Private Tales Snakes in the Garden

[Ivar]

Ivar didn't have the heart to tell the Elf that she may not have much of a choice when it came to the violent part of this situation.

The men who owed him coin were not exactly legal merchants, or rather, not wholly. Most of their business was smuggling in illegal goods, hence why they relied on outside mercenaries like him to act as guards against others.

His fingers tightened for a moment, a smile brushing on his face as she mimicked sneaking. "You'd be surprised."

In the Tundra silence had been paramount to hunting. One crunch of snow under the boot, one wrong noise, and an Elk you've been hunting for three weeks would go darting away. His father had taught him well when it came to stealth, and despite his appearance he was willing to bet he could be more silent than she could.

At least on the hunt.

"I know no magics." He told her. "But if you do, then tell me your plan."

 

[Sylvian]

“Then today is your lucky day, little Deathswillow.” Whispered Sylvian. The elf stepped close enough for him to see and opened her hand. There, on her palm, a small ball of ice formed from magic and turned into the shape of a golden coin. “Because I know a magic trick or two, and I always get my money’s worth.” Perhaps Sylvian was a little too confident, but what’s the worst that could happen?

The ice coin burst into powder snowy dust and she turned away to take a look around. I suppose we could get caught and thrown into prison, she mused, but shook those thoughts off shortly after.

The world is your oyster, Sylvi. It’s what you make it. Once reminded by the mantra she lived by, Sylvian nodded towards the larger building and nudged Ivar into a darker corner, where neither of them would stand out and look too obvious. “My plan is simple,” she began and gave him an all-knowing look.

“And depends entirely on how fast you can run.”

 

[Ivar]

If Ivar was impressed by the magic, he did not show it.

Witches were not exactly rare where he came from, though few could do little more than heal a gash or cut through a branch with a bit of fire. The display of ice...was something, but he still doubted it would be enough to do what they needed.

Unless of course she had a whole lot more in store.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so the Barbarian found himself shoved forward and into an alleyway by the little Elf. He grumbled something quietly, shifting his weight as they moved into the dark corner. "I'm fast enough."

Ivar said briskly as he came to a halt, gently grasping Sylvian so she didn't wiggle away further and directly addressing her.

"What is your plan?" He asked again, a bit more quiet now that they were besides the the building. He could hear voices echo from it.

 

[Sylvian]

“It’s simple enough.” Sylvian pointed towards the building and snuck closer in spite of his efforts to keep her from doing so. The elf lowered her voice and spoke directly at him. “I lure them out, and you lure them away.” Sylvian looked up the tall building; three stories tall, with windows here and there was really all she needed.

“Then I’ll quickly hush inside and grab something that’s of value and meet you...somewhere else. Somewhere in that direction, I think.” Her words trailed off as she showed him into a direction that led away from the building, where they had come from. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you. I have amazing eyesight!” The Avariel offered a smirk and a wink, well-knowing that this plan didn’t make much sense – nor did it sound very promising – but she had a few tricks up her sleeve.

“If I can’t find bags of coin, I suppose anything we can sell will do, right? It’s not like they can complain to the Watch about it.” Sylvian had gotten his hint earlier, quickly realizing that whatever strange ongoings happened inside that ominous house, the people involved didn’t want anyone else knowing about it.

“Any questions? No? Fantastic. Go!”

Sylvian pushed Ivar into the flickering light of the streetlamps with more force than one might expect from a delicate person such as herself, and dashed towards the building. There, she lowered herself and slammed both her hands against the cold stone and watched with a bright smile as the building began to freeze. Frost climbed up the walls until it swallowed the building whole and the windows first cracked, then shattered from the icy temperatures.

Sylvian was hiding underneath one of those windows, her gaze firmly kept on Ivar, when the door swung open and the first few mercenaries caught sight of him. Her eyes locked with his and she mouthed the word “run” before pulling the hood of her cloak deeply into her face.

Now or never.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar didn't run.

