Blackfridayrule

The Lines Between Us

When the bomb went off and people began leaping on her, trying to pin her down and take her into captivity, Ridahne was convinced that the day couldn't get any worse. How could it? People dying everywhere--civilians--and Ridahne knew deep down that the Taja were not there by chance. Her people had done this. Hers. And she wanted to say it was unlike them, that her people would never do something like this. But...they had.

She had.

Not this exactly, but she'd done dark deeds in the name of duty, in the name of preserving as many lives as possible. That, after all, was what Azurei did. If a few had to die so that others would live, then it would be so. Auzurei practically wrote the book on small strike teams, strategic pressure points, assassinations. They had neither the resources nor the numbers to march out in force, so they resorted to strategy. Strategy meant careful sacrifice.

Ridahne stopped herself. She was almost justifying this. How could she? There was no cause for this, no excuse. She was well versed in the issues Azurei faced--general poverty, exploitation of the silver mines for which they were so known, and a general loss of sovereignty after the war ended. But none of those things were cause for an act of war like this. If the Sol wanted a war, why didn't she just send a team to assassinate the Chancellor in his bed? What was more, why did she want to bring on another war? What was she thinking?

No. This was wrong. No matter what her bias towards home told her, bombings were low and cowardly. They shed needless blood.

Of course, as another man entered the alley, Ridahne decided that yes, yes this day could get worse. One, she could easily intimidate into avoiding a fight and if it came to one, in her current state she had a shot still. But two? Sober and armed, she wouldn't bat an eye, but at the moment, she wasn't firing on all cylinders. This one had a gun, which severely tipped the odds against her. As a reflex, Ridahne gave a fierce shout and stomped her front foot on the ground, though she was very disappointed with the lack of effect. At home in the sands, that gesture which had become so instinctive had a much greater effect as it sprayed sand forward--if it was done with a little more force and momentum, sand could be kicked into the opponent's eyes. But here, it just slapped onto the paved alleyway unsatisfactorily.

"Point that fucking gun somewhere else or I'll take the hand that holds it." Though she had a thick accent, her Brahneian was good and clear. Ridahne meant every word, though she wasn't exactly sure how she'd follow through without either a gun or any of her blades. "And don't either of you move any closer or SO HELP ME YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THIS ALLEY ALIVE." As if to prove a point, she swung the chain in her hand around once to gain momentum, then another rotation slapped hard into the sandstone wall beside her, sending tiny chips of broken stone skittering along the ground. Of course, this was a terrible thing for a person who was a suspect who also wanted to convince others she was innocent, to say out loud. This, however, wouldn't cross her mind until later.

She couldn't think of any reason either of them would be there except to come for her...but then...neither of the men seemed to expect to find her there. In fact, the one with the gun seemed rather surprised and concerned at finding her. Then again, she thought that could be simply because they had been looking for refuge and instead were faced with what they thought was someone responsible for the wreckage, and were now putting up a fight. She didn't know, but it didn't matter. The fact remained that at least one weapon was pointed her way and she would not take that lying down. Besides, she needed to get out, grab her things, and get as far away from here as possible.

Overhead, the little drone hovered and its attached camera studied the three of them in turn, a little light blinking green in rhythmic blips every few seconds. It made no signs of moving on. Ridahne, consumed by panic, did not notice.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Right. Uban knew how to be polite, he could say hello without embarrassing himself too much. Even if he was punch drunk. He smiled and nodded as the man poured the vinegar into the sea, his toes already stinging with cold. This, however, was immediately forgotten the moment he saw the play of moonlight on the waters surface change, and his heart leapt with anticipation. The mermaids emerged, their hair silky and smooth looking as it reflected the heavenly lights above, casting an ethereal sheen on them. The only thing he was thinking was that Rohaan had not done them justice. What he had turned into described a mermaid but it did a poor job of really showing one. He couldn’t get over the smooth shimmer they had!

He had to keep calm. This was his first impression and he wanted it to be a good one, so he should just play it safe, open his mouth to say hello and—
“Titties!” He gasped without meaning to, and he immediately clapped his hands over his mouth. He wanted to apologize but he didn’t trust his mouth. But that too was quickly forgotten as his hands left his mouth to begin peeling off his shirt like it irritated him.

