Carantathraiel

Wanderers

He rolled back as she pulled him, his legs flexing in vain to keep smothering the fire, only to have her finish the job. He went slack for a moment, breathing, before he lurched himself upright, bending to work at the ropes around his ankles with his hands. "There is nothing left." He snapped angrily. "And yes, I am afraid they'll come back, because they h─"

He froze, having turned his head to leer at her, his eyes landing not on the scarred helmet but a scarred face. Her face. Or at least it once was. This one was no where near as flawless, but beneath the scars and the wear, there she was. Nothing she said met his ears, her voice muffled and garbled as if they were underwater. He swallowed thickly, afraid, his chest aching fiercely.
He could remember the way her lips felt against his own, the ashy smell of her hair, the way her fingers were always cold against his skin, even in the desert heat.

He wasn't sure how long he stared before he shook his head, forgetting everything else, the sound of her laughter echoing in his head, drowning out the screams. "Stay away from me." He said viciously, going back to work at the ropes around his feet. "I don't care what you do or where you go, but stay away from me."

Wanderers

He enjoyed the rest. It was the best sleep he'd had in months. Until he stirred. The reek of blood and decay in the air was mingled with something else. Something that, long ago, had been a scent he had enjoyed. That took him back to an underground life filled with laughter, small feet, and purpose.
Hearthfire.
That's what it was. He remembered the meals cooked over it over so many decades, and his stomach growled. She had always been a fantastic cook, the short, explosive immigrant mother. Her dark brown skin, wild hair, and deep black-brown eyes.

Everything else roared back as soon as he remembered her face; the screaming, the fires, the bloodshed, the agony, the giant silhouettes with the gleaming red eyes, and her laughter echoing through the night─

He opened his eyes with a snap and sat upright with a start, eyes wide. Night had fallen in earnest, the city completely black beneath a blanket of loud, glinting stars. It should have been the only light, those jewels in the sky, but she'd made fire. Fire. Holy Gods.

"What are you doing!" He snarled, moving to get up and finding his wrists and ankles bound together. Rope. Where the fuck did she get rope? Growling, he twisted, pointing his feet toward the fire, kicking and dragging his feet against the dry earth to cover the flames. Too slow. In a very undignified hops, he scoot close enough to throw his feet down on the flames, crushing the small embers. searing the bottoms of his bare feet in the process. "Put it out!"

Wanderers

Thank the Gods, she finally listened. His eyes followed her as she held up her hands and left the altar, finding her way back out again. He didn't take his eyes off of her, not trusting that she wouldn't attack the moment she was near enough to do so. With or without that brute strength.

She muttered something in a language he didn't understand, and he blinked. It sounded like a prayer. An odd show of humanity.

"It doesn't matter." He growled. "It's just like everything else, now, isn't it?" His gaze finally left her, looking back inside to the altar that reeked, even from here. The doors hadn't been opened, air hadn't gotten in or out. The whole chapel smelled thickly of rot, blood, and fear.
Whatever she could sense, he wasn't surprised.

"Whatever you're looking for, it's long gone. I am the only thing left here, and I have no desire to help you chase your ex lover across the desert. Clearly, he has moved on. You should try it."

Wanderers

"A bit more warning, next time, darling, and maybe I'd have cleaned up. Put on a pretty smile." He bit back sarcastically, watching her face reappear. His expression darkened noticeably at the comment about the gods. Despite himself, he followed, strolling toward the hole in the wall, though he didn't take a step inside. Instead, he watched her from the otherside of the pile of rubble.

"Their Gods are not mine." He said quietly, his eyes wandering not the bloody alter, but the glass mosaic in the wall behind it that made the large wall resemble a bright sun in the steady sky; the blues, whites, and golds glittered beautifully in the sunlight. When there was sunlight.
He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that she'd broken into the chapel. Why it set his nerves on edge that she wandered through the long-ago desecrated room, touched the blood-soaked altar. It had been ruined long before she came here, but, for reasons he didn't understand, he blamed her. This wretched woman who walked in like she owned it.

"Get. Out." He said darkly, breathing more heavily than he meant to. He hated that she was touching the altar. Hated that she was stepping on the stains of all the lives lost. Not his Goddess, not anymore, not for decades, but these people had been his. And he'd failed them.

Wanderers

He didn't bother with an answer. He could easily tell she'd been through hell and back plenty of times. No soldier whose armour was that unattractive had just sat on the sidelines sipping ale. Plus, that attitude of hers came straight out of someone who had taken plenty of shit in their life. Which was why it was so rewarding to hear her growl at him.

When she sheathed her sword, he paused, arm poised to throw another rock. What was she up to, now, he wondered. Again, his answer came swiftly as she bolted forward and threw her fist against the chapel. His mistake was assuming it was nothing but a show for intimidation. He hadn't expected the fucking wall to crumble against her fist.
Almost too late, as the roof fell from beneath his feet, he vanished again.

Out of view, he appeared, bracing his back against what was left of a wall of a nearby structure. Long ago, he thought it might have been a shop that sold carved stone figurines for children. He turned his head, peering around the ruin at the armoured figure.

"So I can add 'Desecrater of Holy Structures' to your list of attributes, then?" He called back, finally walking around the wall to face her. Some fifty yards of blood-stained ground separated them. "You intrude. You insult. You vandalize. You're just the perfect guest, aren't you?"

Wanderers

He took two steps, craning his neck to peer over the edge long enough to see that shimmer of blue light again, and the woman disappear. Clever. He quickly moved, running sideways along the edge of the building in case she reappeared behind him again. As unwise as it would be to try, he wouldn't hold it against her.
When she reappeared on the ground, he slowed, turning to look down at her from atop of the chapel.

