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Silver
Jun 19, 2017 9:46:47 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 19, 2017 9:46:47 GMT
The moon was nearly full, heavy and low in the endless night. Unfathomable millions of stars accompanied her, and the line where the sky met the sand wasn't quite clear. The moonlight had turned the world silver and black, a dream space, a limbo. The breeze was quiet and cold, the desert perfectly silent. The quicksilver sand looked more like a sea, rising and falling with the rhythm of the dunes like the swells had been arrested in time, a single perfect moment. Everything was still. Everything was quiet. There was an old, subtle magic to this place, the magic of stories and the night.
An old ruin lay scattered in the sands, black against the silver sky. It had been a temple once, long ago, a place where thousands had made pilgrimage to worship some long dead God. The stone they had built it from was smooth and charcoal grey. The road that had once led here had been crafted of the same dark stone, but little of it was left now. The ruin rarely attracted anyone but desert animals these days; it was not near any water, and several days walk from any large oasis town. No one remembered the God who had lived here. And yet, someone visited tonight.
The highest point of the ruins wasn't very high any more. Weather and time had beaten it down, and a crumpled spire now barely cleared the stooped, browbeaten trees. There, on a sand-worn ledge, a man sat cross-legged and still. The moonlight bathed his skin in silver and it reflected back iridescent blue, the colour impossibly beautiful and out of place on a living creature. Flawless moonstone, bathed in the light it was named for, could create its own kind of light in return. Another subtle kind of magic. He looked out over the endless desert with eyes nearly the same colour as his moonglow skin, unblinking, meditative. Around him weathered chunks of stone, from small fist-sized chunks to larger, heavier slabs, floated eerily as though suspended by strings. They revolved around him slowly as planets orbited a sun, their dance measured and intricate, crossing and lifting and changing order but never colliding. This kind of magic wasn't so subtle, but it held its own kind of quiet, understated dignity. There was nothing flashy or fast to disrupt the pace of the night, in this place so liminal that time might almost have stopped.
Why he was there wasn't clear. Perhaps he simply came to be alone.
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Silver
Jun 19, 2017 10:27:56 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 19, 2017 10:27:56 GMT
Akir had followed her target for a while now.
It all started back at one of her gods’ temples, where she had been kneeling and praying to the Doshaan’s god of snakes, stealth, and poison. One of the other sisters of the cult had approached her and instructed her that she had a job. Akir was given very defined details of a tall man with dark hair and bright eyes. From what she understood, the man had a gambling problem and owed someone else a lot of money. He decided to not pay it and ran off, thus the sisters were asked to take part. Akir had to travel to a small village to meet the man that wanted the gambler dead to get more details. The contractor was also an artist, and managed to sketch out an actual picture for Akir to go off of. He told her how he was an idiot human that liked to travel alone because he believed he was too good to need any protection. He was always severely underdressed.
She asked around the small town about this man, and a few had sad they spotted once such man leaving. He was headed to the desert and, they all but one said, he was quite attractive. To most assassins, that sort of detail may have been seen as uninformative, but it did help her. If most of the people that saw the man thought he looked good, then she would have to search for someone that fit the stereotype.
The last person who saw the man leave pointed her in his exact direction. Akir did not wait and headed after him. She did catch up with someone as it began to grow dark, and she kept herself extremely distant from him the entire time. At one point, she dared to get a closer look with nothing but the dark and sandy dunes to hide her, and she was positive this was the man she was looking for. From the description, she had of him, he was supposed to look like someone that did not frequently stay in the boil. From what she could barely make out, he fit the look. How many outsiders in the Boil could possibly look so similar to him, anyways? Especially with such bright skin.
What helped her from detection was her pitch black, light linen clothing and skill at stealth. The robes wrapped around her were loose fitting, but tight enough to prevent any snags of loose cloth. Akir also wore a turban and had crossed the excess cloth across her nose and mouth, so only her honey brown eyes were visible. Around her eyes, she had painted on thick lines of black that flared out from the corner of her eyes like a wing. She felt she was an artist in many ways than one, and she liked to adorn herself with makeups even when on the job.
Hours seemed to pass as she continued to trail the man. He was so easy to follow too; None of his footprints in the sand were ever cleared. Why would someone be so dumb as to gamble without money, try to run away, and not even cover their tracks?
During most circumstances, Akir would never attempt to bring her horse with her. This seemed like an easy job, so she left it back at the village and had paid someone to take care of it while she was gone. All she brought with her was a satchel of water, her metallic and sharp whip, and scimitar. She expected to be finished with the job before dawn.
Finally, she followed the tracks into Ruins. That was where her real fun would begin.
Akir took her whip into her hand and crouched low to the ground, now uncertain where her target would be. She did not follow the footsteps directly. These buildings were all old, and it was possible he could have veered off I a direction that she could not see him, but he would be able to see her. So, she stayed off to the side of the footsteps and followed along the darkest shadows.
It took a long time. Even if she was confident this would be easy, Akir made sure to take some precautions. Getting too cocky could get her killed. As she crept around the edge of the decimated buildings, she noticed the footprints stopped at what seemed to be some sort of spiral tower. Or, well, that’s what it probably was once.
She looked up, and he was so easy to spot with the moonlight. He was almost reflective, and she was glad she stayed along the shadows. If she had openly just followed the footsteps, he would have defiantly seen her.
So Akir snuck to a side of the spire that he was not looking down on. Close to where he was sitting, there seemed to be a gap in the wall. All along up to that point were cracks and holes from wear and tear. Akir placed her whip back onto her belt and climbed. She was fit and in good shape, but she had to be careful with the spire looking like it could fall apart at any second.
When she got to the gab, she quickly scrambled in and grabbed her whip again. The man had his back turned to her. Perfect. There were weird floating rocks around him; Magic could pose a danger. She had to be quick.
Quietly and gently, she unraveled the metallic whip, lined with barbed blades almost all the way up to her handle. It was a heavy weapon, but she had training to use it. Because of his magic, she did not want to get too up close and personal with a knife, so the whip would have to do. The minute she moved to hit him though, he would be able to hear the metal. Again, Akir noted how she had to act fast.
With quiet footsteps, she approached just a bit closer to the man, who still seemed completely unaware of her presence. It was then or never. As quick as a slaver with a normal whip, she reared her weapon back and whipped it at him, aiming directly for his neck. Her whip had severed heads more than once. She was under the impression that this man was not very strong or skillful, so she suspected that she would decapitate him easy.
Except the moment she targeted him and made her move, everything went wrong.
Her wrist locked in place, making her target off.
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Silver
Jun 20, 2017 7:06:14 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 20, 2017 7:06:14 GMT
She was good, Gabriel would give her that.