“Hello ladies! Lovely evening we’ve got indeed! But not as lovely as you three eh?” Some of his usual charm was showing through the drunken haze even as he tossed his shirt into the water; it hit the surface with a soft slopping sound. “I must say it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, really.” His hands were scrabbling at his belt, which he eventually undid and flung over his shoulder onto the shore, then his hands worked at the lacing on the front of his pants. Thankfully for his pride, the rope around his waist impeded his progress and he gave up on it, deciding he would just get his pants wet and that would be fine. He’d just go out and get a bit closer, maybe smooth one of their hair and tickle their soft necks with his lips. He took a step forward but made no progress.

Normally, Uban might have looked down to see why this was the case, and why there was a pressure around his waist. But he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to, either. His hands fumbled and found the rope again, and he realized that he was as far at the end of it as Pieter would allow. “Pieter, I can swim great, lemme go…I won’t be gone long. C’mooonnn….” But when this proved to be futile he turned his full thought back towards the mermaids. They were hardly doing anything and that alone was driving him mad with desire. “Is one of you Tevira? Because damn, you’re gorgeous. Really and truly. You’ve got to be.” When his eyes were closed he had the look of a sleepy, happy, sunbathing cat. When they were open, however, he looked distinctly like a trained hound who’d just spotted a fox.

In Dark Seas We Sail

"Oh..." Any concern in Uban's tone was wiped away in a drunken instant. Uban, for the most part, was a trusting individual and Pieter had yet to lead him astray. Besides, if he was honest with himself, he was very pleased that Pieter, whatever his reasons, had wanted to do something with him. Uban's father was still alive (or so he guessed) but had never been much of a father to him when Uban was still around. The man easily considered Pieter to be a far better, more reliable role model than his blood relative had ever been and deep down, he wanted very much for the older man to like him. So he didn't give any more resistance after that and plodded along obediently after him, through the trees and down to the lapping water's edge.

Mermaids! He thought as he took the rope from the thin man. He had always wanted to see one and frankly had been quite jealous that Rohaan had gotten to experience one apparently very up-close that night. And now he was going to! Even through the haze the wine put on his brain, Uban guessed this was something of initiation into priesthood, or at least a first step. Suddenly, he became full of a not wholly unpleasant nervous energy. He would not be the same after tonight, he thought. Uban racked his brain to think of what he knew about mermaids. According to Rohaan, they apparently had very soft scales, smooth and pleasant to the touch. And he knew both that they generally had tits to make any bar wench jealous, and that they were often responsible for sailor's deaths. He had heard tales of unwary men being lured into the water by their charm and thought for sure if he was ready for them, he wouldn't be one of those unlucky men.

"I know about mermaids, or enough to know not to go diving in after them," he assured Pieter. "I don't need a rope, trust me!" Yet he was telling him this while expertly tying a secure bowline knot around his waist. Whatever his drunken brain thought, his instinct had not been addled so much that it lay quiet and he knew better than to truly argue with Pieter about this, for the precaution was wise. "What do I do when I meet them? Is there something polite I say to them? Something I shouldn't say?"

The Lines Between Us

Her instructions were clear. Kyyridh was to wait for the bombs, which had been carefully placed two weeks prior, to go off and then she and her team would sweep in and make five quick kills. Just five, and then they were to be gone. Anyone else who put up a fight was to be swiftly killed, also. She was very proud of her team, who took their five and then exited (though Rhuvon had run into a feisty one, whom he quickly put down and counted as the sixth) smoothly, calmly, and quickly. Normally she would offer them drinks after a successful mission. But not today. Though she was the lead for her squad, her ipari was not taking orders from her. Not this time. Instead, a Taja was calling the shots.

It was not the first time she'd had to surrender control to a Taja, nor would it be the last. Taja outranked even the highest, most esteemed Eija and had authority to swoop in to seize any number of hand-picked individual soldiers or whole ipari for their purposes. And she always surrendered authority gracefully. But she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that his presence made her nervous. Undoubtedly, he would be reporting back to her Sila-Sol on her performance and she did not want to disappoint her Sol.

"Kyyridh." The voice was cold, firm, demanding. It had every right to be. The Eija woman snapped to attention in front of Teyrvadin--the Taja overseeing this fragment of the operation--her chin lifted high and her knife drawn while the other hand rested on the pistol holster at her back, ready for command. "A count." It was not a statement, it was an order.
"Six. We met only the one resistor. The rest were in panic and either fled or did not see us."
Teyrvadin sneered and actually spat thickly on the rooftop where he stood, still surveying the wreckage he caused from afar. Black smoke choked the sky and everywhere the sounds of sirens wailed mournfully. "Pathetic," he jeered with all the hate he could muster; he was plainly not speaking about Kyyridh's team or their performance.

