RP:A Surprising First Meeting

From HollowWiki

Part of the Of Contracts and Families Arc


Location: Road to Milous

Synopsis: Lanara is stopped by a group of warriors looking for a man they claim to be an assassin. They only offer a picture of a hooded individual garbed in red and dressed in fine golden jewelry. During their questioning, the man is spotted by Lanara, who attempts to lie about information pertaining to him. However the jig is up, the move is on, and they finally found you. He is spotted by the group nearby, and a battle ensues. Lanara is considered to be in cahoots with the mysterious man and is also attacked. They survive, and an explanation is needed. Their chat goes well, despite some seriously awkward moments. Elio is invited to stay, but it seems they had only dealt with half of the party. During their sleep, a new attack is lead against them. Elio is seriously injured, and nearly taken away. Seems this assassin turned into a damsel in distress? The group survives and Lanara offers to heal him.


A Surprising First Meeting

The path between Kelay and Cenril is often traveled by wandering bards and merchants, who pull their carts behind beasts of burden or sing whilst they dance down the street. So why should today be any different? Though this road was once well maintained, it has fallen into disrepair. Littered with ruts, and puddles; veritably it is a wagoneers worst nightmare. Despite such wheel busting chasms or if you prefer the term, boot snatching cesspools of muck - the populace seems to pay little heed and instead continues on. Normally, there might be a few exchanges of odd glances betwixt strangers. However, an uneasiness has settled in the area. Even the bards who often regale strangers with poetry forgo such trivial things. Odd for one to ignore their craft, isn’t it? If one were to take the opportunity to glance around, the reason for such an eerie presence might become known. A few men armed with swords, gold arm bands, turbans and well tanned skin are searching for someone. So far unsuccessfully, but that does not keep them from questioning strangers and pointing to a dried up piece of parchment with a sketch of some shady individual on it. Perhaps these desert dwellers mean well, but their uncivilized manners, their grumbles and attitudes do not follow in suit to such thoughts. Who ever these tribal men are they mean business. Frankly because the group of them aren’t really letting anyone get by without a few of their inquiries….


The bustling of the carts, the shouting of the crowd, and the scent of food from the nearby market, all drift to the black nose of a wandering bear cub. The bipedal youngster weaves through the much larger bodies of those gathered, mostly unnoticed, save for a few children that point and stare. The cub can’t be more than ten or twelve weeks old, his glossy white fur sticks out in several places, and he’s covered from his chest to his paws, in a pair of beat up overalls. A little girl shrieks, finding him to be the most adorable creature she’s ever laid eyes upon, and those sparkling blue hues shift to the child, before the cub prances over in her direction. A mere fifty feet away stands a brunette, about five foot five inches, slender, and not at all intimidating looking. The woman is speaking to a fellow bard’s guild member, her long chestnut locks swaying in the breeze, as she points to her left arm, which is in a makeshift sling. She’s likely talking about her most recent injury, and if one were to peer at her pretty face, they’d see that her dark hues immediately trail towards the lapel of every male’s shirt that passes her way. “Lana! I think I saw him go that way!” A good natured fellow offers up, pointing to the girl from earlier, who was stroking the cub, and also short a few sweets which Aspen had snuck from her pockets. The witch nods in thanks and makes her way towards the candy eating duo, though she’s roughly grabbed by the arm, and a paper with a half-assed drawing is shoved in front of her face. “Let. Go. Of. Me.” Her words are far from friendly, and she defiantly lifts her head to gaze up at the turban clad male, not understanding his gibberish in the least. Was he speaking common? Why was he tightening his grip on her forearm? Lanara flicks her gaze to the cub, making sure he’s safe, as she ‘accidentally’ stomps on the male’s foot, and tries to break free from his grasp.


Lanara’s pressing to gather her personal freedom from the turban wearing sand dweller does not go without its fruits. He had never intended to harm her in the first place, only stress the importance of their search. “I apologize,” he spits out through gritted teeth, but shows no more pain than that. His grip is released. “Have you seen this man?” A dusty, bone dry finger points back to the scribbled on piece of parchment, while he switches his language to a rough cut version of common. The drawing that lies etched upon its surface, could have been crafted by a ten year old. Even if some of the features were discernible from others, the man's face is covered in a shroud of red, and a turban as well. How exactly could you identify this ‘person’? Though further glances will tell you that he does seem to have quite the collection of golden jewelry. “He’s an assassin. We’ve been hunting him for years, rumor has it, that he’s made his way out of the deserts. He would most likely, travel through the area.” Even with information as surprising as that, Lanara, facing the direction that she is, might actually see the hooded figure portrayed in the picture. Somewhere around fifty yards behind the group, watching them all. Including the bear. What is he doing? The rest of the desert warriors move in closer to Lanara, perhaps to frighten her into giving up information?


Lanara doesn’t want to play nice today, and the pain surges up to her shoulder as she warily steps a good foot back from the male. Turbans weren’t even in style, were they? She ponders smacking it off of his head, to see if he’s also hiding a hideous man-bun, though she manages to maintain her composure… For now. The apology is noted, and she gives a half shrug with her good arm, while eyeing the parchment, closely. The face of the man looked like a potato, with blue eyes, though his attire and jewelry was drawn much better than the rest. “If he’s an assassin, he’s not going to just hang out in the middle of a busy area, in broad daylight. My bet is that he’s hiding out in Cenril. That place is loaded with gangs and riffraff.” The picture is under her scrutiny for a moment longer, and she can’t explain why she does this, but she takes pity on the male in the drawing. Hadn’t her kind been cast aside for practicing their craft? For having a firm belief in the Goddess? Maybe this man was innocent… And if he wasn’t, well, it wasn’t her place to judge. Hell, she had dated some pretty nefarious characters in her own past! Aspen resumes his wandering about the area, and she follows the splash of white, tearing her gaze from the paper and for a split second, she can swear that she sees the exact male they are looking for, farther back in the crowd. Lana blinks, and fixes a small smile on her features, before meeting the dark gaze of the male, “Actually… I –did- see that man! It’s the strangest thing! Now that I think about it… He could be a –twin- of the man in this drawing! He was at the Lazy Eel Lounge… It’s over in Cenril. I saw him two nights in a row, around the midnight hour… He sits on the third stool at the bar.” Adding a few extra details would seem more believable, she thinks, as she excuses herself, and hopes to pass through the area.


The group of turban wearing warriors look to each other with her information; clearly not questioning any of it. Surely if it had been a lie, they would have detected it right? Little do they know, she’s a bard, and probably spent a lot of time with Liars. They also don’t know of her past, but their silence is interrupted, when a man points into the distance of Cenril and mutters something in a foreign dialect. His words, however hasty they are, cut out mid sentence. Elioyahazer is slowly marching towards the group. From the direction of Cenril. The parchment is dropped, and they turn their gaze to Lanara, who had been irritated with their presence already. Obviously this suddenly translates to her being an accomplice. I mean she knew the direction, and he suddenly appears when they start to question her? This can’t be a coincidence. The red and gold garbed assassins steps seem abnormally slow, yet his pace is quick - as if floating towards them despite his measured gate. The warriors pull free their weapons and begin to pour dribble from their mouths, “Today you,” his eyes flick to Lanara, “And your bitch die!” Elio has no clue who Lanara is, but does that matter now? The unknown desert wanderer only has a few words of response. “Today, your legacy shall fall; scattered into oblivion like the sands of the Nameless desert.” And as quickly as he had appeared, he is gone, leaving no trace of his presence. Though one sensitive to magic might feel the pull of arcanic miasma, before an illusion is cast. From the cracks of the cobbled stone beneath everyone’s feet sand begins to rise, like a storm amidst the dunes. A spell concocted to conceal the assassins presence even further, not actually damage them. But sand isn’t prevalent here? What is going on? This change of environment is not normal. In their confusion, an arrow is launched, pegging the mouthy offender squarely in the throat. His death comes at a slow pace, mixed with the gagging gurgles of blood choking moans. The others circle out, but one gets smart and swipes his blade at Lanara, for better or worse. At least they could still see her.


