A Call to Arms

It was that odd time of day where the sun was not quite setting but was not at its brightest--that strange barrier between dusk and midday. It gave off an eerie shine of graying light that fell in foggy silence over the buzzing of the tight city street and made the frantic murmur of voices seem all the more surreal.

Vivienne loved it at this time of day when the world was in a hurry to draw itself to a close and finally begin its second life. When the sun could no longer see the things it did by moonlight. The thought made her chuckle--the parallel of the fervent life of the citizens, bustling around at all hours, moving so quickly yet unable to catch up with what they are so desperately chasing, compared to their unavoidable, impending demise. Death was the one thing that they ran from and strove to get more and more in an effort to forget, and, likewise, the immortality of the sleepless metropolitan monster that they created but could never attain individually. What was especially amusing, Vivienne found, was how delightfully all of this suffocating, maddening strife was pasted onto the bleak canvas that was now the smoking crater known as Lakeside, Zarrack.

Two years ago, the Merxenne-Zarrack War had drawn to a relative end with the launch of the "Qualirium bomb" that had reduced Lakeside and the surrounding area to naught but ashes and rubble. The Zarrackian soldiers had managed to push back their enemies and a kind of unsteady equilibrium had been attained--a restless peace. It had been a year since most of the military had been pulled off of active duty, and the rebuilding and "reclamation" was in full swing, but no open wounds had really been healed. Tensions were still incredibly high, and chaos, though more tame, still ran rampant in the byways and highways of the devastated city and the economy had suffered. Though much aid had been brought in from other "nearby" places, it wasn't quite sufficient enough, and the entire collective felt the strain.

Vivienne and her other Field Officers from the Esoteric Society of Necromancy Tower in Delnar Port had been dispatched at her urging to find new "recruits" in the city. Prospective students who, due to loss or trauma, were even more likely to take in interest in the Dark Arts. Technically this was against the law, at least in Lakeside, and Vivienne had to be very careful where she showed her pallid face.

The Blood Mistress walked alone along Horizon Street, weaving in between passersby and eying the step-shops and the sidewalk vendors smugly. She pulled her dark black-green cloak around her shoulders and hurried along. It wasn't very far to the room her comrades and she were renting, but she really had to keep her head down, regardless of how confident she felt that their operations were going smoothly and effectively. She couldn't be too careful, but oh how she loved getting away with screwing over that belligerent, bigoted government every chance she got. The ignorance of people made her sick, but the number of young men and women she saw showing up at her door everyday eased her nausea.

It was nearly two more blocks to the apartment, and Vivienne was fast approaching a banking square. She put her hood up in an effort not to be noticed. She had gotten used to the jostling, but beforehand the soldiers had no proof as to their suspicions. However this time she had to be extra careful--she was carrying letters from the Delnar Port Tower in her pocket, and they would certainly be enough proof to condemn her, if not her companions as well. She darted her eyes back and forth across the street as she picked up her pace in the wide open cross-street.

Suddenly, Vivienne felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Whoah, there, Missy... Headed somewhere?"

Vivienne stopped and tensed up at the touch of the guardsman, but simply looked over her shoulder and smiled coolly.

"And why does it matter if I am, sir? Aren't these other good people headed somewhere also?"

"Well, ya look awful suspicious to me, lady... Pullin' yer coat around ya all snug-like," said a second guard to the first one's right. Vivienne jumped a little in her mind. Somehow she had missed him... and apparently the other two that completed the entourage. Still, she maintained her composure and smiled all the whiel.

All four of the soldiers were edging in too close for comfort now, and Vivienne began to slowly pull away towards the opposite side of the street.

"I'm perfectly sure other people pull their cloaks around them when they're cold." She shrugged. The guards were picking up their pace to follow her.

"But it ain't cold or windy out, is it?" said a third.

"No," the fourth chimed in, "no it's not... In fact I don't see anyone else wearing cloaks at all..."