The door to the stairwell opened and another figure came out onto the rooftop looking dusty and harried--much like Kyyridh. It was Oroban, the lead for the other strike team sent to do a similar task at another military outpost. Unlike Kyyridh, however, Oroban did not look so triumphant. Nevertheless, he marched up to Teyrvadin smartly and assumed a similar position as his peer: chin up, knife drawn, hand on his pistol. "Taja," he addressed him respectfully.
"A count."
"Eight. We met...more resistance than we expected."
"Mmm." The Taja's face was inscrutable. "Status of your ipari." He looked briefly to both of them.
Kyyridh answered first. "They fight another day."
Oroban took a little longer to force his answer out, and in his hesitation Kyyridh noticed streaks through the dust and soot on his face. Tears. There was no other trace of them and Kyyridh did not ask about them. Oroban would not admit it anyway. But she knew before he spoke something had gone very wrong. "I lost two," he finally said.
"They will be replaced, and their families will be notified," Teyrvadin said coldly, evenly.
"And..." Oroban swallowed hard. "One of them..." He was visibly struggling to get the words out but he eventually managed, "L-lost his Ojih."

The usually impassive, grim Teyrvadin rounded on him suddenly, eyes wide and fixed on the male Eija. "What?" The word came from clenched teeth.
"A chemical attack of some sort. Gas. It just...just..." He could not say it. He physically couldn't, so he instead put one hand in front of his face, fingers splayed out, and dropped it down as if to imitate something being wiped away.

All three of them shared a silent space of horror. Kyyridh's success seemed empty and hollow as she watched her fellow Eija stand resolutely still and as blank faced as he could despite his obvious desire to either howl with rage or keen over the loss he so sharply felt. Oroban never once questioned his purpose, their purpose, as he thought back to the souls he'd lost. Even in his shaken horror, he remained certain beyond shaking of their mission. If anything, the memory of both his fallen comrade and the other more gruesome loss made him all the more sure that they were doing what was right. Centuries of disrespect, of exploitation, of arrogance--they would all pay for it now. Doubly so after what he'd seen today. He'd make sure of it.

The look of disgust in Teyrvadin's gold-green eyes intensified. "These fools will come to regret that. They will regret it so deeply they will hang themselves in grief...Inform his family he is missing in action. Instruct your ipari to speak of it to no one."
Oroban nodded gravely. "Of course. Not a s--" His breath caught at the word 'soul'. What had once been such a commonplace expression now felt like a stab in the chest. He couldn't say it; he gave up trying to finish the word. Instead, he took a deep breath, straightened, and said, "Taja, I would like a chance to avenge my comrades." His voice was hard, sharp.
"Granted. They will have begun to set up auxiliary medical centers to tend to all their wounded that will not fit in their hospitals. Find one. Burn it down. Do not wait for the cover of night. Go now and be swift."

Oroban's jaw set and a vengeful sneer made the corner of his lip twitch, though it did not yet fully lift to a true snarl due to his efforts to keep his face blank. He hammered one fist against his chest and held it there despite the fact that it was still shaking slightly, then said, "For the Sota-Sol and her people." And then, swiftly, he was gone.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Pieter smiled down at the boy and asked him how the scales felt, and Rohaan wasn't entirely sure how to answer. Except an answer did come, sort of unbidden as he blurted out, "Like soft warm sand on a breezy beach and smooth, cool glass and the velvet of a horse's nose, all at once!" and though he seemed surprised by his own answer, on further inspection he found that in a way, it was accurate. Actually, he couldn't think of what it honestly felt like, not in a physical, empirical sense. But he knew how it made him feel--that he knew quite clearly.

He tried to think about something being neither human nor animal, and obviously not a plant. He wasn't sure what he thought about that idea, and it troubled him a bit, though he couldn't place why. And then, screwing up his face in concentration, he attempted to shift into one. And in a way, he did. It was much like Pieter described--he looked like one, but he lacked any of her presence. The tail was a dark inky blue that shone greenish in the right flicker of light, and his skin had gone from suntanned to creamy and smooth with jet hair that tumbled down in elegant waves over his chest. He was perfectly feminine, and in no way did this seem to offend his usually very masculine natural self. "Huh." he said, his voice high and smooth and girlish, though it was not as musical as any real mermaid's might feel. But he released the form after only a few moments, as it was a little uncomfortable being a water creature on dry land. And then in an instant he was small, dirty, and boyish again.