Lanara isn’t too surprised to see that they believe her, making the acceptance of her lie so simple that she doesn’t feel an iota of guilt. She walks maybe four steps, when the smirk is wiped clean off her face, and the men return to their gibberish gurgling. Seriously, that dialect was grating on her last nerve! She also was under severe scrutiny from the one that had interrogated her only moments before, and she knew that he wasn’t eyeing her legendary derriere, no; he was eyeing her back and likely thinking of where to plant an axe. They were onto her little white lie, and to make matters even worse, the presumed ‘assassin’ saunters into view. “Aspen! It’s time to go-“ Her words cut off as one of the men points an accusatory finger her way, and the other issues a death threat, along with calling her a bitch. The witch spins on her heel and undoes the sling from her injured shoulder, a hidden dagger tucked neatly within the folds of the cloth. He’d pay for that slip of the tongue. “I belong to no one. Maybe that’s how things run where you are from… But here? Women are equal to men. A bitch is a female dog. And the turban? You look ridiculous!” As the brunette twirls the dagger in her right hand, the sling falls to the ground, and she looks as though she’s prepared to strike at any given moment. Taking a defensive stance, her leggings and sweater hug her form, the fabric precisely designed for moments such as these, where the witch would have to resort to violence. From the side, she can see that the man who was the bringer of all this unwanted attention, seems to have vanished. Great. She was now in the midst of several men that barely spoke common, all wearing robes which likely housed weapons, and assumed she was in cahoots with the assassin. The hair rises on the back of Lana’s neck, a cue that magic was afoot, and were she not in such a public setting, she’d have used her own powers. But not today… Cramer was still alive, roaming the lands, purging them of those that lived by the pentacle, and so she had to rely on her reflexes and weapons. Lana is about to pounce on the male nearest her, as the parchment falls from his grasp, and an arrow plunges into his throat. That would keep his mouth shut! A sandstorm is brewing, and spoils her moment of satisfaction, as she lifts her arm to shield her eyes, at the precise moment that a blade swipes at her right thigh. The threading is severed, though thankfully the silken flesh remains unmarred, as the elf pirouettes in the opposite direction. Using the momentum of her upper body, she twists in the air, and expertly kicks out with her left leg. The reflexes of the woman catch the male off guard, as her boot collides with his ribs, and he oomphs, before righting himself and aiming to bring down the blade again. However, the little woman is swift on her feet, and she lunges at the male, colliding against his chest, their eyes locking as the dagger is forced into his chest. Blood begins to pool on his robes, as he drops his sword, and helplessly swats at Lana, trying to throw the woman off of his form.


It’s suddenly chaos in the streets. Those unable to see through the illusion panic and scream. Others catch the shot, and the warriors death; shouting for entirely different reasons altogether. It seemed a bloodbath had begun and they were all privy to the free show - whether they liked it or not. Lanara does not seem to be a damsel in distress, and this much brings an amused glance in her direction from Elio. At least she would put up a fight against these desert buffoons. Two more arrows are simultaneously launched and pick the other two guards off, while Lanara deals with the final man. Amidst all this carnage a single voice can be heard, “Scatter,” and the illusion breaks while a short sword is pulled free. It seems that Elioyahazer is offering the bladed weapon to Lanara hilt first to finish off the already wounded man quickly - with a look that says if you don’t do it, I will. Though his sudden appearance might alarm her. With her own gift of magic, she might have known his whereabouts. But no further words are uttered. He waits to see if she will make the kill and extract some semblance of vengeance upon this group of warriors.


The bear cub nervously tugs on his shoulder straps, his eyes wide as saucers, as he watches his beloved caretaker enter the fray. The area which was filled with people moments before, all rubbing elbows and muttering apologies for bumping into one another, is now eerily empty. A few men in robes and turbans line the way, along with the elf maiden, and the presumed assassin, and a few stragglers that were wary of abandoning their carts full of wares. One or two seem to be enjoying the free show, as it wasn’t every day that a strange group of men came to town and sought to issue an attack in such a public location. Lanara is oblivious to all that is happening around her, as she’s seeing only red, feeding the anger that boils in her veins, as she twists the dagger. His pain, is her pleasure. The broken illusion, the single word uttered, and the sudden reappearance of the assassin are taken in stride, as she cants her head to the side and considers Elio’s offer. The steel of the short sword reflects in her chocolate hues, and despite the fact that a wanted man is in close proximity, handing her the hilt of his sword, there is no fear in her gaze. If anything, she’s intrigued, empowered, and somewhat amused that by using his weapon, this would be their combined kill. A dainty hand wraps around the hilt of the sword, their fingertips briefly touching, his magical aura blending with hers for a moment lost in time, as her sangria stained lips curve in a silken smile. “Thanks…” Taking a life would have been something she’d never even remotely consider in her youth, would be second guessed in her later years, but now? This was a method of self-defense, was it not? A mercy kill, as the mortal stabbing would make him linger for the next several hours, in agony, until he bled out. Turning back, she forcefully lifts her arm in a swift motion, pushing the blade into his throat, and nearly exits the back of his neck. Blood begins to spurt from between his lips, and she unwinds her legs from around his waist, her hand slipping from the hilt of the blade, as she steps back, and looks at what she had just done. Perhaps she’d have remorse later, for taking out an unnamed, ill-mannered man, in an effort of protecting herself and Aspen. For fighting for her honor. For aiding the sought after assassin. But now? Lanara lifts her hand to rub at her injured shoulder, and she watches as the male takes his final breath, her face not giving away any single emotion. She merely did what had to be done. Once he falls to the ground, she’d tear her gaze from his form and eye the rest of the area, seeing the several robed men that lay in a scattered heap, before focusing on Elio. “I guess that’s handled? At least for now.” There would be more looking for him, of that she was certain. They’d want vengeance for all of those that had fallen at their hands today. And she would be viewed as his partner in crime. “I need a drink…”


Elioyahazer does not falter when their fingers touch. Nor does he seem out of place when their magic combines for an instant. Even if he were to react, the only thing she can see written upon his visage are those damnable eyes. The mark of his mutation; sectoral heterochromia. Brown with patches of blue. They spoke of emptiness, of a great nothing that lies beyond. A terrifying intelligence which needs no introduction - for this man is truly an assassin and gifted as such in its art. There could be no denial in that now. Though he is not engulfed by an all consuming hatred or even displeasure. Nay, his eyes almost looked bored. The rest of his features are covered in a crimson garb, and she would not be able to tell if he were a decent looking man. Beyond that, he continues in silence, watching her extract the kill in her own way. Mercy or not, it needed to be done. “You kill well,” his voice is accented but not as brutal as the other warriors. It’s also true that those around might paint her as an accomplice; as they are technically living witnesses. “But they will think twice before sending a fifth group.” Did he just tell her how many times he’s had confrontation with these men? He does not even reach out for the sword, which he had offered. Nay for instead, he ignores her comment of drinks to rummage through the bodies. “Damn,” he mutters to himself after being unable to find what he was looking for. Those striking eyes of his turn back to her - wholly ignoring the impressive physique of hers. An assassin lives alone. Dies alone and gets close to no one. But perhaps a drink or two, might not be a bad idea. After all, she has presented herself as a bit of a puzzle. She didn’t fear him. “Do you know a good place for drinks?” Perhaps he would divulge who those people were over a glass, and explain what kind of mess she had just been dragged into.


Lanara isn’t sure what to say in regards to his compliment, so she merely peers into those brown eyes, noting the specks of cerulean. They were so unique, that for a brief moment, she’s left speechless, as she studies the only part of the male that is visible. He could be a monster behind those layered robes for all she knew, or an Adonis, but his face wasn’t of immediate importance. Getting out of the area would take precedence, especially if others were in the area that had planned to drop in, perhaps to take the next shift in the search for Elio. The witch forces herself to quit staring at the robes, the eyes, and the overall appearance of the assassin, and she gives a curt nod, before stepping to the side. “A –fifth- group? Wow…” What else can she say? She had assisted with only one of the groups, though he had to do this four times?! He was either very dangerous, as he had escaped the others… Or he was extremely desired, a would be asset to a high profile group of killers. Either way, she’s mildly impressed by this change of events, as she watches him looting the corpses of their assailants. What had she gotten herself into? Lana bends to lift Aspen into her arms, as the cub nuzzles against her neck, and affectionately pats her injured shoulder. The woman and the bear look into each other’s eyes, as though telepathically communicating, before Lana laughs and shakes her head, “I know, Silly. You need to stop worrying. My arm is almost all better!” The cub sighs, dramatically, and hugs her around the neck, though his eyes keep looking over at Elio, as he rifles through the robes of the dead. Lana rocks the cub in her arms, as though it were a child, and she purses her full lips, as though thinking of the best place for them to grab a drink or two. She desperately needed a drink, especially after everything that just happened. Plus, she required answers, which only he could provide. “Up to you… We could go to the Kelay Tavern.” There’s a pause as she thinks of all the patrons that would be milling about at this hour, “I have a room there.” Paid for all eternity, courtesy of being a dance professor in the bard’s guild. “We can chat in private.”


