"Mandrashard," Part 4

There was nothing to see out there through the window that day, much less any other day, but it had beaten the alternatives.

The money from the bounty of Salk (the proposed Jalk that she had dealt with earlier) made her fifty royals richer. Fifty royals was easily enough to keep her well for the next couple of days, she knew. The strings to her violin may have required replacement soon, though, and that meant another bite out of her purse which left her with a smirk. The wagon trip was only a few silvers, which was not nearly as bad, but the rickety travel that came in a wagon left something to be desired compared to walking along the beaten earth of the traveling road; something she reminded herself of when the wagon jumped up from an obstacle in the road, shaking the contents and nearly missing her head from banging against the roof.

Men… Her eyes raced to the roof as her hand turned to the back of her head, feeling how mussed the hair had become from this rustling. Her fingers ran through her hair, carefully combing down any stray hairs. The wagon still rattled noisily along the road. As she did so, she then turned to look at the other passenger of the wagon.

The woman wore a somewhat well-to-do outfit of a light blue blouse and an equally pale yellow/white dress which seemed a little too common. Her reddish-brown hair was held back through a tied ribbon behind her, though in her eyes there was not much hair to keep back, perhaps barely even down to her shoulders. Very tacky for a woman her age, she thought with a lightened amusement. In her hands was a well-bound book that seemed as long as her forearm that she seemed to continue poring through with interest despite the bumps and rickets of the wagon. How anyone could read in these conditions is a mystery. She focused on her face and saw a small nose, a focused set of eyes that flared a gray appearance. She could attract men, if she did not appear so… plain. The thought left her stifling a nod and she turned away again to admire the road, the thought of the woman on the other side slowly boring her.

The trip was to Abara, another town with little interest with her; then again, most of these towns only dealt with wheat. There was money to be made in it, she knew, but food was hardly something she liked to think about as a method of money. There were better things than that; ingots, coins, jewels were what coveted her mind. Iron was welcome too, of course, but it was just too heavy to make it convenient unless it was nearby. It made her inability to find Salk’s heavy metal armor and his weapons seem a little more comforting. She continued to look out at a few farms and their tended fields of wheat and the pallor men and women that tended to them. It was better than the countless trees and grass that she saw before.

Her hand reached against the wagon for a signal and pulled it, releasing a jingling noise that she could scarcely hear from her position. “Driver, is there a rest stop soon?” she said it against the outside of the window.

“Next rest stop is not until a half day more, miss,” she heard back from above her. She gave a small breathless sigh.

Mandrashard was far from her route, she knew. When the man who called himself Jalk requested her to find some information on this, she did it with a tentative memory. Mandrashard, as she remembered, was another magical weapon with a historic name. Of course, almost every magical weapon had one or two stories about it used by some “hero” of some sort, but Mandrashard was also an ancient sword. If it was still around to be found, it would have been, according to some of these tales, as old as several generations ago. Of course, every story was to be treated with a grain of salt, and men like him may have simply just been saying whatever they could to get her attention, but it was a particular fragment of paper that he gave her that convinced her slightly. This fragment of paper mentioned the travels of a man named Berthim Guth, no doubt a person of noble blood, though his house name sounded very foreign; too foreign, in her opinion. The paper did not say much beyond a few scraps of boring log work, but what caught her eye was a particular bit in it that Jalk also noted.

“It was here that I knew that a Geral had been buried.”

Geral was far from a common name. It was also one of the stories of men who had found Mandrashard, perhaps the last one she knew of from her memory of tales. Geral the beast, an adventurer known for his past as a mercenary for hire in wartime, had once gained Mandrashard from the possession of a field commander after he tore through several legions of swords and spears and army mages with an axe blade and the “Three Stars Verdict,” a shield he had acquired from his father’s heritage. It was said that after the battle, Geral had taken Mandrashard and forged his own small country from it. How he died, she forgot, but the sign that his grave had been found was proof that he may have been more than just an imaginary figure and Mandrashard was actually in the grasp of whoever could reach for it. As she remembered, Geral had owned land around the area of Dalan; a couple of days of travel at the very least. She stifled her smile at the thought. She continued staring out the window, and inside her she knew that she could barely contain herself at the thought.