"Damn!" barked Uban, still staring at him. "I didn't know you could do that!"
Rohaan blinked. "Do what?"
"Be a...well, be a girl."
Rohaan's gaze was confused, like the answer to this was obvious. "Why couldn't I be? I can change into near anything."
Uban gave a slow nod, though he was still wrestling with this idea. "Can you have a baby...?"
Rohaan actually laughed. "No! That ain't how it works. Go back to drinking, Uban, you're better at that," the boy riffed.

---

Hana read to Rohaan by firelight and though he kept his distance at first, his attention was fixed on her mouth as it moved and formed words. He wasn't so much in the mood to peer over her shoulder at the book and to try and figure out which words she was saying, and he only asked for the meaning of a word occasionally if it was crucial to comprehension of the story itself. Generally, he was less inquisitive this time and more content to listen and let his mind color in the imagery. They did this for a while, but within half an hour Rohaan began to nod as the physically rigorous and emotionally draining day finally took hold of him. The boy fell asleep lying near Hana's feet, sprawled out in the sand like it had been his bed for all his life.

Uban, meanwhile, had been sitting with a dopey smile on his face, staring off at what appeared to be nothing in particular, thoughts bumbling clumsily around in his head. Pieter called for him and he snapped to attention (albeit with a bit of a lag) and allowed himself to be helped up as he shrugged and agreed, "okay!" and marched off with Pieter as assuredly as if it had been his idea to go. It took him until they got at least ten feet from the campsite for him to wonder absently, "Where are we going, anyway?" he craned his head back to look at Pieter, realizing that it was much darker and cooler away from the fire. And as he caught sight of Pieter's face and the rope he now had, Uban stopped walking, swaying just a little as a frown formed on his face. "Pieter..." he began cautiously. "What are we doing out here...?" He kept eyeing the rope, then his face, then back to the rope again.

--

Berlin, with the rest of the crew either occupied or turned in for the night, had a few moments truly to himself--a rare thing indeed. So with his pipe clenched in his teeth and a cup of wine in one hand, he strolled along the beach with nothing but the moon for company, allowing the water to lap up over his feet despite the chill. He'd been impressed with the state of his crew today, and though he didn't get to really study Hana's fighting ability, from what he'd seen, she and Uban would work well together. And he, like everyone else, was curious as to what else she was capable of. He also thought about he and Wheel coming up with a strategy for their strike...assuming they could find them again.

Berlin knew they needed time to prepare, but the time not spent pursuing them gave him a knot of anxiety in his chest. This was one target he desperately wanted, and he'd go to great lengths to get it. Would there be survivors? And what sort of state would they be in? If he could save any, he would, and part of their plan ought to account for any prisoners down in the hold. As much as he wanted to burn the ship down and let the sea take it, he did not want to take innocent lives if he could help it. If there was a choice between having casualties and letting his prize get away, he knew what he would do, and the tiny pang of guilt he felt about it was snuffed quickly. He was resolute in this. The Barizians would burn.

Berlin meandered back towards camp, finding Uban and Pieter still gone, Wheel still retired for the night, and Rohaan out cold in the sand. Seeing this, he uttered a tiny singular chuckle and found the boy's cloak, throwing it over him before stoking the fire a bit. Berlin sat back, wondering how Uban was doing. Poor sap, he had no idea what he was in for when they'd left and it would hit him hard. Not unpleasantly perhaps, but hard all the same.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban gave a little shrug and a light laugh. "When? Oh, I just...I don't know. Did. I used to sit out in the pasture with the sheep and entertain myself with singing and eventually the lute. But I think my mum's to blame for that." He winked. "Da's a drunken bastard who never liked me much. But my two sisters are his pride and joy. He'd sooner hit me than sing to me. But not mum. She always hummed whenever she cooked, or would sing us to sleep when we were really little. Encouraged the habit in me, I guess. And it's just...something I do. Did you know, there's all sorts of different versions of sea shanties, depending on the region or even the specific crew? The bones of 'em are the same, but details like words and rhythm change a bit. I find that really neat." He'd had quite a bit to drink by this point, though he had an incredibly high tolerance for a man of his size. Still, he spoke a little louder and his nose was red. "You said you play the harp, I'd love to hear you sometime. Maybe you and me could do a duet one of these days in some tavern, yeah? I can ask Rohaan to get you a little half-harp. I'm not sure how he does it, but he's a remarkable thief for his age."

