Session 3.1 - Original Works

Welcome back to K-chan's Traschan of Fiction 'o Rama! Last time we met, I promised you video games. Lots of video games. Well, here's the thing.

I lied.

This Session is going to focus on my original works, all the stuff that I've written that have just petered out at some point. Some of this stuff's pretty long. (In fact, one of them's so long that I'm giving it it's own, separate session.) Some of this stuff's pretty short. Some of it's… well, I'll let you see for yourself.

So, let's get started!

Anri Kusanage (aka Anri Potavani) is my Avatar in the great realm of Chat rooms. She's been a vampire, ninja, assassin, Aes Sedai, Jedi, mad ferret handler, a student at Otaku High School, and a whole host of other stuff either too long or too boring to name. But, personally, I think she's at her best when she's acting the thief:

<I love being me,> Anri thought, smiling. She silently pried the window open and slipped into the darkened room. <Now, where is that chest?>

She peered around the empty room, studying and cataloging everything that her eyes fell on. A rich nobleman, Lord Grolph-or-something-like-that, lived very well indeed. A thick carpet covered the floor in a style that she didn't immediately recognize. A large, ornate cabinet made of a dark wood, Anri thought it might be redwood, gleamed in the moonlight. Several full-length mirrors hung on the walls, all of them reflected Anri's lithe image back at her. A marble fireplace occupied one whole wall, the remains of a fire slowly smoldering in the hearth. A tapestry hung above the mantle. From what Anri could see, it depicted two armies in a massive, bloody, battle. Several wooden and metal stands were scattered about the room, some carrying small figurines and a few carrying books. In the middle of the room was a four posted bed, wide enough to hold four people with room to spare, and a canopy covering the top that came down and obscured the inside. Anri watched it warily, but there was no movement from it.

A quick glance showed only two doors. One obviously led into the lord's antechamber. The other, partially opened, was probably the entrance to the man's bathing room. The chest that she sought was nowhere in sight.

Her boots barely made any noise as she quickly moved to the open door. It was well-oiled; it made no noise as she slowly widened the crack so that she could see into the other room.

Darkness reigned there; the absence of windows made the blackness within absolute. She silently ground her teeth in frustration, she didn't want to risk a light, but if the chest was in there...

Frowning to herself, she went to the cabinet. Maybe the chest was in there. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the cabinet was redwood. And gilded, too! Curves, like waves breaking, had been worked into the sides, accented by the gilt-covered scrolls that bordered the edges. The four front panels, each easily two feet across, were made of glass, and each bore an image of ships sailing in an ocean. The golden scrolls that bordered the these led to the ornately carved golden handles.

Suddenly feeling tremendously better, she opened one door and eagerly peered inside. Coats and shirts fine enough for any festival hung from pegs along the rear of the cabinet. Shelves built into the upper section contained matching pairs of breeches, while on the bottom shelf held an array of men's underclothing. Five pairs of boots were on the very bottom cabinet.

Anri pulled out a coat at random and examined it in the faint light. Dark, possibly black or blue, it was hard to tell, with brightly colored scrolls embroidered on the arms and sides. And it was made of silk. She barely suppressed a laugh of delight. The coat alone would've fetched a more than fair sum, but if one added in the fact that it was silk...

Grinning hugely, she swiftly chose two more of the coats and set them on the floor. A quick browse of the shirts revealed that they were all white. And silk, too. She added three of those to the coats on the floor, then pulled out three pairs of pants. She hesitated over the boots, then dismissed them. Three outfits would be enough.

She placed one of the coats on floor, spreading it as open as it would go. The rest of the clothes were bundled up and placed on it. She pulled the sleeves closed, tying them into a knot, and quickly examined her crude bundle. Satisfied that it would hold, she moved it to the window she had entered from and, with only a little difficulty, managed to shove the bundle outside. A little aiming and she was able to carefully drop it into the hay-filled wagon, three stories down, that had been moved there for exactly this purpose.

