Private Tales Whats In a Name

[Naser]

Amol-Kalit - Dejara

He liked the sand.

Naser's least favorite nights living in the Tombs had always been in Winter. It had been when the ground had been cold and the air had been even colder. The earth had sapped your heat and it was almost as dangerous to lay down as it was to be standing up. The stand wasn't all that different, truth be told, but during the day it got hot.

Back home it took hours and hours for that to happen. Out here in the sand it was minutes before you could barely walk.

The heat didn't bother him one bit though, and as he'd trudged through the desert Nas had found himself almost gleeful sometimes. Away from the Academy, away from the drudgery of life. He hated the 'Robber for making him do this, for forcing him into this shit a second time, but at least he got to do something different.

Still, he needed out. After he grabbed the girl and brought her back he'd have to figure out a way for this to stop. The 'Robber had to die, or be silenced somehow. He just had to figure it out.

After he got the girl.

Nas adjusted the gauntlet around his wrist. The golden metal cold to the touch despite the scorching heat outside, his eyes flickering over the shimmering alloy. "After the 'Robber."

He murmured to himself as he stepped into town, the sandstone building standing as thick bulwarks against the common storms.

 

[Keres]

The scent of hot oil and spice clung to the air, thick and heavy as Keres wove through the crowded streets of Dejara. The marketplace was a writhing mass of traders and thieves, voices rising in heated arguments over coin and goods. She moved like smoke through the chaos, her hood pulled low, her steps light on the sunbaked stone.

She had spent the past few days laying low, taking what she needed and keeping her head down. But keeping her head down wouldn’t get her out of this city.

A merchant's stall loomed ahead, a faded awning providing a sliver of shade over a display of knives and trinkets. Keres drifted closer, her fingers ghosting over the selection of weapons. Most were dull, little more than decorative accessories meant to fool wide-eyed travellers. She needed something better.

The vendor, a wiry man with dark, weathered skin, watched her with a knowing glint in his eye. "Looking for something, lady?"

Keres met his gaze, one hand still resting on the hilt of a blade. "Something sharp," she murmured, tilting her head.

The merchant chuckled, revealing gold-capped teeth. "I have just the thing." He reached beneath the table, producing a curved dagger with a wicked edge, a weapon that was meant for more than just show.

"I'll take it."

 

[Naser]

Nas always had a way of finding people.

Not that it was any sort of specific talent, but he could cut down on conversation with his magic. He didn't need to ask questions, didn't need to walk up to a person and see if he would have any information. When he strained himself, when his eyes turned white, Nas could see what answers they would already have.

Simply by walking down the street and concentrating Naser could find what he sought. Thought it made him stumble as he reached his final step, the young Initiate had found the answers he'd sought.

She was here.

It was an old merchant that had known, golden-capped teeth shining bright as he'd questioned. He'd never asked of course, but just twenty seconds into the future had been enough for Naser to find out what direction she had gone.

Though he wasn't too pleased by the dagger she had bought. Did she know someone was coming? Didn't matter, the 'Robber wanted this done and he would do it. Quickly he threaded through the crowd eventually spotting a figure that might resemble the portrait in his pocket.

Her raven hair flowing quickly as the wind swept.

 

[Keres]

Keres moved with the wary grace of someone who never truly felt safe.

The dagger was a comfort, its weight a promise against her hip, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the feeling prickling at her spine. It never was.

She adjusted the veil draped loosely over her shoulders, more to occupy her hands than anything else, before slipping into a narrow alleyway. It wasn’t the quickest route, but she preferred it to the open street. Too many eyes there. Too many chances for someone to see her, to recognise her.

The alley stank of old piss and rotting fruit, the heat of the day still clinging to the stone. A stray cat yowled and darted between a stack of crates, startling her pulse into a sharp stutter.

She exhaled, slow and controlled.

It was nothing.

Just another city, another day, another stretch of time where she was no one and nowhere.

And yet, her fingers still hovered too close to the hilt of her knife. Her steps still carried the tension of someone always waiting for the next threat.