The trip to Abara had been as uneventful as it always had. The rest stops were deplorable in her opinion as well; there was almost no coin to be made from it save from the requests of lustful old men that barely had pennies in their own name. From what she saw, Abara was a number of stone and wood buildings that ran to a few stories around a small port that looked like it had its purpose as a fishing port and nothing more when considering the port was barely anything more than a small jutting platform of wood that could barely hold a traveling barge, provided that the many small fishing vessels were moved from their anchored location. Her eyes caught only a handful of soldiers in the blue and red tabard of Sattre Perhaps there might be some work for adventurers here… she smiled at the thought, reached her slim fingers into the wide girdle of her belt again and felt the tiny dagger that she often hid in there for safety. The window soon began to fill with the sight of wooden buildings, farmers with carts, and people she could tell seemed better off than the usual working men; most likely those traveling from one place to another or the larger girth of gentry, merchants… people with a fair amount of coin.

After the carriage stopped, the driver took a leap from the roof to the pounded cobble, giving a slight tremor in the air as he hit the ground. Brushing up a smile, he opened the door “This is as far as we go, you two,” he said it with a distinguished sign of professional appeal “there should be another train running to Deng in the next few days.”

She glanced up at him and silently nodded, her hair shaking slightly from the greeting. The sky was as clear as it always was. She returned her eyes to the disheveled looking driver “Do you know where a woman could go here to find work?” She smiled.

“Well, mi’lady,” he continued his professional appearance despite his messiness “that would depend on what you were planning to do around here.”

Her smile became a pouty warmth “Oh, and what do you think I would be planning to do here?” He had already turned to the side of the wagon.

“Hey, baggage!” his voice called out to the roof towards the other driver, a younger person who shared enough likeness to be related to the man, but with enough of an age difference to most likely be his son. “From what I remember you were carrying, I’d say you were a traveling minstrel.” She smirked; perhaps the man had lost his manhood to be unable to say more of her.

“You guessed right. Now, where may I find a tavern, and some barracks of the town for that matter?”

“The barracks are about the corner of the town, just look for the storage silos. As for a tavern, you would do best to go to ‘Plowed Shares Earned.” His arms caught her backpack, sheathed rapier, ivory handle bow and her quiver, tossing it to the ground with little regard, which forced her to smirk harder. “That one you can find just around the corner of the tradehouse here.” He then received the case to her violin, which he also left next to her equipment. She picked up her pack and violin and forced herself to keep her clever smirk as she walked around.

The entrance to the “Plowed Shares Earned” was a building without even doors. It seemed to almost be an extension to someone’s house, a large covered platform with a number of rounded tables around an area blocked off from the streets by a fence that only went up to her waist. It had a sort of charm to it, but it was a very parochial charm that she saw. The keeper of this establishment seemed to be busy hauling their own grain from a dusty sack; the only way she knew was from seeing him drag the heavy burlap around. She maintained her smirk; the man looked too old to be interesting.

“I would like a room,” she announced.

“Half a moment,” the man said with a hardly wavering voice through his silver hair. He dragged another sack on his shoulder as though it was a normal thing; she imagined it probably was among these common folk. As she watched him plod with the sack onto the stage and into the door, she found herself tapping her foot with the impatience of this situation; she quickly stifled it and coiled her arm back to remove the leather-sheathed rapier she held, buckling the bands to her corset to let it sway comfortably along her left flank, slung comfortably to her with an almost welcome feel. By this time the man had returned, clapping his hands together with an anticipation she knew well as one that sought fortune from others needs. His eyes had a look more for coin than her, though.

“How may I help? A room, a meal, a drink… perhaps all three?” He gave a fake smile.

“Hmmm…” she murmured gently against her throat “I would like a room, for now.” She didn’t feel anyone watching her… How boring.

“Yes, well, I only have one room left that I can rent to you for the day for four silvers.” He nodded to himself in acknowledgement.