"Well you see, I'm very sick," Vivienne said, nervousness barely showing in her voice. She didn't want to give away her secrets, and in that sense was practically helpless until she could conveniently "disappear." Hopefully, with her appearance, this would be believable. But she wasn't expecting much--even if she managed to make logical sense the hounds would probably still follow, and she couldn't lead them to the room...

The first soldier drew his spear. "See, I dunno if I buy that, Miss... We've heard tell that there's been necromancers in the city. That would be pretty unfortunate if we were to find one, wouldn't it? Pretty dangerous, yes, Miss?"

Vivienne found herself backing against the wall of the first building facing out into the cross-street. She turned to her interrogators, gripping her cloak and searching desperately for some form of escape. If she ran, it wouldn't help her cause. She stood there for a moment, watching the soldiers close in.

"Yes... Yes, I'm sure it would be... tragic..." Vivienne's eye caught on the third guard as he closed in on her. He reached for her chest.

"Oh, come on, let's have a looksee--"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Vivienne winced as she threw out a hand in reflex, pulling herself back just in time as to not grab his face in defense and expose her talents. Shouting broke out from the guards as the other three rushed to hold her at spear-point. The first pinned her against the wall.

"Oh! Look who's gotten defensive! What's all that about, now?" The guard smiled as he pressed his spear handle tighter against her chest. It hurt, but she was hardly paying attention to that and more to her assailant's horrible breath.

Vivienne sneered and, before she could stop herself, spit in his face. After the soldier managed to erase the shocked expression from his face, a roar raised in his throat.

"YOU... YOU!"

"HELP! HELP!" Vivienne cried. The guard reached up to cover her mouth. In an instant he was writhing on the cobblestones, his face smoking from where Vivienne had grabbed it, a nice handprint scar forming across his cheek and nose. The other three jumped into action, shouting and trapping Vivienne before she could bolt. Onlookers turned to stare and gawk at the commotion, and a swarm began to gather. This was far from what Vivienne should have done--quite unprofessional, and all she could do now was try and sweet-talk her way out of it... that or kill someone, which was, unfortunately, out of the question.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

Similar questions rose from the crowd of onlookers in various forms, but none carried with the weight of authority except one. Most of the crowd flinched slightly, reflex gained from that one particular schoolteacher whose sharp voice ingrained itself into their minds. The guards flinched more, recalling the distinctive tone wielded by a superior officer catching privates in mistake. The gawkers who did not flinch looked curiously on the origin of the question, wondering why a slight lady with an odd hairstyle spoke with such force.

The struck guard responded first, though not to answer the question. "Commander Shikaron, please help me out here."

Tara knelt down to the man's side, placing her hand against his cheek. A soft, blue-white light pulsed out from her hand, and the handprint vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her compassionate act belied her mood, though; her voice still bore the same annoyed quality as before. "If you require help in questioning a single woman half your size with three other trained soldiers, you're beyond help. Explain."

The first soldier, the one to approach Vivienne originally, took charge. "She was acting all suspicious..."

Tara rose in such a way as to cut the man's words short. "How so?" she returned curtly.

The soldier blinked, caught slightly off guard. His comrade came to the aid with the same reason he had proposed to Vivienne. "She had her cloak pulled around real tight..."

"And has the President made being cold a criminal offense in my absence?" Tara shot back.

The second guard seemed a bit deflated, but continued. "Well, no, but it ain't cold out," he said, gaining confidence in his reasoning.

Tara shook her head. "Her dress places her from outside the region. Did it occur to you that she may call home a place that's warmer than this, and that she may not be used to temperatures you're accustomed to?"

He had nothing to say to that. The only silent guard remaining, however, had one last defense. "There's been rumors of necromancers, Commander. We have to be wary of all strangers."

The healer showed fresh signs of impatience. "The most pressing threat in Lakeside is not necromancers, soldier. It is incompetent servicemen wasting time by verbally assaulting innocent people."