The plan wasn't a bad one really, but it was misinformed. Ivar was owed money by these people, but they didn't think...well anything of him. He wasn't some high value target, a few of them would chase him, but all? There was no way in hell.

He would have made that argument to her, he would have said. Even if they assumed he'd been the one to damage their building they still wouldn't go chasing after him. Not when their entire stash was still inside the damned place.

Yet before he could open his mouth she had pushed him and done what she'd done.

Now she was probably going to get skinned alive if he booked it down the street like she wanted him to, and despite the appeal of that...it didn't exactly sit right.

When the mercenaries popped out of the building Ivar didn't do the smart thing. He didn't run down the street, he didn't break away and rush from the building. Instead he took a breath, folded his fingers into fists, and then charged.

A roar escaped him as he tackled the leading mercenary, throwing him back and into his fellows.

 

[Sylvian]

Ivar didn’t run.

Underneath Sylvian’s cloak, a smile tugged on the corners of her lips. Of course running would have been much better, much easier for her, but the she-elf sensed a bit of frustration in the human and he deserved to let his anger out once in a while. And instead of running he did just that. Never expecting anyone to follow her orders or suggestions even, Sylvian wasn’t surprised by his disobedience, but merely concerned.

In a way, she had gotten him into this situation.

The elf summoned a small ice spear, aimed and flung the weapon across the street where it would pierce through another mercenary’s thigh, causing him to stumble and granting Ivar a bit of a head start. Then, the Avariel spread her massive wings and pushed herself off the ground and into the air.

She reached the third floor within seconds, entered through the shattered window into an upstairs bedroom and vanished from sight as quickly as she had appeared. Then, Sylvian’s sapphire eyes scanned the area for possible valuables – anything of worth would do, although she was hoping for something special in between all those boring coins. The elf aimed one hand at the door and deep froze its lock to keep people from entering for the time being, and then began to raid the rooms.

Now, the woman wasn’t an expert thief or anything, but she did have some sort of idea of where people liked to store their valuables, and with alien strength she threw over the king-sized bed and went straight for the metal box beneath it. Please don’t be anything weird, she prayed in silence before lifting it up; much to her surprise, it was rather heavy. The box didn’t look all that special and since Sylvian didn’t want to place her last bet on it, she went into the next room where she found a den desk, a multitude of maps, bookshelves and documents and a few bags of (hopefully) coins. Sylvian grabbed one of those and, without much further ado, hurled herself back out of the window.

Now, where in the seven hells was Ivar?

 

[Ivar]

A crack of bone and a cut off scream was the answer to that question, echoing from just beyond the corner that Sylvian had slipped back into.

Ivar stood there, one hand grasping the throat of one of the mercenaries while the other bent his arm into a position it should never have fallen into. A whimper escaped the man, and with a brutal kick Ivar sent him against the wall. There was another crack, and then the man collapsed.

Three of the seven guards lay scattered on the ground.

The other four peered at the Barbarian with no small amount of caution, weary after what he had done to their fellows. His fingers flittered for a moment as he saw one of the men draw a knife, the flash of silver steel reflecting moonlight.

Ivar's gaze cast towards movement in the corner, lips thinning for a moment as he took a step back.

"Time to go, I think." The Barbarian said softly as he slowly began to walk backwards, each of the four men following his steps.

 

[Sylvian]

There you are!

With a swoosh Sylvian landed behind Ivar and quickly tugged her wings away. When one tried to run, those were more of a hindrance than a help and the elf didn’t plan on leaving by herself. With the shady box in hand, Sylvian threw the coin bags at Ivar and gestured for him to run – this time for good.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Time to go!”

With her now free hand, Sylvian then summoned a magic circle and cast another spell: around them and beneath the incoming mercenaries’ feet, a layer of ice would form and cover the grounds of the streets. Not wanting to rely solely on their inability to walk on a slippery surface, Sylvian then conjured a number of small ice picks and flung them at their enemies.

Then, the Avariel dashed.