She tilted her head slightly, letting her hair sway slightly against the draftless ambiance “If there is only one room left, then would it matter any if you could give me a more reasonable price…?” She gave her smile to him. The man did not even seem to notice, turning away after watching her ask the question.

“Can’t say I can. Sorry, but I already know the other rooms that are booked what with all the merchants here and all.” From the way the man said it, the solemn lackadaisical way most would say such things when their minds were preoccupied, she had a feeling there was no way to get around it. The man must have been experienced with this before, the thought fell into her mind as yet another reason to dislike this town.
Her lips coiled to another smirk and she sighed “Very well. I will take that room.”

The man turned back and gave a grin with his harshly yellowed teeth “Very good, hope you enjoy your stay in this town.”

She gave her polite smile in reply and nodded. If there is nothing to do here, then there will be nothing to enjoy, cold fish. Her mind returned to the barracks, her boots tapping against the dust of the road as she recalled the directions of the driver, whom she already noted had left and now been replaced with some busy locals, their wheelbarrows, and their incessant need to move from one area to another. This town does seem busier than most places… but wheat is hardly worth my time. She noted a few eyes of some of the younger men hauling their goods and her lips puckered into a smile at them as she walked by, noting their surprised gapes as she emphasized her strut around her hips, showing the balance of her body more.

The guards around this town seemed small in pockets; at the most she saw about five men in their chain and tabard uniforms walking about. What she did seem to note, however, were a number of men and unattractive women in plain clothes walking around strapped with weapons; irregular ones, at that. Mercenaries, she imagined -and from the look of their equipment, not very good ones. I suppose their grain is not so valuable as I almost thought. She stifled an urge to giggle as she approached the heavy iron door to a large building that seemed to only have a roof for one floor and crenellations atop its diminutive roof. Impressive, if you like to pretend it is.

Inside seemed to be orderly enough… for a mess. An open office environment with dust all over the floor and sconces of lamps that look as though they have been collecting dust and through the silt of oil to a point where the light was suppressed from giving a full shine, but not enough to fully hide its glow. The man sat in a chair on the back corner of the room (no doubt to watch for anyone suspicious entering the area), the scabbard to his blade kept leaning against the chair with him with his helmet on the bottom of the chair. At the sight of her, the man looked up and then examined her with his eyes, which she enjoyed even though she knew from the fragments of yellow wax along his eyes that the man looked only serious about potential danger and sleeping.

“If you are curious about applying for work,” his words groaned against his tired mouth as he shifted his head to the right and then left which filled the air with the snapping of several spinal tendons that almost forced her to flinch “-we don’t need anymore mercenaries for garrison duties.”

“Oh? But what if I am not here for garrison duties?” Her eyes peered as seductive hazel slits as she gave her smirk.

The man shifted his eyes interestedly and smiled back to her through a moustache that was growing more chaotic in form the more he moved. “Then I would think you were looking for some work hunting bounties? The captain in this town doesn’t look too well upon harlotry in this town, of course.”

She shortened her smile slightly “Of course,” This explains why everyone seems so cold-blooded “What sort of bounties are there?”

The man sat back, knowing and propped his head up to face the ceiling “The board is outside, by the hitching posts. There’s a request for the capture of a bandit that stole an iron shipment by the name of Redfist.”
“Do you know who it was that asked for this?” She stepped up and bent forward to look down at him as he seemed to close his eyes to slowly embrace sleep.

“Linaes Ebon. One of the gentries from Evantile.” She remembered the name of that city. He must be a fairly wealthy man to own land there. Whispering a “thank you” to the man in case he fell asleep, the minstrel then strut out. Men like him deserve to have their purses nicked… if we ever cross paths again, I’ll make sure it happens. She smiled at the two guards that tromped in metal past her as she went for the doorway.