He hadn’t detected her until she entered the ruins, and even then he hadn’t realised who - or what - she was. It had been the tiniest sound that first alerted him that he was not alone, perhaps no more than a shift in the sands underfoot. He did not think that whatever had made this sound had anything to do with him. Another traveller, maybe even just an animal. He ignored the distraction, kept his focus on the rocks slowly revolving around him as though he was some distant star, and they were orbiting planets. He was developing the strength of the magic used to achieve this, and the night-darkened desert was as good a place as any to practice.
She probably never realised that he knew she was coming from when she first started to climb the spire. Not because of the sound - she was adept at moving silently, someone had definitely trained her well. It was the vibrations from her movement which he could feel through the stone, the infinitesimal transfer of energy from her to the surface she climbed and he perched on. No human could have detected it. Some Fae and Shifters might have, depending on their individual abilities. But a Daemon? Highly attuned predators, deceptively sensitive to environmental cues which might have been invisible to others. Especially under these circumstances - this perfect, still, silver night, and he in a state of intense concentration. He figured about then this was no animal, and perhaps their being here did have something to do with him after all. He changed nothing though, unmoving and in utter silence, the rocks still orbiting him in their slow graceful dance.
To someone watching her strike would have seemed lightning quick. Gabriel had not known for sure she was going to attack him until the telltale sound of metal moving through air confirmed it, but he had suspected. So, forewarned and in possession of a Daemon’s speed and reflexes, she might as well have taken a year between moving her hand and striking the blow, for the time he had to react. The stones dropped, the telekinesis being used to suspend them switched abruptly off. He stood, turned, and sidestepped the path of the whip - interesting, he’d assumed sword - in a single smooth movement that was too fast for a human eye to follow. The telekinesis that had suspended the rocks coalesced into an invisible hand around his assailant’s throat and threw her backwards with no small force - her limp form flung from the tower and into the crumbling wall of the temple with a sickening thud, hard enough that bones might have broken. Gabriel certainly hoped so.
And all this condensed to mere seconds of time between when she first cracked the whip to when she hit the wall.
It was not the first time someone had tried to assassinate him. Gabriel had experienced many, many attempts on his life - the Daemons were normally challengers, far more upfront than this, but there were many others who would prefer him dead and cold in the ground somewhere. The Human King came to mind, as he always did - Gabriel had changed his daughter into a Daemon, and there had been several assassins sent in the years after that little incident. They had petered out since his son took the crown but it still seemed the most likely explanation to Gabriel, although certainly not the only possibility.
Anyway, the cause hardly mattered. The Daemon Lord did not easily forgive an assassination attempt.
He meandered slowly down from the spire, unhurried. Why should he rush when he could control people telekinetically if he so chose? He dropped the last part of the way, cat-like, and any remaining doubt his assailant might have had about his bloodline should have been removed. The easy grace, the way the movement screamed ‘predator’ - he was, and always had been, so classically Daemon. His eyes, like his skin, caught and reflected the moonlight - another Daemon trait. Like all of his kind he could see well in the dark.
He would kill her, obviously, but not right away. It was important to learn why he’d been targeted and by whom, if at all possible. Gabriel had always been able to fend these assassination attempts off but they were irritating and there was always the chance he would slip up. Some of the past offenders had died without giving up their secrets, but not many; he was no stranger to torture if it served his needs. And, he’d found, starting as you meant to go on - ensuring your victim knew the seriousness of their situation before he spoke even a single word, tended to help things along.
The night grew darker as he approached, literally. The silver glow of the desert slowly faded with every step he took, and by the time he was standing over her the entire world was black, except for him. Slowly, stars begin to pop into existence all around them, one after the other - silently scattering themselves around their two forms. The ground disappeared, and the sky. They appeared to be floating, suspended in the nothingness of space, though some invisible surface remained below their feet. It was as though he’d transported them into the sky somehow, and as slowly as the change had first happened, this new formless world began to spin around them. He was the centre of this universe where nothing real existed, around which stars - so much closer than they should have been - spun. The air was cold, colder than the darkened desert they’d left behind. The ruins were gone too. There was nothing in this new place except for Gabriel and his would-be assassin.
“Tell me your name, who sent you, and why, and your death will go quicker and with less pain.” His voice, silky smooth, cut through the still air. Was there even oxygen in this place, this void-world? It seemed as though there shouldn’t be, though he breathed easily enough. It was his world, after all, his creation. Born from powerful illusion magic, it was all a hallucination carefully, meticulously crafted by him. It was meant to be terrifying. It was meant to underscore his power. It was meant to break her mind. Hopefully, she would be so desperately terrified of this moonstone Daemon who seemed to be able to pull her into a terrible world on a mere whim that she would spill everything, and he could kill the real threat - whoever had sent her after him.
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Silver
Jun 20, 2017 7:38:28 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 20, 2017 7:38:28 GMT
Akir new she had fucked up. She was dead, one way or another.
Funny enough, it was not because of her wrist that she was a goner. The man had moved in a blink of an eye with incredible speed, the moonlight reflecting off his beautiful skin. In a split second, she had gone from standing with her weapon in hand, to being flung across the room with such an intense force, she was sure she would die on impact.
It was not so; Her back arched in retaliation to the impact. An uncontrollable gasp of pain and loss of air escaped from her, as did a mouthful of blood. When she hit the wall, she felt and heard multiple cracks at the same time. One of her shoulders was in such shear pain, that alone made her black out for just a few seconds. From the adrenaline, she quickly returned to consciousness. There was a certain numbness with the area of her left elbow and bellow; she was almost positive the bone had shattered. When she looked down, part of her left ulna was sticking out of the kin. It hurt to breathe, and that meant there were probably a few broken ribs as well. From the pain in her head too, she had to have had a concussion.
Akir was dazed and in such agonizing pain. Blood dripped out of her nose as well as her mouth. There was some internal bleeding somewhere within her. Only the gods could know where as there was no way for her to even guess. It took all of her focus to stay conscious.
Her target took his sweet time approaching her. Everything about him was….
Not human?
The way he moved, his complexion, and the predatory nature of his eyes and features were obvious indications that he was not human, like her target. He had to have been a daemon. But how could that be? There wasn’t enough time for her target to turn into a powerful daemon in such a short amount of time. How…?
The cloth around her nose and mouth fell down, exposing her sharp features. As he came closer, her mouth stayed agape for a moment as Akir realized her mistake. This man was not who she had been looking for.
“Tell me your name, who sent you, and why, and your death will go quicker and with less pain.”
No answer.
She was lost in thought, for what seemed like an eternity. Black dots dotted her vision, and she could feel herself on the verge of slipping to unconsciousness. Everything hurt too much for her body to handle.
