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[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

97th Trial of Ashan, Arc 717

The pirate smuggler made efforts to travel to Andaris City in secrecy. Well… as secret as she could make her travels what with the servants at Lord Venora’s barony hovering in an odd way. This place was strange. Freya felt displaced among the nobility and somehow, such emotions resurfaced many childhood memories she kept tucked in the back of her mind. Memories that made her feel foreign, unwelcomed, like an outsider…

Maybe Andraska planned it, maybe he didn’t. Freya found she couldn’t remain in the house any longer than necessary and so, stole a day to visit the libraries of Andaris. She needed to find out more regarding the families governing Rynmere. She knew her fate was about to become tied to one of them, otherwise why did she remain a free woman still?

Andraska showed kindness to the woman during her stay, providing her with food a clothing to help her regain strength after the misfortunes of imprisonment. Freya stood in front of the library doors looking much more lively than she had all season. She still appeared oddly thin, but her skin didn’t seem so stretched over her bones anymore. Her flesh even retained some pigment as a light tan kissed her form from head to toe. Her hair was longer too, reaching past the middle of her back but not quite touching her rump. Even the outfit she wore seemed to be a step up from commonality, but nothing that screamed status at other.

She wasn’t one for dresses, but the servants insisted that she have more in her closet than her usual slacks and tunic. To compromise, Freya requested dresses with light, fluid fabric that was easy to maneuver in. What she wore today, they’d not been so pleased with, but the outfit represented her spirit, her people, and her city well enough. The dress stopped just below her knees and danced with the gentlest brush of wind. It was thin and pale green, reaching up tword her waist where a thin rope accentuated the curve of her form. The top of the dress hung from her shoulders and cut deep to show off her cleavage. Leather sandals adorned her feet, strapped all the way up her shin while bronze jewelry clung to the top of her arms and around her neck.

The woman glowed with uniqueness. It was radiating from her just as it did from most of her biqaj people. Stepping up, into the library, her blue eyes looked over the massive amount of bookshelves that reached far back into the building. There were so many here…

Taking her time, Freya searched the shelves for what she was looking for. She couldn’t quite understand some of the words and languages used on books or markers she found. Time passed while dusty book after dusty book was pulled, looked over and put back. It wasn’t until many breaks later that the woman finally pulled a novel— The History of Rynmere, before she took it up to the desk.

“I’d like to take this?” Freya asked the woman at the desk. She was tall, red hair, and seemed quite forward. Maybe it was Freya’s accent that gave her away, heavy and foreign as she spoke.

“Where do you hail from?” The Librarian asked. Freya hesitated a moment, her posture tensing noticeably. “Um.. Hiladrith.”

Raising a brow, the redhead closed the book she’d been looking at and shook her head, “I’m sorry, but only residents are allowed to check books out. You’ll have to read that here.”

Freya shook her head, her finger tapping on the cover, “I cannot, I have travels underway and this information is important to me. Is there no way to buy the book?” Even so, she didn’t have the money…

Again, the woman gave a sympathetic look, “No, I’m sorry, that book is not for sale.”

“I see…” Her eyes looked at the leather binding of the book, “Alright then, sorry for the trouble.” She smiled before turning to walk away, acting as if she was going to put the book back.

Oh well, the brunette thought, she’ll just steal it then.

[Malcolm]