Nobody had anything to say to that.

"All four of you," Tara continued, "back to your positions." She saluted, and the four took the hint.

Tara turned her attention to Vivienne as the subordinates took their leave and the crowd dispersed. "I want you to join me to a tavern down the street for a bit of refreshment and talk privately about that bit of a wound I just healed." Her tone, although not as hostile as it was towards the soldiers, left no question that refusal would not be accepted.

Pyro chuckled as he watched the exchange, slowly forcing his back to loosen. 'Jeez, I get out of the military and I STILL retained the spinal reflexes' he thought to himself, stretching and popping his neck with an almost sickening crack as people began to disband now that the excitement had passed.

Pyro remained standing where he was as he looked at the woman who had gotten the guards to stand down so quickly. 'Must be one of the local branches' he thought to himself, almost in a bored tone as he leaned on his staff, his gaze now turning to Vivienne.

He noted her tightened cloak and smiled. 'Another more used to warmer weather...or something else...' These thoughts continued to course through his head as he was left standing in the middle of the street. Without consciencly thinking about it he started to head towards the tavern down the street, wheter he heard what Tara said consciencly or not, not even he knew, but he planned to get himself some firewater and would stick around for awhile.

Vivienne had lifted her hands in a surrendering position as Tara approached her, but lowered them at the request and began twiddling her fingers.

"Hm? What wound? Oh, that? Just a scratch, dear... I really wouldn't worry about it." Vivienne's gaze was anywhere but Tara's face, but she locked eyes with the woman after reminding herself that running now would be pointless--she had nowhere to go without leading them back to her fellow officers. Tara's expression hadn't changed, and Vivienne's sickly-sweet, not-so-sincere smile melted away to a nervous smirk.
"...but I suppose it wouldn't hurt. After all, I would be happy to provide some company to such an obviously important and talented person as yourself... it only seems appropriate to oblige."

Vivienne followed her figurative captor quietly as they walked. The sun was sinking fast, and Vivienne only wished she had listened to Tobias when he had talked about "moving in darkness." Still, the woman seemed rational enough--perhaps she had a chance yet.
But then, this high-ranking military woman seemed awfully smart. There was nothing to talk about, Vivienne knew. Necromantic magic was not common, and was not like most other magics--if one were clever, they could tell when they saw it. So it wasn't difficult, let alone for someone who appeared to be a healer in some respect.
She had to try, anyhow. Vivienne and her peers had only been in the city for a few months, and none had really gotten caught. This was an entirely new experience, and if she didn't at least make an attempt at saving face, who knew what they might do with her?

Tara and Vivienne made their way into the tavern in relative quiet, and entered in the same fashion. The place bustled with activity, a shift bound to catch the unprepared in surprise. The healer stood in the doorway just long enough to scan the scene before making a beeline to an unoccupied table, taking a seat while motioning for Vivienne to do the same across from her. Tara leaned in against the chaos, speaking just loud enough for Vivienne to hear if she leaned in herself.

"You can learn a great deal about people by the way they go about their lives," Tara began.

She pointed to a robust man whose rose rose above even the din of the tavern. "For example, that man is loud and rotund; odds are, he barely knows half what he would have you believe, and less still what he himself believes. He is a man not to be trusted. He's a fool, and he would not know his savior from his demise."

Her finger shifted slightly to the well-endowed lady at his side. "She is attractive, yet hangs on this repulsive man's every word; odds are, she would much rather put his eyes out with a dagger than be with him. But, she's with him still. She is a woman not to be trusted. She's a gold digger, and she would sell her own mother for a trinket."

Tara put her hand down, then pointed to the bar with the other. "That man is in good spirits, yet appears to have had his clothing singed recently; odds are, his clothing only got that way from close contact with a arcane spell. He is a man not to be trusted. He's a pyromancer, and he would soon forget how apt to flame most people's clothing is."