The whole situation was just…ridiculous.
Akir erupted with hysterical laughter that echoed throughout the silent and lonesome spire. It only lasted a moment. Each second of laughter was interrupted with a sudden scream of pain, followed by more laughter. It stopped when it turned into coughing, and a bit of blood pooled in her mouth.
She wasn’t sure if she could talk. If this had been the man she was originally searching for, then she would saying nothing but a prayer to her gods. Failure to bring down a marked target in her sisterhood only had one outcome; death. Death would come either from the target themselves, or the sisters. But this….this was different. She had attempted to kill the wrong man. Akir assumed in this case, she could speak as she did not technically fail to kill the target.
She grinned as she looked up and made eye contact with the daemon. That power and danger…they were animals, respectfully so. There was a certain grace to them. The temple Akir lived in only consisted of humans. Daemons were not as common as other species in the Boil, but the few she had seen were all had a dangerous aura about them.
“Th’s is embarrassing,” she finally spoke with her heavy boil accent. Again, she laughed, but this time she blacked out for another minute before returning to. “Y’u ar’ no’ th’ man I was paye’ t’ ki’l.” She mostly ignored all the parts of his question. Akir could not think straight. She felt like shit and her mouth tasted like iron. Disgusting.
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Silver
Jun 21, 2017 10:01:29 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 21, 2017 10:01:29 GMT
The woman was silent for a long time after he spoke to her, and Gabriel could feel his impatience rising. An attempted assassination wasn't a great way to put him in a good mood. Though he wanted the information she would have about the puppeteer behind this failed orchestration of his death, he was teetering on the edge of giving in to his instinct to rip her head off and be done with it. She finally offered an answer just in time to prolong her life for a short while, but certainly not one that would spare her. Gabriel's eyes narrowed very slightly, and he did not break the illusion. The entire world remained dark, their existence confined to this void world of his own creation. A star floated lazily by, bathing them briefly in heat and light as it spun close enough to look more like a sun. And yet, its light did not penetrate the dark all around them.
"Do you think you're the first person to use that line on me? You're going to have to do a lot better than that." His voice now, though still silky, trailed off in a hiss that betrayed the barely contained fury beneath the perfectly controlled, calm veneer. He did not move when he spoke, except for that narrowing of his eyes, but a slight tension to the muscles in his neck and shoulders might also have hinted at his simmering anger.
He was unmoved by her coughing and spluttering, her shrieks of pain between the peals of laughter. He ignored the blood staining her lips and the terrible injury to her arm. Her nearly blacking out every few seconds was getting tiresome though, since she couldn't focus properly on the threats he was making. It irritated him enough that he finally broke the illusion, and without warning or fanfare, they were suddenly standing back in the moonglow desert, amongst the ruins. After the ethereal nightmare of his illusion the whimsical beauty of the desert at night seemed almost ordinary.
Stooping briefly, Gabriel gathered her robes in his fist and hauled her to her feet, back to the ruin he'd thrown her against. She was not a large person but the ease with which he did this was another hint of inhuman ability. He'd misjudged the throw slightly in his anger and she was more damaged than he wanted for his interrogation. Luckily, he could fix that. Gabriel pressed one hand over her mouth and searing fire erupted from his palm, only to be forced down her throat. The flames healed whatever they touched - unlike regular fire, it did not burn. It would feel like it was burning though, a sensation Gabriel knew would be the worst kind of agony. It should have gone some way to repairing some of her internal injuries, though she might not realise it - as far as she would know, she had just swallowed fire and somehow survived it, and not without unbelievable pain. His ability to heal with fire came with the price of still feeling like being burnt alive. He left her mangled arm unfixed - he wasn't interested in treating her injuries except to keep her alive long enough to torture more answers out of her.
"Alright, I'm going to ask you one more time. Who sent you to kill me, and why?"
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Silver
Jun 22, 2017 3:10:56 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 22, 2017 3:10:56 GMT
Was she actually dying? Everything around them just seemed so…black and dark. Like there was nothing in the world but just the two of them and, well, the wall she was flung against. It was almost beautiful. Something seemed off, like it was not real. He showed that he had strong magic, so could the illusion of nothingness be one? Maybe she should ask him. That’d be funny.
Akir strained as she tried to glare at him with her cold, honey brown eyes. Who was this man? It sounded like he had dealt with assassination attempts before. He must have pissed some people of, or maybe he was important and powerful in some way other than magic. She really didn’t have it in her to actually figure that out. It was not a total surprise that he did not believe her. In fact, he probably thought her a coward now for seemingly attempting to get out of the situation. The very idea enraged her!
“Do no’ mock me, daemon,” she spat with her offense. “I w’rk and w’rship d’ath, I do no’ fear it.” Not that he cared. He seemed pretty set on killing her. Akir did not blame him. Live was a constant game of survival of the fittest, and she had lost this round. One loss was all it took for a life to end. She had tried to kill him and he did not wish to die, so he retaliated and won. Had he not just insulted her, she might have actually admired him despite the limp arm and bleeding insides she now had.
She could not get herself to resist against the daemon as he lifted her up with ease, but Akir did groan from the pain. All of the noises she made in retaliation to her injuries was purely involuntary. Her body was screaming and it would not let her contain it, despite her training. This gave her some dignity. If she screamed because it was too much for her to bear, then she would be seen as weak before her sisters and the gods. Because there was no control, there was no weakness in her eyes.
What came next, she did not expect. When his hand came up to her mouth, she bit as much of his palm as she could before fire erupted from his hand and flew into her mouth.
Akir thought she was burning alive. Though she could not see it, she knew it was fire that he was using. Everything itched and burned. It felt like no air could reach her lungs as they felt like they were shriveling away. Her stomach felt as if it was melting within her own body. It was too much for her to handle. She thought she was dying, and burning was an awful way to go. As her body jerked and she screamed with rage and pain, she believed to be burning from the inside out.
It felt like an eternity. As her body convulsed, she did not break eye contact with the man. Her eyes were no longer cold; they showed rage, defiance, and hate. Finally, it stopped and Akir thought for just a second, that she was near death.
But something was….off. Instead of not feeling anything or erupting into flames, the pain within her gut and around her ribs was gone. She almost felt…better? How could that be. Experimentally, she moved her good hand and legs. They were still there, and she could still feel the awful feeling of her shattered left arm. Was she not burning then? Was it all an illusion? Akir was extremely confused. "Wha' di' y'u do?" she demanded, not even bothering to remember the position that she was in when she did so.
