Megan
[This takes place in a flashback]
19. She was 19. Izojnir'd just set off on her journey, and was a scant 30 miles from her village. She'd already had ideas on how the wolrd would end; perhaps she would splitnthe ground by soulspeaking to it? Maybe the great sky woud collapse? Maybe the seas would rize and leave in thwir wake cold destruction?

The more she thought about it, the more she urged hrself to hurry. She had much to see, before this world ended. More accurately, before she ended it. A great deal of the coast she saw now, even so (relatively) close to her home, was new to her. She'd never been fishing, let alone on a boat, and had never come this far. She'd never before let the village escape the horizon; looking over her shoulder, she confirmed with herself that she was not going back. She continued on.

For several days, she walked, resting in the dead of night before carrying on. She often stopped to go down by the shore, picking through shells that had washed ashore. One of the snails was still alive. She dropped it, a chill shooting up her spine; she should not touch that snail. It was barely clinging to the last threads of life, but it seemed capable of easily taking hers, however that may be. So distracted was she by the slug, that she didn't see two other travelers coming down the road; both men, in black, wearing bowler hats and heavy cloaks, faces masked. Highway robbers. Not suspecting a thing, she turned toward the two just as they nearwd her; she was quick enough to put up her gaurd, but not quick enough to avoid a strike to her side.

"Come on, now, surely you habe something." One chuckled. "It'll all be over quicker, if you just fork over that statchel of yours." The other grunted, beckoning for her to theow it to them. She brandished her axe, holding it pathetically before herself. "....Stay back. Stay. Back." She grunted.
Steven
Nestled on some oversized tree at the middle of the day, a being wrapped in dead leaves and twigs made his appearance from a most cumbersome sleep. Who thought it was a good idea to bench his back against a frigid trunk and close his eyes surrounded by nature to conceal his presence? It paid off with no logical reason ascertained, thus the man ignored his own frustration at a sore body and rose from where he sat on, dropping what had covered him earlier.

Human sounds made his ears perk and gaze wander off to their source. He did not have a clear view, thus the wanderer moved. He stepped through the winter branch of the tree and skipped to another one, choosing which wisely at a time. At the edges of the arid forest, where the ground is permeated with brown leaves in contrast to the black of tall flora, he could witness the happening at the coast not far off. A woman was approached by two men, two robbers by their outfit and slandering words. What a waste of human breath the latter were. He squinted his eyes and slid to the ground, the thump of his landing muffled by the snow.

Rekkan approached in a casual strut, red cloak hanging on his broad shoulders and draping with his movement forward. He rummaged with his hands under his garbs and fidgeted the hidden blade with a thick digit.

"What a party you are having here. I didn't know about it. Why was I not invited?" He said, his voice drawing on a guttural and coarse tone, almost inhuman. Rekkan glanced at the girl for a smirk and a nod, subtle the two, then turned to the men.
Megan
Watching with suspicious eyes, she figured this red-cloaked man, initially, might be a third lerson she must deal with. She wasn't sure how to deal with this situation, so she just attempted to menacingly pose with her axe. She grimaced, her eyes like underwhelming daggers, dangerous, but not frightening. It was more easy to say that she was the one who manifested the fear in this one spot.

"Another one? This one looks rich. Tell you what, mate. Pay up, we let the girl go. Don't pay, we'll have a go at her. Not only that, but you'll be under the snow with a knife in your neck." Ths theif said, brandishing a rather long dagger, that could be easily used a a shortsword or dueling weapon, if need be.

The other bandit screamed; Izo's axe stuck haphazardly out of his shoulder. He staggered, but brandished his own; it may have sunk in, but the woman was not a particularly experienced individual to know what the optimal axe-sneek-attack locations were. She backed away from the man, slowly, as he began to.Close the distance. The other one glaced at this new sight. This was shaping up the completely opposite of.What he wantedm
Steven
Rekkan read the situation in accordance to the participants and realized that the girl was in trouble. She was frightened and felt cornered, but she did not seem to have the experience to deal with the men. The wanderer was rather nonchalant about the threats that one brandished toward him, focused more on the girl that swung her axe and threw it, cleaving at the shoulder in a chance or talented attack. Either way, the man was pissed and eager to have his revenge on the girl.

