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[center][sup][h1][color=black] B R I N L A I T H  &  R U L - A M A N[/color]
[color=gold]B R I N L A I T H[/color]  &  [color=maroon]R U L - A M A N[/color][/h1][/sup][/center]

[center][b][color=lightgray]10th of Midyear, 4E 200[/color][/b][/center]
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Something was deeply wrong on this island. Abandoned fields and farmlands, creaking doors and window shutters, restless birds amongst the trees, and a jungle that seemed to have eyes looking back at them. The riders that carried them were uneasy and wary of the two they'd rescued, and for that Brinlaith couldn't blame them. She answered their questions briefly when required, recounting the experience of the pirate attack at sea, though she was sparse with the details. There were plenty of things that these riders, and Rul-Aman for that matter, simply didn't need to know.

When the walls of Port Hunding loomed before them, Brinlaith was glad to dismount from behind the rider she'd been stuck with for hours. Ahead, civilization called, a siren's song if she'd ever heard one. A smell, too, that of smoke wafting from the buildings beyond the gates. Some of it was just firewood, but there was a hint of something cooking, and it was more than enough to get her stomach stirring. [i]Real[/i] food sounded like something she could kill for right about now.

First, they had to get through the gates. A large crowd was assembled before them, farmers and fishers and a few traders, nearly all of them looking raggedly poor, desperate, agitated, and anxious. If it wasn't blatantly obvious that she wasn't from these parts, Brinlaith might've fit right in. She was filthy, smelly, and clearly exhausted, but that didn't keep her from achieving a focus akin to a huntress spotting a quarry. She [i]needed[/i] to get inside those walls.

"Looks like the guards aren't in a hurry to let everyone in," she pointed out, gesturing to the eight armored Redguards at the gate, their shields painted yellow with crossed red scimitars and a single red star. "Let's hope we didn't ride all this way for nothing."

Rul-Aman's ass was sore. He had not felt so tired since the collapsed ship, which was not so long ago, but it felt like eternity. The entire time he has been associated with Brinlaith, it's felt like a waking nightmare. His father had always told him to watch out for a beautiful woman, but this was entirely unexpected! He should not blame her, however. She was just as beaten down as him, he could see it in her eyes. 

His own eyes were lidded, betraying his exhaustion. The ride had been rough, despite the blessing it had been. Now, Brinlaith brought the incessant guards to his attention. Rul-Aman rolled his eyes at the spectacle, one gateman examining a cart of grain as if it held the secrets to CHIM. 

"Don't worry," he told her, his voice meandering as if spoken with the help of the wind. "Even if they don't let us through, I can get into anywhere. It will just be more annoying." The last statement had more weight to it, as if he were coming to terms with the fact there might be another trial ahead. 

He thought for a moment, a modicum of new energy appearing like alcohol tossed into a flame, and he took a professional poise, pursing his lips. "We need to come up with a fiction, for them to let us through." He concluded. Though the both of them had gone through an oblivion gate's worth of trouble, the guards did not seem the bleeding heart types. "I can lie with the best of them, but we do need to get our stories straight. Any suggestions, or shall I simply wing it?"

Despite everything, he gave her a look of mischief that had just a hint of flirtation in it. 

Brinlaith felt lucky to have been shipwrecked with someone who was rather a lot of fun. She tried to stay in high spirits despite all the misfortunes of her life, but Rul-Aman made it look simple. She made note of his admission about lying, though her expression remained solidly passive. Familiar suspicions warned her that his friendly demeanor could evaporate the moment she became inconvenient to him. But she remembered the way he'd tried to shield her from raining arrows, and somehow she doubted that was part of an elaborate ruse to gain her trust.

"I'm not above weaving a story," she admitted, "but we can negotiate with simple truths as well. My magical talents, your skill with a blade... this island strikes me as having a need for people like us. They help us get back on our feet, we do a little work for them. Might be some coin in it, too."

Through all the chaos, she'd still managed to hang on to a little gold, too, though she wasn't eager to bribe anyone with it. She had a few small vanities visible as well, rings and necklaces of some value, things that made her look... not exactly like the average farmer.

She raised an eyebrow at Rul. "...unless you're in a hurry to catch a ship and finish the journey to High Rock. Someone waiting for you there?"

Simple truths? Just when he thought he had her pegged, she surprised him. Despite her sour disposition, he found he quite enjoyed her. Though to be fair to Brinlaith, even if he did not, they had been in very sour circumstances. He was particularly tired, and somehow he felt closer to having been trodden on by horses than having ridden them. 

He raised an eyebrow back, but his surprise was quickly replaced with a grin that showed his teeth. "Only the Gods know, but no one I was planning on. I was more keen to run away than run toward, if you catch my meaning. Perhaps we can talk about it after some...recuperation?" 
 
If he had a drink in his hand, he would have taken it. That being said, he merely turned and ushered for Brinlaith to follow. It was only then he realized she had let slip that they should stick together as a team. His exhaustion-addled mind did not know how to respond to that, but he had the inkling his awakened mind would find that very amenable. He pushed the thought down, and cleared his throat, vainly 'fixing' the unruly mass of long dark hair before escorting Brinlaith to the fore with all the swagger he could muster. Men and women, those that could see him and his weapons, gave way at their approach, until after a short, uncomfortable minute, he pushed himself to the front of the line. 

The lead guard had his mouth open to yell 'next!' but the sound did not even flee his lips before Rul-Aman stood before him, regarding the man as if he were privileged to be allowed in his presence. 

"Who are you? Back of the line!" 

"How will you find out know who I am if I am at the back of the line?" Rul-Aman asked, casually examining the fingernails of his right hand. The guard, bedecked in scale armor of finely forged steel, looked at him for a long moment. It was evident anger was rising, but so was a morbid curiosity. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rul-Aman, a sellsword of no small repute. I am accompanied by my lovely partner, who's name she can grant if she so wishes. We merely wish to enter your delectable settlement so we can help quell the dangers of your fair island. So far, we have slained over a dozen of the walking dead." 

"Lies!" Someone said, another guard perhaps, behind the lead one, who seemed flabbergasted. 

"Lies!?" Rul echoed, sweeping his cloak before him to reveal his sword. "Would you like a demonstration?" He slid his foot across the sand. It left no real mark, but it was the thought that counted. "Shall we duel? Who among you..." 

"Alright, alright!" The leader said, clearly tired of this. Brinlaith had been right, it was clear the two of them had value, particularly Rul-Aman. Which was ironic, considering he felt Brinlaith was the more scary of the two, but it was hard to hide a blade, even sheathed. Still, she had the look of someone from a different cut than the peasantry. 

The burly captain gave an exasperated sigh and waved them forward, and Rul glanced over his shoulder at Brinlaith to grant her a wink.  

The look the Nord woman gave back to him was one of fading anxiety, now that it seemed they'd avoided needing to fight anyone to prove their worth. She had some skill of her own talking her way into or out of trouble, but greatly preferred not to make herself the center of attention while doing so. She'd tensed up like a wary feline when the crowd's eyes were all suddenly upon them, an instinctual reaction, but she resisted the urge to reach for a flame or an illusion spell.

Keeping her name to herself and not wanting to risk messing this up, Brinlaith shuffled forward behind Rul-Aman as they neared the narrowly opened gate. "First thing's first," she said quietly, "real food and a real bed. The undead can wait 'til tomorrow, I'm sure." 

"You usually have fine ideas, but on that, we could not agree more." Rul said, suddenly feeling like a sinking rock.