Elioyahazer only watches the cubling briefly - is she always surrounded by animals? Despite his uncaring demeanor over the few he had just slain, he displays no dislike of animals. Nor does he display a like to them in general. He remains, as of yet, undecided. Pets are a new thing to him. Her conversation remains private, and he does not ask as to why she is talking to the furball. Nor does he understand the concept of telepathically speaking. He had never come across such a thing in his life. He had seen communication stones, but nothing of mind to mind conversations. In fact if such a thing were to happen to him, he isn’t sure what secrets would leak out. Instead, he raises his eyebrows from beneath that red veil. Interesting. He hadn’t noticed the injury to her arm, and only now notices that, and the recent cut of clothing from those attackers. “Honestly, I don’t even know where this Kelay is, but a drink for this is the least I can do. But if we are to drink there, you should probably lead. Beyond the deserts of Gualon, I’m as knowledgeable as a newborn.” Their current situation isn’t dire, and he does not seemed pressed for time. However, he still does not offer a name. “But a discussion in private is probably for the best.” He gives one final nod and waits for her to lead the way - all the while he still never asks to take the blade back. I wonder why that is?


Lanara clutches the bear with one arm, and her free hand still holds the hilt of the bloody blade, which up until now, she hadn’t even noticed she still had in her possession. “Oh. Um. Your sword.” She lifts her arm, halfway, before the twinge of pain returns, and she winces, though she carries on as though fighting through the discomfort. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was still holding onto it…” She waits for him to take the sword, and if he does not take it, she’d merely lower her arm and lead the way to Kelay. The walk isn’t all that far, though those that know the witch well, know she’s one that often feels the need to fill the silence. Peering over her shoulder, she levels her gaze on the space between his robes and turban, where his unique hues reside, and she gives him a grin. “You’re from Gualon? I visited there for a short time… In the city area, near the swamps. My ex-boyfriend was a city guard…” Her voice trails off, almost mid-sentence, though she quickly regains her use of words, “He was killed in the line of duty, nearly a year ago. I haven’t visited since. And I’ve never been far south, near the desert.” They walk over the bridge, and she’s forced to walk somewhat closer to the male, so she lowers her tone, “You have a name? I’m Lanara… And this is Aspen.” The cub studies the assassin, before making a fist and extending his paw, looking for a modern day ‘pound’ of their fists, in greeting. Finally, they would come to the doors of the familiar establishment, and a burly bouncer opens the door, winking at the brunette, as the two make their way inside. The wink is noted, though Lana doesn’t return any such gesture, she merely makes her way to the barmaid, whispers in her ear, and after they both nod, she’d lead Elio up the short staircase. The second room down the hall is locked with a unique runic symbol, and Lana adjusts her position to grab a music note pendent from her pocket, which is pressed to the symbol. The door unlocks, and she ushers the assassin inside, where he’d see a neatly made bed, a small table with a trio of wooden chairs, and a few articles of clothing hanging within the open closet. Clearly, she didn’t stay here all that often. Aspen is lowered onto the bed, as she takes a seat in one of the wooden chairs, raking her fingers through her long locks, and beckoning for her ‘guest’ to take a seat. “Nancy, the barmaid, will be up here soon, with the drinks and some food. Make yourself comfortable.”


Elioyahazer merely eyes the weapon she attempts to raise and shakes his head. He had no intention of taking it back. Besides it seemed like it would do her some good to carry around a rather sharp weapon. He had plenty of other methods to use. “I am from Gualon, though I’ve spent little time in the city. I’m from deep within the deserts and was once part of a tribe out there.” Her ex-boyfriend is merely noted, but he mentions nothing on the topic. He’s not accustomed to speaking about past flings and drama. Issues of the heart are things he has -never- dealt with before. Besides, he’s always cloaked. No one outside of his family and Jez know what he looks like and they’re all dead. His steps are silent as he follows behind her, thinking about how best to answer her question about his name. “Lanara.” He whispers her name to himself - as if memorizing every detail about her. The way she limply carries the sword, the cub that tries to fist bump him - which he awkwardly does, albeit it reluctantly. He does find it odd that she would invite a stranger, and an assassin to boot, into her private chambers. He is rather hesitant about it, which is noticed by the length of time it takes him to even enter the facility. First, he’s looking at the bouncer. The door. The treeline outside. Then he moves to follow her in, but does the exact same thing upon reaching her room. It appears that he is never at ease. Finally he steps through the threshold into that sparsely populated area and takes a seat. His idea of comfort is clearly different than hers. The mask stays on. “Forgive me for not returning a name, I’m rather selective about such things. However, you can call me Mr. E.” He is always rather amused to introduce himself as such. “I’m sure you’re wondering about what just happened and what trouble you might find yourself in?” He pauses to let her fling those questions, but Nancy is soon in the room and he orders himself a tall glass of water. Does he ever drink?


Lanara crosses her legs, and toys with the torn fabric on her pants, the edges of her mouth pursed. They were genuine Kreekitaka made, and she’d gone to great lengths to possess, and afford, a pair. The legendary crustacean designer only made one of each item, and his materials were from all over the realm, so finding the exact pair would be impossible. Mending them however, was a possibility. Lana is eyeing the threads, as the assassin cautiously takes a seat and studies his surroundings. Did he truly think that she was working with his assailants?! Even after she had killed one with her own bare hands?! She’s wondering if maybe she should have taken greater measures before inviting him into one of her safe havens, though it was too late to go back on her word now. Besides, he had let her keep his sword. And he owed her a drink and many answers. And she already cheated death, twice, in fact. Elio also wasn’t wearing any garb she was familiar with, and there wasn’t any sign of a silver warhammer, so regarding the safety of ‘witches’ she was also safe. Aspen is nuzzling the pillow, inhaling the lavender and vanilla scent of Lana’s shampoo from the night before, and he contentedly dozes off. Seeing his mistress in extreme danger had tuckered the cub out, and his faint snoring is heard after a few moments. Lanara is about to comment on the lack of an offered name, and she fights not to roll her eyes, as she’s given a letter, and not an actual name. “I admire your need for discretion, Mr. E, but if they have drawings of your face, and rumors of your whereabouts…The use of a name is a rather small detail, don’t you think? But… I’ll respect your wish to remain as such.” There’s a pause as Nancy returns with his glass of water, a mojito for Lana, and a tray heaping with small rolls, with meat patties, cheese, and some onions, akin to a modern day version of sliders. Lana sips her drink, savoring the taste of the lime, before she folds her hands on her lap, and locks her gaze onto Elio’s form. “Yes... I take it that you are a wanted assassin… And you either didn’t complete a contract, or you killed someone that holds a title in the lands, or… There is a bounty on your head. Who is after you? And how many are in their unit? What signs should I be on the lookout for?”


Elioyahazer harbors his own personal safety above all others. His fascination with Lanara, has already forced him into things that he would not normally do. Such as sit in this room, alone - with a snoring cub. Her questions and comments are unsurprising, particularly about his name. The sliders are eyballed for a moment, and he’s half tempted to eat one or two until he picks one up and Nancy smiles and simply states. “Big Bob hope's you like extra mayo.” The desert spellblade furrows his brows, and something rather putrid hits his nostrils. Gods, this smells like…. Well for lack of better words, manure. Like a particular item that has gone unwashed for sometime and used to torture inmates with. He wants to vomit, and actually gags a little. However, the item is set back down, and his voice comes out from beneath that irritating veil. “Well, the letter isn’t for my discretion. It's for you. The less you know about me, the better. Though you do seem capable. Forgive a man of my trade for his impolite manners.” He takes another moment to gather his thoughts, and finally removes the hat atop his head and the mask; revealing his well tanned features and ivory smile. His dark colored hair is cropped short, and lacks the usual hat hair affect, but otherwise, he’s about an average male. Nothing super special about his appearance, just his eyes. There are no scars, no markings. It’s a blank canvas and totally clean shaven. “I guess if I tell you about the past, there isn’t a point in hiding my name is there?” Old habits die hard. “My name is Elioyahazer, and I come from the Dal’ra tribe within the deserts of Gualon. The people pursuing me today, come from a person I killed at the age of ten, saving the woman who raised me in the process. The numbers employed to come after me are getting smaller and smaller. It seems if you kill enough people, less are willing to put their life on the line.” He lifts the glass of water to his parched lips and swallows back a few gulps. This liquid is precious to him. “She was of noble birth, and the killing wasn’t even a job. Jez, the shaman who raised me, had previously provided her with a love potion. Unfortunately it made this noble woman's lover far too clingy. Supposedly it was Jezs fault. She attacked and I intervened.”