With a momentary pause to close the cabinet's door, she moved among the various stands, appraising the individual figurines among them. Many of them didn't suit Anri's taste. She frowned at a gold and silver statuette of an armed man on horseback. What appeared to be a crystal figurine of a man shoving a spear into a bear hardly earned a glance. And a third, seemingly made of silver, showed a man and a woman... Anri quickly averted her eyes from that one, blushing furiously. Whoever had made that particular one had absolutely no decency. She glanced at it again, and looked away just as rapidly. Had anyone been there to see it, they would've been surprised at the scarlet on her face. <That position isn't even possible! Why, a woman would have to...> she jerked her thoughts away from that direction, blushing even redder. Bad enough to be gawking at it, but to actually be *thinking* about it... <Light!> Absolutely no decency.

A couple of the figurines did catch her eye. Unslinging the satchel on her back, she carefully set a crystal figure of a stag inside. A matching pair of golden wolves joined it, along with a golden woman dressed in a beautiful dress and bedecked with various jewels.

She stopped at the fireplace, looking speculatively at the silver candelabra and the two matching candlestick holders lying atop it. With barely a thought, she lifted the candlestick holders and added them to the satchel. A quiet, regretful sigh escaped her. The candelabra was just to big. However, that didn't stop her from throwing longing glances at it over her shoulder as she continued on.

She had just finished her circuit of the room, when she realized that nothing else had caught her eye. She looked around, a faint frown touching her lips briefly. There had still been no sign of her original reason for coming here.

Carefully dropping the satchel next to the clothes in the wagon, she stared at the opened door. Another sigh, this one resentful, and she was lighting a stub of a candle in the embers of the dying fire.

Shielding the small flame with her hand, stood in front of the door. She grimaced. She did not want to go in there, but if that chest was there... She was not going to leave without checking.

Two quick steps took her past the door. She held the candle higher up, trying to stare past the flickering circle of light that surrounded her. There was a faint flash in the deeper shadows; the candle's flame reflecting off of metal. She started towards it eagerly, and froze when she realized that the glint had been far too high up for a chest that she expected to be on the ground.

Throwing herself backwards, she flung the candle at the shadows, her free hand drawing one of the many knives that she had hidden under her clothes. The candle went out almost immediately, but not before she saw the large brute of a man coming towards her, sword drawn and ready to kill. <Oh, sheepdung!> she thought, panicking.

She landed in a crouch, her night vision momentarily ruined by the candle's brief light. Still, she launched a knife at where she had last seen the man. She thought she heard it land in something with a solid thunk. She risked a breath, thinking that it might've hit, and frantically scrambled backwards again as the man's sword whistled through the space where her head had been and drove itself into the doorframe.

She sprawled on her back, staring up at the man as he calmly wrenched his sword loose with pathetic ease. He sliced at her again, Anri barely evading the steel by rolling to one side. She more sensed then saw his third swing, throwing herself into a forward roll and coming out of it smoothly, on her feet, and with another knife drawn.

The man grinned unconcernedly at the knife. He started forward again. Anri rose and backed away. A sudden hint of movement to her left was the only warning she had as she leaped back, the axe that had been meant to cleave her skull passing by her harmlessly and the steel halfmoon burying itself into the floor.

A second man, almost the twin of the first, gripped the three foot long haft of that axe and glared at her from his position on the bed. Anri silently berated herself for not checking the bed.

A glance past the axe-wielder revealed a third man blocking the window she had entered from. Tall and wiry, he leaned disconsolately on a staff, watching her.

The swordsman was still coming towards her. She looked around, thinking rapidly, and came to frightening decision. <Heck, it's so crazy, it just *might* work.>

In quick succession, she tossed two knives at the swordsman. Not bothering to see if they would hit, she was sure they wouldn't, she dove onto the bed, tackling the axe-wielder before he could recover his weapon.

She succeeded in catching him by surprise, managing to drive a knife into the brute's chest, before springing off of him onto the floor, another knife appearing smoothly in her hand.

