[Eza!]

{{ I have no plot. I fail. xD }}

Setting.
The town of Firethorn isn't a very large place and is situated on the edge of a thick forest rumoured to house all kinds of scary creatures. Weary travellers may find a place to stay in the local inn, or perhaps an exotic gift from the local market place that will be held the following day. Or perhaps some company and a good drink in the tavern. Despite the rumours about what resides in the forest, magical beings and non-humans are widely unaccepted and are often met with hostility and sometimes violence. However, Firethorn has a different view in this, living as close to a magical forest as they do. However, the kingdom has a sort of unofficial rule that magical beings are not to be seen in populated areas. Firethorn's people are happy to make exceptions, but sometimes travelers visiting the town aren't so understanding.

***

Bryant growled and muttered and cursed under his breath as the train of caravans slowed considerably, slowed by the amount of activity in the market and probably by the Ringmaster who wanted to see the sights. He didn’t mind seeing the sights as much as he hated delays. Damn. They needed to find a nice clear area where they could camp and practice their performing. Bryant sighed and opened the rear door of the caravan, snatching his weapon belt, which had four sheathed knives strapped to it and wrapping it around his lean hips before lightly jumping out of the caravan and onto solid ground. He smiled in spite of himself as he rounded the caravan and settled into an easy, relaxed stride alongside it. If he wanted to, he could probably walk faster than the caravans were currently moving, but he had to admit that once out of the stuffy caravan that held several of the others he rather enjoyed the slow pace, because it gave him plenty of time to think and examine their surroundings. The fresh air and the sounds of life around him soothed his normally troubled mind. And as he watched, some of the others apparently decided he'd had a good idea, because several of them clambered out of the caravans and moved to walk alongside the three caravan train.

The circus was actually a rather small one, compared to most, and they lacked the exotic animals some had. Harris' circus was what it was: made up of six talented adults, including himself. Aside from himself, the others were married and each had children, whom had also shown interesting talents. Harris himself took care of where they went, the distributing of food, funds and other such things. So the show was mostly left to the six adults, with the kids occasionally making an appearance, depending upon how things were going. Bryant was an acrobat, and occasionally was called upon to show off his combat skills, which were numerous, with and without weapons. And then there was those times when Harris got someone to throw knives at him and he had to catch them mid air or be sliced. That was always a barrel of laughs. His specialty was more in high flying and seemingly impossible obstacle courses. And then of course there was his little trick of catching arrows mid air. That tended to entertain most.


Bryant’s sharp blue-green eyes swept his surroundings constantly, missing nothing. His hard features softened into a small smile as he watched two children chase each other through the marketplace, giggling and laughing as they went. When he realized what he was doing, he rearranged his features into a dark, brooding scowl and went back to growling and muttering and cursing. He withdrew one of his deceptively slender and fine knives from its sheath and toyed with it, spinning it slowly in his large, yet strangely graceful and elegant hands. Bryant glanced down and grimaced when his gaze fell upon his hands. These hands had killed. Easily. With one flick of the wrist, he'd ended lives, and he'd never asked questions. He'd murdered people he didn't even know, didn't want to know. He hadn't cared, so long as his purse was full at the end of the job. He'd been a hired killer. An assassin. And yet, he felt like nothing more than a common thug. He'd once fancied himself more classy, more skillful than a thug you hired out of the local tavern. But was that true?

Disgusted with himself, Bryant jammed the knife back into its sheath and pulled himself out of his depressing thoughts. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, but dropped it abruptly. His hair was something he was rather proud of. Inky black and longer than was perhaps fashionable, it was silky enough to be worthy of envy from some females. He wore it in a thick braid that went halfway down his back. Bryant twitched a little when he noticed a group of women had stopped to stare at him as he slowly walked past. The attention bothered him...A little. Mostly it unnerved him. He knew he wasn't all that attractive, though nor was he unattractive. He was pleasant to look at, but certainly nothing worth stopping in the middle of the street over. He was average in height and deceptively lean, without the broad figure and bulging muscles one might expect of someone that had the level of strength and endurance he did. But being lean rather than bulky had suited his occupation perfectly in the past, and still did. A bulky man didn't have the grace and stealth that Bryant did. Grace was what allowed him to accomplish the feats that he did; what allowed him to execute the complicated twists and turns that he did as an acrobat. Bryant offered a small, half hearted smile to the women before hurriedly switching his attention elsewhere.
"Women." He muttered with false scorn, ignoring the blistering glare he got from the female circus performers.

[joker]

It started as it always did. With "The Flame."

She stood solitary, her world black and void of images. Shadows dominated her vision, impenetrable and cold. Then, in the distance, orange flared and flickered. "The Flame." It came towards her, approaching, drifting to where she did not need to chase it. It readily chose to aid her. As it approached, it grew in size and shape and ferocity. It came closer and closer and closer until it was before her and then it came closer still. It consumed her.

As if an actual fire had just swallowed her, she felt her head and arms fly back. Murmurs rippled through the crowd that watched. Before their eyes, actual fire leapt from her hands and head as they made their path backwards. She was stationary for a time, then the rhythm took hold of her. She began to twist, turn, and leap, fire sprouting from every movement she made, encircling her with each sweeping movement and threatening to burn someone who stood too close. She writhed and swayed back and forth, her brows furrowed as if in pain or immense sadness. It was much like a tribal dance which portrayed a story of great struggle or even war.

The flames sprouted at her feet as the dance grew to unreal intensity. With each increase in the emotion there, the fire would grow about her, fire still shooting from each movement from her extremities or limbs. As the dance grew to its pinnacle, the fire grew to enclose her in its crazed heat, flaring out in a large explosion that made the crowd scream!

And then there was nothing.

Blackness enshrouded her vision once more. She was on her knees, her hands on the ground before her. Sweat glistened her brow and she breathed heavily. Those about her cheered loudly. She wished vaguely that she could have seen the fear and awe in their eyes as she danced. Grimly retying the black cloth about her useless eyes, she rose unsteadily at first. A kind man tried to help her, but she shook him off vehemently. She would not accept help.

She swept her long, thick, golden hair from her shoulders and let it fall down her back, the leather of her black, fingerless hand gloves scraping her pale neck. The golden bangles chinked together as she moved her arms, falling to her elbows. It was so hot... Thankfully she had wised up and now only wore a black corset with poison-green lacings as her top. Her skirt was also a poison-green with black designs and fell to just above her ankles, but as it was a billowy gypsy skirt, it did not bother her like a long-sleeved blouse would have.