The university had its own library, and so it was rare to see the knight in the public library, but as Elyna was bedridden, he had decided to pick up a couple of books for her to read through. Malcolm wasn't too sure what Elyna liked to read, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her with a book in hand, perhaps when she was tugging one of his own from Elsie’s grubby little grasp.
He had just come off duty, working closer to home until things returned to normal and both mother and his newborn son were well enough to go without him. A heavy long sword hung off his hip in a detailed, leather sheath, tooled with old designs known to the shore people. He wore a long sleeved, black tunic, pinched across his hips where his weapon belt lay weighted across the tired bones, dark leathers, and a long pair of riding boots finishing the ensemble. Malcolm didn't wear any fancy nic nacs or do his hair up lavishly, rather he appeared quite plain, easily able to blend into a crowd if it weren't for his height.
Long, dark curls pushed back from his face to sit tucked behind his ear, he stood, scanning a row of books in the fiction aisle. Taking a wild guess had put him in the soppy romance section of the library, and though he couldn't admit to reading many of them himself, he knew Elyna was in love with love.
Being a knight, Malcolm was prone to ‘over hearing things’ but it was Freya’s familiar accent that had seen him listening in on her conversation with the librarian. His friend Benjamin, a captain in his army, was part Biqaj, and he couldn't help but wonder if they shared the same heritage.
The conversation was innocent enough, the woman wanted to take out a book on the country’s history, but the librarian wouldn't allow it, for sensible enough reasons. Malcolm didn't think much more of it until he noticed the woman head towards, and then away from the history section, without putting the book down. His brow furrowed, and he watched a while longer until she was moving towards him to head out the door.
Malcolm reached out as Freya passed, taking the book from under her arm. He turned about, in case challenged, though he would have been happy enough to let her run, his rank in the Iron Hand depicted by the number of small silver swords he had pinned to his breast pocket.
“I'll put this back for you,” he offered, non-confrontational.

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

Freya had been casual enough, having the book tucked away against her side so the librarian wouldn’t noticed when she walked out the door with it. But she’d been careless in her time away from society. The biqaj didn’t take notice to other people within the room and so, gasped softly when she felt the book snaked from her side. She turned, eyes bleeding from deep blue to red while the fire cooking within her stomach was about to hiss hatred onto the one that stopped her. Hesitation saw her mounting fury pause as the man before her stood quite calmly, holding the book he’d taken from her.

Freya’s gaze dropped to the official crest of something on his breast pocket. The swords had to indicate he was part of some guard, but Freya knew little about the workings of the city. Nevertheless, she was not about to get carted back to prison again… but this would not be a wasted trip.

“By the Fates, these sarding nobles…” Freya muttered in Rakahi, brushing an exasperated hand through her locks.

“There is no need,” She attempted to explain, “Please, I need that— it is just a book.” As she waited for his response, her thoughts questioned his garb.

“Who are you..? A Mercenary? Looking at romance novella?”

[Malcolm]

Malcolm closed his chosen book for Elyna behind his back as Freya questioned him, embarrassed all of the sudden. His cheeks didn't darken, nor did he fidget, but the man did widen his stance, and crossed his arms behind his back. His gaze went over the woman, starting with her eyes and floating down to her feet. No weapons, he thought to himself, that was always a positive when it came to confrontation.
“For my wife,” he had gestured to the book before it went into hiding. To strangers, he always presented himself as a married man, but in Elyna’s presence, it was a different story, he knew how the lie upset her.
“Malcolm Krome,” he acknowledged her question, “I'm a warden in the Iron Hand,” he cleared his throat then with a little rumble of air. “What do you need this book for? I'm sure I can help you with any answer you'll find in here,” he held the book in front of him then, after all, he was a history professor.

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

Wife? If Freya hadn’t been intimidated by the man, she would have thought it charming. She did notice his assessment of her though. The biqaj was not a stranger to the look worn on the face of the man before her. She’d shared the same expression several time: was she dangerous?

Freya frowned a bit. Of course she didn’t look a threat, not the way she usually did at least. The woman normally carried herself strong, with a power and confidence that ruled over her stride. Now she just looked weak, broken, and it sickened her. Freya wanted to feel the muscles in her arms again as they pulled on tight, wet rope, or her body shudder against the weight of the sails as they were collapsed so that others could catch the wind currents. Freya wanted to feel it in her bones when the body of her accidental slave stretched beneath her, letting her overpower him if only for a moment.

But this stranger. He made her feel weak… Red orbs shifted to blue-silver once more.

“Krome?” She questioned, the name sounding regrettably familiar. “Warden…” Again, her accented voice repeated his words and she deflated somewhat. Boy, what luck did she have. The Fates were out to get her!

“My business is my own,” Freya pressed when he questioned her about the book, watching him with knowing eyes, “But you will not let me leave with that, will you?”