The staffman was no longer leaning on his staff. He held it ready in front of him, and continued to cut her off from the open window. Behind her, the swordsman was climbing over the bed.

Knowing that it would do no good, she threw her knife at him. <If I keep this up,> she thought vaguely as the man, his staff a blur, knocked it away from him, <I'll spend all of tonight's earnings just for new knives.>

A low, course laugh sounded directly behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know whose voice it was. She glanced warily at both men, trying to keep both in her sight. Now the staffman was advancing on her as well.

Abruptly her back hit the stone wall. Grimacing, she glanced at the two men, feeling the wall along her back with one hand. Nothing there except the unbroken wall. Both men were grinning fiendishly now. Anri swallowed hard.

"Well, gentlemen," she said awkwardly, "This has all been a lot of fun and I thank both of you for giving it to me." She hastily dodged the swordsman's thrust. "However," she added quickly, "I must be going, so if you'll let me leave, I'll be out of your hair." She ducked the staffman's swing, and winced as the sword raked a shallow furrow along her back. <I guess talking's out,> she thought dryly.

Her opening came a second later, and she dove to one side, somehow avoiding both staff and sword as they struck the wall behind her. She was on her feet in an instant, at the window in two. Halfway out of the window, one of the men grabbed a handful of her hair and painfully tried to haul her back in.

Screaming, she lashed back with one foot. She dimly registered the sound and feel of crunching bone, the hand released her and she quite unexpectedly found herself toppling headfirst into the cool, night air.

She was still drawing in breath to scream when she crashed into the hay, landing rather painfully on her back. With a loud snap, the bottom fell out of wagon and she plunged through the sudden hole. Her satchel slid down the hay, giving her skull a painful crack when it landed on her head.

Groaning, Anri pulled herself out of the hole, one hand gingerly prodding the lump that was already developing on her forehead. Shouts rose above her and she heard them being echoed throughout the grounds. She carefully extracted herself from the remains of the wagon, and, pausing momentarily to grab her two bundles, decided that now would be a very good time to leave.

As she ducked into the shadows to avoid several armed men, she grinned ruefully. Despite the bruises she would have tomorrow, she deemed the entire trip worth it, and not just money-wise. Even though she had nearly been killed, she had to admit it: This had been the most fun she had had in her entire life.

And because all good thieves need a rival…

Anri drew the hood of her cloak up, shielding her face from the rain and any glances a curious onlooker might give her. Ahead of her, Hans plodded through the mud, hood down and apparently unconcerned that his short black hair was plastered to his thick skull. In one hand he held a thick walking staff, which he continually used to make his way through the crowd.

She scowled at him, silently making a face at his back. There were many reasons why she didn't like Hans, most notably the fact that he considered himself a better thief than she was. In her mind, she ran through half a dozen things about his appearance alone that made her mad, from his insufferably condescending smiles to those cool looks he gave her with his ice-blue eyes. Following a couple of paces behind him, made utterly miserable by the rain, she muttered a long string of courses, all of which were directed at or about him.

To hear her speak, one would have never guessed that she was in love with the older thief.

"So," she said aloud, "are we just going to trudge through this rotting, stinking mudhole all day or do you actually have a plan?" Hans slowed his gait, which only served to irritate Anri further. He was a full foot taller than her, and with his longer legs he could've easily outran her. That he slowed down so that she could keep up was a direct insult to her height.

He smiled down at her, calmly ignoring the water dripping into his eyes as well as the glare coming from her face. "I thought you liked to take walks, Anri." She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, but she was still peripherally aware of his grin and she ached to punch it off. It was an effort to force her hand to release a knife. "Then you don't have a plan?"

"Of course I have a plan," he said.

"Well, I would like to know what it is."

He chuckled. "To bad. That's my secret."

Now she did look at him, outrage written over her face. "What?!"

And now we'll take a look at Elena Kelmara, who is an assassin and has never been anything other than an assassin, and is generally a much more depressing person than my pal, Anri-chan.

It was a particularly nasty storm, full of lightening and thunder. It was a night for staying inside, which is where the town guards wished they were.