“I think I took more than I intended,” she admitted mid-run and looked at Ivar, and then over her shoulder. “We should open this somewhere where no one else can see.” Usually not the greedy type, the doe-eyed elf was intrigued by what those humans hid in boxes under their bed.

But first, they needed somewhere to hide and escape those mercenaries.

 

[Ivar]

There were stories in the Tundra, tales of men and women of ethereal beauty who had wings.

Ivar had heard them growing up. Told by Elders, Witches and the like. His father had always discounted them, not calling them lies, but simply saying that there were many beings in this world. Wings did not make you a better man.

That was what he had always said.

Sylvian certainly was beautiful, she had wings, but she was no deity. Unless she was a particularly mischievous one. A curse escaped him, as she barked out and began to book it away from the mercenaries, Ivar turning on his heel and quickly following after her.

"This way!" He hissed as he grasped her arm gently and suddenly tugged her to the left.

His steps broke, and he quickly yanked her into an alleyway that seemed to descend down a cornered hill. He rushed low, headed directly towards the wall. "Over the wall!"

The Barbarian shouted, running as fast as he could

Shouts echoed behind them, the mercenaries still chasing as fast as they could.

"I have a cabin in the Shallows." Well, he was borrowing it at least.

 

[Sylvian]

“Oh!” The elf squeaked when Ivar took a hold of her arm and pulled her into the alleyway. The winged folk rarely ran like that and Sylvian felt a sense of euphoria and excitement when she repeatedly escaped the mercenaries’ clutches.

The adrenaline rush was keeping her on high alert and gave her the energy she needed to make it further. It was dangerous, but also fun and Sylvian liked that.

“The wall?” She gasped. Sylvian gaped at Ivar in disbelief for a moment, before shaking her head and holding on tight to the box in her arms. Whatever was inside, she sure hoped it would be worth it. And if not, they at least still had the gold from the bags. “I think I have to cheat again,” her lips thinned into a line and she gave him an apologetic look.

Sylvian was a trained medic, not an acrobat and once they came close enough to the wall, her wings spread again and carried her across to the other side. To the Shallows he’d said, but where was that? She had no idea. Once Ivar was over the mountain (so to speak), the elven sorceress froze the wall solid.

“How far is that cabin of yours?”

 

[Ivar]

Ivar wasn't exactly an acrobat either, but in the tundra they climbed cliffs. It was a good way of keeping strong in times of peace, and the habit was one they'd kept even when they were children. As he rushed forward his fingers flexed, and then he leaped forward.

The Elf, if that was what she was, leaped over with a graceful flap of her wings, but Ivar didn't have that luxury.

Like a rabid beast of some kind Ivar scaled the wall. His hands dug against oddly shaped bricks, his feet kicked into the smallest gaps. He pushed himself up, and eventually over the wall to the Inner-city, landing on the other side with a muted thud of his boots.

He half turned, expecting the Mercenaries to follow when a sleek sheen of ice formed upon the stone.

A sigh of relief escaped him. That would stop them for a time. "A mile that way, outside the actual city walls."

He told her as he pointed towards the east.

"We walk now though, otherwise the Watch will stop us." Two outlanders running down the street? Yeah that was about as suspicious as could be.

 

[Sylvian]

“I can’t breathe,” the elf was panting like a dog, her pale face showing a mixture of stress, panic and euphoria. The wings were gone again, but with sweat running down her temples and Sylvian gasping for air like a drowning victim, all while holding on to the box for dear life, she looked everything but normal.

Ivar, however, was a natural.

Images of him running down the streets of Elbion like a wild boar passed through her mind and once she had caught her breath, Sylvian had to press a hand against her mouth to keep herself from breaking into laughter.

“We are criminals,” she said with a low voice, and her eyes wandered into the direction he was aiming at. Sylvian Sinderion was utterly amused by this. “I have never done something like that before, I don’t even know what to do with myself now.” She fixated on the box inside her arms and gave it a gentle shake.