"Now..." she said in a strange accent, taking out a deck of cards. "Who wants their future to be told? Only three coins for full details."

[Stace]

"Three coins? Might just give it free, for the future is precious and not something to be taken so lightly as three coins would make it seem," came a smooth voice from behind the gypsy. The man whose voice it was had watched the woman's fire-dance-thing. It had been interesting, although he wasn't entirely sure it had been worthy of applause. Nevertheless, he met the woman with a smile, his lips curled up gracefully in a playful way that showed he meant to be playfully antagonizing rather than just rude. Whether that played out the way he intended, he would soon find out.

The man scratched his clean-shaven chin and set a hand on his hip. He was tall with brown hair and deep-brown eyes. He cleared his throat and then added, "But if you're looking to hand out discounts, I'm most like to volunteer. Assuming your talent can be proven and the crowd not fooled." He watched her reaction intently, awaiting an equally playful response to his challenge.

Bartholomew, the man, hadn't expected to be distracted so easily on his way to the nearby tavern, but it seemed that the flaming gypsy had caught his attention rather easily -- something the caravan of circus performers hadn't managed to do despite some of the attention the performers had drawn from the rest of the people on the street that day. The thought that he'd been easily distracted reminded Bart that he was headed to the tavern to meet with someone and he assumed that he'd need a good explanation for why he was so late. The fact that traffic seemed so especially heavy that day may have worked, but the mage Bartholomew was known for being able to keep his focus. So he knew that he would have to blame it on magic gone awry or a woman.

So far, that woman excuse might turn out to be the most plausible.

[joker]

Alessandra turned gracefully towards the man. She faced him perfectly, as if she could see him despite her blindness and the cloth that hid those defective eyes. She smiled gently herself, her pale lips just turning up at the corners.

"Of course it is such a simple fee for such an invaluable thing as the telling of a future. But then the customer must consider that this would simply be a steal. I am a humble gypsy, after all. I must make money when and where I can, free spirit or no. As precious as the future may be and as wrong as it may be of me to put a price on it, survival must come first," she said pleasantly in a quiet, serene voice, "Though your argument is very admirable, would I to put a more accurate price on the revealing of people's lives in later years, they would be required to pay in gems and troves of untold riches. How is this fair to those who have little? I would have everyone get a chance to see what I can show them."

She laughed. It wasn't the loud, shrill giggle of most girls, nor the cackle of an old crone as she appeared no more than twenty. It was a soft sort of sound in her throat, gentle and easy on the ears.

"I am afraid I do not give discounts, Sir. That is not fair to the public, either. But I would more than gladly reveal to you what is in to come," she replied, her tone still full of amusement, her lips still lifted in a smile. "The cards have never lead me wrong before. I do not expect them to now. Unless, of course, you decide to throw me off with false denials just to prove me a fool for spite of my gift. Then I would have to say you are not the gentleman I figure you for and that my intuition is atrocious, too."

She turned precisely to where a young boy of twelve stood. He looked to be a gypsy as well. She pointed to the boy to indicate she was speaking to him, then she pointed both index fingers from both hands as if to say "go." She made a grabbing motion as if to grab a rope and then let her pointer and middle finger of her right hand stick straight out while curving the ones into almost a hook shape on the other two and then made the hook fingers fall over the straight ones twice. Lastly, she bent her arms in front of her as if she were about to bow like an Asian, yet her hands were straight out like her forearm and both palms faced downward as she rested one on top of the other twice. The boy nodded and turned away from her and disappeared in the crowds.

"Cecirio is deaf," she explained as she turned to the man again, "We make quite the pair, yes?" She laughed as if the fact that both had such hindering flaws was funny. Whereas most people might have just sounded sad or self-pitying, she smiled good-naturedly and honestly.

Within ten minutes, the boy had returned with a chair and a table. She put the tips of her fingers to her lips and then placed that hand flat on the palm of her other. The boy smiled and made a sweeping gesture with his hand from outward in to his stomach. She sat at the table and began to shuffle her cards again.

"So... are you ready?" she asked him. Her smile was now amused and just a little challenging. This would prove to be quite an interesting day.

[Eza!]

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught Bryant's attention, and drew him away from his wandering thoughts. He turned his head to watch the gypsy dancing, flames erupting from every movement she made. He kept walking, though, although he was intrigued enough to watch for a little. Then she finished and he turned away to keep walking, but even from this distance, he could hear her proclamation of 'full details' of someone's future. He snorted and shook his head,
"Not bloody likely," He growled under his breath, barely resisting the temptation to walk back there and call her a fake to her face. But, he managed to repress the urge and he remained with the group. Although, that didn't stop his thoughts from wandering. He seriously doubted she could tell an accurate future. No one knew the future. That was for the Gods only, and he highly doubted a God would be scrounging for a few coins in this place. He'd heard of oracles, people able to speak prophecies, but he figured that was different. They didn't exactly know what was going to happen, and most of them were in a damn trance when they blurted out those cryptic, very unhelpful comments that were supposed to help you in future. Well, he'd never had any use for an oracle, gypsy or any other form of damn psychic!

He didn't believe in them.

He didn't believe in a lot of things.

"Hell," He muttered, realising he sounded like an old, bitter man. "Damnation!" He scowled, realising that was exactly what he was. Almost. He wasn't old, but he was definitely bitter, and definitely disillusioned. Bryant hadn't really believed in anything for a long time. He supposed the first time he'd killed a man had been the first crack in his rose-tinted glasses, and everything had sort of spiraled from there. Now at just two Summers past 20, Bryant was disillusioned, jaded and cynical. He hated himself, and apparently hated the world as well. He had no idea where he was going with his life, what he was doing; he had no long term goals, and no hopes and dreams. But if he knew one thing, he knew that nothing, nothing would make him go anywhere near a damned gypsy who played with fire and thought she was a psychic.

"Unca Bryaaaannttttttttttttttttt!"