Viz Drevian carefully made his way through the driving rain, careful not to slip in a pile of mud. He pulled his cloak closer about him and peered through the darkness at the inn he was approaching. The Foaming Dog Inn was a modest two story structure. It didn't look like it offered much, but the warm glow coming from the windows was a welcome reminder that there were living beings enjoying themselves inside.

He pulled open the door, and the wind almost slammed it shut before he could regain control of it. He doffed his cloak, hanging it on a hook nearby, and entered the tavern.

Torches blazed in the large commons room, and a huge hearth helped to keep the occupants warm. Many people, mostly men, sat at the tables, eating and conversing among themselves. Barmaids moved from table to table, refilling flasks of ale or replacing plates of soup and bread. Viz claimed an empty table and settled down with some food.

While he was eating, he noticed that everyone seemed to be ignoring a large, rowdy, loud group of men in one corner of the tavern. After a few minutes of watching, he decided that they were playing some sort of game. Curious, he rose and joined them.

The throng was gathered around one man, who was obviously drunk. He was holding a throwing knife and was attempting to aim for the frightened barmaid standing against one wall. Viz realized that the woman was going to get killed, and that absolutely no one in the tavern was going to interfere.

The drunk's arm drew back, the knife wavering in the air. His arm dropped and the knife arced through the air, on a collision course with the woman's head. Viz snarled and leaped forward, grabbing the knife right out of the air.

There was a stunned silence. Then the drunk, a large, oafish buffoon that had trouble standing on his own two feet, lurched forward. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He shouted angrily.

"I'm stopping this," Viz replied coolly. He turned to the barmaid. "You can leave now." The barmaid took the hint. She smiled her thanks and quickly excused herself.

The oaf grabbed Viz's shoulder and spun him around. His other fist was cocked back, ready to pound Viz's face in.

"Touch him and you die," someone said.

The man jerked around. Viz heard several people whispering excitedly. He caught the words, "Kelmara" and "The Blue Falcon's gonna fight." He looked around, wondering who this person was. The crowd had parted to reveal a cloaked woman, dressed entirely in black men's clothing, sitting at a nearby table. She was watching them with intense brown eyes.

The man scowled. "Stay out of this, Elena. It ain't none of your business."

The woman shrugged and stood. "I'll decide if it's my business or not."

"Then I'll have to teach you not to go pokin' your nose in my affairs." With a drunken roar, he charged her. The woman made no attempt to dodge. Instead she crouched, her entire body tensed, and in one lightening quick movement, she shot forward and planted her elbow in the man's stomach.

Time seemed to freeze for everyone except her. Even as the man reeled from having the breath driven out of him, she punched him in the face, breaking his nose. He reared back, howling in pain, one hand frantically trying to stifle the sudden gush of blood. His other hand flailed about madly. This hand she caught and twisted it behind the man's back, forcing out bout of pain that drove him to his knees. In an instant, she had a knife pressed to his throat.

"You ever try anything like that again," she hissed in his ear, "and I'll slit your throat so fast that it will be days before you discover the wound. From now on, you will be leaving these innocent people alone, is that clear?"

Whimpering in pain, he nodded and she released him. He scrabbled to his feet and shoved his way through the crowd, away from her. Elena surveyed the faces around her. She raised her voice, "And that goes for the rest of you. If I even think that any of you are causing trouble you will have to

answer to me. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

It was amazing how quickly everyone found something else to do. In minutes, the crowd had dispersed, many to their rooms. A brave few ventured out into the stormy night. One man was coming in, and he spotted Viz and smiled.

"There ye are, lad! I've been looking all over for ye. I'd heard you'd returned."

Viz looked around quickly, intending to give the woman his thanks but she was already moving away from him. He shrugged and approached his old master. The two men smiled as they clasped arms. "It's good to see you, Master Glenn. How have you been?"