“I’m dying to see what’s inside, let’s hurry.” Then, she followed his lead. Somehow back to normal, Sylvian pulled her hood deeply into her face, hid the box beneath her cloak and followed Ivar until they arrived at what he apparently considered his home. Or some variation of that.

 

[Ivar]

"It was your plan." Ivar reminded her as she mentioned that they were now criminals.

The Barbarian still didn't consider himself one. The men they had stolen from rightfully owed him a pretty sum of money, and the damage that had been done along the way...well that was simple justice. At least that's how it would have been in Kjos.

Of course the City Watch might not see it that way, but the story of a Northern Barbarian and a Winged Elf stealing your treasure was a bit ridiculous. Even for Alliria.

Ivar lead the way through the streets, walking calmly and confidently. He shifted his cloak more than once as they passed by a Watch Patrol, but no one ever bothered them. Eventually they passed out of the city gates and headed into the Shallows.

The Slums of Alliria were neither glamorous, nor appealing.

A constant stink hung in the air, the streets were mud, and the people appeared as though they had been stepped on. No one looked their way however, and eventually they reached the small home that Ivar had been speaking of.

It was a ramshackle cabin, but it had four walls and a roof. More than some could have asked for. With only a simple wooden latch Ivar pushed open the door, motioning for Sylvian to step inside.

 

[Sylvian]

“That you didn’t follow.” Sylvian reminded the Barbarian.

His little stunt didn’t bother her, and she most certainly wasn’t holding a grudge, but in a way the two of them were now stuck in this together. And that’s not how she had expected her night to go, not at all. Still, Sylvian was grateful for the distraction. The family troubles at home suddenly seemed far away and she liked it that way.

The Shallows were a shithole.

Sylvian could hardly believe her own eyes, and as they walked through the swamplands the elf held a hand up against her mouth and gasped, shocked by this place’s circumstances. Things were different in Thyasari and she realized how blessed she had been.

“This is cozy.” Sylvian said when she stepped into the cabin. Unlike the rest of this ghetto, it was. Once inside, the elf froze the door lock shut and placed the metal box on a table. It was dark, so she went to look for candles.

“Do you have something to make fire with?”

 

[Ivar]

"Probably." Ivar commented as he looked around the small cabin alongside Sylvian. His gaze flickered, and eventually he found a small bit of tinder along with some firesticks.

The Barbarian quickly piled logs into the small fireplace in the corner of the room. Once everything was in place he lit the tinder, bringing a small flame to life and letting it stir for a few seconds before adding a log onto the flame.

"Here." Ivar said as he pulled out a small stick from the fire and stepped over towards where he knew a few lamps to be. "This isn't exactly mine."

On his journey here he had met the man who actually owned this place. The two of them had become fast friends, and when he'd shipped out on his voyage he had offered Ivar his place to stay in. "So let's be careful with the fire, eh?"

The Barbarian said as he placed the lamp down on the table.

 

[Sylvian]

“Okay.” While Ivar went to light the fireplace, Sylvian took a look around. There wasn’t much, but for two lawbreakers this place was all they could have hoped for. It was luck, Sylvian decided and she was grateful for the good company.

She lit a few lamps and placed them around the room. Sylvian then put both coin bags on the table and motioned Ivar to take a seat while moving to sit on one of the chairs as well.

“It’s what they deserve, I suppose.” Her voice sounded apathetic and truth be told, the she-elf felt nothing towards the people she had hurt or stolen from. Ivar didn’t seem like a dishonest man and not once had she questioned his word, but perhaps that was her flaw.

Sylvian emptied the first bag onto the table and stared down at the shimmering coins and the few gems and jewels that were in between all of it. They had broken into a rich man’s den, she was now sure of it. “Is that enough to cover how much you were owed?” She kind of already knew the answer, suspecting that the gemstones alone were worth a lot.

Just to be safe she then opened the second bag as well.

 

[Ivar]

"More than enough." Though he would likely leave a bit behind here just to cover anything that might happen to his friend.

Lips thinned for a moment at that thought.