Oh Gods no. He loved the child, but please, for the love of the Gods, not now! Why did she want to see him now?! He knew what his curious, adorable adopted-niece was like. One whiff of the word "psychic" and she'd be over there faster than...Well. Anything he'd ever seen. Reluctantly, stifling the half smile that was already forming, Bryant looked up. Sure enough, the small, chubby little girl was sitting on the roof of the caravan he was trailing along behind. When she was sure he'd seen her, she stood up and jumped from the roof. Paling, Bryant lunged forward and caught the giggling child.
"Gods, child! Don't do that! You nearly had my heart bursting right out of my chest!" He admonished, but when he met those twinkling, ice-blue eyes he couldn't remain mad and a reluctant smile tugged at his hard features.
"Heard Unca Bryant talking about ps-ps-psy'ic. We go see? Please, Unca Bryant, please!"

Of course she'd heard. The child missed nothing.

He didn't want to, but ever since he'd found the child lost and alone in the forest, he hadn't been able to deny her anything. 3 Summers later, he was still trying. She was five now, but Bryant barely remembered the seasons as they'd whisked by. It had passed so quickly. She was growing so quickly. He sighed audibly and nodded, shifting the girl so she was settled comfortably on his hip. At five, Topaz was intelligent, lively and entirely too curious for the heart rate of her uncle. Her hair was a light brown, the curls falling about her face in delightful disorder, unless Bryant made an effort to tame them, since Topaz certainly never did. She was an average sized child, and she didn't much care for dressing in dresses. She liked breeches, boots and a comfortable shirt. Her race was something of a mystery to everyone, but she certainly wasn't human. Her senses were unusually sharp, and she occasionally displayed a flare for controlling fire. Since she'd joined the Circus family, no one had been burned, even if they'd fallen directly into the fire. And then there was the fact that when Bryant had first found her, she hadn't spoken a word of Common, and he'd had to teach her. She still sometimes lapsed and spoke in her native tongue; some ancient language Bryant had never before heard. And because she was so young, she still wasn't very fluent in Common. But she was getting there.

Bryant walked slowly back towards the gypsy, but didn't actually speak to her. He stood off to the side, close enough to hear and see.
"Satisfied?" He asked of the child, who only smiled brightly at him, then turned her bright, curious eyes on the gypsy woman.

[joker]

There was a disturbance in the crowd. It was light, no one was fighting, no raucous commotion. Just two people moving forward, one a little girl and the other a man of her age, slightly older. Turning her face towards the two, she smiled wider.

"Hello," she greeted, then a tiny gasp escaped her. "That little girl is the most precious thing I have ever seen..."

And it was true. What a beautiful child! Such extraordinarily bright eyes! And the beautiful, silken brown of her curly hair! She was a flawless child. Granted, Alessandra generally found every child of that age beautiful beyond compare, but this one... This one was truly something else. She marveled at the perfect, petite nose, the big, almond shape of her eyes, the lustrous sheen and naturally perfect fall of her hair. Her skin was pale and had no blemish to be found. And yet, there was something else about her she knew was there. The girl was a familiar sort of being to her. She was a child of fire, she knew. She would be a fool not to with her powers of Knowing and also sharing in that self-same gift. Yet there was something deeper. There was a familiarity she was not sure she understood or even existed.

"Hello, sweet one," she said warmly to her. "Would you like something sweet to eat?"

She could never resist. Every time she saw a toddler or a child of any age younger than thirteen, she simply HAD to offer them some of their rare, widely-loved candy. She let her white teeth show as she grinned. Normally, her face was serene with a tiny smile. It was few and far between the times she had reason to let her face light up with delight or happiness.

"She is truly beautiful," she said to the man with her. "She doesn't look like you, however. Does she take after her mother?"

As she had been in his custody and the ages seemed to line up, she assumed the child was his.

[Ajax_2]

Thrugg was bored. The trip to Firethorn had been boring, and the days before even more so. Being bored was one thing Thrugg absolutely hated. He'd never been bored before, back in the north with his kinsmen. Those had been the good days. He adjusted the handle of the huge greataxe he wore slung across his broad back, and tightened his padded leather gloves. He cut a striking figure in this part of the country, but from his bright blue eyes and blonde hair, to his numerous tatoos that covered his face, He was a pure northrener. He was used to the cold, but not so much the heat and wore only a vest and cloth pants. He carried almost no supplies and knew how to live off the land. As he approached the gates of Firethorn, he hoped the stories about the excitment here were true.

[Eza!]

Bryant grunted in response, not inclined to be friendly or even civil to her. It wasn't so much a personal thing as just generally how he was. He was never a friendly person and had never, ever been a barrel of laughs. Even before he'd fallen into being an assassin, he'd been a quiet, intense young man, withdrawn from others. Now they'd just added "hostile" and "grumpy" to the mix. And "cynical", but he really didn't want to dwell on his growing cynicism. It made him feel old and it was sort of depressing, to realise you lacked the ability to actually believe in something. He could himself over and over that he believed in the gypsy's ability to tell the future, if he wanted, but it wouldn't change the fact that it simply didn't. He knew magic existed, but he didn't believe in its power to help, and every mage he'd ever met had been immature and selfish, squandering their powers away on their own selfish desires. Magic helped no one.

But then, it was the same with assassins.

Cursing his wandering thoughts, Bryant gladly returned his attention to the gypsy woman when she spoke again, calling Topaz precious. He appreciated that he recognised a beautiful (inside and out, as far as he was concerned) child when she saw one, but at the same time he couldn't wryly reflect that she obviously hadn't been around Topaz when the girl had her heart on getting something you didn't want to her to have. The girl was a master wheedler. She was, in fact, so good at it, that even when you knew she was doing it, you still couldn't say no, and at the end of it all, when you gave on, you couldn't be mad at her for it either. Topaz wriggled, and he set her down without any complaints. As soon as her booted feet hit the ground, Topaz happily toddled over to the woman and leaned lightly against her leg.
"Please," She responded, with careful politeness. Uncle Bryant had always stressed the need to be polite and courteous. She wasn't sure why, when he wasn't always very nice to people, but on some level the young child understood that he wanted better things for her. He wanted her to be the best she could be, regardless of how far short he himself was.

Bryant didn't answer her question for a time. He frowned slightly, his thoughts briefly drifting away. He'd never had a wife. He had a child, and she was his in every way except blood. He couldn't accept the idea of anyone calling her anything less than his, even though he'd made sure she called him Uncle - or "Unca", as she said - rather than father she was still essentially his child. However, at the same time he'd never lie about Topaz' true parentage, mysterious as it was, and he'd never lead her to believe that her parents, whether they were alive or dead, didn't matter. He was her adopted Uncle, but he knew that her parents could be out there somewhere, and he'd never come between them and their daughter.
"I don't know who Topaz' mother is. I found her lost and half dead in a forest three years ago. I've been raising her." He responded, his voice husky with emotion he tried and failed to suppress.