Lanara takes another sip of her beverage, though she also ignores the sliders as she was rather suspicious of this Bob fellow that had garnished extra mayo onto their burgers. It was rare for the woman to eat meat, anyway, so it’s not that much of a loss. Still, they were on the house, so she slips Nancy a little something extra and murmurs a brief ‘thank you’ as the barmaid closes the door on her way out. Lana’s mentally plotting how to dispose of the sliders without hurting her friends feelings, as she sees Elio lowering his own back onto the tray, clearly disliking the popular food in this area. She can’t help but crack a smirk at his distaste, and she leans in conspiratorially, “I don’t blame you. There’s this place in Enchantment. It’s a big white castle… They make the –best- meat patties. Here? I wouldn’t go beyond the drinks.” A breathless laugh escapes her, despite the severity of their situation, though she does find herself relaxing in his presence. He was an assassin, she was a witch, and both of them were wanted for various reasons. Oddly, it was comforting to share a drink with another that was considered an ‘abomination’ to society. His hat and mask are finally removed, and she takes in his facial features, somewhat finding that he was exactly as she had anticipated. He was a man. Nothing special, and nothing horrifying. He was of flesh and blood, and not some magical heathen that hid behind layers of robes. Those blue and brown eyes stood out, and again she is captivated, though her gaze falls to his lips as he finally consents and gives a name. Naturally, it’s a name that she finds impossible to pronounce, Mister E was a much safer bet, though she gives it a decent try, “Emilyzee? Elmo? Emilio!?” She pauses, looking into his eyes like a child seeking the approval of a teacher, and it’s then that she realizes there’s no ‘m’ in his name, so she gives it another go. “Elzie? Eazy? Eilzo?” The elf sighs and gives up, moving on in their conversation and deciding that she’d just refer to him as ‘Eli’ if it were to come up in the future. The conversation then flows from Elio’s lips, in a tale that stems from his youth, and Lana finds that she’s taking a few more long pulls from her glass. He killed someone at the edge of ten?! Lana finds this mildly disturbing, until he voices the reason behind his decision, and she finds that she’s nodding in agreement. She’d have done the same. There’s a long silence that follows after he speaks, as she takes it all in, and she finds that there’s much more she wants to know. The sating of Lana’s curiosity is often a losing battle, and though she wishes to learn more of this man, she’s hesitant to build on a potential friendship. After all, both of their lives were now intertwined, and death was a possibility. Elio would be able to see the gears turning in her expression, how she stored some information, discarded others, and tried to make an opinion on matters. The witch is beautiful, even when she’s merely absorbing information, and she ends her mental deliberation with a charming smile. “A shaman… I work in a similar area. In this part of the lands, they are called witches, and they aren’t as accepted as of late. Tell me, Eli… Where is Jez now? Is she safe? And… If this happened when you were a young boy… Well, forgive me, but you are a grown man, not a ten year old. You’ve been running for a long time?” Again, the glass is lifted, and she studies him, trying to guess his age. The elf looked to be in her mid-twenties, though they were physically ageless, and she was likely much older.


Elioyahazer for the briefest of moments, lets the hint of a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s the first sign of real emotion he’s shown all night. It’s not from her comments about better food and its reference to other things. Nay for instead, she doesn’t seem bothered by his tale and looks to be plotting over every detail. Despite her beauty, which he does notice, he behaves himself quite well here. As for the witch field, he is not up to date on the whole schpeal that is current witch hatred. Elio finds that if witches are like shamans, they could be quite useful. “I wouldn’t exactly call what I’ve been doing running. It’s only the past couple of weeks that I’ve left the world that I call home.” He’s referring to the deserts of Gualon. “An assassin dances with death everyday. Attacks and threats are the norm for me.” When his thoughts shift to Jez, he visibly frowns. “She died. A few years ago, when I discovered my own spark of magic. I activated a rune without knowing it and set the entire tent ablaze. I’ve been alone ever since then, learning my craft and pursuing the things she has taught me. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother.” Without further word Elio offers the barmaid payment for everything, before she takes her leave. “Is a witch similar to a shaman? She often brewed potions, told fortunes and communed with the spirits.” He throws that out there to get a better grasp of what a witch is. This also served as a way to shift the conversation that was growing a little uncomfortable for him.


Lanara catches the hint of a smile on his face, and she’s wondering which part he found amusing. Was it her horrible pronunciation of his name? The terrible food? Whatever the reason, she thinks it lightens up his features, and she mirrors his smile. They both were getting comfortable, and that was her preference. After all, their fate was now entwined. “I’m sorry that Jez passed away… I’m an orphan, as well. Both of my parents were murdered. Mother a few years ago by the Drow, in my homeland which is very far from here. Kelvar. And… My father was killed, too, but good riddance.” She shudders, and lifts her hand to rub at the soreness in her collarbone, as he continues to speak about his magical use and its early downfall. A jar of cream rests on the end table beside the bed, and she walks the short distance to retrieve it, before returning to her chair. Undoing the lid, she dips her pointer finger in and palms a dollop into her hand, before she tugs the shoulder on her sweater down and reveals a badly bruised collarbone. “This is why witches remain quiet in public…” The bruising is black and purple, and surrounds a circular wound, likely a bolt from a crossbow, which has been packed and stitched several times in the past week. It looks swollen and painful, but obviously the healer knew what she was doing, as Lana expertly applies the salve and avoids touching the wound itself, merely catering to the area surrounding it. The scent of mint would assault their senses for a moment, before she adjusts her sweater back into position. “A shaman and a witch are very similar in their craft… I can read tarot cards, tea leaves, and palms. I can use spirit boards, sometimes commune with spirits, and I can make potions. I can also work black magic, however, a true witch knows better than to dabble in such affairs…” Lana pauses, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, thinking how best to describe how they differ. “A shaman tends to only focus on working with the spiritual aspect of things… A witch, however, is a lover of nature through and through. We cater to the elements, such as earth, air, fire, water, -and- spirit, whereas shamanism primarily focuses on the spirit element. Also, shaman’s are often ‘chosen’ by a higher being, or they choose their path and work towards fulfillment. Witches… Some of us are born into the craft, or welcomed into a coven. My mother was a witch, so it’s in my blood. And my father was an arch mage. My magic is a combination of that which comes from the earth and the Goddess, and that which flows through my veins.” Lana wrinkles her nose, grinning, and hoping she didn’t confuse the man. She hadn’t meant to go off on such a tangent, though with the way her eyes are lighting up, it’s obvious she has a passion for her magic. “I’m sorry that your first experience with magic wasn’t a happy one… When I was three I turned my grandfather into a squirrel. Then they discovered my empathic abilities, and I had to go and live at a special academy for many, many years, to control my powers. I’m no longer an empath, only with animals.” She leaves it at that, not mentioning that she has a sister, that she had sacrificed her powers, or that she had even died to reclaim her magic. Maybe another time, they’d dig deeper into each of their pasts, though for now, she was hoping that her own past would make Elio a little less judgemental of his own. Magical mishaps were common, and it wasn’t like he intentionally killed Jez. Hoping to lighten the mood, Lana takes another sip of her rum concoction and quirks a brow, “So... You dance with death. And I dance with partners. I used to give dance lessons at Schezerade University… Now, I mostly focus on my work at the animal sanctuary, but I give private lessons from time to time.” A pause. “What got you into your line of work? Are you a good dancer, without the murderous tendencies? I’m sure you have some fancy footwork and could even show me some moves!”


Elioyahazer is not confused by Lanara’s explanation and merely nods. “I see. So you come from a line of witches.” The look upon his pre thirties visage shifts to one of intrigue, when she also mentions that she too is an orphan. For different reasons though. Jez just happened to stumble across him; and raised him. Otherwise he would have died from starvation or thirst a long time ago. She also paid for his training. However he drops their previous convo in favor of what she just brought up. “Well, I’m sure I could show you a dance move or two, but not in the traditional sense.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment, before continuing. “You see, an assassins dance is all about getting inside.” This pause isn’t done for effect, despite how twisted she takes his comment to be. I mean come on she is talking about private lessons here. “Well, inside of someone's defenses.” He raises an eyebrow to see if she understands. “It's not meant for long drawn out combat, but to spot a weakness and exploit it to the owners detriment.” He stands for a moment and pulls off the scarf around his neck, revealing only golden jewelry; no silver to be had anywhere. “For instance, I know that right now, your arm is injured, if I were to attack you, it would be from that side. You’re far less likely to stop an advance from there. In order to do so, I would move quickly, perhaps strike several times and circle around your flank. That's an assassins dance of death. All or nothing. If you simply weren’t worth my time, I’d hit you with an arrow.” After his wordy response she might have a new insight into his thoughts on the group that attacked them. “I have never tried to turn it into a literal dance. That's not something I’ve ever done. In fact, your the first woman I’ve ever spent alone time with outside of Jez.” Truly he has had a strange life. But now the reason for him standing is revealed, and he pulls free a bandoleer of daggers and sets it upon the table. “Apologies, sitting while wearing that was rather uncomfortable. And I got into my line of work through Jez. Killing that customer, meant very little to me. She saw the talent and nurtured it to its full potential.”