Whatever he did, the man was not done. He demanded more answers, none of which she had to give. “E’en if I coul’ te’l yo’, I woul’ not,” Akir managed to force out. She was exhausted and everything in her body felt like lead. All the strain put on her in such a short amount of time took a big toll on her endurance. “I was su’posed t’ ki’l some h’man man tha' owed' money, no’ a daemon, you twat."
The last little bit was in the boil language, since she did not know how to speak it in the common tongue. “Wha’ makes yo’ so impor’ant tha’ I shoul’ reve’l any’hing t’ y’u?” This was so odd. She didn’t taste blood beyond what was already dried onto her lips. What had he done?
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Silver
Jun 22, 2017 9:51:58 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 22, 2017 9:51:58 GMT
She worshipped death, she wasn't scared, yadda yadda. He'd heard all of this before. They almost always changed their tune in the end, to something like please, please, please make it stop. Gabriel could be merciless when he was angry and he did not take kindly to threats on his life. Push him far enough and he could be sadistic.
Healing with fire was a new kind of torture for Gabriel, the magic a recent acquisition. It was so uniquely suited to him - a half bardic Daemon, half fire elemental, unable to feel pain and deeply connected to the flames. The price of the healing was the pain of the burn, and he was immune to it. Others were not, though. He didn't feel her bite him to try and stop the inevitable, though she drew blood in her futile attempt. The fire itself felt warm, pleasantly so, to him. But her screams echoed through the desert, eerily amplified by the still silence of the night. There was no-one to hear it except him, and he stopped only when he decided his point had been made.
He let her clothing go then, experimentally, to see that she could stand on her own. His hearing was easily good enough to detect that she was no longer wheezing as though her lungs were damaged, and her reaction suggested she felt better. It had worked, then. A slow smile crept over Gabriel's features...but faded at her words. Still she claimed it was a case of mistaken identity, still she refused to give up her secrets. Gabriel had to admit she was a convincing liar, better than most. He didn't believe her, though. Assassins had made this claim before to try and convince him to spare their lives, and always he had managed to coax the truth out of them eventually.
Who was he? Well, he could answer her questions, even if she gave him only lies in response to his. Even if she knew perfectly well who he was, though apparently had not been given good information about exactly what she was getting herself into by taking the job.
"It should not surprise you to learn that the Daemon Lord might like to know which of his many enemies has decided to send a hired killer this time." His voice was low now, dangerous and cold.
"There are many people in this world that would prefer me dead, and I find assassination attempts an insulting display of cowardice. I have a very strong preference for ripping my enemies' heads off in person and you not telling me who hired you is getting in the way of that preference." Her rage, her defiance, didn't move him. He was angrier than her by far.
"I healed you. And it hurt, did it not?" Gabriel took a step closer, crowding her against the ruins her back was to. Fire flared suddenly in his eyes, white and red obscuring the vibrant teal, and he placed both hands on the wall behind her. With the advantage of height, he glared down at her now trapped against the ruins.
"I suggest you think very hard about what that means for you, assassin. I can and I will torture you to the brink of death. Then, I will heal you in the most agonising way imaginable. And I will repeat that process until you tell me the answers to my questions. Do you understand?"
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Silver
Jun 23, 2017 1:23:56 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 23, 2017 1:23:56 GMT
Like the daemon, Akir knew that everything she said was stereotypical of most assassins. She figured that he did not believe a word she said, but was she really going to try and plea for her life? Akir did not fear death, but she was hardly looking for it. The chances of her getting out of this predicament were very, very low though. Even with one arm, she could attempt to fight her way to freedom. No, no, no. That would give her no chance in her condition. The lack of weight around her waist implied that not only did her scimitar fall off as she was flung to the wall, but so did her sheathed dagger with snake venom. No weapons gave her even less of a chance.
The experience of the flames, as well as the fear and intense feeling of burning alive were still very vivid in her mind. Akir’s mind was convinced it had been dying, and it was not easy to get over something like that. Especially since Akir had been badly burned from an accident years ago; she had the scars to prove it, one already branding the left side of her face. She did not fear fire, but she was not exactly a fan of it either.
She was so lost in her thoughts, struggling to deal with the lingering damage emotionally, that the assassin did not notice her clothes had been let go right away. When she did, her eyes moved down and she dared to look at her mangled arm. The pain was still there, but it had grown numb. Blood was still oozing out of the compound fracture, and her elbow was a matt of blood and shattered bone. She wondered if she’d ever be able to use the arm again.
But…did this mean that the man healed her then? She shot her eyes back up to the daemon. Hers were still filled with anger, but less so than the moment ago where she had been glaring at him with defiance. She did recognize the look in his though; resentment, annoyance, fury. That was to be expected; she did just try to kill him, after all. Did he heal her to torture her? Or was the healing a form of torture? Since her insides did not feel as fucked, and she could breathe without trying, the only thing that seemed possible was that she was healed by the flamers. Ironic that the flames caused such agnoy, only to heal in the end if that was indeed the case.
When he claimed, he was a daemon lord, she busted out laughing, keeling over while gripping her gut with her less beaten up arm. It took her a moment to compose herself since it wasn’t exactly the best time to laugh, but she finally straightened up and winced from her shoulder and back pain. “Daemon Lor’? Wha’ is tha’ su’pose’ to mean?” She knew very, very little about daemons besides their reputation and potential. Daemon politics was a foreign concept to her, and she had truly never heard of it. The Doshaan, her sisters, never messed with politics or even bothered teaching about it beyond what was happening in the Boil itself. “I though’ daemons didn’ ha’e a poli’ical sys’em.” Now she did not believe him. The idea was absurd!
His threats meant so little to her, even less so with his obvious ego. Akir knew he would follow through with his threats, but if they were supposed to scare her into some form of submission, she would have laughed. In the back of her mind, there was some fear of the fire again. As a natural reaction, her face briefly flashed worry as he basically pinned her against the wall, eyes flaring with fire. It was only a moment, and she was sure he saw it, but just as quickly as she had shown it, Akir’s defiance returned. Instead of shrinking away from the daemon looking down on her, she grinned and inched her face so very close to his, close to where her nose could almost meet with his. She spoke in a hushed, amused whisper.
“Wha’ do y’u wan’ me t’ say? Som’ p’rson in poli’ical pow’r wan’s y’u dea’? Woul’ tha’ rea’ly make y’u f’el any be’ter? May’e if y’u fix jus’ my elbow, I’ll say wha’ I am a’lowed t’ share abou’ my order, bu' tha's all th' info I have.” Her grin turned into a frown, but she did not inch away from his face at all, nor did she break eye contact despite how distracting the flames were. “I can’t te’l y’u abou’ anyone tha’ wan’s y’u dea’, s’nce th’ man tha’ paye’ me did no’ ask for y’ur dea’h.” That’s right! She still had the art piece of the man done for her.