Berlin smiled at this. "I'd like to say I taught him what he knows, but that ain't true. Half, he comes by naturally. The other bit Pieter and I coached him on, and I've got to say, he's really come along." The way Berlin talked about it, it seemed like he was telling them all about Rohaan's new skill in art, or in wood whittling or cooking--something respectable--and not thievery. There was not a drop of disapproval in the Captain's tone, either. Berlin did not have the love for blood that some other pirates had, nor even the penchant for all manners of debauchery (only a few suited his tastes). He was a con-artist, deep down, and he loved a good challenge and an even better haul. Which is why he left small merchant ships alone, or whaling boats--the prize wasn't worth the effort.

The night sky deepened and the moon rose. Uban was now quite firmly drunk and could no longer sit up exactly straight in his seat by the fire. Once, he had attempted a song on his lute, but as drunk as he was, he couldn't chord with his whole, right hand very well, and the four-fingered left one was near useless. So after a miserable stumble through of a song punctuated by many sour chords and a following "Damn!", he put it away. Instead, he began to drunkenly howl,

"My husband's a farmer, a farmer, a farmer
a very fine farmer is he!
all day he plows fields, plows fields he plows fields
and at night he comes home and plows meeee!"

And in a surprising turn of events, Berlin picked up the following verse. His voice was softer than Uban's, quieter. Supressing a grin he added,

"My husband's a carpenter, a carpenter, a carpenter
a very fine carpenter is he!
All day he pounds nails, pounds nails, he pounds nails
and at night he comes home and pounds me!"

Clearly, Uban thought the Captain to be quite above singing bawdy tavern tunes and this rare moment was of great surprise to him, as he suddenly gave up the song and burst into laughter so hard that he wheezed a little, and the corners of his eyes sparkled wetly in the firelight.
"I don't get it," Rohaan chimed. "Pounds...that's...this, right?" he punched one fist into his open hand.
"It's got two meanings, Rheoaan," Berlin explained when no one else seemed keen to volunteer for that explanation. "One of them is that, yes. The other is sex," Berlin told him quite plainly and without any dithering or hesitation.
"Oh," Rohaan answered simply with a now disinterested shrug. Even understanding the words, he still didn't get the joke.

Rohaan watched Hana for a bit through the firelight, studying her with eyes that almost gave the impression of being luminous in the dim light on account of their bright and vibrant color. He still wasn't sure what to make of her, yet. And he did not look at Wheel. He was irritated with him of course, but the hurt from Berlin ran far deeper than anything Wheel said to him. He'd been riled up, then, and Rohaan could deal with being shouted at, or even batted around a bit. But trust was a fragile thing. Tiring of studying Hana, he rose and sat himself beside Pieter, looking almost reverently at the thin, inked man. "Pieter, I forgot to tell you!" Very importantly, he said, "I saw a mermaid today! She was nice, she even let me touch her scales." Of course, he had no idea that Pieter was the one who called her to him in the first place. Rohaan liked Pieter, and very much liked to impress him, or at least to feel he had. "I wonder...do you think I could turn into one if I tried...?"

Berlin shot a look at his mate that said speaking of... and then glanced over at a very well-sauced Uban, who was grinning stupidly and loosely attempting to put down more food, though he would get distracted after a bite or two and the bowl ended up sitting in his lap more than anything. "Rheoaan," he said rather pointedly. "You should get to sleep. It's late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow."

Rohaan was not happy to hear this at all. Berlin did not often order him off to bed, and frankly, Rohaan didn't feel much like sleeping at the moment. Not when others were still up. There was a split second between them in which Rohaan looked like he might protest, and Berlin looked like he'd have a counter argument at the ready, but an impish glimmer came into the boy's eyes and, deftly outsmarting his Captain, he said, "But...what if I ask Hana to read to me?"
Berlin sighed in defeat. "Well it won't do you any good asking ME, will it?"
Rohaan padded over to her, scuffling the soft sand between his toes "Ha--um, Miss Seuville..."

The sudden formality and politeness was so shocking to Berlin (who had not known that Rohaan agreed to calling her that while doing lessons) that he actually choked a little on his mouthful of wine and narrowly avoided spitting it into the fire. Berlin looked to Pieter and whispered in a very quiet tone, "Pieter, mate, stars above! You broke him!" There was concern on his face but it was betrayed by the jovial glimmer in his tone; he was trying not to laugh.