Frowning, the woman sighed and crossed her arms. “I am curious about the region… I don’t know much about the history here, or the families… You would know of this?”

[Malcolm]

“No.” he smiled, “I'm not letting you take the book.”
His observations told him Freya had a defiant streak about her, but intimidate him, she did not. Though she was dressed like a lady, it was rare to come across a noble so lean, after all they did have a lot healthier diets than most, and could enjoy the finer things in life. No, this young woman looked tired, experienced, wearing more than the typical innocence plastered all over a noble’s face. Something told him she had been through a lot, but who hadn't in this world.
Malcolm gestured to one of the nearby tables and left the romance novel on the shelf, thinking perhaps he should find an adventure story for Elyna instead, something that wouldn't see the librarian raise her brow at him. He took a seat and set the history book down in front of him, folding his arms so that they rested against the cover, making it impossible to snatch and run off with.
“The region?” he inquired, her accent throwing him. He wasn't sure if she meant the country or Andaris itself.
“I can answer this,” he agreed, “I teach,” Malcolm admitted and looked thoughtful for a moment. “There are seven noble families in Rynmere named after the first men and women who conquered and settled this land. Andaris was the most famous, and chose to set up the city on a hill,” a very large hill at that, he thought to himself. “Far enough from the ocean that ships could not fire are it. He married a woman with the surname Venora, who was said to be very beautiful. He had three generals that led his massive army. Warrick, who was the bravest and most loyal of his men, Burhan who was smart and cunning, and Krome who was fearsome but reckless. He also had two explorers with him, Endor, who most believe was paranoid and terrified by the immortals, and Gwayne, who we call the half-god, a man of prophecy and foresight, said to know all the world, the reader of stars.”
Not sure if the stranger was taking it all in, he paused and gave her time to process or ask more questions.

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

Freya wasn’t so inclined to sit with Malcolm, even more reluctant to remain in his presence now knowing he stood as a barrier against the world of corruption Freya thrived within. Nevertheless, she followed him, examining the belt he wore and the sword attached to it. The weapon looked heavy and used, complementing the Warden’s large size and built arms. Freya took a breath to calm her nerves, hoping Malcolm Krome would not take interest in her rather… hesitant stance.

Following him, Freya took a seat next to Malcolm and smiled when she saw his arms fold over the book. “Come now,” Her voice bubbled with sparked humor, hushed to keep the Librarian from overhearing, “Do you believe me to run from you with a book? When you carry a weapon and I carry..? A ring?” A hand lift to her face to swipe away the hair that fell to block her view and it was then that the ragged scar on her shoulder became quite obvious, though part of it was covered by the dress. In the dim light of sun beams emanating from the windows, the scar shimmered, just like the blood coursing through the pirate’s veins. There were soft, purple lines within the scar, suggesting that it was more of a burden to bear than most would expect. It was not a common wound any noble would have come by without gossip in the papers. It was the kind of wound one would see on a soldier from battle.

Placing an elbow on the table, Freya leaned forward and rested her chin within her palm, listening to the man as he spoke, “Ah, you teach and serve. You are a Saint.” Smiling, she listened while Malcolm went into detail about the origins of Rynmere and its beginnings. He was quite good at it, truly. The way he spoke with such clarity on the subject had the woman’s attention until he paused for a moment to allow her questions.

“Half God?” Freya questioned, “A Mortal Born within the noble bloodline?”

“Tell me more of this Burhan, Gwayne, and Krome… and this Lady Venora. What purpose did they serve to their King?” She probed for the information subtly, trying to learn more about the Venoras without giving her interest away.

"What of their children? Has their purpose remained the same to their King?" Tilting her head, her gaze pierced his.