She was panting. He considered what that meant with a soft tilt of his head. Either it had frightened her enough, the fall from the roof, that she was struggling to breathe. But she hardly seemed the type to be bothered by heights. Or, whatever the blue light was, the magic she used, drained her.
Good. That will make this so much more fun. Even though she sunk back into a fighting stance, waiting for another attack, he knew better than to attack right away. She was waiting for it. Swathed in baggy desert clothing, he didn't move, didn't tense, letting her catch no hint to his next move.
Not that he had one. She'd destroyed his weapon, and she had a sword. Safer to stand clear of this bitch for now.

Her taunt piqued his interest enough to hold of on any formation of a plan. Until she spoke her offer. He craned his neck back in a dramatic eyeroll and tucked a hand into the folds of his clothing. "You've just given away your hand." He taunted in return, withdrawing his right hand. He shuffled his fingers, the soft sound of rock on rock resonating across the empty city. He picked one out of his handful with his free hand. "You have no idea what attacked this place. Because if you did, you would know revenge is very much easier said than done." Because he had considered it. Even knowing he wouldn't survive the fight, he'd considered it.

With a flick of an arm, he hurled a small stone down at her. He usually kept them in his pockets to toss at the vultures or coyotes, but maybe if he hit her it would make a pretty little sound. Dent that armour a little more. Teach her not to wake people up and annoy them.

"You have nothing, intruder." He picked another up with his left hand and tossed it. Then a third.

Wanderers

He continued to leer at her. She seemed just as willing to converse and offer information as he was. Until she dealt him the details of the man she hunted. Half a year ago. Blood magic. Traces of him everywhere. He stilled for a few seconds, connecting pieces. It had been almost six months since they'd swept into the city, destroying everything they'd touched. The plague of violence and bloodshed, their life-long enemy, lead by a beautiful woman with raven black hair, with skin that smelled faintly of plums and fire-ash.

Someone else, this man sought by this stranger, had to be involved. The woman had barely left the city in the time she was here. And yet, somehow she'd managed an alliance with them, organizing the day that had ended everything.

When the woman gestured, he blinked, shoving aside his thoughts as she tried to bribe him into allowing her to stay. His eyes crinkled as he grinned wickedly beneath his cover. "You have nothing I want or need, intruder." He said darkly. "There is nothing here for you or your kind. There is nothing here for anyone. But, seeing as you're going to trespass and threaten me, I think I'd like to see what I'm up against."

In a quick movement, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, never leaving his crouch, and vanished.

Turning her trick against her, he reappeared behind her, his bare feet silent on the chapel roof as he sunk into position, still crouching. She'd barely moved, registering what he'd done, and he launched from his crouch before she had time to guess he'd done exactly as she had. Forcefully, he threw his hands against the back of her cuirass and shoved her toward the edge of the roof.

Wanderers

She fucking vanished.

He inhaled sharply, lowering his bow to raise his head, his eyes searching for any sign of movement. Where the fuck did she go? She hadn't been able to do that. This wasn't the same woman. Wasn't the same nemisis. This was something else. Something powerful.

The subtle vibrations in the air alerted him to the swing of the sword from behind him. Ducking his head, he felt the blade sever the wood of his bow. No difference, he had always been a lousy shot, anyway.
Dropping the now-useless pieces of wood and string, he twisted, still crouched, in time to see her recoil away from him. She pointed the blade at him, his blue eyes wandering the undeniably sharp edge mere inches away from him. I'm so close to puncturing your flesh. Why was everything such a goddamn threat?

He took a moment to study her. Or, at least her armour, seeing as it was all that was visibly. It was dented, scratched, marred. This woman had seen battle, fought for her survival. And won her life, at least. Not sure if he could say the same for what she was fighting for. She wouldn't have set foot here if all was going according to plan. She carried herself well, her body held in a way that reminded him of his brother, who had always had the better form of the two of them.
But the way she'd triggered the alarms around the city. The way she'd vanished and reappeared behind him. The way she could sense his magic, and knew to keep away from him.
She was a trained fighter and a magic wielder.

Breathing slow, controlling his temper, he leered up at her along the edge of her blade. "No." He snarled at her offering no more answer than that. "And you? What sort of unfortunate half-breed are you to be able to move like that?"

Wanderers

He considered her answer. Not so much her words, but the way she spoke them. Something was familiar about that voice. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to spot anything, any indication of who she was, but nothing. No loose strand of jet black hair, no glimpse of the unnaturally beautiful eyes. The sound of her voice, though, he could feel his skin crawl at the sound of it. Familiar. Too familiar.

Without shifting his position, he pulled the drawstring of his bow. He wasn't sure if he wanted to challenge her. Alone, there would be no one to fall into the cross hairs. But last time he'd challenged her, if she was indeed her, he had barely survived. Ziad hadn't survived.
She and the allies she'd made had torn through here and destroyed everything so effortlessly they may as well have been giants, and the Ziadi little more than helpless newborns. He had stood and fought. He and his brother, and the little army his brother had commanded. Too many of them, as well, had fled, terrified. The city stood no chance.
Ziad was gone. Everyone he had once cared for gone. It was no longer something worth dying for. Fighting now would be a pointless effort.

"Go back out the way you came." He called again. "Head north-west, toward the mountains. Once you reach them, follow them northward, and you'll reach the port city."
He shifted at last, pointing his arrow at her, aiming, ready. "Anyone who could took off in that direction. Its the nearest city. Now. I say again. Get. Out."

Wanderers

@Michellin