Uncharacteristically nervously, Rohaan continued, only glancing up into her eyes for a second at a time as though he had not spent the entire evening staring at her. "You got your book with you...? The one you were reading me earlier? Could...maybe you could read me some tonight?"

The Lines Between Us

Years and years of training were overriding any logical thought Ridahne might have had in that moment. Sure, they weren’t doing anything overly suspicious. They didn’t even seem like they’d seen her. So what was making her feel this way? She didn’t understand it herself, but she knew without a doubt that no matter what was happening, it would be better if she wasn’t around. She was walking fast now, regretting the extra beer she had. If she hadn’t been drinking, she could have carried her knives at least (in this part of the world, it wasn’t as polite or normal to have a full sword on your back or at your hip like it was in Azurei). But now she was a bit intoxicated and unarmed and she felt naked and stupid, clumsy as she pushed her way through the milling throngs.

Had they seen her? Would they be following her? And if they were....what was she supposed to do?

Paranoid, Ridahne turned her head even as she slid past two dawdling people. And just as her neck gave a full twist, it happened.

A ripping, tearing, rending sound like the universe itself had been torn asunder burst through the air, deafening her with its intense volume. And then there was fire. Bright, hot, angry fire mixing with inky black smoke. She was too far away to feel it’s heat, but she did feel the rush of air that moved before it. Two more similar bangs sounded somewhere in the distance and before she knew it, the sky was filled with acrid smoke and the sound of panicked screams.

Ridahne began a full out sprint now, coughing and wheezing. The stage where the chancellor had been was gone. Just gone. And in its place was just fire and ash and smoke. Chaos reigned supreme as panic spread further and deeper through the crowd. She had to get out of here. Anywhere. Just away.

In the turmoil, Ridahne became loosely aware of some local cops moving very fast and very purposely towards her, shouting and pointing angrily. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she didn’t need to be told outright that they were coming for her, thinking she was a suspect. Of course. If anyone noticed that the Taja had done something, they’d be wary of any Azurei—after all, only veterans of the old war really could tell the difference between a Taja and anyone else just by a quick glance. They would see her tattoos, her face, her clothes, and all that anyone would know is that she was there, and she was Azurei.

That was not a good combination.

Ridahne’s flight became a mad dash for survival now, more than it had been. Still, the cops were stuck in a thick crowd and she was very fast. Would they really be able to ca—

A dull thud reverberated all through her skull as something very hard struck her forehead and she staggered. In that split second of dazed sluggishness she felt multiple hands on her arms and something inside her snapped back to awareness. With surprising speed and strength, she pried herself out of the civilian’s hands, decked the nearest one right in the soft part of the temple, kicked another’s chest, and she dashed away.

Ridahne was fast and had long legs, and the confusion worked to shield her from those who knew what was going on...or thought they did. She was able to get out of the crowd and into a clearer street, where she put her head down and ran with all the last vestiges of speed and energy that she had to find a place to hide. But she was off balance from the drink and from that blow to the head. Something in her felt sick from all the adrenaline as her ears rung, her lungs burned from more than just overexertion, and her legs ached and felt weak under her.

Ridahne thought of the blast. The fire. The smoke, the screaming as everywhere around her, people either descended into panic or, a bit further away, people were dying. Actually dying. Ridahne was not a stranger to death, but not like this. She was 18 when the war ended, and recalled now with a sharp, fresh clarity what it was like to experience bombings back then as a child. She remembered her brother Hadian grabbing her and near throwing her into a bunker as he followed close behind. She remembered the day her mom died. She remembered spitting at soldiers as they passed through her poor little town.

Ridahne remembered the young man serving beer. The woman who ran the tea shop. The veteran soldier who had sat with her there. Where was he, now? He who had survived the war, who came to celebrate its end…she’d snapped at him. She was less than kind to him. Was that what he was thinking of in his last moments? Or did he even have the time?

She blinked. She wasn’t running anymore. The sky above her was now an ashen gray-blue, though the smoke was thinner here than it was at the epicenter. She was on the ground. It took some time to realize this, and it wasn’t until she paid attention to the cool of pavement under her fingers that she realized she’d stumbled and fallen, and had been there for at least a full minute. Damn. She felt horrible. Slow, sluggish, and her thoughts and movements rebelled against her. How far had she run? Not far enough, probably. She touched her forehead and her slender fingers came away red and a little wet.