Lanara gives a nod in regards to her ancestry, just about the only thing she was sure of from her youth that she hailed from a line of witches. The next thing she knows, he’s telling her his version of dancing, and her dark eyes go wide, her jaw slightly dropping. Getting –inside- your partner?! She hadn’t meant dirty dancing between the sheets! A faint flush appears in her high cheekbones, the sudden hue of pink very apparent, and he’d like understand his slip of the tongue. She’s eager to explain what she was speaking of, when he gets the conversation back on track, and she feels foolish. She bites the inside of her cheek, to keep any bubbles of laughter from passing, and soon enough, she sees things from his point of view. “That’s very useful. And honestly, very helpful. To figure out ones weaknesses and to use that to your advantage, at least in battle…” Lana flicks her gaze to the candle, as the room begins to darken, and she can see that it’s now evening. The candle is placed on the center of the table, as the light casts shadows on their faces and along the walls. “I could actually use some hand-to-hand training. I’m tiny, but I actually use some of my dance moves as a means of self-defense and attack. The kicks, the lunges, the twirls, those are all incorporated in dance…” Lana lowers her eyes as he begins to remove his many daggers, affording him a moment of privacy as he begins to get comfortable. Would he be spending the night? It did make sense, seeing as they were attacked a mere hour before, and she did have a room with a unique locking mechanism. She could set him up with blankets on the floor, and she’d take the bed with Aspen, the blanket hogging bear cub. “Maybe sometime we can share our moves with each other, and we can both benefit. You can show me some offensive moves, and I can help you to be more fluid in your actions. After all, I think we’re going to be kicking butt in the near future.” She grins, not at all angry with the man for pulling her into this mess. Trouble followed Lana. All. The. Time. “There is something I’d like to ask you, Embowel.” A faint pause, as she struggles over his difficult name. “You said that they only starting hunting you the past few weeks… Why didn’t they just trap you while you were in their territory? What happened a few weeks ago?”


Elioyahazer does notice that blush of Lanara’s, but he is entirely unaware as to why. In all of his years he’s never even thought about dating. Not even once. Truthfully his mind hasn’t wandered in that direction - though it’s true that Lanara is beautiful. She is something outside of his norm; beyond his scope of understanding. Those embarrassing thoughts she is having are also included in this. Elioyahazer almost stutters upon the utterance of the word embowel. Dear god of the sands, what a crude and cruel abomination of his birth given name. Fortunately, the signs of such disgust do not even mar his well kept features, though a fake smile - extremely well presented mind you - crosses his lips. “Perhaps a nickname is best?” This is his one and only remark on her inability to say his name. Would everyone have such difficulties? “Perhaps one of your own creation? It might be for the best anyway, as I don’t want others to know me.” Even the poster that had been shown to Lanara by the warriors were of his hooded face. “As for the timeline of today's attackers, it’s a little wrong. My ability to fully express my thoughts in common are trivial at best. Forgive me. They came for me while I was still in my teens, living in the deserts. I never hid from them there, nor did I run from them. Each time I discover a group, I annihilate them without mercy.” He waves his hand to the window to indicate the direction they came from. “In front of everyone.” Such deeds sow tales of horror and create stories which can turn the stomachs of his rivals and enemies. “I didn’t leave the desert because of them. I left because I felt my skills would be of better use, outside of that world.” He gives a pause to the conversation hoping that she would now grasp the fact that he’s fought with them in the desert long before he came here. “I’ve lived in their territory up until two weeks ago. No trap they sprang could keep me.” His eyes grow serious as he explains further. “They simply aren’t good enough. The family that keeps hiring these men will be dealt with soon enough. And then, you will have nothing to fear.” He gives her another ivory toothed grin. “As for training, stand up for a moment. Let me have a look at you.” Perhaps she could be taught? Power isn’t the deciding factor in a fight to the death. At least, not for an assassin. Whether she complies or not, he stands and literally gives her a once over. Even going so far as to walk around her - but he ignores that derriere entirely. Finally he returns to his seat. “I believe that I could teach you a few things. You have a good build and aren’t overly brawny, flabby or slim.” Did she really want to learn to kill? Elio is not in the habit of turning back on his choices. She needs to be sure of herself. “I won’t lie and say that you’ll fight well when our training ends. What I will teach, is how to kill a man or woman. To exploit weaknesses. To assess any situation. How to escape them if needed. But to learn from an assassin is to walk the killers path. It's not the warriors or knights way. Forget honor. There is only the objective. I believe for you, that means staying alive or killing your pursuer.” Finally he falls silent and allows her time to mull over everything he has just revealed. But as to her own personal thoughts of him sleeping there? That hasn’t crossed his mind yet. He did need to get some sleep, and soon, but as to where he was staying - that hasn’t been decided. Removing the scarf and daggers were only done to allow him some small comfort as he explained the situation. He did unknowingly tie her up to his situation. What further harm would come from revealing the truth and himself, to her?


Lanara gives the male her full, undivided, attention, her expression one of sincerity, as he explains the attacks he’d had to deal with in the past. Her eyes shine with understanding, as she was raised away from her homeland, in complete solitude, for many years. They both were orphans, and they both had come to the lands as outsiders. The witch also dealt with many encounters where her life was on the line, so they had that in common, also. However, despite the comparisons, and the fact that he’s been defending himself since his pre-teens, there isn’t an ounce of sympathy in those brown hues. Elioyahazer moved past all of that, he strengthened his body and his will, and so far no one had truly brought the assassin to his knees. It was admirable. The man wasn’t a prisoner of his past, he was a damn survivor, and though Lana can’t explain why, she feels as though this was a bonding moment. Not one to openly trust anyone, she hesitates for a moment as he tells her to rise, so that he can assess her physique. It’s an odd request, and though she remains unafraid of the male, she does wonder where his intentions lie. He had never been alone with a woman, outside of his foster mother? Was there a reason behind that, maybe he was a serial killer, or he couldn’t control his lust-filled rages? Or maybe it was a slip of the tongue, and he meant he wasn’t alone with any –single- woman, as the men in that region were rumored to keep harems. This probably wasn’t the best idea, she’s thinking, and then she mentally shrugs, thinking ‘what the hell’ as she had given private dance lessons for years to men that should be behind bars, and not in a ballroom. Plus, if he were to issue an attack of the physical variety, he’d be met with her magic, as they were out of the public eye. Standing up, he’d see that she’s nearly a head shorter than him in height, slender but toned, and that her legs would be her area of strength, from years of climbing trees, dancing, and of course, those difficult ballet holds. As he circles her, she remains still, her breath catching as he fully absorbs every inch of her body with his unique eyes. Never before, had she met such a man that was this well behaved in her presence, and she can tell that he’s eyeing her as a weapon, and not an object of desire with dangerous, legendary curves. It’s refreshing, insulting, and attractive, all in one. As the moment ends, she remains standing and gives him a nod, “I agree. I don’t have an issue with taking a life, as long as it’s a means of self-defense. I need to learn how to pack a punch, and use more of my upper body in combat. I tend to rely on the dodge and throat jab a bit too much, and if my opponent were your size, well… I’d easily be defeated.” A nervous smile replaces the earlier stone faced expression, as she thinks up a nickname, “How about Sandman? I think its pretty badass! And easy for me to pronounce…” A brief pause, as she eyes the male up and down, “If you wish to blend in, you’ll need to make up an alias that’s easier for the common folk. And… I’m not sure how you feel about this, but you sort of stick out like a sore thumb. You’re robes, the turban; they aren’t exactly concealing your identity, at least not from those that seek you.” Lana peers into his bluish gaze and tilts her head up slightly, considering for a moment, “We could always go shopping. I’m afraid that it’s been a very long time since I’ve last had any man’s clothing lying about.”