Topaz' solemn blue eyes gazed up at the woman for a moment, but the sorrow in her expression quickly passed and she smiled again, visibly shaking off her grief.
"Topaz not remember what happen. Remember some things. Not all."

[joker]

Alessandra noticed the man's great reluctance to speak to her. It didn't take a psychic to figure that one out. She didn't take it personally, however. Over the years in which she had done this job when her supplies had run low, she had met many skeptics of his sort. Each one had grown up around fake mediums or fortune-tellers who put the reputations of those honest few to shame. It made her heart hang heavy in her chest that such a generally kind and decent-seeming man should fall to such a state where he believed in little that could not be thrust before his face as proof. She supposed that was the other reason she did this: To prove those who did not believe that such powers DID exist and that they were not entirely gone to the true and just. It gave her heart to see the belief and hope come back to their once-dull eyes.

As the girl was let down and Alessandra felt her come near and then leaned against her leg, her heart warmed and grew with happiness. She stroked her hair as she leaned down into her bag next to her for a small box. Handing the entire thing to her, she smiled. That was the last of her sweets, but she could make more. Anything for a beautiful, sweet, well-mannered child. She hummed a native song gently as she thought on the accent the girl had. She was surprised to hear the same accent she had in the little girl's voice. The man was obviously no gypsy, that was for sure, and had never spoken a word of their language in his life... but could the mother perhaps have been? She continued to stroke the child's hair gently and soothingly.

For a while, she was sure the bitter man would not reply, but in the end, he did. Her heart grew heavy again at the tale. So it was very possible that the child was of gypsy descent. Her face turned down towards where she knew the girl to be, her sightless eyes never moving as they were so unaccustomed to it now.

"I see... I am so sorry..." she kissed the girl's head and lifted her into her lap. "I am alone as well, you know," she told her kindly, like a mother telling her daughter something, "When I was only twelve, some bad men came. They took away my parents and my brothers and little sister. Then, they took away a part of me that can never be replaced..." she faded off, thinking of that night. She could still hear her own screams and weeping. She gave an imperceptible shudder. "I was left alone without anyone. You are very lucky to have found a man so kind and loving. I was left rather broken and alone. I had to pick up the pieces of my life without help. He is more worthy of love than some fathers. Don't you ever forget how fortunate you are to have him."

She felt admiration for the man. She did not like men. She distrusted them. She could hardly stand to be touched by them in any way. Smiling at him softly, she was happy to find that someone else had installed some form of hope and belief in her again.

[Godot]

Magic helped no one.

This, Nicolae knew not to be true. Magic helped all with the will to acquire it; it helped the tyrant rule, helped the radical overthrow, helped the lustful gain and the weak best the strong. Power, on the other hand, harmed all except the powerful, to which it always destroyed in the end, because power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. This, he knew to be true, because he was a walking consequence of the lust for power gone awry.

Or perhaps, gone on too long.

Nicolae no longer knew the time. No, he knew that-- it didn’t take a genius to figure the time by the sun’s position, as even an ape with a stick could eventually figure it out-- But he could not fathom the date. He knew it was long after his time, that anyone he called friend was no long gone, though he might find traces of them in their progeny as he traveled; A nose here that seemed too much like Valentin’s, a smirk there that reminded him of Adele. Maybe that’s what finally drove him out of his winter retreat: It had been far too long since someone smiled at him or said anything to him that wasn’t an insult, or called him Nicu affectionately. Or, maybe, he was just tired of the snow and the blizzards and the clinging cold that managed to permeate his cozy cottage no matter how much wood he threw on to the blasted fire. He had been born a creature of the warmth, of people and friendly fires and mild winters. Not of mountains of blinding snow.

‘Perhaps the seer had too much of the snow, and that’s why she’s blind. Looks like you got out just in time, old chap.’

‘That’s it, dear Nicu. Hide your loneliness behind a veil of bitter humour. It’s all you’re good at, after all. That, and your unique little talent that got you into this mess in the first place.’

Smiling sardonically at his errant thoughts, the pale man leaned his head back against the bark of the tree his back was already resting on, yellow eyes glancing up at the warm foliage above him as he continued to eavesdrop on those people he had been following for the past several minutes. Every part of him screamed to go out and see them, see if he could share a short conversation with any of them, even if it was simple a formal “Hello,” be he doubted his ability to get that far. If his ineptitude around people before was bad, it was going to be worse now that he was so out of practice, and not at all helped by his unique appearance.

You see, Nicu had been an attractive man in his youth, with long brown hair that hinted at red and blue eyes that attracted enough women to make his young nights entertaining, to say the last. But his attractive appearance gave him a fatal flaw, that being that he always wanted more; More women, more clothing, more money. More power. And thus he discovered his ability with magic, and his talent with a branch rarely practiced thanks to its condemnation by most and its labeling of “Black magic.” Necromancy, ability over the dead. He wasn’t sure what part of it first warrented the public to call it black; interacting with spirits? Bringing back those rightfully dead? Trapping and acquiring the powers of demons? Or, perhaps, making a deal with the devil-- As with him and dear Faust, quite literally? Almost all of it was dark if used incorrectly, but he had been young, and stupid, and sure he would not be corrupted like those he had heard so much about. And his foolishness has it’s price; he’d acquired his power, his ultimate goal, but he had paid for it with his appearance, and his way with others.

Gone were the blue eyes, replaced with yellow that seemed not quite human. Gone was his luxurious hair, replaced with stringy white hair that, as a minor reprieve, was still better than being completely bald. Gone was his strong young body, his tan skin, replaced with a body more befitting of a skeleton, with ghastly pallid skin stretched over bones that seemed too thin and joins, too large. Gone was his health and warmth, replaced with cold and the uncanny ability to catch a cough in even the warmest of weathers. Even the scent that had hung around him was gone, replaced with something tangy and salty, like iron or blood; though, whether that was the demon’s work, or Nicolae’s own was hard to discern.

Everything was now a days.