The healer's finger next landed on Vivienne herself. "You claim to be cold in this climate, yet your pale skin puts you in even less sunlight than we receive here; odds are, you lied to those men. The question is then: should I trust you?"

Tara put up a finger, signal ling that she was not done with her speech just yet. "I have a good enough idea of who you're affiliated with, given the magic you just worked. I'm not concerned with that. What I want to know is why you're here, and if you know something that I should know."

The bar was noisy enough with the clattering glassware, thudding shoes, and any number of voices ranging from the softest whisper the the most obnoxious shouting. A large man at the end of the bar didn't help matters.


"Oy! Barkeep! Gimme anothe' one of them... Whateve'this was!" The man slurred, already exceeding his limit. The men he was conversing with were of like constitution, and all of them quite impressed with the shear amount of booze this single man had consumed. Only now was it beginning to come back to haunt him.


"Eh, Rece'sh... Think ya had enough yet?" A graying man muttered beneath his briskly mustache and patted the so-called 'Rece' on the back.

Rece chuckled, "Nah, old timer. Plus, this is cause for shhhhcele'brashcii'on! I got promoted! Look at this." He flashed a pendant on his chest, a mark of a mid-ranking soldier.

The old man examined it and nodded, "Ahh... I sshee that. But..won't ya get yerself jailed caught drinkin' in uniform like that?"

This time the large brawny man wailed with laughter, "That's funny, gramps! None o' thoshe stiff-necked highbrows would washte their time coming to a bar! I swear... They all walk 'round with their noses up so high, I bet the stink of any bar will reach them miles away. An' you know as well as I do, no man like that'd be caught dead near one o' these placesh."

Pyro shook his head and moved away from the overly loud man, nursing his own drink. 'Can a man not get a drink in peace' he thought to himself with a shake of his head and moved away from the bar, moving to a quieter booth by himself.

The corner he moved to was dark but a candle had been lit there at one time, pulling his sleeve up slightly he created a flame on the tip of his finger and melted the wax away from the wick to allow it to burn better, the snapped his fingers, causing the flame to go out, leaving the candle to burn lively now, helping to light the corner much better.

Pulling his sleeve back down he shook his head as he picked at the ends of a few burnt threads. 'I REALLY need to find less flammable cloth' he thought with a sigh and began to look around. He noticed Vivienne and Tara in seemingly deep conversation as the intoxicant in his hand, the heat levels within his own body buring off the alchohol before it even dissolved into his system.

Vivienne smiled now. This was dangerous, which meant "fun" in her vocabulary, and she quietly decided that playing along might be a good idea. (Not only would it probably save her skin literally, but it could make for a nice conversation. It had been a long time since Vivienne had had the chance to debate with, engage, or otherwise yank around an "outsider.")

She crossed her arms and leaned over onto the smooth wooden table, flashing a wily grin at the woman sitting across from her.

"On the contrary, madam," she began very coolly and sweetly, "it is I who needs to be able to trust you. Me, a poor civilian--why, you could cut me down here and now and no one would think anything of it, would they? I understand about observing people. I have paid attention since we first met. By the way those miserable guards scampered off with their tails between their legs, I can see that you have a considerable amount of reputation and power. You could claim anything you liked from treason to... other undesirable activities, and no one would question it. But I digress. Let's cut past all of the tripe and get straight to the core of the issue..."

Vivienne glanced around her, leaning in closer to Tara. She started a little more softly, "You know and I know what kind of a spell that was... And I am quite surprised you healed it so quickly... As for trusting me, that's something you're going to have to take a chance on. Think of it this way, friend: not only am I helpless in this situation, but I doubt I could overpower you in the first place, so no point in trying, yes? You have little to truly fear from me at this juncture... Not that I have any quarrel with you, anyhow.

"Still, I'm curious. I want to know who you are. So how about let's chat, I'll buy you a drink, and we can both go on our merry ways and forget about all of this? Spare us both the trouble and have a jolly time of it, no?" Vivienne sat, staring Tara in the eyes with an almost coy expression.