Elioyahazer might be a killer, but he’s not the type to seek out women and seduce them to their death with honeyed words. He doesn’t have the tongue for it, let alone ever using his tongue for such things. Lanara is completely safe from any and all raunchy behavior with the Sandman. It’s a great name, and he smirks over the thought. “Ah, but who I am remains hidden from my enemies still.” He’s simply referring to his choice of garb. “I am of the deserts, why deny that?” He gives another small pause here before he continues. Why does she choose to hide who she is? What reasons does she have pretending to not be a witch? “When I say keeping my identity, I don’t mean changing the way I dress or how I look. I mean my name. My inner thoughts. My features. I enjoy knowing that people will often wonder if I’m attractive or not, beneath this garb.” He’s sure that Lanara wondered as much. “The clothing is as much of me, as the blood within my veins.” He does appreciate where Lanara is going with her comments of changing his clothes. “And that’s a great nickname. My favorite so far.” But suddenly he’s very aware of their situation. The evidence of which comes in the form of her very last sentence. They were alone, and she just mentioned having a mans clothes lying around. This, is what throws his head for a loop. Even going so far as brightening the skin color within his cheeks - a deepening shade of red. “Men's clothing?” He looks around the room to examine their surroundings further. “I uh.” He audibly clears his throat. “I mean, we could go shopping, but I don’t think I’ll leave my clothes laying around so soon. You know?” It’s obvious that he’s very nervous suddenly. What awkward situation did he just get himself into? Elio, you’re alone with a woman, and never have been before. Is it time to scram?


Lanara is delighted that she picked a good nickname for the mysterious man, and she nods, “And you can call me Lana, as it’s shorter, and that’s what my friends call me.” Sandman was a fitting name, as he came from the desert, and he used a similar form of magic, upon their first ever meeting. It was memorable, menacing, and –much- easier to pronounce. “Sandman is fitting, I think. It’s much easier than Amoeba? Immobile? Whatever! Sandman it is!” She considers his statement about hiding his ‘true’ self, and realizes what he must be thinking about her, as she had to keep her magic under wraps. “I don’t want you to hide yourself, in any way, Sandman. I didn’t mean it like that… I just thought you may feel safer by being less recognizable. It can’t be fun to always have to look over your shoulder for danger.” She surprises them both by opening up a little, and she walks over to the bed, to sit on the edge, as her fingertips idly stroke the silken fur of the cub. Aspen stirs, curls his paws around her wrist, and snuggles deeper into the pillow, falling back to sleep with a soft sigh. “So… You are probably wondering why I seem to hide, then? Well, it’s not to protect myself, even though I have the scars to prove that I am in danger for being dubbed a ‘witch’ in the lands. It’s to protect my kin, those I care about, that practice the craft. I have a little sister, and a few close friends, that are witches, too. We all took a vow, to not practice our craft in public, at least until we plan an attack on those that hunt us. Right now, there are few witches, and too many that oppose magic. We are being blamed for our beliefs, and the deeds of a select few.” Lana shakes her head, as an unruly lock falls into her line of view, the shadows on her cheeks magnified by the flickering candle. “I hate having to hide who I am. But… I don’t do it for myself. I just see the bigger picture. I mean no harm, Sandman. If and when you are comfortable, I will help you find a shop and find some less conspicuous clothes.” Pulling her locks over her left shoulder, Lana plays with the tips of her hair, and when she peers up at the man, she sees the obvious redness in her cheeks. Had she said something wrong? He explains, and she’s confused for a brief moment, before she blinks and it dawns on her, “Oh! No, no, no! You can’t go out in public in the nude! I mean, you could, but that would be –really- weird. You’d have to wear clothing. And –then- at the store, buy the clothes you like, and change into them. Maybe where you are from that’s not the norm, and I apologize, I hadn’t meant to confuse you. Please, don’t strip to your undergarments in my room.” Lana laughs at her choice of words, “I was referring to the fact that I have been single for a while… I’m not the type to spread my love with a bunch of men, and love has never been in the cards for me. So, um, there hasn’t been anything, uh, intimate, or whatever. It’s just me. So. I don’t have clothing that you could borrow from another man.” It was her turn to blush, and she tilts her head towards the door, clearly wanting another drink.


Elioyahazer takes a moment to breath. A sour attempt to calm his mind. Sour, because it’s a complete failure and curdles like milk that's been left out too long. She has instantly brought that shade of red to his features once -again- by discussing her lack of intimate nature with men. Recent lack thereof. He’s never had anything that resembles an intimate nature. Why does this topic keep popping up? Why must he be so uncomfortable about it? It’s not like she’s trying to sleep with you. Breath Elio. Breath. Slow deep breaths and you’ll be fine, he nearly mutters to himself. He does however, appreciate her explanation of things and tries to dive into the topic of the other discussion. “Well if you need a hired hand, my services are available.” He realizes that, firstly, there wasn’t a transition or mention or reference to what services he’s even offering. The look of embarrassment across his face might tell Lana, that he’s offering something far more intimate than he actually is. “I mean.” He back pedals this conversation hard. “I,” Confound it all. Now is not the time to be tongue tied Elio. “The attack you mentioned. If you need help with it, I’m available. That’s what I mean.” There, mission accomplished. However, he finds himself placing his discarded items back into his own possession. He needed to get out of here, before he made a further fool of himself. Which most likely would happen very soon. But where was he going to stay? “I’m not sure where I’ll be staying, but thank you for the hospitality.” Elioyahazer’s discolored eyes flick to her form at the edge of the bed, and linger a little longer than they should have, and twist to the bear. “I’m sorry about the inconvenience of today.” One foot steps out in front of the other, as he heads towards the door.


Lanara is braiding her hair, trying to avoid the embarrassment they both are likely feeling, due to her slip of the tongue. She hadn’t meant for him to take her words so literal. Obviously –she- wasn’t going to go shopping in the nude. Nor had she assumed he’d strip down in the room, and they’d just head out for a makeover, two nudists down the main strip of Kelay. And then she admitted that she had been single for over six months, and she said more than she meant to say, and it likely gave him the wrong idea. Why was she so tongue tied? She was trying to help the man! Nipping on her lower lip, she lifts her head to offer him a place to stay for the evening when he utters that he’d be ‘happy to help’ her in that department. Did he mean… Intimacy? Was she coming off as desperate? The darkened expression, the rose hue of his cheeks, and the bedroom eyes he was throwing her way are a far indicator that he was offering intimacy. Yup. Lana blinks rapidly, her long lashes hitting her cheekbones so hard and fast, and that he’d likely mistaken it for flirtatious batting. “I, uh, you, I, we, whoa.” She’s practically breathless, stammering like a fool, and she rises so abruptly from the bed, about to defend her honor and state that this isn’t some sort of brothel, when he takes a step for the door. The little witch is pushed back, as he takes a second step, thus pinning her against the wall, to the right of the door. Great. Upping the ante? Lana inhales, her big brown eyes wide, as she looks up at the much taller males face, and she shyly lifts her hands to press upon his chest. He’s apologizing, offering protection now, and her face burns like the fiery depths of hell. For a long moment, she merely looks into those discolored eyes, her hands remaining on his chest, and she can almost feel the assassin’s nerves beneath his robes. “It’s alright. I didn’t have to lie to the men. Nor did I have to step in and kill one of them; though thank you for allowing me to grip your blade… And for the drink.” She can’t help it, she finds their combined nerves amusing, and she gives him a saucy smirk as she offers, “You can stay here, with me, if you like. Though… You’d have to take the floor. I don’t mind the cuddles, neither does the bear, but we have just met, and heaven forbid anything popped up.” A dramatic pause, her grin widening, “We have to be prepared to defend ourselves in case anyone is looking for us, right? I would be more comfortable if you remained. Just for the night. In the morning we can part ways, but you don’t have anywhere to go, and I’m not exactly armed in case someone barges through the window. This is the safest place for us both.” Lana tilts her head and waits for his response, or for him to step back, so she’s not fully pressed between his chest and the wall.


Elioyahazer is suddenly wondering if her words about what a witch is are true. So far, she’s successfully embarrassed him. Held his mind in the gutter, and now she’s mere inches from him, batting her lashes at him. Is a witch a name for something else? Something other than what he has been led to believe? Once those hands are upon his chest - he redefines the word nervous. Is he almost shaking at her touch? He can’t speak, let alone move. All he can do, is stand there in a daze like an idiot. He is so close to her right now, that even her perfume is noted - where it had not been previously. There is a very long, perhaps even uncomfortable, silence between the two. His heart is racing. Beating like a drum that has lost its tempo. That hand of hers would more than likely pick up on it. Damnit, he pulls himself from the ebb of self inflicted magic that has him so enthralled with her at the moment and steps back - redder than even the apples served at the bar. Finally he clears his throat and lets out a long sigh; a visible sign that he is shaking away some thoughts that he should not be having. This accidental seductress would most likely see it for what it is. His eyes shift to the window finally, the object she pointed out with her own words. “You might be right.” Gods of sand and time, let me survive this night. His color still matches his clothing well, but he moves towards the window, and takes a seat upon the floor beneath it - leaning his back against the wall. A few daggers are pulled and set aside. “Feel free to take a few to keep with you while you sleep.” Is he really going to try and ignore what just happened? Yes. Yes he is. He doesn’t want to go anywhere near that conversation again tonight. He doesn’t know if he could take it.