There would undoubtedly be repercussions for this. They had stolen a small fortune, and that wasn't even counting what was in that box. Ivar had been owed Silver, and this...well this was all gold and gems. Not even a small part of him felt guilty.

These southerners had been feckless and the worst sort. They'd gotten what they'd deserved.

"You should leave Alliria." He told her with a glance. "I will be."

Ivar gestured to the gold. "They're going to want to answer this. Even if it's not telling the Guard."

What he meant was clear. There would be violence from this.

 

[Sylvian]

Sylvian picked up a pretty, dark blue gemstone and marveled at its beauty. The elf always liked shiny things and she missed the jewelry her parents had gifted her when she was still their decent, beloved daughter.

“I can fly.” Sylvian gave back, almost sulky. “You should take most of this and buy a ship or something.” The elf shrugged and slid the majority of the gold coins and gems across the table and towards Ivar. Sylvian thought of keeping a few gemstones and having them made into jewelry, but since she didn’t have anywhere to store them and could only wear one set at a time, the elf wouldn’t need much.

“Maybe we should leave a bit for the owner of this,” she hesitated and took a look around, “establishment. It’s only fair, since we are staying here.” Then, Sylvian pulled the box into the middle of the table and, with a simple spell, froze its lock solid.

“This one was hidden underneath the bed,” she explained and conjured an ice pick to break the lock open with. When she opened it, the first thing she noticed were a few documents. Underneath it all Sylvian found an ominous looking amulet. A black leather chain held on to a round, silver medallion with a creepy, green skull in the middle of it.

It gave off a mysterious glow and the elf felt an immediate shift in the atmosphere. “Do you humans often mingle with black magic?” She asked her companion.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar nodded his head to the suggestion of leaving money, something that he of course was already going to do anyway. He didn't feel the need to tell Sylvian about that. "I'll leave on foot. Don't much like ships."

Something he'd discovered over the last few weeks.

There was something...wrong about entrusting his life to a bunch of sticks glued together in a dockyard. He preferred being on solid earth and ground, keeping himself whole and together. Lips thinned for a moment, and he nodded at what Sylvian said in regards to the box.

He had no idea why she'd taken it.

Perhaps just naivety. "You're asking the wrong man."

Ivar said as he looked at the odd green medallion, a strange pit forming in his stomach. His lips thinned for a moment, fingers tightening at his side. There was an...unease about the piece of jewelry.

"Back home we have mages, but few." He frowned. "There's a people to the North, Nordwiir they're called. My father said they worshiped Dark Gods."

Though he doubted this was related to them.

 

[Sylvian]

The elf tapped the medallion with the tip of her index-finger; it dangled around, and a pulse of gut-wrenching energy swept through the room. Sylvian dropped the necklace, but felt something else tugging at her inside. A whisper in her ear, a silent demand to do something she knew was forbidden.

But somehow the silver haired lass could not help herself.

“Play a game with me, Ivar.” Her challenge was sudden, but not uncharacteristic. “Truth or dare, you first.” Sylvian didn’t know why someone would hide a magical amulet under their bed, even less amongst documents that had seemingly nothing to do with it. But perhaps she was wrong?

The elf placed the wicked item aside and went back to the scrolls of paper that had been inside the box, and while two or three of them were documents related to real estate and sale bills, there was one that stood out to her. The words written on it were of foreign tongue, and next to it was a charcoal drawing depicting something similar to a shadow – but with a more distinctive shape.

“Have you ever seen something like this before?” She held up the scroll.

 

[Ivar]

"I don't play games." Ivar said in simple response, though there was an edge to the words.

More than there should have been.

Still, The barbarian didn't deny her the question. Lips thinned for a moment, his eyes folding over the piece of paper as he studied the odd shadowy charcoal figure. He mused for a moment, recalling some of the magics he'd seen during his time with the Mercenary Bands in the Blightlands.

Things there had been...different, but he had never quite seen anything like that. Not even from Menalus' sorcerers. Lips thinned for a second, and then he shook his head. "No."