“Linaes Ebon, I presume?” It was no difficult task. The man had apparently made some effort gaining ground under his name. Even the outside of the room that he rented (which was in some other inn that she thankfully was not sharing) was manned with two personal soldiers. He sat very casually in a chair, a table in front of him as he seemed dressed in the formal garb of any working gentry; clean-cut uniform with a modest decoration of lacework along the ends and a few bands of colors drooping along the shoulders. A greasy young man with a fair amount of fat in his cheeks that seemed to grease into his hair, which was held back with scented oil and an dark green cap of a shade that she knew was fairly rare in color. His mouth gave a smile of perfectly white teeth; making the man seem almost inhuman in comparison to his greasy rounding nature.

“Hmmm…” His voice made it sound more like hard breathing. She could smell the hint of sexual fluid in the air, very faint against his smell. This man is obviously either active with himself or with some others. She gave a smirk as he replied “Are you here… for business…?” His voice whined in and out with heavy breathing and she could not help but continue smirking her winsome cloak of a smile.

“Of course… what business do you think I could be good for…?” She gave a careful wink and motioned her hair back into a free wave. She could hear him breathing harder and a thought in her mind realized that perhaps the man was not breathing hard due to his poor constitution. Her eyes turned to the man’s pants and noted how the man seemed visibly sexually frustrated. As her eyes turned back to his face, she immediately noted that she saw him, and she gave a polite smile that she knew could have been interpreted for something more.

“What sort of business…” he heaved in his breath heavily “-do you have in mind…?”

“Tell me of your bounty…” Nevhen hissed with her coolest seduction, “-and maybe afterwards we can discuss some other business as well.”

"Mandrashard," Part 4

There was nothing to see out there through the window that day, much less any other day, but it had beaten the alternatives.

The money from the bounty of Salk (the proposed Jalk that she had dealt with earlier) made her fifty royals richer. Fifty royals was easily enough to keep her well for the next couple of days, she knew. The strings to her violin may have required replacement soon, though, and that meant another bite out of her purse which left her with a smirk. The wagon trip was only a few silvers, which was not nearly as bad, but the rickety travel that came in a wagon left something to be desired compared to walking along the beaten earth of the traveling road; something she reminded herself of when the wagon jumped up from an obstacle in the road, shaking the contents and nearly missing her head from banging against the roof.

Men… Her eyes raced to the roof as her hand turned to the back of her head, feeling how mussed the hair had become from this rustling. Her fingers ran through her hair, carefully combing down any stray hairs. The wagon still rattled noisily along the road. As she did so, she then turned to look at the other passenger of the wagon.

The woman wore a somewhat well-to-do outfit of a light blue blouse and an equally pale yellow/white dress which seemed a little too common. Her reddish-brown hair was held back through a tied ribbon behind her, though in her eyes there was not much hair to keep back, perhaps barely even down to her shoulders. Very tacky for a woman her age, she thought with a lightened amusement. In her hands was a well-bound book that seemed as long as her forearm that she seemed to continue poring through with interest despite the bumps and rickets of the wagon. How anyone could read in these conditions is a mystery. She focused on her face and saw a small nose, a focused set of eyes that flared a gray appearance. She could attract men, if she did not appear so… plain. The thought left her stifling a nod and she turned away again to admire the road, the thought of the woman on the other side slowly boring her.

The trip was to Abara, another town with little interest with her; then again, most of these towns only dealt with wheat. There was money to be made in it, she knew, but food was hardly something she liked to think about as a method of money. There were better things than that; ingots, coins, jewels were what coveted her mind. Iron was welcome too, of course, but it was just too heavy to make it convenient unless it was nearby. It made her inability to find Salk’s heavy metal armor and his weapons seem a little more comforting. She continued to look out at a few farms and their tended fields of wheat and the pallor men and women that tended to them. It was better than the countless trees and grass that she saw before.

Her hand reached against the wagon for a signal and pulled it, releasing a jingling noise that she could scarcely hear from her position. “Driver, is there a rest stop soon?” she said it against the outside of the window.

“Next rest stop is not until a half day more, miss,” she heard back from above her. She gave a small breathless sigh.