Using her good arm, she slowly, but obviously reached into a small pouch around her waist. She made this movement obvious so the daemon would, and could, see it. Call it a gesture of faith, she made it so obvious to show she was not getting any sort of weapon. Hopefully he was smart enough to realize that. The picture sitting in her pouch was a sketch of the man she was supposed to originally kill. At the same time, she smirked, flicking her eyes down from his, to his lips, and back up; a simple, playful move of very slight seduction for..well..fun, really. If she was going to die, it was best to have a little fun with it. Akir had no shame.
Even without pulling the paper out yet, she knew the differences between him and the image sketched; The man’s face on the paper was more broad and brutish. He had a beard in the image and his hair was shaped a little differently. The man was even missing a few teeth in the sketch. Additionally, he had a scar drawn on his chin, whereas the daemon did not. The differences were subtle (besides the scar and teth), but enough for her to know he was not the guy. She gripped the paper and slowly began to pull it out.
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Silver
Jun 23, 2017 9:24:16 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 23, 2017 9:24:16 GMT
Well...Gabriel had to admit this tactic was new to him. It made no sense, clearly, for her to not know he was the Daemon Lord. If anyone knew him well enough to want him dead at the hands of a hired killer then they knew who and what he was. To not pass that information on to the person they hired was not only to ensure the death of the would-be assassin, but also to ensure that assassin's failure in the very task they risked so much to arrange. Surely this mysterious enemy would know that if Gabriel was not killed by the assassin, there was a very good chance he would find out who orchestrated the hit and seek revenge. But as a cover story, if that was what it was, it was a poor and unusual one. It was possible, of course, for people to not know who he was. It wasn't particularly plausible under these circumstances though.
These thoughts passed through Gabriel's mind quickly, sorted and catalogued in seconds. He was familiar with assessing threats and these kinds of puzzles were familiar to him, as they would be to any political figure. So yes, his certainty wavered...ever so slightly. But certainly not enough to change his course of action.
"You think a race obsessed with power would have no leader? Of course we have a political system," he snapped. Either this assassin was very stupid or something really was up with the whole situation.
He was faintly - very faintly, mind you - impressed when she stood up to him instead of shrinking away from his fury. She had to know she was going to die and maybe it was her training, maybe it was her personality, or maybe some combination of these things, but she was hardly dissolving into panic like most people would have done when confronted with an enraged Gabriel threatening endless torture and a long, painful, protracted death. She was even bargaining with him. The cheek!
"That would make me feel better, actually. Why do you think I'm asking the question? As soon as I find out who sent you I can tear your throat out and then go and kill the person who sent you, and thus rid the world of both a direct threat to myself and another goddamn assassin." He wasn't fond of her particular profession in general, even when they weren't trying to murder him personally. He'd thwarted enough attempts over the years to now find them a distasteful pain in the arse.
Still, his resolve was definitely wavering now. The story she spun was more convincing than most, though she was by no means off the hook. Gabriel took a step back - just one - when she made it clear there was something in her bag she wanted to retrieve to show him. He would humour her, he supposed. The fire in his eyes abruptly went out, though his expression remained cold. He knew the look she gave him as she reached for her bag - as if he would miss the signs of flirting, however subtle, but given he was letting her get something concealed out he only narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Mistaken identity, you say? I'll see your evidence. But don't try anything; I can promise you can't kill me with anything you might possibly have in that bag." Ego? Sure, without a doubt. But, as was implied by his title, Gabriel was probably the most powerful Daemon alive in Litharia currently. If not, he could never have retained control over his position - the Daemon Lord title was passed on through fighting to the death, and he had survived over a century of threats. A sneaky assassin, disarmed and injured, would have a hard time landing a hit, let alone killing him.
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Silver
Jun 24, 2017 1:07:11 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 24, 2017 1:07:11 GMT
Something about his attitude seemed to change. He was still fully intent on killing her, that much Akir could tell, and he was still furious and pissed. But she felt a little more…free, to act on her own. Maybe it was because he let her go, or maybe it was because he was beginning to realize that she rally had no idea who he was. Akir was still convinced he was just some super strong daemon with an ego for now though, claiming to be part of some made up government. To her, it felt like he was trying too hard to impress and intimidate her all at once. She was not either of those.
She slowly pulled out the folded up piece of paper that had the art piece drawn on it. She smiled at the man’s words, figuring he would say something like that. “I woul’ be lying if I didn’ alr’ady th’nk abou’ try’ng my chanc’s wi’h a w’apon.” Akir outstretched her hand towards the daemon with the paper in hand. “Bu’ firs’, I ha’e no w’apons on me. Th’y a’l fe’l off. An’ two, I’d pro’ably pa’s ou’ from mo’ing t’o fast.” She’d been honest with him thus far. If he was so intent on killing her, she might as well continue with her honesty. In that moment, she was pissed and unconvinced of who he was, sure, but in a general sense Akir actually had no ill feeling toward the man even in her condition. She tried to kill him, he retaliated. It was as simple as that. He probably hated her guts though, and that was fine. Akir was used to that. “I’s a goo’ thing I didn’ ki’l y’u. Y’u’re much m’re han'some th’n my targe’.”
Despite being healed, Akir was so exhausted and still in intense pain. She was feeling a little light headed from the amount of blood loss from the compound fracture, as well as all the bruising and bleeding from her smashed elbow. She slowly plopped onto the floor, completely acting uninterested in the whole situation at that point. Back to the topic of “daemons in political power”, she commented, “I li’e in th’ mi’dle of th’ deser’, su’ronded only by humans. I kn’w very li’tle of daemons. Y’u’re no’ exac’ly co’mon in th’ Boil wi’h th’ blis’ering sun an’ a’l that.” She tried to stretch out her legs a little and immediately regretted it as her face scrunched from the sharp pain. Everything hurt, ugh.
“T’earing ou’ my throa’ woul’ be so me’sy th’ugh,” she joked. Damn, she was dirty and covered with blood. Her nice garments were ruined. What a shitty day, ugh. “Y’u coul’ ki’l th’ person tha’ tol’ me y’u were th’ man I was l’oking f’r. Th’y poin’ed in th’ direc’ion y’u were heade’ and I fo’lowed. Sw’re to me tha’ y’u w’ere th’ guy, wi’hout a doubt, yeah?” Curiosity got the better of her, and she touched the tip of the bone protruding from her skin. She swore in the Dothraan language; there was no way she could push it back in herself.