"Well enough, lad," the elderly man said. Age had been kind to the former blacksmith. His one blue eye was still as sharp as ever. And he still had most of his hair, even if it was stark white. But his grip was as firm as ever. "Mary's been asking 'bout ye. You feel up to a brief visit before goin t' bed?"

Viz grinned. "Of course! I haven't seen Mary in years, I would love to see her now."

Glenn nodded and clasped Viz on the back. "Well c'mon then. Let's go."

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Viz closed the door as quietly as possible in order to avoid waking up the entire inn.

The tavern was silent, the torches and braziers had been extinguished. Everyone had gone to bed. Even the storm had died down to a gentle shower. The only light came from fireplace. For a moment, Viz wondered why the innkeeper had left the fire burning, then he spotted the lone figure sitting at one of the tables.

He approached her hesitantly, then shook his head and turned away, intending to go to the stairs and to his room.

"You're up awfully late, Master Drevian." It was not a comment. He stopped and faced her. She continued to stare into the fireplace, ignoring him. Her face was blank.

"Why should you care?" he responded caustically and immediately wondered why. He wasn't the type to make smart comments, especially to a woman that, he guessed, could easily kill him judging by the way she had handled the drunken knife-thrower. To his surprise, she looked up at him and smiled faintly, though the humour never touched her eyes. "Yes," she said quietly, almost musingly. "Why should I care?" She shook herself and her eyes softened. She indicated an empty chair next to her. "Want a drink before you go to bed?"

He shrugged, "Sure. You're Elena, right?" She nodded as he sat down. She reached down next to her and retrieved a bottle of wine. She set it on the table and stood to get a couple of mugs. From the bar she called out, "So how do you know Glenn?"

"I was his apprentice for several years."

"You're a blacksmith, then?"

"Yep. In fact I'm on my way to Kyllvarre to take over my uncle's smithy."

She sat back down, handing him a mug. While he poured, she said, "Kyllvarre is pretty far away. A good month's hard travel. It also isn't the safest place to be traveling to."

"What do you mean?"

"A few scattered gangs of robbers, bandits, and the usual hoodlums. Nothing that a man traveling armed can't handle."

He shuddered, "I don't travel with weapons. I don't like hurting other people."

"Sometimes it's impossible to not hurt people." She sighed and stared into the fire. "You can't go your entire life without at least hurting someone."

"Is that what you think?" he asked her.

"It's what I know," she responded quietly. Gazing at her, he was suddenly and irrevocably drawn to her. He sensed that this conversation was intended for him to understand something. Something that she couldn't say, or didn't know how to say, outright.

He reached out and covered one of her hands with his own. Softly he said, "That's not true, Elena." She gazed at him so long that he started to feel uncomfortable. Her expression was inscrutable. He had the distinct impression that she was searching him, trying to discover if he had an ulterior motive. He was beginning to think that his previous thoughts about her hand been wrong when she smiled suddenly and, firmly pulling her hand away from him, said, "Only one as innocent as you would say that." She shook her head and drank deeply from her mug.

Suddenly uncomfortable, he changed the topic. "Kelmara is an interesting name. It sounds familiar, but I can't seem to remember where I heard it." She gazed at him; he thought her lips twitched in amusement.

She nodded. "Kelmara, my family name, is also the name of my clan. It means 'blue falcon' in some ancient tongue."

Viz said thoughtfully, "I've never heard of that particular clan."

She said calmly, "I'm not surprised. I'm the last living member."

"I'm sorry."

She snorted and took another pull from the mug, "Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

He pondered that statement and finally said, "If you don't mind me asking, what happened to the rest of your clan?"

She stared into the flames. The flashing light was reflected in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice sounded almost casual, like she was telling the weather. "When I was five, some raiders killed almost everyone in my village. I, and a few others, were sold as slaves to work in some camp. I'm the only one that survived. The others died doing forced labor." She looked as if she was going to say more, but she sighed and shook her head.

Viz was shocked, almost by the story as by the apparent lack of concern about it. "Then, you have no family? No home to go to?" he asked her, hoping for some sort of reaction other than the indifference she had exhibited so far.