Mandrashard was far from her route, she knew. When the man who called himself Jalk requested her to find some information on this, she did it with a tentative memory. Mandrashard, as she remembered, was another magical weapon with a historic name. Of course, almost every magical weapon had one or two stories about it used by some “hero” of some sort, but Mandrashard was also an ancient sword. If it was still around to be found, it would have been, according to some of these tales, as old as several generations ago. Of course, every story was to be treated with a grain of salt, and men like him may have simply just been saying whatever they could to get her attention, but it was a particular fragment of paper that he gave her that convinced her slightly. This fragment of paper mentioned the travels of a man named Berthim Guth, no doubt a person of noble blood, though his house name sounded very foreign; too foreign, in her opinion. The paper did not say much beyond a few scraps of boring log work, but what caught her eye was a particular bit in it that Jalk also noted.

“It was here that I knew that a Geral had been buried.”

Geral was far from a common name. It was also one of the stories of men who had found Mandrashard, perhaps the last one she knew of from her memory of tales. Geral the beast, an adventurer known for his past as a mercenary for hire in wartime, had once gained Mandrashard from the possession of a field commander after he tore through several legions of swords and spears and army mages with an axe blade and the “Three Stars Verdict,” a shield he had acquired from his father’s heritage. It was said that after the battle, Geral had taken Mandrashard and forged his own small country from it. How he died, she forgot, but the sign that his grave had been found was proof that he may have been more than just an imaginary figure and Mandrashard was actually in the grasp of whoever could reach for it. As she remembered, Geral had owned land around the area of Dalan; a couple of days of travel at the very least. She stifled her smile at the thought. She continued staring out the window, and inside her she knew that she could barely contain herself at the thought.

The trip to Abara had been as uneventful as it always had. The rest stops were deplorable in her opinion as well; there was almost no coin to be made from it save from the requests of lustful old men that barely had pennies in their own name. From what she saw, Abara was a number of stone and wood buildings that ran to a few stories around a small port that looked like it had its purpose as a fishing port and nothing more when considering the port was barely anything more than a small jutting platform of wood that could barely hold a traveling barge, provided that the many small fishing vessels were moved from their anchored location. Her eyes caught only a handful of soldiers in the blue and red tabard of Sattre Perhaps there might be some work for adventurers here… she smiled at the thought, reached her slim fingers into the wide girdle of her belt again and felt the tiny dagger that she often hid in there for safety. The window soon began to fill with the sight of wooden buildings, farmers with carts, and people she could tell seemed better off than the usual working men; most likely those traveling from one place to another or the larger girth of gentry, merchants… people with a fair amount of coin.

After the carriage stopped, the driver took a leap from the roof to the pounded cobble, giving a slight tremor in the air as he hit the ground. Brushing up a smile, he opened the door “This is as far as we go, you two,” he said it with a distinguished sign of professional appeal “there should be another train running to Deng in the next few days.”

She glanced up at him and silently nodded, her hair shaking slightly from the greeting. The sky was as clear as it always was. She returned her eyes to the disheveled looking driver “Do you know where a woman could go here to find work?” She smiled.

“Well, mi’lady,” he continued his professional appearance despite his messiness “that would depend on what you were planning to do around here.”

Her smile became a pouty warmth “Oh, and what do you think I would be planning to do here?” He had already turned to the side of the wagon.

“Hey, baggage!” his voice called out to the roof towards the other driver, a younger person who shared enough likeness to be related to the man, but with enough of an age difference to most likely be his son. “From what I remember you were carrying, I’d say you were a traveling minstrel.” She smirked; perhaps the man had lost his manhood to be unable to say more of her.

“You guessed right. Now, where may I find a tavern, and some barracks of the town for that matter?”

“The barracks are about the corner of the town, just look for the storage silos. As for a tavern, you would do best to go to ‘Plowed Shares Earned.” His arms caught her backpack, sheathed rapier, ivory handle bow and her quiver, tossing it to the ground with little regard, which forced her to smirk harder. “That one you can find just around the corner of the tradehouse here.” He then received the case to her violin, which he also left next to her equipment. She picked up her pack and violin and forced herself to keep her clever smirk as she walked around.