“I’m no’ jus’ an a’sa’sin,” Akir pointed out. She doubt she could get up off the floor by herself now, so she’d had to stay sitting sprawled out and in pain. The thought of her being such a simple thing as an assassin was ridiculous. “I do no’ ki’l for coin. Tha’ is jus’ a bonus. An’ I…su’pose I over exa’gera’ed abou’ worshi’ping dea’h. Th’ god I a’filiate wi’h jus’ so ha’pens t’ also b’ th’ god of dea’h.” She had to pause and catch her breath. Though the internal damage with her lungs and gut were gone, it was still very tiring to speak with the rest of the damage she had. “I coul’ te’l y’u more,” Akir continued with another wry grin, “…if y’u a’ leas’ fix my elbow. I c’n deal wi’h th’ whole ‘burn’ng alive part’ of it. I ha’e actua’ly burne’ before.” Not just her face was scared with burns; that same side of her body had large patches of sinew looking, permanent scars. “An’ if I try t’ run away or some’hing, y’u can jus’ tear my throa’ out or wha’ever.”
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Silver
Jun 24, 2017 8:57:59 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 24, 2017 8:57:59 GMT
Pass out from moving too fast? Gabriel glanced at the wound on her arm more closely for the first time, and realised he could see bone protruding from torn flesh. Pain had been a foreign concept to him for a very long time - he could feel it, a little, because he was not a fullblood Bardic Daemon, but it was so dulled and insignificant that it barely affected him unless an injury was very bad. He still had yet to realise his palm was bleeding from where the assassin had bitten him. But a brief stint as a Human - in this very desert, no less - had taught him the reality most people faced when injured. He guessed she was in agony. He didn't feel sorry about it.
He took the paper from her when she offered it, and felt even less sorry about it.
"You mistook me for this man? You know, you got a lot closer to me than some. You were fast, you had good weapons and knew how to use that fancy whip. I thought you were decent at your craft, but now I'm not so sure." In fact, he was offended. She wasn't wrong, the man in the sketch was ugly, and obviously Human. What a mistake to make! As if he could ever be mistaken for a Human!
"Did the moonstone skin not give you even a moment's pause?" Offended though he was, however, Gabriel's whole demeanour had changed. He was incredulous, rather than furious, as he asked her these questions. Insulted, yes, but mostly preoccupied with the far more relevant information, which was that her story was now a lot more plausible than it had been. In fact it was now a better explanation for several factors leading up to this point, not least of all why she'd thought she could climb the spire without alerting him to her presence. A Human, even a powerful one that could levitate rocks with their stolen magic, would not have detected her unless he had some special magic for the task. And if she really was unfamiliar with Daemons she might not have known they possessed such attuned senses...
Gabriel followed suit when she sat down, sitting across from her with his legs crossed and studying her face with a shrewd, assessing gaze. What to do with her now? The picture, her explanation, it was all well and good, but it was not quite enough to satisfy him fully. Confirmation could be obtained, though, by finding this man she claimed had pointed her in his direction. He did not think it likely she would arrange such an alibi when she fully expected that she'd succeed in her hit.
"Yes, the man who directed you to follow me. You will take me to him and if he corroborates your story, I may elect to spare your life." Maybe. He still didn't like assassins, and she had tried to kill him. Mind you, he was alive and well as per usual, and she was suffering in penance. Perhaps that, and killing her informant, would suffice. He would decide later.
But yes, she would need to travel in order to take him to the town where said informant resided. The ruins were several days from the nearest oasis and it would be slower with that injury. Gabriel would already not be able to travel for parts of the day, when the sun was fiercest, and he was not patient. But he shook his head at her request.
"The magic heals flesh but not bone. I can do nothing for that break."
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Silver
Jun 24, 2017 9:42:19 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 24, 2017 9:42:19 GMT
Annnnd there was his ego. He was so bent out of shape because of a mistake, and now he had to insult her? What an ass. She frowned at him. “I’m ha’ing a ba’ day, oka’? E’en ki’lers have those some’imes y’u know.” And how the hell was she supposed to know that his bright ass skin was an indicator? She didn’t exactly have the best details of the man to go off of, and well…mistakes were made. “My wris’ actually locke’ up when I use’ my wh’p too. So lik’ I sai’; I’m ha’ing a ba’ day.” It was sort of an understatement, really. It was just a matter of fact and not her whining; she was not complaining entirely. ‘It could be worse’ is what she constantly told herself, and in this case she could just be dead or being tortured.
She was actually quite surprised when he decided to sit down as well. Akir figured he would force her to her feet and make her stand, make her as uncomfortable as physically possible, but that was not the case. Odd as it seemed, there was less tension. There was still this weird, dangerous feeling of him that came with being a daemon. It felt like an animal-like urge, like he was ready and even eager to pounce and kill…well…something. Probably her eventually.
“Oh how kin’ of y’u,” she retorted with sarcasm and snide. Her tone changed after her initial comment as she continued. “He was at th’ las’ oasis y’u w’re at, yeah? Damn f’ol n’arly go’ me ki’led.” If she were in any condition to do it, Akir would kill the man herself. Maybe he would tear out his throat instead of hers. She wouldn’t mind that mess.
The question was, was she even capable of crossing the desert to get where they needed to go? Not that she really had a choice. It was take the daemon to kill the man, or don’t and die. The answer was clear to her. Still….if she didn’t stop some part of her arm from hurting or bleeding, she’d never make it. There were black dots dancing around in her vision, a sure sign that she had been losing too much blood.
What seemed like a simple solution back fired. Akir’s face scrunched up and she momentarily glared at him. Now that she was perfectly willing to accept a little pain and suffering to fix her elbow, he could not do it? What. An. Ass. Part of her, like with the daemon politics, did not fully believe him when he said it could not mend bone. What kind of picky ass magic id he have. “Tha's shi'ty. We’l th’n, coul’ y’u at leas’ shove th’s bone back in’o my arm s’ I c’n stop th’ bl’eding? I can’t do i’ mys’lf.” Akir was willing to bet the clothes on her back that he would gladly help straighten the bone. It would be horribly, and just awfully agonizing, and she’d probably pass out from it. Bastard would no doubt feel better about himself doing it to.
What was he again? Oh yeah. An ass.