It was clear that the other was not going to let Rekkan pass without a fight. But if he was a challenge, it was time to find out. The large red cloaked figure towered at six-two of height and his figure walked in a rather imposing and dauntless form. He cared little for the dagger in his adversary's hands and showed that with his pace quickening after each stride. The snow his feet sunk onto was crushed, rustling sounds echoed throughout the shore, less so audible than the wake of waves turning foam into the white coated coast.

Without a word, he was already pulling the Gift from the side of his right thigh. A large dagger in its own right, held by callused and experienced fingers and palm. They wrapped tightly around it as he moved, shifting his body right for a feint before tumbling left. In that second step, he took action on intent, sizzling the wind with his flesh cutter in a space which the tip would try to cut the throat of the man, sever it to the point the extreme edge grazed the bone of the spine. If he succeeded, the blood would leak like a fountain gushing onward, a blood fall that drenched his black clothes and made his eyes bulge.
Megan
The one who faced the wandwrwr figured he'd encountered some sort of barbarian, and reacted accordingly. "Go ahead, put yourself right on tht tip of my-" He began, plunging his arm forward in an attempt to stab the man in the chest. His voice was interrupted by the obvious: a dagger cleaving into his throat, slashing across his neck with little in the way of resistance. The highwayman fell, dropping his dagger, clutching at his own neck in panic and disarray. The other prepared to stab the girl, taking his time; it was inconceivable that his partner might have fallen so quickly.

Izojnir wasn't paying attention to anyone else; she was focused on slowly backing away from the man, trying her hardest to maintain enough diatance that a move on the bandit's behalf would not end her own. "Girly, you'll be sorry you stuck that ace right there. I want you to focus on it." He chuckled. "I'll take my time with you, watch you squirm." He snickered, slowly raising the knife. He assumed a hunched position. "When am I gonna strike, hmm, girly?" He chuckled, preparing to lunge at the insolent woman who'd dare offer such resistance when she barely knew how to swing an axe.
Steven
The dagger's cut gave birth to a crimson flood that did not only spill outward. It clogged the throat and made the highwayman choke on his own blood. His eyes bulged in horror, for that was the death that he arranged onto others more than once, perhaps. If one's life were to flash before his eyes, would he smile or cry? In the bandit's case, he may as well weep, for there was no one to mourn his death. The guttural sounds that came from the back of his throat were all but muffled by his partner's ramblings and the rush of adrenaline in the chase, which also concealed the continued motion of the wanderer's feet.

The slash was executed with a turn of the whole body. It was momentum en mass with a limb stretched outward more than a time longer than the victim. That was why it was possible for Rekkan to bring an end to his enemy's life. His right foot was the one that led his upper body to shift to the left as the throat was struck, followed by a step forward that ignored the petrified stare of the dying man. His vision first turned watery and tearful, then numb and void.

The second roguish fool could not be less aware. If ignorance is bliss, then the bandit was dying to go to heaven. Literally so, as the tale weaved showed. In his rush to scare the girl in an attempt to soil her pants and ease to groom the kill, his snicker failed. Behind and above his hunched form towered a red demon with glaring red eyes that the young girl could see as more daunting than the man threatening her. How could a savior look like a monster? His entire frame seemed shadowed by his dark intent, with only the glistening red of his orbs settling sight on the disgusting knave.

The same dagger that slitted the throat of his colleague gleamed through the dark red liquid that coated its edge. Droplets of blood splattered on the snow covered shore as the blade was shot at the right side, the crook of the villain's neck. Were him to ignore the sizzling sound, eight inches of intricately carved steel would impale his throat and put an end to him. A lazy reaction perhaps made it rip his Adam's apple instead. But Rekkan had the faint hope of him having a sixth sense, just to entertain him a little longer. That hope died quickly because he knew how fragile these rogues were. They were scourge. Worse than trash. And his aura, more so than his body, swallowed the bandit already.
Megan
Izojnir'd widen her eyes, suddenly, and then... Scream. She may be poor at combat, but she wasn't poor in common sense. She'd make sure this man didn't hear his end coming, her sudden pitch catching him off gaurd, and leaving him blind to the sound of the incoming blade. He still held his smile, as the blade plunged into his neck, and quickly gave up on life. The pain was there, but so was releif; he figured it had to happen some way, some how.

At least he didn't suffer, right?