"...Since, you know, I can't really do anything after all," she tacked on as a disclaimer. It was really the only falter in her otherwise personable and calm-sounding response. Aside from the small, nervous tapping motion she had been making with her right first finger on the table, that is.

"Tara Shikaron," the healer announced without hesitation. A few who heard glanced over to the table at the mention of the war hero, only to turn back to their own affairs after she returned the look. "I spent a couple of years in the active military, and they keep me on retainer to respond to threats against the state. That's all you need to know about me."

Tara chuckled. "You're right, by the way. I do have the power to have you charged with treason. If you would recall, however, I haven't charged you with so much as attacking a member of the Zarackian Army, which you did in plain sight. So, please, stop trying to con me into forgetting about any crimes you've committed and come clean. If you know anything that would constitute a threat to the state, I will find out. Your choice in this matter is whether or not I find out before or after a thorough search for incriminating evidence on your person."

A wail of laughter shot over the activity in the tavern, and Tara shook her head. "Think about how you would like the situation to end," Tara said, eyes on the large red-headed man from whom the laugh originated. "I'll be right back; don't try to run. I'll know if you leave."

In a flurry of movement, Tara cut from the table and moved quickly towards her target. She pulled her staff from a sling on her back, looking to be headed to war for a split second before she let it slide in her hand. She held it at the very end, wielding it as an extension of her person as she approached Rece. She placed the far end of her staff deftly on the top of the man's glass, blocking access to it- likely the single best way to grab his attention.

"You are an officer, in uniform no less, in the Zarackian military," indignation clear in her voice. "What are you thinking, getting sloshed while wearing your colors?"

Vivienne, if you were able to actually see any blood rush to her cheeks, blushed slightly and threw up her hands in surrender. This "Tara Shikaron" was good. Very good. She had pegged Viv's smooth-talking for what it really was. Simply nailed it. And Vivienne knew better than to run her mouth anymore.

Her half-nervous, half-sadistic grin slipped when Tara mentioned a "thorough search." She was loathe to have to roll over for this woman, but she had no choice in the matter now. Not if she wanted this to end quietly. Still, she was not one to give up without a bargain.

"Okay, okay," she began, her voice dropping, "I'll confess... but you have to promise me one thing--you will not search my person. Do we have an accord?"

Suddenly, Tara had stood up, telling Vivienne to stay put. Vivienne shot a nasty glare in the direction of the laughter that had interrupted her bartering. That oaf had better not cause any delay in her dealing... she couldn't risk running, but she hated the thought of sitting at that bar waiting while some drunken lug got scolded. Viv briefly hoped that her captor would simply slap him on the wrist and get it over with so that they could get back to more pressing matters.

As she watched the scene unfold, though, her unease wore off slightly as her mind made note of the incredible height difference between the superior and subordinate soldiers. She chuckled inwardly. Maybe this could wait... just for a little bit.

Rece's eyes drooped to the inaccessible mug with a pained feeling crossing his eyes. That just wasn't right, who would dare?...



Oh...shit...



The man grew bright red and leaned back away from his superior as if the woman had a disease, "Ehheheh..heh.. M-Ms... Shikaron! I.uhm... Well I...." His eyes darted around for some form of escape, alas none of his 'friends' had any intentions of bailing him out.

A long sigh left him and he held up a hand in surrender, "Alrigh'...You've got me this time. Nothing I can shay will make any diff'rence. But, I do want to know," he looked up at Tara with a sly look, "Why are you in a bar then? Huh? You don't jus' come here to talk. Unless you play darts, cardsh, or billardsh. Which, if ya ask me that would be very surprising considering you're quite the greatest ice queen in all Zarack."

The men surrounding him exchanged looks of worry, they had heard of Tara Shikaron before and for this man to have said that to her face... That was brave, or very very stupid. Rece, in his drunken state of mind, could no longer distinguish between that which was cunning and that which was purely unwise.