Ridahne would have stayed there, crumpled on the alley pavement until she either slipped into unconsciousness or stabilized, but she heard fast footsteps approaching and entering the alley. There was no time to rest. Her mind raced. She had nothing to defend herself, not even the little pistol she kept. Desperately, her hand reached out and grabbed the first thing it touched and gripped it hard. A rusty, discarded length of heavy chain was in her grip now. It would have to do.

Like a prize heavyweight boxer staggering up when she should have stayed down and taken the defeat, Ridahne swayed and lurched to her unsteady feet, giving the length of chain one quick, circular twirl. She backed against the wall in a fighting stance and gave a feral, daring snarl at the figure entering the alleyway. The little trickle of blood from her head had streaked down in one jagged red line over her black, white, and indigo tattoos. The tendril had reached her mouth, giving her teeth a bloodstained pinkish hue. She looked like a cornered and crippled wolf who had not yet decided she was finished putting up a fight.

”Talei si ajirih, talei ja’aiye!” ((You come closer, you die.)) Ridahne did not feel very confident, weaponless and out-of-sorts as she was, but she would let no part of her body language or tone reveal that if she could help it. She was innocent. And if someone wanted to try and take her down, she would not go without a fight. It never once occurred to her that fighting at a moment like that would be unwise, that it would not help her case as a suspect. But Ridahne was a fighter to her bones. She was fire, hot and bright. She was stone, hard and unmoving. She would not surrender herself to the hands of foreign law.

The Lines Between Us

LOL nothing can go wrong! XD Good luck mate!

The Lines Between Us

Yeah, basically the reason Azurei didn't get stomped by the more advanced/larger nations is because trying to assault them on their own ground is difficult. Kind of in the way colonists fought back the British using guerrilla tactics because they knew the land etc. Azurei is a harsh landscape which is why it's so small and not as developed or wealthy as other nations. The Azurei know their land very well and use it to their advantage when strangers come knocking.

Also as a general note, they do have technology like guns and things (and obviously bombs) but their big thing is swords. It's a cultural thing (something you'll learn as you get to know Ridahne) and it's an art that's stuck around, almost in the same way that martial arts in Asia are today.

Yeah, Haban killing some eija seems good. Eija (unless I start giving one a name and make them a character) are expendable, if that makes sense. Taja...there are a small, set number. Cultural things you'll learn from Ridahne, but each Sol (matriarchal leader) has a certain amount of them. If one dies, a new one is trained and brought in. They're like the secret service almost, but with the badassery of the SEALS. If that makes sense?

As far as what would distinguish a taja from an eija...well there are a few things, but the most obvious would be the sashes they wear. Black across the chest, white around the waist. They'd be silk, exquisite but not froofy. Eija have neither of these--instead they have a blue and white star tattooed on the upper bicep of the left arm. Spoiler alert, Ridahne has one of these so Haban would know she either is or was eija. Should make things fun when they all meet up for the first time. Heheheh.

Also I'm gonna let @vFear post before I do...I think in my next post, things are gonna go boom but I wanna give Vilcjo a chance to have another appearance before I do.

The Lines Between Us

Okay so slow down a bit.

1: just how good is Haban at blade combat? Taja are not good. They’re the best. Ridahne would seriously struggle against one and she’s very good with a sword or a knife. His only decent chance of matching one would be using a gun or some other tactic (like the acid). And if he did engage with them he would not come out unscathed.
The reason I’m all particular about this is that there are not many of them and they’re a bit of a plot device, so they aren’t just expendable baddies.

2: I like the idea of him melting one’s face off though. To clarify, this is a beyond horrific thing to do in the eyes of the Azurei (the face tattoos are sacred and to even touch someone’s face without permission is extremely rude) and if Ridahne finds out he did it, it will be a big point of conflict later. Which could be fun. But I just want you to know what that action means in context.

But I also don’t wanna kill your vibe. Maybe there are two Taja and a group of eija (standard soldiers)? The Azurei fighting style is very much “hit and run”. They don’t have the tech or numbers to do brute force so they rely on strategy and stealth. Azurei is big on assassinations—-quick, quiet, doesn’t put too many of their own at risk more than there needs to be. They’d do an explosion, cause panic and throw their enemy off balance, kill either some key people or a handful, and disappear like ghosts. On the offensive, they are not typically a fight to the last man sort. Get in, do damage, get out.