then? I hope not that firecracker that ye with!”
“Hardly. There is not a woman in this world that can hold me in thrall. Pity my soul when, if, one ever manages to.” As the ship rocked, and the bow heaved upward, Krey took a slight hop. He lifted a yard up into the air, floated briefly, and then landed softly, before walking away from Feken.
“I’ve still got my sea-legs, and I’ve still got my teeth. I just don’t have the opportunity to bare them as much anymore. Don’t go thinking otherwise, Captain Jonas Feken.” Krey stopped before the stairs, eyes looking down into the bowels of the ship.
For a moment, Jonas stared out at the sea, he looked older than before, with eyes that reminisced of a time gone away, “Has that much time really passed, oh devil? What is ten cycles to you, a timeless demon? What is only two-hundred years since our last meeting? Yet for me, it has been a long, long time. A faint memory, one which I’d rather not be reminded of. I was just hoping…” He smiled and rubbed his eyes, “That even the devil does some aging.”
Krey had vanished. He didn’t need to hear more.

He walked in to the small cabin and glanced over at Meyla, she opened one eye and looked over at him.
“Yo, getting to bed?”
“Yeah, figure that maybe my headache will get better if I rest a bit.” Krey untied his sash and pulled off his coat. He tossed it over his bedpost, and flopped down in to his bed.
“So, what’s the agenda for tomorrow?” Krey glanced over and sighed heavily, after a moment he began doing crunches.
“Barring some kind of crisis, we should be training.” She closed her eyes again, and shifted into a more comfortable position.
“Nah.” He huffed slightly, “I think I deserve a rest.”
After a pause Meyla shrugged, “Whatever. Your body is yours alone.”

* * *

“Oh tempest, have you followed me, like a loyal pup, wanting to play?” Krey sighed, listening to the air and water around them, “Or maybe you are the wrath of our gods?” He sneered, “Oh the ‘gods’ who can bleed and can die, and are replaced. Fucking bull shit.”
“Did you say something, Krey?” Meyla glanced over at him, a towel draped over her shoulders.
“Nothing worth much.” He continued to look out at the sky around him.
“You sure you don’t want to train; I’ve already arm-wrestled all the crew members at least once. The Chef is a pretty good boxer, too.” She shouldered off the towel, “That said, none of them are really up to par with a Cyclic Clan member.”
“Right, the infamous ‘Cyclic’ Clan, a sect of assassins that all have the same title, and the same style.”
“There are three cyclic members in the Council, actually. As far as politics are concerned, we are very powerful.”
“Fight one, you’ve fought them all. I don’t think you’d be much of a challenge, actually.”
“Pardon?”
“To put it honestly, I’ve seen the style, I’ve seen how it works, and I know how you’ll attack me. Routine movements mean that I can react easily.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to last four minutes against me. From what I can tell you don’t even have your sea-legs yet.”
Krey paused, staring out at the ocean, and then a soft, almost tender smile crept along his face, “Wanna find out?”
“So, you’re actually going to lift a finger? How surprising.” She smiled and tossed the towel away.
“One rule. No Toratei use. I don’t feel like sleeping it off for the next few days.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“No weapons, either. Sarchei is a pain to use with all this salt spray.”
“Deal, deal.” Meyla tossed her weapons aside, making sure that they landed somewhere safe from the salt.
“If you would, my lady.” Krey smiled and turned his back to her.
She pressed her back against his, smiling arrogantly.
“You’re pretty warm.” He took a step, so did she.
“Comes with being a Che-Ku user.” Another two steps came along.
“Sadly, you aren’t my type. You’re body is perfect, but you are way too serious for me.” Another three steps.
“That’s a hell of a good thing to hear, you womanizing twit.” Three more soft steps passed.
“Ah~ My pride, it burns~” Krey feigned a grimace, then turned swiftly.

He got a running start and jumping into a flying kick, but Meyla dropped back, and her foot swung in a low, wide arc, until it connected with the small of his back. He landed and rolled, then rolled back, kicking both legs out, sending them into the back of Meyla’s knee. She dropped and rolled, then spun on her hand and sent another low, sweeping kick at Krey. He caught it and shoved her foot up; she rolled back, landed on her hands and dropped her heel down on Krey’s blocking forearms. He ducked back, and stood, now in a ready, defensive stance.
“Hasen’t been four minutes yet, Krey. I hope,” With a flourish she got to her feet, and crouched low, “you aren’t starting to falter already.”
He ran at her again, and she did another sweeping kick, he gently caught it and then shoved against the sole of her foot, hard. Her knee stayed locked and she toppled over backwards. He fell with her; his arm slipped under her thigh and his hand locked onto her arm, and his other hand pressed firmly on her neck.
“Give up?” Krey smiled, both her hands and her legs were pinned.
“Fine fine. Fuck I didn’t expect you to get all grabby with me. Pervert.”
“All’s fair in yadda, yadda.” Krey let go and stood, extending a hand at her.
She smiled slyly, and grabbed his hand. Her whole arm twisted hard as her leg kicked out. He toppled over, ad in a split second, his legs and arms were pinned down.
“Oi! No public indecency on my ship! Yer distractin’ the deckhands!” Feken shouted from his lofty position on the poop deck.
“Don’t think I’m some stuck up brat, Krey. I can fight just as dirty as you can.” Meyla let go of him and began to walk away.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He whipped upward, landing firmly on his feet.