Tension arced from onlooker to onlooker, awaiting the sharp retort bound to come. Tara, however, could not suppress a laugh.

"The greatest ice queen in all Zarack," she announced with the tone of a mock proclamation of title, "happens to be pretty good at billiards." Using her staff, she hooked the handle of Rece's mug and pulled it to her free hand. "She also happens to drink from time to time, but she doesn't do it in uniform. If you're on R&R, get smashed to your heart's content, but do it in street clothes from now on, okay?"

Pyro did laugh from the corner as he watched the exchange. 'If I had more superiour officers like that when I was in the military I mighta stuck around despite the lull' he thought to himself, his hand idely moving over the flame from the candle, causing it to dance and spin, taking on varying shapes. Out of amusement he started to make the flame look like the faces of the people around the bar as he looked upon them, smiling slightly to himself.

His attention was drawn briefly Vivienne's face, thinking about the incident on the street. The flame replayed the incident in firery relief of Vivienne scarring the face of the soldier on the street. "What kind of magic was that?" he stated quietly to himself, a piece of the flame pulling itself from the candle to twirl about the pyromancers fingers like a magicians coin.

Vivienne strained her ears, trying to hear Tara and Rece's conversation over the drone of the bar. She finally slumped over onto the table, her chin in her hand, and gave up altogether on eavesdropping. She let out a heavy sigh. Things were getting boring very quickly, and she was dying--no pun intended--to get back to her fellow officers in their hideout. A flickering of flame caught her eye, and Vivienne suddenly perked up. The flame was transforming into...

the scene from the street?

Vivienne was intrigued. Thank goodness there was something to keep her occupied, at least. She darted her eyes around and watched Tara closely. She had to be careful that Tara didn't think she had run off... even though she wasn't sure if she should even move, but for the sake of her interest she decided to chance it.

Vivienne rose and glided to the table where Pyro sat. She seated herself gracefully in a chair across from him and gave him an oily, sharp-toothed smile.

"So... looks like someone enjoys playing with fire..."

***

First Watch Officer McKenzie was a stout man, and rather upstanding despite his challus heritage. He drank dry ale, made sure his uniform was always neatly pressed, and, above all, took the law very literally.

Today, he was on a mission, and he always thought very highly of his duties. (Or at least of himself.) He opened the tavern door rather forcefully, followed by an entourage of two privates and a squire boy. He scanned the area with an intense, important glare, and puffed out his chest. Spying his target, he took a boastful step forward and let his heavy, steel-toed boots hit the ground loudly with each step. He stopped in front of Tara and Rece, nodding to the soldier before turning to his superior and saluting.

"Miss Shikaron," McKenzie boomed objectively. He turned and bent down to take a small official-looking scroll from the squire and straightened back up to look at Tara.

"General Vepr has received orders for a mission. He has appointed you to the task. He told me to seek you out and give you this map. As you may know, there is an island far north of here a ways off the mainland. It's been considered neutral territory up until now, though we have held its occupation. We had--er, have an outpost, Chartt, stationed on the southern part of the island, but as of late we've received no communication from it. Not a letter, not a word--nothing. The government suspects some kind of Merxenne infiltration... or at the very least foul play. He wishes for Lakeside to send a competent troupe out to the fort's location and send a report back... And if a loyal, humble soldier may interject his honest opinion, it would be easiest to take a trade ship out of the Malisitin Port... Ma'm!"

The challus warrior gave another overly emotional salute and awaited further instruction.

Pyro smiled as Vivienne came over and he bowed his head slightly. "That I am." he stated, the flames compressing back into themselves from replaying the scene and then expanded out into a rose made of gently flickering flames, the petals turning a delicate blue. As the petals changed his attention was drawn to the officer entering the bar. Everything had fallen silent upon his...flamboyant entrance which allowed him to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Well that's odd..." he mumbled slightly, then shook his head and turned back to Vivienne.