His shoulders shrugged.

"Like I told you." Ivar intoned. "I do not know much of magic."

Never had the opportunity to learn. "You could ask the College of magic here in Alliria."

 

[Sylvian]

“Ugh, whatever.” Sylvian stuck out her tongue at the grumpy Nord and returned her attention to the much more interesting necklace. It was enchanted, perhaps even possessed and the elf decided that she wasn’t going to mingle with dark magic just yet.

“I could try selling this to a Necromancer, but I don’t like going where the human wizards are,” she suggested, then admitted and then placed the necklace back into the metal box. Sylvian abruptly slammed it shut and slid it to the side of the table. “They are a little too curious for my taste, if you know what I mean.” Right, that was another problem.

Humans liked anything that’s not like them, and they wanted everything that was, in any way, different. When that happens, they tend to flock together and form their ridiculous little parties, such as colleges and whatnot. Sylvian folded her hands together and propped her elbows up on the table.

“Please don’t tell anyone about my...situation?”

Her wings spread, without warning, from her back and across the room. They barely fit into the small cabin, and Sylvian gave him an apologetic smile along with a inconspicuous little wiggle of her feathers.

 

[Ivar]

For a few moments the Barbarian stared at the box. The idea of 'dark magic' of any sort set him on edge. There were more than a few stories of such things back home, and of course the Nordwiir were ever an issue for the city of Kjos'.

He had seen dark magics turn men to monsters. Break down walls and sunder entire ships. The idea of it made him rather uneasy, perhaps as uneasy as the idea of going to the college did her. For a brief moment Ivar looked at her, lips thinning as he shook his head.

"I would toss it into the sea." He told her in regards to the amulet.

Ivar shrugged his shoulders. "Ain't none of my business."

He told her, the most honest answer that he could offer her. The Barbarian was still somewhat bewildered by what she actually was. He'd never seen a winged Elf before, never even really heard of one, though that wasn't too shocking. Kjos' wasn't exactly diverse, and his travel through the Southlands hadn't expanded his mind much.

Orcs, trolls, Nordenfiir, and even a few actual elves.

Never one with wings though.

"What are you anyway?" He asked candidly.

 

[Sylvian]

“Maybe I will.” She replied in regards to the amulet. Sylvian didn’t like that idea though, and she felt drawn to it in spite of the evil energy it emitted. The Barbarian’s visible distaste for the magical artifact, however, spoke volumes and Sylvian sensed that he was right – and that she should have listened to him.

The elf scoffed at his words and a frown crossed her face, curiosity tinting her features. “For someone who’s been looking for opportunity in a place far from home, you’ve shown yourself fairly unbothered by anything said place has to offer.” Not that Sylvian was affected by this, but she found Ivar’s modus operandi...questionable.

And because he finally showed some interest at last, she decided to tell him everything. Well, almost everything.

“I’m an Avariel, a member of the winged folk. I’m an elf that can fly.” She flapped her wings as if to demonstrate. “I’m very special, almost like a princess. You can’t tell anyone that though, my family would strongly oppose it.” As odd as it sounded, it was pretty much true. Sylvian came from a wealthy and well-respected family tree, she was high born and her status comparable to that of a noble.

Of course she left out the part about how she had disgraced said family by running away to mingle with mortals, but Ivar didn’t need to know that.

 

[Ivar]

"Alliria doesn't have much of what I want." He told her truthfully, frowning for a moment at her words.

This place...well, it was chaotic, broken up, like a reflection of what it should have been. There was something about it that made him uneasy. Perhaps it was the propensity the people here showed for lying, or perhaps it was just who he was.

Lips thinned for a moment, but he shook his head and refocused as she explained what exactly she was.

His eyes watched her wings twitch slightly, a small gust of wing raking his hair slightly. "Ah."

That explained her attitude he supposed.

"Well I don't think I'll be meeting one of your folk any time soon." Ivar pointed out. "So I don't think that will be an issue."

The Barbarian paused for a second. "Unless they'll be looking for you?"