"Like I said, I'm the only one left in my family. At least I think so." She looked around the empty room. "I guess you could consider this place my house. But, no, I don't have a home, so to speak."

"You must be very lonely," he pointed out.

She looked him directly in the eyes. Her face was blank, but he caught a trace of emotion in her voice. "You have no possible idea," she said quietly.

He hesitated, thinking hard, then asked, "Would you like to come with me? To Kyllvarre?"

Something flickered briefly in her eyes. She stood abruptly and moved n front of the fire with her back to him. "You don't want me with you," she said.

He stood as well. "Elena--"

Now there was a definite change in her. She whirled on him, her brown eyes flashing with anger. "You *don't* want me with you," she said vehemently. "I am not the sort of person you just decide to trust. I am *not* trustworthy!" Some of her anger faded. She said tiredly, "Trust me, Drevian, if I go with you, bad things will happen."

He stared at her, "You can't honestly think that, can you? I mean, I know you said the route to Kyllvarre was dangerous, but--"

"No. You misunderstood me. If I go with you, then you should be worried about *me* doing things to *you.* Got it?"

He blinked in surprise. "But, why would you do something bad to me?"

"Because I'm a bad person!" she practically shouted at him. She closed her eyes and visibly forced herself back under control. "I've done things, horrible things, that would make you hate me if you knew them. And, what's worse, I don't regret doing them. I am a lying, backstabbing, thieving bitch that would just as soon kill you as anything else." She opened her eyes. "And if you don't believe me, just ask the locals. The only reason why I'm tolerated is that my reputation has made the other thieves decide that angering me would be a very lethal idea. So they keep a low profile, and I don't kill them." She forced out a bitter laugh. "So, you see, keeping me around you is not a very good idea."

A distant rumble of thunder sounded. Elena glanced out a window. Her previous rage seemed to pour itself out of her. "The storm's picking up again," she said. She looked at him, "If you intend on leaving tomorrow, I suggest you go to bed now."

He said, "I still want you to come with me, Elena. I don't care how evil you say you are; I don't want to leave you behind."

She sighed, but he caught a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Yeah, well, I have to think about it." She sat down again and picked up her mug.

"Aren't you going to bed?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I don't sleep very well. I dream too much."

He pondered the oddness of that statement as she returned to her silent brooding. He sighed and turned away, heading for the stairs.

She watched silently as he climbed them and shook her head. "Sleep well, Master Drevian," she said to the now empty room. "And may God forgive me for what I'm going to do to you."

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Elena checked her horse's saddle, calmly ignoring the looks, many of them disgusted, of the various townspeople as they walked past the stables. She was used to this, for it happened nearly everyday. Besides, she had long since stopped caring about what people thought of her.

Drevian hadn't come out yet and she ignored that fact as well. He would leave with her, because she knew that he was the type of person that would keep his word.

As she was cinching the belt under the horse's stomach, she heard the distinctly squelching walk of a man with a limp. She smiled, thinking, So this is how he wants to be, huh? She straightened, but did not turn around, choosing to re-secure her saddlebags instead. She said, "Hello, Master Glenn. Wonderful morning, isn't it?"

"Aye, it is." The old blacksmith growled. "'Though it's not like ye care."

Elena glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled sharkily. "You're right, I don't care. But at least I made the attempt, right?"

He glared at her. "I don't know what yer up to, Kelmara, but if there's anything I know, it's that you taught snakes to be sneaky."

She feigned ignorance. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I don't trust ye."

That elicited a snort of contempt from her. "You and everyone else in this miserable town. What do you want, old man?"

"I want ye to leave Viz alone. He dinnae do nothin' to ya and I don't want ye screwing up his life."

She turned to face him fully, saying, "For God's sake, man, I'm not going to kill him!" He glared at her stonily and she threw her hands up in frustration. "Why does everyone think that everything I do has some evil motive behind it?" she asked, annoyed.

"Because if you're involved," the old man said, "It usually does involve something evil."