So, he hid his gaunt face with his sunken and bruised eye socks behind a full-faced white mask, with only his nostrils and pale lips visible so that he may speak. His body, he covered in thick layers of dark clothing, to both make him blend in better and to keep him warm, as even here he caught a chill every now and then. Over all of this he work a black greatcoat with an old hood sewn on, currently draped over his stock of white hair and flirting with the top of his mask. Even his hands, with his long, bony fingers were safely hidden behind thin leather gloves, as he couldn’t bare the thick ones other’s this day and age so preferred.

Besides, if he wore those heavy ones, he couldn’t cradle the body of a dead sparrow in his hands, held with as much care as one would hold an infant as he divided his attention between watching it decompose, and listening to the voices of those just behind the thick oak he hid behind. Nice voices, he was sure, and he was positively enchanted by the young child-- he always loved children, especially girls, if only for their sweet and naive natures-- and amused by the seeress and cynical man. “People haven’t changed much since I’ve been gone, little sparrow,” he couldn’t help but smirk as he whispered to the dead bird, who, appropriately, did nothing, for it was dead.

Death had never been much of an obstacle for Nicolae.

[Eza!]

Despite the hardships the girl had faced in her early life, Topaz remained bright and cheerful, and she took pleasure in the small things. She accepted the box with a bright, happy smile and an enthusiastic,
"Thank you!" She hugged the box against her chest, but made no move to fish out some of the candy. She loved candy and sweets, but this was the first gift she had received for a long time, and Topaz, small as she was, had already learned to treasure the good things that happened to her, and a gift such as this was definitely special. She would, of course, share with the other children, but if she was allowed to keep the box, then keep it she would, to remind her of the nice lady with the nice smile.

It was a slow process, but watching the woman with Topaz softened Bryant to some extent, made him feel bad for being so rude to her. The faintest of smiles curled his lips upward, but he otherwise made no other show of his slight shift in emotion and thoughts. He tensed a little when Topaz was lifted off the ground, but just as quickly relaxed when the child happily settled into the woman's lap, tilting her head to stare unblinkingly up at the woman. It was obvious, in every movement Topaz made, how starved she was for even a scrap of motherly affection. Bryant had been good to her; he was raising her, teaching her the right things, but he wasn't her mother or her father. He couldn't give her the motherly attention she needed. Hungered for. Being the type of person she was, even at five Topaz knew that it would upset Bryant to know that she lacked for something. She instinctively knew that he would do anything he could for her, but he couldn't be a mother. He couldn't provide what she needed, at least in that area.

She listened intently to every word, and then solemnly shook her head, silently promising to never forget her good fortune in finding Bryant. The serious moment abruptly fell apart when she looked over at Bryant, her big tough Uncle, and discovered his face had gone a curious shade of pink! The child dissolved into a fit of giggles, much to Bryant's dismay, and even his reproachful, half hearted glare, couldn't suppress the child's giggles.
"Unca go pink! Unca go pink!" She exclaimed, for the benefit of anyone who'd missed that fact, her blue eyes sparkling brightly with her laughter. Despite the embarrassment of both the woman's praises and the fact that Topaz had noticed his flush, Bryant couldn't begrudge the darling girl her laughter. She was always smiling and seemingly happy, but he hadn't heard the girl laugh for the sheer joy of it in a while now.

When Topaz' giggles faded away into the occasional hiccuping laugh at random intervals, Bryant interjected, his voice soft,
"Thank you. I didn't realise until now how much she needed this." He murmured, genuine warmth and affection in his voice when he referred to Topaz. The girl sat quietly, her small hands lightly stroking over the box, then she brightened suddenly and looked back up at her new friend.
"You never say name. I am Topaz. Mummy always said Grandpa liked stones. Her name was Amber." She rambled for a moment, then drifted into silence, her small, heart shaped face scrunched up in thought.

[joker]

For the first time since she had awoken that day, her features turned sharp. Someone had spoken. A male voice in the shadows. Her head whipped in the direction of the murmur. That voice... It made her shudder. It was like a rasp from a wraith and it made her blood run cold momentarily. She was alert and icily suspicious of the fact that he lurked in the shadows. Fire roiled in her chest as she raged against any threat he may pose. She didn't need him to become a threat for her to hate him, it seemed. The simple possibility he posed while she was with this child and her doting authority figure was enough. Should he fight, he would die. There was no other way around it. She would not allow herself a moment to even contemplate a foul alternative. No one would even come close to harming these two she had already grown to be fond of. Yes, even the rude and cold man who loved this girl so much.

She was distracted by the girl's words of gratitude and, despite her fear and rage, she couldn't help but soften once more and smile the same smile she had worn moments before the interruption.

"It's all yours, darling. And you can even have the box. I decorated it myself. The black cat there is my own lovely Binx. He went on ahead and hasn't come back yet. I'm sure he's found some mice to nibble on," she told her. "I'll introduce you to him if you like one day. He is a very intelligent cat, and a prince at that, so you must be quite formal and polite when you meet him, you see. He will simply not tolerate anything less," she invented, as she told her the story somberly as if she meant every word. She loved to tell children stories. It was one of life's little joys, in her opinion.

Alessandra could feel the tension from the man ease gradually. It made her smile wider. He could be such a beautiful person, she felt, if he could just open up a bit more. She wanted to know more of this mystery she found in him, even as much as she wished to know what this child was that she should be so like her own people. She supposed her slow like of the man had something very much to do with what she was as a child and what she had wanted. She could never have a man to come and take her in and make her safe as a child newly thrown into the world, broken and defiled. She had longed for her father, for her brothers... after a while. After she could feel again. At first, she wanted no man. They disgusted her, they scared her, they filled her with dread and rage and hatred. She was horribly angry, horribly distrustful all the time. It had taken a bit for that to fall away and age to mature and learn to cope with it. She wished, however, she had had what this girl had. Perhaps she felt warmth towards him because he was the guardian angel she was unsure ever existed before now. It did not make her bitter, either. She supposed that the angel knew that she could make it. After all, she was alive and well. The child? She did not know. He had said she was dying when she found her. Although suffering, Alessandra had never been dying.

She smiled when the girl agreed never to forget that the man was a gift in her life. When the girl fell out in laughter, however, she had no idea what to make of it at first, being blind and not concentrating her second sight on the man, though she did notice his discomfort and mild irritation. Tilting her head to the side and furrowing her brows in confusion, she waited until the child could breath enough to explain. When she learned the child giggled because the man was blushing, she fell out in laughter too, yet she could feel her own cheeks burn a deep pink as well, her pale skin not hiding it at all. The girl's laughter was contagious and though her face betrayed her blush, too, she laughed out loud with her.