Slowly, she scooted towards him, wincing every time her arm shifted or moved. Was the pain from her forearm, elbow, or shoulder? All of the above was the correct answer. Akir liked to get in close, and she stopped scooting towards him when her leg met his. She turned so that her injured arm was closest to the man, as she did not have the ability to stretch it out towards him. Blood pooled down her forearm and dripped off the tip of her fingertips. “S’nce we’ll b’ stuck toge’her for a f’w days before y’u pos’ibly ki’l me, I’m Akir. My sis’ers like t’ ca’l me Viper, bu’ the preference is a’l y’urs.” Before they even thought about leaving, she’d need to stop the bleeding of her arm and gather her weapons together. Or, well, more likely let the daemon gather them. They were too important to her to leave behind. “I’ll nee’ y’u to fin’ and br’ng my w’apons wi’h if I am to take y’u t’ the man. I can’ l’ave th’m behin’ if y’u do trade m’ life for his.” She wondered if he would just snap and skill her right there for more requests. Still, she had no shame. “I ha’ the wh’p, a scimi’ar, and a da’ger. It’s lace’ wi’h snake venom, jus’ so y’u don’t grab I’ wi’h the han’ that I bit if it’s unshea’hed. Nas’y stu’f, it is.” Best to give him a warning so he didn’t just think she was trying to kill him again or something. Akir had no idea if the snake venom would even work on a daemon like it would a human. Akir was trained for close combat too; ranged and back stabbing weapons were not the only things she used to kill people with. Many traditional assassins like to kill with a crossbow or bow, or would take a knife to the spine. She was always prepared to fight with, not a dagger, but her scimitar if the need arose. Sometimes she challenged her targets to a fight to the death, rather than killed them with her whip or laced dagger. Akir enjoyed variety.
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Silver
Jun 24, 2017 10:32:51 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 24, 2017 10:32:51 GMT
A bad day? Gabriel supposed he couldn't argue with that. One might point out that he was the one subjected to an assassination attempt, but if you looked at it from an outcome perspective, he wasn't the one sitting on the ground with their arm broken into several pieces. He was affronted by the insult of being mistaken for a Human, but even given how much of a fault his pride was, he'd take his position over hers.
"That oasis is two days away at best, and you're not exactly at your best. Do you know anything of him? Did he live there, or is he likely to move on?" Gabriel did not want to set out on a useless errand, though he had enough of a bent for revenge that tracking the person most culpable for the attack still appealed. Anyway, the more important thing was to get that final piece of evidence that the woman was not an unusually adept liar. Gabriel could read people better than most - his own magic made him a near-flawless liar when he wanted to be, so he knew the most subtle of signs. And she was reading as honest, surprisingly enough. Still, he wanted confirmation. Assassination attempts, he knew from experience, were not things to take lightly. On the off chance she was lying, someone powerful and well-resourced had risked everything to have him killed. That was not the kind of enemy to let slip through his claws.
His attention returned to the assassin when she requested he fix her arm anyway. Sassy little shit, she was, he privately thought. It was always interesting to see how people reacted to their imminent and likely death, and although he'd offered a slim chance of reprieve he had to admit he preferred the ones that reacted like her - accepting the likely inevitability of their end and getting on with it. Perhaps even taking the chance to be snarky and sarcastic, since there was no point behaving if you were likely to die. There was nothing more tiresome than someone who begged and pleaded and lost their courage in the face of their end, and Gabriel dealt with it frequently. She was a breath of fresh air in that regard.
"I'm no healer," he warned, nonetheless taking her arm to look more closely. The magic was so new to him, too, that he wasn't exactly sure what would happen if he did try to fix it. But he needed her to live long enough to get back to the oasis, and even if she survived the blood loss with some crude bandaging, infection would prevent her being able to travel within a day once the heat got to it.
Gabriel didn't move or stop inspecting the injury, but the weapons Akir named suddenly floated off the ground from where they had been scattered around the ruins. Slowly, eerily, they drifted back towards them and then lowered back onto the desert sands in a neat pile just out of arm's reach. Gabriel's telekinesis was getting much more refined with practice - he no longer needed to look at an object to interact with it telekinetically, and he could manage greater weights and multiple items now. But none of those weapons would be any good to either of them unless he did something about the arm, so he shrugged.
"My name is Gabriel. And this is going to hurt, I should think."
The long inspection had been because he needed to see exactly which angle the broken bone was on relative to where it was meant to be. Fiddling with it was not an option - it would take some strength to shove the bone into place, and he needed to be confident of where to apply pressure. Her long term health wasn't exactly top of Gabriel's priority list given she'd tried to kill him less than half and hour ago, but given he was not even injured, there was no need to be vengeful either. He'd do the best he could for the injury, whatever that was worth. Bracing the heel of his palm on the exposed end of the bone, Gabriel cupped her elbow for leverage and pushed once, hard.
Blood spurted over his hand and ran down his elbow as the muscle and flesh tore to accommodate the reset bone. It took him a couple of seconds to assess her arm and decide the bone was where it should be, or as close as he could tell. The healing fire pooled in his hands for a moment before flashing over her entire arm, knitting the wound before his eyes. It healed what it touched of the torn muscle and ligaments before the skin closed over. The heat was intense - it would feel no different to sticking her hand into a cooking fire. But the bleeding stopped. Gabriel let her arm go and sat back slightly - it was a patch up job at best. The bones within the knitted arm were still broken, and there would be injuries - tears in the muscles, stretched tendons - the fire could not reach. But at least she wasn't likely to bleed to death now.
"Assuming I decide not to kill you, you should see a real healer in the oasis."
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Silver
Jun 24, 2017 19:26:38 GMT
Post by Akir the Viper on Jun 24, 2017 19:26:38 GMT
Aw how sweet, he cared so much about her, asking if she was fit for travel and all. Even with her thoughts, she had a level of sarcasm that, alone, could get her killed. She cocked an eyebrow at him in question, though she was sure it was not for her health, but rather so he could just kill some random man that was not even the one that paid her. He wanted to kill some guy that pointed in the wrong direction. Oops. And speaking of payment, she would have to eventually find the other man and kill him as well, otherwise she could still die from failure. “Almos' pos’itive he was a l’cal. He shoul' stay there.” The man had been tending to his home when she approached him, so chances were good that he was still there. “I’m no’ te’ling y’u wha’ he l’oks like ti’l we ge’ there, yeah? Ra’her no’ have y’u abon’on me in th’ mi’dle of the deser’.” Which he might still do anyways. She was curious how long his kill face was going to linger around.
The hardest part was just to come. Akir had seen other people with compound fractures before, and they always screamed. Even the strongest of her sister would let out some yip or yell, which was a lot for those less inclined to feel pain as she did. They were nasty business. Once the bone was in, she would have to get help as soon as possible. Infection was a likely killer. Had she brought her horse, she could have delayed any infection herself with the medicines she carried with her. But nooooo, this was supposed to be an easy job. She got too cocky.