Lanara watches his face, feels his trembling beneath her touch, and she’s flattered that she’s having this effect on the man. However, she takes pity on him, thinking that he’s either insanely shy, or that he was solely into the male gender. Not that she was trying to coax him into anything intimate, mind you, she honestly knew that hate, love, and lust, often ran together in a love triangle. Perhaps her fingers upon his robes had angered him, when she was merely looking for a bit of breathing room. As Elio moves over to the window, she sighs in relief, and crosses the short distance to step into the spacious closet, so that she could slip into something more comfortable. The door is closed, and he can hear her rustling through the clothes that had been neatly hung upon the hangers, as well as the kicking off of her knee-high boots. About ten minutes later, the brunette would emerge from the closet, barefoot, and in a flesh toned bikini. For a minute, with the way the candle flickers, Elio would probably think she was nude, but upon a second glance, he’d see that the bikini was a slight shade lighter than her complexion. A faint glimmer draws his eyes to her navel, which is pierced, and a silver moon dangles against the fabric of her bikini bottom. The woman’s form is flawless, save for the injury to her left shoulder, which would heal in time. Silken skin, delectable curves, and a derriere to die for, one would think she was a bikini model. She was, in the past, actually! A paw print tattoo is on her lower back, just about her rear, and the majority of the marking is visible. “I’m sorry… I don’t know how the women dress where you are from, but I sleep best in swimwear.” She’s not shy about her body, she works damn hard to keep in shape, though she hopes she hasn’t offended the male in the slightest. Walking over to the bed, she grabs one of the pillows and the extra blanket, and hands them over to Elio, exchanging him bedding for a dagger. “Thanks.” Reaching up, she pulls her long locks into a messy bun, her slightly tapered ears showing that she was a true elf, and she climbs into bed. Aspen cuddles up against her chest, immediately, as Lana curls into the fetal position and hugs the cub tightly. “Goodnight, Sandman. Sweet dreams. And if you need anything, feel free to wake me, as I have to remove the enchantment on the lock.” He wouldn’t be able to exit without her notice, unless he left via the window.


Elioyahazer finds the break from this embarrassing rolling coaster, wonderful. She’s out of view on the other side of the door, getting ready for bed, and he can finally relax. He needs these moments desperately, which should have better prepared him for what she just suddenly reveals herself in. His eyes shift up her form, taking note of everything… That he thinks she isn’t wearing. “Good lords,” he exclaims and turns his head away. He’s shy, as all get out. He’s about to ask her to put some clothes on when she speaks of her bikini. She’s in a bikini? Gods he feels like a fool suddenly. He totally just made this night worse. And now, he knows that he might have offended her. “I.” he stammers for a minute. “I’m sorry. It’s just you’re a very beautiful woman, and I’ve -never- been alone with a female. Especially one dressed as you are.” He doesn’t want to explain anything further, and instead dwells in his embarrassment. “Goodnight Lanara.” Right now, he needed a lot of things. Not just the ability to regain his composure - which she has so expertly flayed from him. When she offers him the blanket and pillow, his hands tremble momentarily, and then snatch the offered items. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He adjusts himself so that he is laying down and facing the wall. But the gods know he’s not going to sleep anytime soon. Not with today's events swimming in his head.


Later that night

Twas the night of their first meeting and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even Lana’s pet Aspen. When a sudden and near whisper of sound breaks out; clicking of wood on wood, alerts Elioyahazer to an intrusion of sorts. For the front door is locked, but the window is not. Never mind the magical lock - a thief, nay an assassin, can always find a way in. “LANA!” Elio’s voice booms with mighty authority, but its too little too late, and her desert protector receives a boot to the face. A man had slid in, without either of them noticing. Had Mr Sandman not been dozing and thinking of what she was wearing, he might not have been so distracted. How unfortunate. Elio reels back, spitting up blood and shards of his own tongue, which paint the wall beside him. A scuffle breaks out, and there is a flashing of silver, as blades meet the moonlight within the room. How many were in there? One? Two or three? “Get up!” He yells once more, but this action proves to be his undoing, for in that moment, steel meets flesh. The Sandman is suddenly slammed hard against the wall. The other man simply grins. The desert dweller coughs once hard, and gasps for breath - whilst pinned between the knife and wall nearby the bed. This intruding assassin is here alone. And the time he had chosen to strike, could not have been more perfect.

Lanara had fallen asleep with a smile on her lips, after having received the compliment that she was a very beautiful woman. Something about the way the desert man had said it… His voice soft and ringing with sincerity. How had he never been alone with a woman before… In general? His world is very different from this one, and Lana was always a bit outside the box, so she assumes he finds her behavior and style very confusing. Still, it was nice to sleep in a room with another male. Even if she was considered his accomplice, they both were nearly killed hours before, and it put a target on her back. After an hour or so, the woman would begin to toss and turn, almost violently, her bikini clad form writhing beneath the sheet as she fights off a nightmare. Aspen senses the distress of his mistress, and he climbs from the bed in a ‘huff’ to go and find a peaceful sleep elsewhere. If one were to look for the cub, they’d find him snuggled up in one of Lana’s dresses, his black nose peeking out from beneath the fabric. The witch groans as Elio shouts her name, though she doesn’t wake up as ordered, nor does she really stir. Instead, she rolls over and mumbles something about a beheaded parakeet, only to bury her face in the pillow. Lana misses the kick to Elio’s face, the spitting of gore upon the walls of the room, and the brief scuffling of the two assassins. She had found a dream, where nightmares were but a distant memory, that is, until ‘get out’ is shouted. With a groan, she sits up in bed, narrows her eyes, and adjusts to the darkness. “Hey! Let him go!” Lana stands on the mattress, hearing the suckling sound of the dagger being embedded in the abdomen of the desert man, and it’s then that she springs into action. She may be petite, but being pissed off and having the advantage of the added height give the woman some leverage. Launching herself onto the back of the assailant, Lana wraps her arms around his neck and struggles to choke the male, while her long legs wrap around his waist, and her heels angrily kick at his groin. She chomps down on his shoulder, earning a guttural moan from the male, as he spins on his heel and tries to throw the woman from his back. “I. Said. Get. Away. From. My. New. Friend.” She bites the male between each word, kicking in unison, as her teeth sink deep into his arm. The marks on his shoulder are bloody and painful, and the assassin grabs Lana by the ankle and in a fluid movement hurls her over his form, so that she lands flat on her back. She goes still, biting back a groan as she collides against the old floorboards, her gaze glancing at Elio, before giving the newcomer an electric glare. “Why don’t you play with someone that a little more your type, huh?” Lowering her voice into a soothing, sultry tone, she ever so slowly sits up, her head level with the man’s knee. He looks down at her, prepared to plant a boot in her face, but he hesitates. The woman is a looker. The candlelight flickers against her silken flesh, the look she’s giving, the way her fingers are gently rubbing his calf. Damn. The assassin looks over to make sure that Elio is still pinned with the dagger, before he offers a hand to the ‘damsel’ and as she smile and makes to grab for it, she instead socks him in the groin. Silver spark emanate from Lana’s fingertips, as several hundred jolts shoot up the males form, electrocuting him from his manhood to his extremities. Lana doesn’t wait to see if he dies from the attack, or if he’s merely tazered for the next few hours, she crawls over towards Elio and rests her hand on the dagger, prepared to pull it out. “You…You okay?”

