[center][color=red]Tale's End Slums, Native Varya, City of Magnagrad[/color][/center][hr]

"Anyone want a dog?"

Upon hearing these words, Ragnar's heart leaped from his chest. The Muraadan girl's pups would probably never make for ideal hunting companions. They were too small and would never grow to the size of their counterparts in the wild. She had oversold their worth, but, she was truthful about one thing though...

"Hassan, they're [i]wolves[/i], not dogs. And yes. I would very much like one. In fact, I'll take all three!" His joy and excitement getting the better of him, the young inquisitor snatched the three leashes from Hassan's hand.

"You two go in without me. I'll be out here, getting to know our new friends."

Ragnar turned to Stina and met the giant inquisitor's eyes before tilting his head towards Hassan, who was now making his way to the pub's entrance. The unspoken message was clear. "I won't be in there, so look after him. I know it's going to annoying but, please?"


Ragnar walked the pups across the wet steam-covered road towards an abandoned church. He sat on the short stairwell leading up to the entrance, his white fur cloak staining itself on the filthy wet steps. The pups jumped up to warm themselves inside its folds.

"There, there. Warm enough for you?"

 They had not been allowed pets in the seminary, which had tormented Ragnar to no end for his first few years there. Muraadans were a wild, hearty people, and so were the animals they were bloodbound to keep and protect. His mother had kept a wolf of her own.

He remembered how it tried to protect them from those Lanostran brigands... The sound of its cry as the apostate drove his spear into--

Ragnar gazed at the pups, concentrating hard on their appearances. His mouth was dry, and he could feel his heart begin to calm itself. Sure, they were naught but skin and bones, and even now they were shivering in the cold, but to him, each one was beautiful in its own way. The largest of the pups, a female, was black as night, with dark indigo markings lining her shadowy fur. Her dark glossy eyes met his own without fear. The next pup was the color of Lanostran ice-- cyan blue, with golden eyes that would not meet him. A true half-breed if Ragnar ever saw one, but maybe a bit of a coward. The littlest of the pups was grey, brown and white, a smear of earth and snow. Not all that handsome, save for his eyes-- which were curious and attentive. They were a vibrant red, like an open wound.

With a sad smile, he began to pet them. "I'll find someone who will take care of you. Someone who will treat you well."

Across the street, Ragnar watched as Hassan opened the door to the pub and stepped inside. The sound of raucous laughter and music could be heard coming from within. Ragnar was silent as his brothers disappeared into the dark interior of the Shadow & Storm. He had wanted so badly to spend the night with them, to drink in a place that wasn't the seminary cantina, to laugh and be free for one single evening, but one thing that Hassan mentioned earlier had filled him with trepidation.

[i]"We have much to do! Food, drink, merrymaking, maybe we find a woman for Ragnar here?"
[/i]

The young Muraadan inquisitor sighed, his breath misting in the Varyan winter air. With the wolf pups competing for warmth inside his cloak, Ragnar continued to watch the pub.


[center][b]***[/b][/center]


 Within the Shadow & Storm, the two inquisitors sat drinking at a far table, away from the floor where a crowd of soldiers, civilians, and what looked like a congregation of nuns were dancing up a storm. The pub itself was darkly lit-- with colored ether lamps casting a warm golden glow over everything. The place seemed to have been converted from an old Secular military bunker, as one could glimpse the telltale signs of ether burn and bullet holes on the metal walls and of course, there was no mistaking the drab industrial grey that was emblematic of Varya's military. The decor of the pub was plain, pictographs of old soldiers and warpriests lined the walls while the company flags from retired regiments and warbands hung in tribute behind the bar. The only decoration that seemed out of the ordinary for a place like this was the massive weapon, some kind of broadsword, that hung on the far wall of the pub. It lay atop a fancy-looking plaque. Etched in the gilded stone of that plaque were the words "Arrakin's Zweihander".

The band on stage was energetic, and the traditional Varyan volska they played was rhythmic and loud, the way Varyans liked it. There was hardly any melody, beauty or storytelling in the music of the empire, it only served to get one to yell, to drink and to dance. And that's exactly what the crowd was doing. The nuns were especially getting into it.

Hassan and Stina sat at their table, drinking and conversing. After tonight, their orders called for them to travel to the city of Cero in T'sarae, which would be a long and aggravating trip. This night would be their last in Magnagrad for who knew how long, and Hassan at least, was eager to make it one to  remember fondly.