"Every little girl needs the love of a woman," she murmured back. "She, as extraordinary as she is, is no different. Even a child of the flame needs outside warmth to survive..."

"Topaz is a beautiful name," she replied when their laughter had subsided, a smile still in her voice, "My name is Alessandra of the Unseen Eye. The title was given to me by a village I once remained in for a few years. I was their seer. I warned them when trouble was near and what to do. They prospered for many years during that time. I felt guilty to leave them..."

Her voice trailed off sadly as she thought of them. They had been wiped out by raiders shortly after her leave... Had she stayed...........

[Godot]

Alessandra. Topaz. What queer names! This, among others, was one of the chief reasons he was having such an issue escaping his reclusive habits and opening up to someone; even the language, something he always felt he spoke quite well, had evolved and changed since he'd been gone. Oh, the basic rules of grammar had remained mostly intact, as it was still the same language after all, but the phrases, the slang, the expressions, they were all different now. Several days ago, a man had approached him and asked if he "Had the time." This had thrown Nicolae. Was it possible to own time now? Were there such things as magic users who owned it? Chronomancer, or something to that effect? Fearing he would be shown as the sorcerer he was, he had put on a false smile and replied "Yes, of course," before quickly walking away, unaware he was leaving a very bemused and slightly annoyed man behind him. Ah, well, what else was he supposed to do? Obviously the man thought him a chronomancer, or whatever they were calling those mages, and if he wanted to think that, well then, Nicu was certainly not going to change his mind. And if there weren't such things as those time-keepers, then that was a silly question to be asking in the first place. Didn't these children know better?

Startled, he arched a brow behind his mask, staring deep into the shallow eyes of the bird for a moment. Children? Was that what he was stuck referring to others? He may be, however old he was now, but he didn't think he was old enough to be arrogant enough to call others children. But, he supposed he was. "Queer," He took the moment to politely inform the bird, who still did nothing, for it was quite possibly deader now than it had been a few seconds ago.

Not that it was really possible to be "Deader." There was alive, and then there was dead. He supposed corpses beyond the twelve month rule fit the criteria for deader, but he couldn't be so sure about that. They were more... Less alive. Yes, that sounded nicer, and was probably more applicable. He'd have to remember that.

Snapped out of his musings, the necromancer remembered the people he was listening to before he had taken a moment to question the origins of their names. He listened as the girl squealed and thanked the seeress for a gift of some sort, obviously quite pleased to be given something as paltry as sweets, though to each his (or her) own, he supposed. He listened as she declared her "Unca pink," slapping him once more with his lack of comfort with these strange and unfamiliar words. (Unca? Perhaps it was a new toy?) Finally, he listened as the woman told the girl of her cat, who sounded like a right bloody pain he'd love to give a kick to, and tell her her name. This struck him as curious: A real seeress, then? Well, wasn't that rare. He'd known a few fake fortune tellers in his times, those that pulled cards or threw bones into fires or performed basic arithmancy to determine the fates of those who paid them well. What a stupid job. Didn't these people understand the concept of "The future?" It was unknowable, and always changing. A true seeress was rare; easier was it to simply be a good guesser, or a fast runner. Perhaps...

The woman spoke of a cat. Perhaps if he kept his belly to the ground, he could look around the tree without fear of being seen. If they saw him, they might simply assume he was the cat, as his yellow eyes could easily be misconstrued as such. Was this a foolish plan? Perhaps. But, he had to start somewhere, and he'd be damned if he was going to hide behind trees his entire life to listen to other voices speak!

Oh, right. He already was damned.

Cradling the dead sparrow close, Nicolae carefully turned around until his chest brushed against the bark of the oak, carefully leaning against it only slightly as he silently got to his knees. Shifting the bird in his hands so that it rested solely in his left palm, he set his right down on the ground, putting weight on it and leaning forward until the nose of his mask touched the cool earth that had been beneath his feet. Slowly, with exaggerated care, the necromancer leaned to the right, keeping his right arm beneath him to support him as he leaned, leaning until he could just see around the tree.

Ah! Fantastic. He could indeed see. Though, as he had been right in assuming, the seeress could not. How sad.

[Subtle Mystery]

"Just you wait 'till I get out of these ropes, I'm gonna slice pieces off your skin and roast them over the fire for breakfast! I'll chop your ears off and stuff 'em up your arse, and I'm not even warmed up yet." The voice was a low growl, frustrated, angry, and utterly cold. It had been a long, long time since Lyn had been caught by someone, and she was angered by the fact she'd been trained since she'd been found on the street, a starving child stealing to live. She'd been trained and taken in by Rob Fenrick, an assassin who was well known for his abilities, and Lyn had learnt them all. He'd given her a name, Shadowstalker; for her ability to meld with the shadows and stalk her target. To show no emotion, to move without being seen. She'd been trained by the best and could kill a person in cold blood without twitching, and she'd been caught by some massive oaf.

"Oh, heavens above. Shut up." The note in the man's voice matched hers, a low, dark growl that was inhuman in sound and momentarily shocked Lyn into silence. Hard grey eyes clashed with icy blue, and Lyn's eyes narrowed further in response. He might be dragging her through the dirt, he might be pissing her off to the extreme, but she couldn't do anything. Her hands were tied and the rope jerked so that she couldn't reach one of the ten weapons on her person, not one single one of them with the constant movement.
"No. I won't. Let me go-" Her sentence was cut off mid breath by him whirling to face her, and forcing her to jump back with nimble steps.
"What? So you can steal from more father's struggling to feed starving children? So you can take another child's life simply for a sack of gold to keep you comfy? To kill a wife? To destroy people's lives for the sake of your comforts?"His voice came out a rough snarl as his icy gaze became distant, sad and angry at the same time, disgust twisting what would be handsome features were it not for the tone of his voice.

Garion was disgusted. Assassins were probably the one person in this life he hated, a dragon masking himself as a human he could hate alot of things. Could hate humans, could hate everything, but Assassins had taken everything he'd held dear. His wife, the love of his life, his soul mate and she was now gone. Amber had brought the colour into his world and now she was gone, and his little girl missing. He'd been searching for as long as he could remember losing them, but never found her, and now... Now this. This disgusting... thing... Walking around, killing people for gold, for cash, if he hadn't smelt the blood on her, then he might not have known, might not have known how deeply soaked in blood her soul was.

