32nd of Vhalar, 722
Foster's Landing
Noon
Foster's Landing
Noon
"Place still smells like gull shit, Kas."
"Better that'n smoke n' corpses, mate."
Vaul snorted at that, hefting his pack over his shoulder. "Dunno 'bout dat. Can get used t'that more'n fresh shite ev'ree-where."
SNAP-SNAP
All eyes turned to Mikiros and his patented way of getting attention. His mouth moved silently and his hands pantomimed... something. The four other Etzori killers frowned and exchanged looks... and then a candle was lit.
"Ah!" Belial said, pointing. "Better gull shit than horse shit?" An quick nod of a head like a boulder with ears on it. "Ha! Honestly, lads, it's a gift."
A chorus of groans and muttered curses made the expected rounds and Kasoria looked away from the ground. Still smelly and tired from the river, even if it was only halfway through the trial and they'd been sailing for but a few breaks. Four trials they'd been sloshing and rolling on that water, not a hand lifted in effort save to feed their bellies and empty their bowels... and practice, of course. They were men who needed to literally keep their edge. But their were precious few amenities on a travel barge, and now even the eternally scruffy and hygiene ambivalent Vaul was aching for a bath.
"A'right," Kasoria said, in that universal tone of command that said the arsing around was over, and they were to business. As defined by him, thank you very much. "Miki, Raand, make sure all our gear's in order. Vaul, Belial, look to our horses, saddle 'em proper. I'll pay the bargeman an' find us a place t'put our 'eads down."
"What 'bout the wee monster there?"
Kasoria turned and saw the last member of their group, walking down the gangplank. Hair disheveled, face sweaty, yet still even through her pallor and withdrawal she turned many heads. Looking at her meant turning away from them, and he was secretly glad for it. The twinge of concern on his face would have been noticed, and he didn't need these bastards thinking he'd gone soft. Especially not for the sake of some girl. He suspected they thought her either his bastard or his lover. He wasn't thrilled by that, but it beat out explaining in excruciating detail how he just... cared.
No place for that here. Not on this job.
"Wee monster'll stick wi' me, an' learn somethin' a' workin' in a group," he said, tone shifting to that of the hard-nosed teacher she remembered well. "C'mon wiv' yeh, 'monster'. Got a man t'pay an' lodgins' t'find."
The menfolk went their ways with smiles and chuckles... except for Raand. He stayed a touch longer. Made eye contact with Kasoria. He didn't let the mask slip. Couldn't afford to. Just gave the man a quick, curt nod, as if to answer an unspoken question: you sure this junkie can do this?
Yes. I am.
He watched his men walk swiftly away, other travelers on the dock moving fast from their paths, like minnows from prowling barracudas. Every pier was like this, piled with crates and barrels and boxes and human cargo of all stripes... save slaves, naturally. That shite was for barbarians and Immortals. Plenty of new arrivals were coming in... but plenty were leaving, too. Moving from barges snaking down the river, to high-masted ships set to sail over the sea and take them away forever. Kasoria swept his eyes around and saw plenty of folk with the eyes of refugees. Still scared, still paranoid, still running. Even after two years.
They don't feel safe here anymore. Even if they did, between Lisirra and Sintra... this isn't home for them anymore.
Kasoria ground his teeth for a trill and shoved the useless worrying away. They were about their work. Lerrick had said to meet them here, on this trial, and he wasn't about to be tardy to his first official fucking trial on the job. He shifted his pack and his fingers swiftly, semi-consciously inventoried his weapons. He fought the urge to smile. Felt good to be a man armed both in steel and purpose. Even serving some nob from the Citadel, it was something... bigger than himself.
Whatever, old man. Eyes on the job... and her.
Kasoria snapped a sidelong glance to Maxine as she fell in next to him. Four days sailing. Four days of withdrawl. Four days without, save whatever snatched moments of smoke he could sniff on her. Yet she was still standing. Still trying to stick to her word, even as her body and mind begged her.
"Hot bath an' a meal soon," he grumbled lowly, tone changing again, to one she was unused hearing from him. Gruff and hard, but not cold. "Won't be as nice as a tinc' a' fuckin' Key-Too, but it'll help."