She glared at him and said, "I give you my oath that I will cause Viz no harm."

"The oath of a liar is worthless, Kelmara. I still don't trust ye."

She looked at him for a long moment. Finally, she said in a serious voice, "On my honor as an assassin and as the last member of the Blue Falcon clan, I swear to you that no harm shall come to Viz Drevian, so long as I live, lest I kill myself with my own blade." She sighed. "Now are you satisfied?"

"Aye, I'm satisfied. For now, at least. But I still don't believe a word of it. I know you too well, Kelmara. You have a knack for finding ways to break your oaths."

Elena grunted and turned away from him. "Believe what you want, old man. I'm through with you and your sorry excuse for a town."

"Humph," was Glenn's answer and he limped off. He didn't go very far, for, sometime during their discussion, Viz had exited the inn and had headed towards them. Glenn took the younger man's arm and spoke to him briefly, although he was still loud enough for Elena to hear what he said.

Glenn: "Now, lad, I want ye to be especially careful with that one. She's a thief and a liar, among other things. You watch yer back, d'ya hear me? Keep an eye on her, cuz she's bound to double-cross ye faster than ye can blink."

Viz: "I don't understand."

Glenn: "You don't hafta understand. Just be careful. Extremely careful. D'ya got that, lad? Be careful."

During this exchange Elena had been gazing over her horse's back at the street beyond. Now she glanced down at her hands, wondering what was causing the painful sensation that was flooding up her arms. To her surprise she discovered that she was clenching both of her hands into tight fists. She opened them and stared at the angry red marks that her fingernails had created.

"Elena," Viz said. She jumped, startled, and barely stopped herself from drawing one of the knives that she wore under her jacket. She slowly turned around, careful to hide her palms from him.

"Yes, Master Drevian," she said icily, her face could've been carved in stone. The man, surprised by her reaction, took a hasty step backwards. "What is it?" she asked him, her voice carrying a subtle hint of impatience. He coughed awkwardly, appearing to choose his words carefully. "Are you sure you want to go with me?"

Her gaze flitted over his shoulder, to where Glenn was standing, glowering at them. Their eyes met and she flashed him a dark, sinister smile. Glenn's expression darkened. She looked at Viz, the smile becoming one of amused interest. "Of course I want to go with you," she lightly with a glance at the aged man behind him. Glenn scowled and turned away, limping back to the inn where he was about to send someone to follow her.

With her brief battle won, she turned her full interest to her next one. "Are you ready to leave?"

Viz, already uneasy by her sudden shifts in moods, became even more nervous. "Actually," he began, "I was wondering if we could possibly leave later. Like this afternoon. Or possibly tomorrow."

She smiled inwardly. She may have won the battle, but the war was far from over. Glenn's influence over the young man was very strong indeed. It was time she did something about that.

She took hold of her horse's reins with one hand and caught Viz's arm with the other. She started to drag both man and horse to the stables, where Viz's own horse was. "My dear Master Drevian," she began.

"Just 'Viz' if you don't mind," he said quietly.

She looked at him and nodded. "Just Viz," she repeated softly. He blinked at her and smiled slightly. "Well, Viz," she continued, "I don't know if you know this, but the annual Festival of the Moon will be going on in tonight."

He appeared puzzled. "What's so bad about the Festival of the Moon?"

"Oh," she drawled, "Nothing really. It's just that it goes on for a full week. If we don't get out of here now, we'll be roped into doing some form of work to help set up for it. And then, once it has started, it would be rude to leave. Then there's cleaning up afterwards." She shook her head. "If we stay for it, we would be stuck here for at least two weeks. And I'm afraid that, by then, it will be the start of the harvesting season and the town will need help for that. By the time that's through, it will be winter and..."

"All right, I get the point," He sounded exasperated. "We'll leave now."

"A very wise choice, Master Drevian," she murmured to softly for him to hear. A slight, mischievous smile danced briefly across her lips. "If you will get your horse ready, I shall go retrieve your things."

"Yes. Thank you, Elena."