What Garion didn't see as he jerked the young woman along, was the flash of pain and hurt in her usually hard, withdrawn features. She'd done what she had to, to survive where her parents hadn't, to live, to try and claw her way out of the stinking cesspool of hunger and failure. She gave a tough edge, she cut herself off from her emotions everytime she went on a job, and yet, she knew more than anything how deeply soaked her soul was. If it was even there, black with the blood of the victims she'd taken. She could still see every face, hear the voices, their pleas, the bribes and she'd refused them all. Though her trademark had been to whisper for forgiveness each time, she'd still let their blood stain her hands. Yet as the man looked back at her, she merely settled her features into a cold, harsh expression and looking away from him.

The next town, he'd find someone to kill her, execute her and send her soul to the depths of Hell where it belonged. Damned for eternity for all he cared, as long as she was no longer a danger to people's lives. No longer taking parts of people's soul from them... Just thinking about Amber brought a burning ache to his heart, like a hand had clamped over the organ and squeezed. He'd never see her or his daughter again, perhaps the master who'd killed his wife had taken his daughter's life too, and then what would he have to live for? What would it matter if he could continue searching? What was a thousand years of life as a dragon without the one person he'd sworn his heart, his soul too? Perhaps.. If he found Topaz, his little ray of sunshine, he might struggle through and be able to smile on the final path as he saw Amber again... But without her...
"Just so you know, the first person I find that'll kill you-" Breaking off as he caught a scent, one familliar, achingly so, Garion stopped, not even thinking about the spiteful woman he dragged wtih him as he took off. That scent, he'd known it the minute he'd held her in his arms, knew it as only a parent could know their child.

Topaz...

Though he moved swiftly, Garion was also aware of several other things around him, even the things one might not notice. He noticed that he towered over most people at his height, knew that his bulk that came with this intimidated, rather than soothed. Amber hadn't been frightened, she'd seen straight past the draconic exterior and one look in her dancing brown eyes and he'd been lost in a spiral of emotion and colour that he'd never wanted to step away from. Yet, he had. What pained him even more, was the fact the woman near him reminded him in ways of her. Not in the bright, loving way she wasn't, but the build. The slim, muscled form of a trained fighter, like a dancer, the swiftness of her movement. The fact that for all her seemingly quiet and fragile appearance that assassin was strong, and her cold grey eyes gave that away. Then, nothing else mattered. Time slowed to a crawl as one small being among others caught his entire attention. One little girl, with the scent of his daughter. What did one say? That he was her father, that he had been searching every where for her? That she was the only thing that kept him going?

Yet, while his thoughts were in turmoil, he was also aware of the woman's gaze on him, calculating, cold and contemplating. If she was going to strike him, he needed to be ready for it... And she was clearly thinking about it.

"Topaz?"

[Ajax_2]

Thrugg made his way towards the crowd in the center of town. Maybe there would be something going on there. People gave him quizzical looks, but despite his wild looks, or maybe because of them, he was not hassled. When he reached the front of the crowd he saw a man, a woman, and a young girl engaged in conversation. He could tell that none of them were ordinary people. The man had the eyes of a killer, but he softened when he looked at the girl. The woman had the same aura as some of the shamans back in the north, she was a person of magic. And the girl, He could sense something but it was repressed;almost hidden. he continued to study the trio until his warriors sense buzzed at the base of his skull. His hand strayed to his axe, there was danger here, not grave but close.

[Zoology]

((OOC, haven't read this yet, but skimmed it briefly. I am mainly writing this so I don't forget about it ))

[Eza!]

Topaz listened intently to what Alessandra was saying, apparently oblivious to the woman's tension a moment before. However, five or not, Topaz did pay attention, and she had indeed noticed that something had upset Alessandra a moment before. She was sitting facing forward, occasionally twisting around to look up at Alessandra, when the slightest movement off to the side caught her attention. Her eyes flicked in the direction of the movement, and though she wasn't conscious of it, her eyes briefly glowed before returning to their normal colour; however, now her pupils had shifted, and become slits, like a reptile. Of course, it was impossible to see your own eyes, so Topaz was oblivious to the changing of her pupils. She stared into those yellow eyes for a moment, then carefully set her box down on the table, slid from Alessandra's slap, and toddled off in the direction of those eyes. She thought they looked sort of like a cat's, but in true five year old fashion, she wanted to discover for herself.

When she got close to the tree, the little girl dropped to her knees and crawled the remaining distance, until she was nose to nose with the masked stranger.
"Are you hiding?" She whispered, her eyes sparkling warmly. She didn't know this person, couldn't even see his face, and she noticed he had an odd smell about him - sort of like a dead person - but she was a child, and one inclined to be nice to everyone until they'd proven they weren't worthy of it, so smell or no smell, she would be nice. She moved back a little, giving the stranger space, sitting back on her heels, in a position only young children and flexible adults seemed to be able to achieve.

Bryant startled slightly when Topaz abruptly abandoned Alessandra in favor or pursuing something else. When his sharp eyes picked out the yellow eyes and masked face, partially hidden behind a tree, he frowned slightly, concerned by the fact Topaz was quite far out of his reach. He took a couple of steps in her direction, suspicion in every line of his body.
“Topaz,” He growled warningly, not that the child paid him any attention at all. But then, he hadn’t honestly expected her to. Topaz was a free spirit, and stubborn, although no one really realized that fact until it was too late. When she decided to pursue something, there wasn’t much Bryant could do about it, really, except hang around, ready to rescue her from danger if need be.

“Topaz?”

The girl scrambled to her feet and slowly turned around, the strange masked man forgotten. Time froze for the child, everything seemed to fade away, until she and the large blonde man were the only one’s in existence. And then everything…Exploded. Images, colour, sounds and smells exploded in the child’s mind, and she was suddenly dragged back in time. Seeing herself as a much smaller child, Topaz was rapidly bombarded with memories that flashed at her in separate frames.

Frame 1: Gazing up at this same man, laughing as he animatedly told her a story, even going so far as to act out the parts, while a small woman with sparkling brown eyes and curly hair looked on, her serene face lit with the love she held from her family. The man turned to look at her, and something passed between them. He held his hand out to her, and she walked over, placing her hand in his and at the same time leaning down to tuck Topaz in and to drop a kiss on her forehead.