The entrance to the “Plowed Shares Earned” was a building without even doors. It seemed to almost be an extension to someone’s house, a large covered platform with a number of rounded tables around an area blocked off from the streets by a fence that only went up to her waist. It had a sort of charm to it, but it was a very parochial charm that she saw. The keeper of this establishment seemed to be busy hauling their own grain from a dusty sack; the only way she knew was from seeing him drag the heavy burlap around. She maintained her smirk; the man looked too old to be interesting.

“I would like a room,” she announced.

“Half a moment,” the man said with a hardly wavering voice through his silver hair. He dragged another sack on his shoulder as though it was a normal thing; she imagined it probably was among these common folk. As she watched him plod with the sack onto the stage and into the door, she found herself tapping her foot with the impatience of this situation; she quickly stifled it and coiled her arm back to remove the leather-sheathed rapier she held, buckling the bands to her corset to let it sway comfortably along her left flank, slung comfortably to her with an almost welcome feel. By this time the man had returned, clapping his hands together with an anticipation she knew well as one that sought fortune from others needs. His eyes had a look more for coin than her, though.

“How may I help? A room, a meal, a drink… perhaps all three?” He gave a fake smile.

“Hmmm…” she murmured gently against her throat “I would like a room, for now.” She didn’t feel anyone watching her… How boring.

“Yes, well, I only have one room left that I can rent to you for the day for four silvers.” He nodded to himself in acknowledgement.

She tilted her head slightly, letting her hair sway slightly against the draftless ambiance “If there is only one room left, then would it matter any if you could give me a more reasonable price…?” She gave her smile to him. The man did not even seem to notice, turning away after watching her ask the question.

“Can’t say I can. Sorry, but I already know the other rooms that are booked what with all the merchants here and all.” From the way the man said it, the solemn lackadaisical way most would say such things when their minds were preoccupied, she had a feeling there was no way to get around it. The man must have been experienced with this before, the thought fell into her mind as yet another reason to dislike this town.
Her lips coiled to another smirk and she sighed “Very well. I will take that room.”

The man turned back and gave a grin with his harshly yellowed teeth “Very good, hope you enjoy your stay in this town.”

She gave her polite smile in reply and nodded. If there is nothing to do here, then there will be nothing to enjoy, cold fish. Her mind returned to the barracks, her boots tapping against the dust of the road as she recalled the directions of the driver, whom she already noted had left and now been replaced with some busy locals, their wheelbarrows, and their incessant need to move from one area to another. This town does seem busier than most places… but wheat is hardly worth my time. She noted a few eyes of some of the younger men hauling their goods and her lips puckered into a smile at them as she walked by, noting their surprised gapes as she emphasized her strut around her hips, showing the balance of her body more.

The guards around this town seemed small in pockets; at the most she saw about five men in their chain and tabard uniforms walking about. What she did seem to note, however, were a number of men and unattractive women in plain clothes walking around strapped with weapons; irregular ones, at that. Mercenaries, she imagined -and from the look of their equipment, not very good ones. I suppose their grain is not so valuable as I almost thought. She stifled an urge to giggle as she approached the heavy iron door to a large building that seemed to only have a roof for one floor and crenellations atop its diminutive roof. Impressive, if you like to pretend it is.

Inside seemed to be orderly enough… for a mess. An open office environment with dust all over the floor and sconces of lamps that look as though they have been collecting dust and through the silt of oil to a point where the light was suppressed from giving a full shine, but not enough to fully hide its glow. The man sat in a chair on the back corner of the room (no doubt to watch for anyone suspicious entering the area), the scabbard to his blade kept leaning against the chair with him with his helmet on the bottom of the chair. At the sight of her, the man looked up and then examined her with his eyes, which she enjoyed even though she knew from the fragments of yellow wax along his eyes that the man looked only serious about potential danger and sleeping.

“If you are curious about applying for work,” his words groaned against his tired mouth as he shifted his head to the right and then left which filled the air with the snapping of several spinal tendons that almost forced her to flinch “-we don’t need anymore mercenaries for garrison duties.”

“Oh? But what if I am not here for garrison duties?” Her eyes peered as seductive hazel slits as she gave her smirk.