And just when you were starting to not like Elena, I go off and write something like this…

Testing Her Wings
A Blue Falcon Interlude
By Kristin Renee Taylor

In the early pre-dawn light, birds were already up and about, scratching through the mud, last night's remains of the brief rain shower, in search of nightcrawlers. A couple of squirrels had braved the barn, stealing a few kernels of corn that had escaped the feed bag, hurriedly shoving them into their cheeks. Suddenly both stiffened as the barn door creaked open, and they bolted towards a large wooden beam, scurrying up into the hayloft and outside by way of a hole in the roof. The source of their sudden flight, a young girl, no more than twelve, watched them go curiously, then bent to retrieve the feedbag.

She fingered the hole in the bag, frowning slightly. The hole would have to be repaired, and she would probably have to do it. Not that she would mind; she would not have Rorak using his hands if they pained him as much as she thought they did, but it would still be one more thing added to the list of things that she would have to get done today.

With a guilty start, she realized that she would never get anything done contemplating holes like she was now. With a firm reminder to sew up the bag, and, she thought with a last glance at the hayloft, to patch the roof, she slipped out of the barn and walked through the brisk morning air towards the hen house.

At the merest hint of food, the chickens, four in all plus Titus, the rooster, swirled around her. She smiled, scattering a few generous handful of corn onto the ground, whereupon the hens instantly began scratching and pecking at the ground, and at one another when one of them overstepped their boundaries. She winced when one particularly large hen, Rhoda by name, mistook her empty hand as a worm and gave it a few pecks. She swatted it irritably but it ducked away from her just in time, squawking indignantly. She scowled, and waded out of their midst, entering the coop.

It was still dark inside. She wrinkled her nose at the smell; it had been almost two years and she still wasn't used to it. Plucking the basket off of its hook next to door, she began moving among the nests, removing the few eggs that were there. When she was through, she gazed at the basket and sighed. Only three. Far too few eggs for this many chickens. She would have to make Rorak aware of that.

On her way back to the house, Rhoda pecked her calf. She glared at the hen. Maybe Rorak would be interested in chicken for dinner. A glance around the mostly empty yard revealed that her benefactor was nowhere in sight, meaning that he was still probably still asleep. She didn't doubt it for an instant.

She pushed open the front door and stood in the entranceway, listening. Yes, she could definitely hear Rorak's distinct and heavy snore, drifting from his partially open doorway. She smiled slightly, thinking fondly of the old man, as she entered the small kitchen. Setting the basket on a counter, she set about making breakfast.

Unknown to her, a tall, scraggy man stood in the doorway, watching her. His bare arms and chest were laced with thin, pale scars, which further accented his dark skin. He frowned at her and scratched the stubble on his face, before lurching back to his bedroom to wash.

Rorak sighed as he stropped his razor. He was far too old to be playing at father. He should take the girl to someone that would take care of her better. Anyone was bound to better than an old ex-thief. He paused in the act of lathering his chin, listening. The girl was humming a tune he dimly recognized as a lullaby. He frowned, thinking. Aesa could take care of her. She and Tam had been trying to have a child for years, Aesa would be ecstatic. Sure the girl didn't speak...

The razor slipped and he hissed painfully as he nicked himself. "Stupid old fool," he muttered. The girl hadn't said a word since he had found her two years ago, bleeding, bruised, and catatonic.

Not a word, yet she still woke up screaming every night. Screaming that she would be good. That she would obey.

Rorak scowled at his reflection. If the bastard that had hurt her hadn't been dead already, Rorak might've killed him himself.

I may pick Elena's story back up in the future. The distant future. Who knows?

All right, time for a break. This session's so long it's better if a broke it into parts.

So, coming up, Session 3.2 Gristein!

All works are copyright 2003 Kristin Renee Taylor. Plagiarists will be pursued to the fullest extent of the law, and crazy ferrets will eat your eyeballs while I sing kareoke. You've been warned. This has been a production of Blueberry Enterprises. Really, you don't want to hear me sing…