Frame 2: Laughing, she ducked around a tree as the big man chased her. He almost caught up with her, but then the woman appeared, scooping Topaz up and weaving around several trees. They were both laughing when the man finally caught them.
One after the other, the memories washed over her, and then slowly faded away, and suddenly she was back in reality, staring up at the man. And just like that, as his scent hit her nostrils and his ice blue eyes of which her own were an exact replica met hers, Topaz knew. She remembered everything, just like that.

“Daddy!” She squealed, and without further thought, raced towards him.

Bryant stood back, watching Topaz run for her dad, and amazingly enough, tears glinted in his eyes. As attached as he was to Topaz, he had always hoped and dreamed of this moment; hoping that one day she’d meet up with her parents, because he knew how desperately she longed for them. He was her Uncle, but he could never, and would never try to be, her father. And now, here he was, looking for his baby girl.
Although the idea of this man taking his adopted niece away made his heart wrench and ache in his chest, the reunion touched him somewhere deep inside, a deep, dark place Bryant had thought died long ago.

[joker]

Alessandra, too, was puzzled when she leapt off of her lap and walked away. For the briefest of moments, she worried she had said something wrong. Then she heard the direction in which she headed and her heart froze. She was heading for that thing! The thing that smelled and looked like Death itself. The thing that may or may not be lethal, harmful, sinister. And he was now on the ground like a snake, moving around and doing Gods knew what. By the time Alessandra had realized where Topaz was going, she was too far out of her reach to just pull back. She rose quickly and took a few paces forward, clutching the deck of cards tightly in her hand as if they were a weapon.

"Topaz!" she said in a soft tone, but it was firm, strong, and ringing with authority and warning.

Almost as soon as she had said it, another voice echoed hers. She whipped her head in the direction of the new sound. It was gentle, kind, and soothing. She found the qualities of the voice so surprising, for the voice was male.

A short, undisturbed stillness fell. No one moved or said a word. A second later, Topaz cried out and raced for him.

"Daddy...?" she murmured softly, bewildered. The first person she thought of was Bryant. She turned to him and focused her vision on him. Her heart ached. Tears... She stepped softly towards him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. She smiled softly.

"I'm sorry...." she whispered to him.

[Ajax_2]

As Thrugg watched the young girl run to a strange man who had just arrived. A wave of dark energy struck him like a slap in the face. It radiated from a masked figure peeking around the tree. Thrugg was no mystic, but he was a warrior and the stench of death hung heavy in the air the figure. Relaxing his body, but not his mind, He started to make his way towards the tree in what looked like aimless wandering to the untrained eye.

[Subtle Mystery]

Daddy!

The word went straight to his heart, and settled there. The word he'd wished to hear every day since the gorgeous little girl had been born, loved to listen too at every moment, heard her laughter, brushed her tears away, tucked her in, loved her as only a parent could. Then she'd been gone. His little Topaz had been taken from him, and he'd feared someone had taken her the same way his wife had been taken... And then his heart had been empty, compeltely empty and nothing mattered but revenge, hate and bitterness. He'd ceased to care about anything, wallowing in his memories about his daughter and wife. Both taken from him, both leaving a hole in his heart that he was sure had gone still.

And with that word, it began to beat again.

The young woman was forgotten, rope dropped as he bent down to swing his daughter into his arms. Right where she belonged, and after all this time, she still fit there. Still had that scent that was such a sharp mic of his and Ambers, and then that quirky little touch that was all her own. She remembered him, she loved him, she was back in his arms. His little angel.
"Topaz.." How could he explain that he'd never left her? And when she'd suddenly been gone, how he'd searched endlessly for her, never stopped, never ceased the desperate search for all his heart was hollow. How did he explain he loved her more than anything? More than his own life, more than anyone else.

Burying his face into the softness of her hair, Garion wasn't ashamed to let the tears fall from his eyes. How long had he waited, and longed and dreamed of this moment, when she would be back to him.
"Daddy's here." Was all he managed to choke out as he stroked her hair, not even glancing at the others there, no longer caring about anything but the feel of his daughter and the sensation of the cold, empty organ returning to life.

For a moment, Lyn didn't understand what had just happened, the girl, the man, the people. His daughter? He'd had no woman with him, what had made him search for the girl alone? Why? For a moment, her features softened looking at the pair of them, they were truly a good, caring pair. But then her features became hard again and she set herself about the task of grabbign teh nearest weapon now he wasn't holding her hands tightly by the rope. Not that he cared right now. The beauty of finding something you thought you'd lost. She'd never had that, she'd seen both her parents die, one from illness and one of the blade of a noble.

Slicing through the rope easily, Lyn threw it away from her, rubbing at the now raw skin of her wrists. Ass, he could have gone a bit slower... Then again, he hadn't cared, he'd wanted her dead. Glancing up at the child again, Lyn was caught unaware by the flash of memory, taking hold of her heart and squeezing painfully.

Soft steps, easing against the shadows, silent. One more room, only one more duty to do, and then she was done, she'd proven her loyalty to Rob... But she hadn't expected that proof to be such a high price. The children lay nestled together, boy curled around girl as the girl clung to her brother, thumb in mouth. Eyes closed, so innocent, they'd done nothing.. Nothing. Pausing, Lyn's eyes roamed their gentle features, the gentle chubby cheeks, bow mouths, the dusting of freckles across the nose and cheeks. The way teh boys dark hair flopped gently into his face in sleep, one arm curled protectively around the toddler. And the girl, the baby... One tiny hand clutching at the boys shirt, eyes closed trustingly in sleep, blonde hair curling in gentle waves about the chubby face, the soft smile. Children... Bending slightly, Lyn's lips barely brushed the children's ears as she spoke to them;
"Forgive me..." And yet she did the job, sneaking away, walking away... Later, she'd tell Rob the job was done, but for the moment, she sat staring at the stars, begging forgiveness from the Gods, tears silently tracking down her face.

That child... Topax reminded her so much of the little blonde angel, the little girl who's life she'd stolen. Glancing down at her hands, Lyn wanted to sneer at herself, at the fact no matter how long it might be, she would never get the image of those sleepy brown eyes out of her mind, and the smile ever trusting. That was why she didn't run, why she didn't leave, because her gaze was still fixed on Topaz, caught between guilt and pain.