The man shifted his eyes interestedly and smiled back to her through a moustache that was growing more chaotic in form the more he moved. “Then I would think you were looking for some work hunting bounties? The captain in this town doesn’t look too well upon harlotry in this town, of course.”

She shortened her smile slightly “Of course,” This explains why everyone seems so cold-blooded “What sort of bounties are there?”

The man sat back, knowing and propped his head up to face the ceiling “The board is outside, by the hitching posts. There’s a request for the capture of a bandit that stole an iron shipment by the name of Redfist.”
“Do you know who it was that asked for this?” She stepped up and bent forward to look down at him as he seemed to close his eyes to slowly embrace sleep.

“Linaes Ebon. One of the gentries from Evantile.” She remembered the name of that city. He must be a fairly wealthy man to own land there. Whispering a “thank you” to the man in case he fell asleep, the minstrel then strut out. Men like him deserve to have their purses nicked… if we ever cross paths again, I’ll make sure it happens. She smiled at the two guards that tromped in metal past her as she went for the doorway.

“Linaes Ebon, I presume?” It was no difficult task. The man had apparently made some effort gaining ground under his name. Even the outside of the room that he rented (which was in some other inn that she thankfully was not sharing) was manned with two personal soldiers. He sat very casually in a chair, a table in front of him as he seemed dressed in the formal garb of any working gentry; clean-cut uniform with a modest decoration of lacework along the ends and a few bands of colors drooping along the shoulders. A greasy young man with a fair amount of fat in his cheeks that seemed to grease into his hair, which was held back with scented oil and an dark green cap of a shade that she knew was fairly rare in color. His mouth gave a smile of perfectly white teeth; making the man seem almost inhuman in comparison to his greasy rounding nature.

“Hmmm…” His voice made it sound more like hard breathing. She could smell the hint of sexual fluid in the air, very faint against his smell. This man is obviously either active with himself or with some others. She gave a smirk as he replied “Are you here… for business…?” His voice whined in and out with heavy breathing and she could not help but continue smirking her winsome cloak of a smile.

“Of course… what business do you think I could be good for…?” She gave a careful wink and motioned her hair back into a free wave. She could hear him breathing harder and a thought in her mind realized that perhaps the man was not breathing hard due to his poor constitution. Her eyes turned to the man’s pants and noted how the man seemed visibly sexually frustrated. As her eyes turned back to his face, she immediately noted that she saw him, and she gave a polite smile that she knew could have been interpreted for something more.

“What sort of business…” he heaved in his breath heavily “-do you have in mind…?”

“Tell me of your bounty…” Nevhen hissed with her coolest seduction, “-and maybe afterwards we can discuss some other business as well.”

I am in Looooooove

Deus Ex 2 comes out in December and the more I look at the trailer available here the more I go nutsy from it. This game just has so much promise and I want it right now like a dog in heat. Er... not in a sexual way though, because that's just really damn gross.

Anyway, I know what I'm going to be spending my winter break doing. :D So why the @#$%)* doesn't Thanksgiving or Christmas come around yet?! >_<

I'll be working on part five of that Mandrashard writing project of mine in the meantime, I guess. Waaah, Deus Ex 2...!

By the way, this song is so addictive. I ended up writing that practice piece while listening to this song repeatedly, riding on the emotion of the song solely and whatever images could carry me through them. Freaky, huh?

I am in Looooooove

Deus Ex 2 comes out in December and the more I look at the trailer available here the more I go nutsy from it. This game just has so much promise and I want it right now like a dog in heat. Er... not in a sexual way though, because that's just really damn gross.

Anyway, I know what I'm going to be spending my winter break doing. :D So why the @#$%)* doesn't Thanksgiving or Christmas come around yet?! >_<

I'll be working on part five of that Mandrashard writing project of mine in the meantime, I guess. Waaah, Deus Ex 2...!

By the way, this song is so addictive. I ended up writing that practice piece while listening to this song repeatedly, riding on the emotion of the song solely and whatever images could carry me through them. Freaky, huh?