Elioyahazer would love to compliment her on that choice of tactics, if his gut hadn’t been pierced by a blade. Though Lanara reaches to pull the item free, his own hand reaches the hilt. “I’ll survive,” he states half naked and wheezing. The weapon is pulled free with a guttural grunt and tossed to the floor. Lets just hope that blade wasn’t poisoned. His hand then reaches for the wound, to plug the hole while he surveys the room. Despite all of this, he is doing his best to ignore her undressed state - for he sees all the same things that the other assassin did. “That can’t be all of them.” What has been seen, is not the last. The assassin within the room, is definitely a thing of the past. His brains were rattled and turned to mush, from Lanara’s shocking attack. Once he steps in front of the window, things seem to change. The only alarm to announce this new threat, however is a sharp - sudden and jarring pull of expertly wielded magic. The echo from a blast unseen, rocks the building of the trio. The door that Lanara so lovingly relies on, is literally sent through the air like a torpedo. Splintered shrapnel, and the giant frisbee are tossed through the air towards the opposite end of the room. Unfortunately for Elio, he is caught in the path of the blast, and is literally thrown threw the window. The desert assassin finds himself violently introduced with the hard earth outside. However, the mage beyond the door, has begun to twirl his staff. His target is Lanara, and he begins to pull more power. Lanara’s new friend however, is barely conscious. This room was up on the second floor, and after that hard fall he’s lucky to be breathing. What's worse, is the man outside, wielding a burlap sack, and approaching her new friend. Elio is being taken away!

Lanara backs off as Elio pulls the dagger from his own stomach, her brows narrowing as she extends a hand to help him apply pressure to the wound. He is one of those ‘macho’ men that insist it’s just a flesh wound that he’s got this, and so she lowers her hands. Instantly, in a matter of seconds, her anger is washed away and the healer within wants to makes things better. “What do you mean? There’s no one else here, Sandman.” Rising to her feet, she quickly scans the room for the cub, only to find him nestled safely in the closet, still sleeping. She closes the door, and is about to return to Elio’s side to offer assistance, when she can almost feel the shift in the energy of the establishment. The floorboards begin to hum, the fibers of her flesh come alive, and she knows at once that a powerful magic user has arrived. Elio was an assassin, and he could do nifty tricks with sand and air… But she wasn’t sure what the true extent of his powers were, or if those that hunted him used similar techniques. The two locks eyes, before the door comes unhinged, flies through the air, and a burst of mana throws everything askew in the room. Glass breaks, as Elio flies out the second story window to the dangers that lie outside, and Lanara is violently hurled against the closet door. Pain surges to her shoulder wound, as the stitches are torn yet again, and she lifts a hand to stop the blood from pouring out. It’s a ploy as well, as she’s removing some of the herbal packing, her dark hues focused on the male beyond the blow-off doorway. “Are you going to twirl your staff? Or are you going to actually do something with it…? Maybe shove it up your ass?” Pushing off from the door, her bloody fingertips hold a sprig of some mashed green leaves, and she hurls it at the mage. Air was Lana’s element of choice, the strongest which she possessed, however, seeing as this mage used it, she relies on another. The element of earth. “Goddess, Goddess, up above, send me a power that’s reversed love. Awaken all that hails from sticks and stones, separate blood and flesh from my attacker’s bones. Using the magic of the earth, and the blessings bestowed upon me at birth. I infuse earth, three times three, times three, as I speak it, so mote it be!” Lana takes a step back as the herbal mixture explodes into flames at the feet of the mage, the robes catching fire. It gives the witch a minute to retrieve Aspen from the closet, and head towards the window. The mage, curses his scorched robes, kicks out the embers, and lifts his staff in a menacing gesture, “Is that all you’ve got?” Lana gives a knowing smirk over her shoulder, as the spell magnifies and comes to life, the floorboards answering to her call, the tables, chair, bed, and the closet door, anything that once belonged to the element of earth. Anything that once was a gift of nature, that had a soul, comes to life. The room becomes completely undone, the entire tavern shakes with a vengeance, and every wooden object twists into a volatile plant-like being. Splinters, nails, and debris flies wildly at the face of the mage, and the hellish wood-beasts deliver a beating of their own on the mage. Lana doesn’t wait around to see what happens next, she trusts that her magic will deliver, and she slips through the window, using her wind magic to safely guide her to the ground. She catches a glimpse of a male putting a burlap sack over Elio’s head, and he’s forcefully removed from the premises. What the hell was going on?! Barefoot, her shoulder throbbing, blood pouring into her cleavage, and clutching a bear cub, the witch follows in hot pursuit.

The witches magic indeed does the trick - the mage finds himself being annihilated by her attack. Pulled apart bit by bit. Hammered with nails, and smashed with wood. It’s only moments later that blood curdling cries can be heard from within the room. It's the sign Lanara should know - she had beaten him soundly. However, the man with the sack is unarmed, and when he notices the woman after him, and those screams, let's go and makes a run for it. Elio however, finds himself trying to pull free of that sack. With his wounds - a stab wound, a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, his fight is futile. Hell, even just breathing hurt. Might have a rib or two busted from the fall. And his frustration is inflamed and compounded by the fact that he can do nothing. That despite all of his training and abilities. He allowed himself to be distracted. He could kick himself if he had the energy and ability to do so. It wouldn’t take Lanara long to reach the man, but at least they were safe for now. Only one man survived and this time, Elio would take the fight to them. Things had grown far more serious than even he had anticipated. Finally, the sack is pulled free of his head, where he just flops back to the ground - desperately trying to catch his breath.


Lanara hears the screams, she knows that her magic has fulfilled its end of the bargain, and it shocks her that she doesn’t feel any remorse. As the years went on, she turned colder to the effects of her defensive magic. Had they not attacked, this wouldn’t have occurred. The witch wasn’t soft, by any means, especially since she was woken up, Sandman was stabbed and abducted, and the room she had perma-rented was now in complete disarray. The repair bill would be hefty, but she’d make sure that the tavern had an excellent team of construction workers, and the gold to ease their troubles. The third assailant takes one good look at the bloodied bikini babe and takes off running, and it’s only now that the witch feels a tad self-conscious at her attire. Her hair had fallen out of the makeshift bun and fell in loose waves to her elbows, blood was pouring out of her shoulder, and she was still half-asleep. Using her magic had tired her as well, though she sprints the rest of the way until she comes to Elio’s side and she flops on the grass at his side. “Hey… Are you alright? I… I thought you were an assassin, Sandman… Maybe I should show you a few moves?” She’s jesting, of course, though to be fair, it was Lanara that had saved his ass. Twice now.

Elioyahazer coughs between a few fits of laughs. She hadn’t saved his ass twice. He seems to recall offering her a helping hand the first time they ran into a group. This time however, she was his savior. “Thank you.” Elio is not alright, but he will be. “I let my guard down. I was a little distracted by this woman in a bikini. Won’t happen again.” Show him a few moves? He wondered if such a deep sleeper had any moves to show. Hell, he can’t blame her for sleeping through that. Even he nearly did - and almost didn’t get up in time to save himself from the attack. “I’ll be alright, I think I need a healer though. I’m not sure I’ll get far.” He tries not to laugh again. “It hurts to breath, and my arm is totally broken and dislocated. What the hell pushed me out of the window?” His abnormally colored eyes twist to her and finally take in the sight of the bikini clad, blood smeared Lanara. In such a short time Elio has brought so much disaster to her world. How can she still be so nonchalant about all of this? Most would try to tear his head off after it. Instead here she is laying in the grass next to him and his mangled frame. Who the hell is she?

Lanara smirks, she can’t help it, and pretty soon, she’s joining in on the laughter. She goes to nudge him in the side, though the pain in her shoulder is so intense, that she pauses in the middle of the move. “I-I distracted you?” If she wasn’t so tired, a blush would have crept into her cheeks, though it’s obvious from the goofy grin on her face that she’s flattered by his words. “Pfft. So it’s –my- fault that you were caught off guard? Tell me, Sandman, because I’m dying to know! How is it that you’ve managed to avoid death and capture, since you were the tender age of ten, from various assassin’s with insane skills… But in one day… I have made you come completely undone?” Her expression softens, as her words were meant to tease, though her pulse begins to quicken at the thought of being fancied by this mysterious man. “So… You have multiple injuries, and I have managed to undo the bindings on an ‘old’ wound, where I was hunted by three assassins with crossbows, in the forest. Funny how that is… I’m so tiny, and you’re so big and strong. Yet, I came out almost unscathed.” Back to jesting, she giggles, and pushes herself to her feet, holding out a hand to help him rise. “Come. I… I have –never- brought anyone to this place, aside from my sister. I’ll bring you to my true home. No one will find us there, I assure you.” She won’t take any sort of decline, and she tugs him to his feet, and lures him towards Xalious, where they’d take the short cut to the northern area of Sage Forest. After dropping off Aspen at the sanctuary, which is a mere quarter mile from her home, she would lead Elio to her private cottage, nestled deep in the woods and heavily enchanted to keep out any intrudes. “So… My room is the last door on the left, just down the hall. You can undress in there, and there’s several towels to drape over anything you don’t want me to look at…” She smirks, knowing he was going to be distracted all over again. “I’m just going to stitch myself super quick in the wash room. I’ll be right in to heal you.”