[Malcolm]

Out of context, the Rakahi words didn't mean much, and though he struggled with ‘saint’ he did manage to interpret the meaning of Mortalborn. Laying eyes on the scar, if for but a moment, no longer than a breath, his own shoulder burned and his fingers curled in against his hands tightly. The Mortalborn was often drawn to help those afflicted with such wounds, but he must be careful, he knew, strangers were dangerous and his secret had been kept so far.
“I've seen people do some crazy things,” Malcolm responded in reply to her comment about running. “I would catch you,” he dared, and actually believed he would.
“Lord Andaris was never a king,” Malcolm began, “he was known as the people’s prince, and was said to be a very humble man. It was his daughter, Nora, who became the first queen of Rynmere. She was married to a son of Warrick and died very young.”
His fingers drummed against the leather bindings of the book and he thought about the three names she had inquired about. “Burhan is perhaps the most famous among the Biqaj people of Rynmere. He was a shipbuilder said to have no equal in all the world, and built for Andaris, the second voyager, a ship he sailed many times from the treasure city of Valaris, their first home, all the way to Rynmere. We call him the Saint of travel and before our navy sails anywhere, they ask Burhan and U’frek to bless their journey.”
“Krome is the Saint of death,” Malcolm went on, “he was also a bit of a pirate. The tale goes that he lived on a ship in the middle of Lake Krome because he didn't want anyone to see or touch the vast amount of treasure he had collected. Krome used to tie heavy bags of gold and silver to the legs of his enemies and send them to the bottom of the lake while they were still alive. Not a nice way to go,” the knight cocked a brow and pushed his hair back behind his right ear. “They say all his treasure lies there now, at the bottom of the lake, but no one has ever found it, and the Mer that swim to the bottom won't speak of it.”
“As for Gwayne,” he paused, “Saint of truth,” his tone was flat, “no one really knows much about him and the books say very little. He was a private man, a wanderer, very wise and mysterious. He disappeared, or so the hunter says in his journal, and this is why people say he might still be alive, that he is a living Saint, but that is only legend.”

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

“I would catch you.”

“Tempting.” Freya smiled, but the glint in her eyes expressed that she truly was. However, she didn’t need Andraska showing up to fetch her because her wilder side wanted to play games with the Warden of Krome. The last thing she needed was to be caught snooping around, trying to dig up information on the Venora and his mysterious accomplice that helped break her free from prison. The two seemed to know each other well enough and his accomplice appeared quite interested with Freya’s experience in the drug trafficking world, as well as her knowledge of the trade shipments running to and from Rynmere.

She needed to stay one step ahead of whatever was being planned for her…

“You place a mortal on equal grounds of a God?” Freya questioned, confused. She’d heard whispers of their religion back in Ne’haer, but the confirmation of such practice didn’t settle well with her. Freya wasn’t a religious sort, but her allegiance to U’frek was one formed since birth. There were few others that Freya chose to recognize within the All God Temple, but U’frek was the God she looked to the most. “I see.”

“I like this Saint of Death. His story entices the treasure hunters.” A nail tapped against the wooden surface of the table, “But what of the Venoras?”

“It’s funny, really. The common language has many uses of the same word, even though the meaning might be different. Like your Saint of Death… If loosely translated into Rakahi, the meaning of it would be more so… Sun of Cold Harvest. Strange, don’t you think?” Freya let her eyes fall to the book she’d tried to steal, “I never took notice until I began to study and practice common with a... mentor.”

[Malcolm]

“They do,” Malcolm agreed. “Men with legends as big as gods. I suppose it is easier to believe in something you've seen in the flesh, than one that may or may not exist.” Of course, Malcolm knew better than most that the immortals were real, having a taste of his own father’s power, and minor control over his own domains of pain and devotion… he didn't quite have a name for the last one.
“Venorans?” Malcolm asked. This was followed by a shrug. “Wine, roses, beauty, all things vain and extravagant,” he lifted his gaze skyward as if tempted to roll his eyes. “I don't know if they've had any real accomplishments, unless most drunk, loved-up, and arrogant counts?” the knight smiled, “then again, they are quite good at music and the arts.”
Malcolm listened, intrigued by the Rakahi explanation, he was a lover of languages, and could do with learning a lot more of the Biqaj language. “Interesting,” he agreed. “Your common is very good, you must have a good teacher.”
His attention was pulled to the door then as a familiar face walked in. “I should get this book back,” he lifted the history book and held it close, perhaps it would be safer if he borrowed it for a while and read a few stories to Elsie. “Unless you had more questions?”