She flinched as he took her arm to inspect it. Just to fix her elbow alone, she would need to fine someone that could basically perform miracles. It was probably not as bad as it felt, but she had no way of really knowing. Her eyes widened with amazement as her weapons, all in different parts of the room, came floating over while he was still looking at her arm. “Tha’s pre’ty c'ol.” Aki had heard of telekinesis, but never actually saw it herself. It was a very powerful tool, and an uncommon one too. That had to be how he threw her against the wall. With his level of precision, he had to be even more dangerous than she thought. “So f’re and making stu’f floa’ are y’ur thing, yeah?” Interesting mix
Akir knew it was going to hurt and that she would most likely pass out from the pain of flesh and muscle tearing as the bone made its way back in. With her good hand, she bunched up the free floating part of her turban and placed it in her mouth so that, if she bit down, it would not be on her tongue. She could not have braced herself soon enough.
It was quick, but it feel like ages. She could intensely feel the second his fingers touched the bone and her face had so many different expressions in such a short time. Her face started out with a scrunch, and then as the bone was pushed in she bit down hard and screamed into the cloth, her eyes held tightly shut. That alone did not make her pass out. It was the feeling of her arm being on fire that finally was too much.
Everything went black and her body dropped forward towards Gabe like dead weight. Her head caught his shoulder and she just slumped there for a moment. There was nothing as she was out. The next thing knew when she woke up was the strain on her broken shoulder and still numbing pain in her arm. Akir groaned and straightened herself up, spitting out the cloth that she used to bite down on. Her teeth hurt from the amount of pressure she used to do so, but it was better than using her tongue. She looked down and saw how her arm was not gushing blood. It was still extremely irritated, and she could tell from the pain that the bone was still broken. He healed the outside, but not the bone. She was convinced he was doing that on purpose.
Exhausted, Akir did manage to laugh at his comment. “Oh I shoul’ s’e a h’aler, shoul’ I? Thank y’u for tha’ adv’ce. I di’n’t even th’nk of tha’.” Her snark was real, but she was thankful even if he was the one that gave her the injury to begin with. “Th’nks, I think.” Soon the real fun would begin; having to travel with the daemon “lord” for a day or two to show him some poor sap that’d be killed without any inclination as to why.
There was no way she was fit to leave no though. She needed some rest before even considering it. Akir removed the turban from around her head, exposing the very short, black hair she had. Most of the time her hair was cut as far down as she could do, but it had grown about an inch or two over the past month. She wore the turban mainly for protection from the sun, but there was no sun now and she felt so smothered with all her clothing. The least she could do was take it off. She reached down and tore off the end of her robe toward the bottom using one of her feet to hold it down so she could tear, and handed the piece of cloth to Gabe so he could clean up the blood on himself. She tore off two more pieces; one small and enough to clean up the blood around her mouth and arm, the other large enough to help tie a splint to steady her arm temporarily. All the tearing exposed one of her legs up to just above her knee since she needed a lot of cloth, but Akir hardly cared.
“S’nce y’u’re such a sw’etheat’, coul’ y’u make a makeshif’ splin’? Or a’ leas’ pu’ my arm in the clo’h and ti’ it aroun’ th’ back of m’ neck?” Though demanding, she knew she’d have to stop asking him of thing soon. People could only be pushed so far. This was just so it did not get in the way, nor let the bone move around to much.
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Silver
Jun 25, 2017 4:37:35 GMT
Post by Gabriel on Jun 25, 2017 4:37:35 GMT
Gabriel supposed that any information obtained from her between now and the oasis was more or less useless, since she'd say whatever it took to get there alive. That's what he would do in her position. Wisely, she even said as much in regards to not giving a description of the man which Gabriel could follow without her - she was going to need some help to survive the trip back through the desert. She might regret deciding to survive, Gabriel mused to himself. He did not intend to travel at an easy pace, though at least he would need to shelter during the worst of the day's heat. He did not suffer as badly from the sun as some Daemons, but he retained an inborn weakness to it and nowhere was that weakness more relevant than Litharia's greatest desert.
Resetting the bone was a messy business, and Gabriel did was not carrying enough water to waste it on cleaning. A rough scrub of sand took off some of the blood but left his hands and forearms gorily stained. He was not at all surprised when she passed out during it, though sadly for her not for long enough to escape the worst of the pain. When she came to Gabriel released her arm and inspected her face curiously; people could lose their minds from pain, he'd seen it happen before. She blinked and came to, sitting up after slumping over on his shoulder, eyes snapping from glazed to refocused. She'd live, he thought, long enough to get to the oasis at least. Whether any longer would depend on what healer she found, he supposed.
Gabriel could be sadistic, especially when angered or if he felt wronged. But that impulse had passed for now and he could also be charming, interesting, distracting. It would cost little enough to talk to the woman, Akir she'd called herself, and offer an escape from focusing on the shattered arm. Not to mention she might very well be interesting herself. Gabriel had reacted to her actions, not the person herself, and now that his focus had changed from torturing and killing her to allowing her to live at least long enough to be useful, he slipped easily over into a more relaxed persona.
"The telekinesis? Yes, cool. Very useful. But it's a little more complicated than that." Waiting for her to regain composure and sort out her arm, he sat back, still cross-legged.
"My 'thing', I guess, is Bardic magic. That's what I was born with. I can influence people's emotions, thoughts, beliefs. I manipulate minds, first and foremost. I am also half Fire Elemental so that feels like 'my thing' too, but the magic is newer to me. And making things float, that magic is not mine, it was a gift." One of several from the Litharian Gods and Goddesses, although that did not make it not part of him now.
"I am nearly four hundred years old. I have a lot of 'things'." Being Human, she would have a narrow view of magic. Their lifespans were short and their magic not inherent to them. Gabriel's magic was as much a part of him as his body, and he had spent centuries developing it.
Gabriel glanced at the sky, assessing the position of the moon. He knew Akir couldn't travel yet but he was impatient to start the journey. Dawn was still some six or so hours off, he judged, focusing on the sky while she tore fabric to set her arm. He only glanced back when she requested a splint.
"What about 'I'm no healer" don't you understand?" he grumbled, but nonetheless he stood in one easy, graceful movement. He could manage to tie the cloth, he supposed, and she would have to figure it out from there. Nimble fingers secured the fabric behind her neck quickly enough. It should hold her arm still to allow the bone to start healing, though Gods only knew if Gabriel had set it even close to right. There was every chance the actual healer she saw would have to rebreak the arm to set it properly. He'd received his fair share of devastating injuries over the years and had had incorrectly set breaks rebroken himself, though fortunately without the crippling pain to compound the experience. He didn't envy her appointment with some future, real healer at all.
"If we leave no later than two hours from now we will reach a shallow cave system by mid-morning. I need a place out of the sun to rest during the worst heat of the day. Will you be ready?" The question was a courtesy only - if she wasn't ready, he was going anyway.
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