Izojnir held an apologetic look in her eyes. Her innocence maintained, despite the two men causing her panic. As the man inevitable fell to the ground, she stooped over, eyeing the remaining man cautiously. He was massive. Scary. He'd killed them both like a wolf, ripping at their throats. He was a wolf in a cloak. She wrapped her fingers around the axe, pulling it free with such fervor that she ended falling onto her rear. She stared up at the man, axe held in both hands, determined to protect herself from the same fate as the two men. Perhaps... Perhaps she could... Diffuse this situation?

"....We both wear red." She pointed out, moving to slowly remove the blood from her axe with the hem of the bandit's shirt.
Steven
They were both dead. The two bandits were now lumps of flesh and bones, blood spilling onto the ground to slowly puddle around their heads. One was lying on his back, the other on his gut. That was the only difference between their then rotting carcasses.

Rekkan removed the blade as fast as he plunged it in the man's neck. He watched him fall limp and was lazy to draw his gaze at the girl he saved. She looked fragile, but her will was not shook. If it was, she was doing a good job hiding it. She felt fright, but not fear. It did not consume her. In the silence that ensued, she was first to break it with a most casual observation.

They wear red. Rekkan's blank expression drew a smirk that was quick to rip into a full on chuckle. He tilted his head back and his shoulders shuddered as much as his chest did. She had no need to grip her axe, but one could not be too cautious. He was indeed a wolf ripping the throats of prey, and she could have been one were she in the wrong side at the right time. But she was not. She was a being that reeked of weakness and the man almost pitied her then. He stopped laughing only to look down at her in more than the literal sense. The chuckle ceased to let the years old haughty smirk prevail.

"Are you hungry?" Rekkan asked, reaching out the girl with his right hand, right after swapping his blade and letting the digits of his left hand lazily play with it, let the dagger twirl around them four before resting on the palm, with fingers and thumb wrapped around it.

"Come. I have food and water in my camp."

The promise was perhaps too good to hear after the dark brooding experience, but it was sound and true. His voice was bone chilling, though. Not outright monstrous, but in limbo of man and beast.
Megan
Izo's eyes focused on him, the cautious, detail-focused eyes of a girl who'd obviously not been around much. She nodded, slowly, and placed her hatchet back into the sheathe on her statchel, one hand moving forward with a slow, creeping motion, before finally accepting his hand. She inhaled, and then sighed, her eyes now focused on his dagger.

If she was going to die, he'd have killed her by now. That was certain. He took too little time in his motions. He was quick. Patient, but the limit between pateince and action was, she decided, very thin. Lime her grandmother, perhaps.

"I am... Greatful. There is no way I could have fended them both off... Let alone... One " She admitted. "Were they desperate? Is the land in such wastes that people assault each other for sustenance?" She asked. Perhaps that was how the world was ending. Not enough food? The only meant she'd need to move with hastened pace. She had suddenly gone from meek, to impatient, in that one instant, a flip of emmotions not normally associated with those who had nearly tasted the end of a blade.

"Let us go, then." She demanded, her expression now blank, unassuming, unnafected.
Steven
His dark browns settled on the girl's focus and observed her, studied her. She turned from frightened to cautious, but she accepted his hand. She could feel its warmth and the calluses on his palm the rugged sensation of scarred flesh wrapping around her dainty hand, her slender fingers surrounded by his thick digits. The blade that stole her attention was cleaned on the snow, turning the white red with a stab and a rip of the ground. He then removed the blade and slid it under his cloak. It seemed like be was rummaging through his garbs, though it was plain sheathing the blade back in its holster.

"They were not desperate." He answered plainly. "They were greedy."

Winter could be harsh, but the desperate were not the hunters that stalked the wild, but the beggars and drifters that haunted the streets of villages and towns. Those men were hunters too, poachers of royal grounds and killers of unsuspecting travelers. The bad side of predators. "Mourn not their deaths." As he found out quickly, she would not.

Izojnir changed her attitude, her hand pulled towards the man at the same time she turned from the feeble little girl to an impatient teen. Her features changed as well, drawing a stoic charm about her. But he assumed little and hesitated less, turning on his heel to guide her into the woods and through their trails.

They came upon what looked like a chaotic pile of leaves and twigs, much like how he found himself waking up not far from that location. He let go of her hand then and swept the campfire and meager tent into clear sight, pushing the flora camouflage from them. From inside the tent he removed a canteen with fresh water.

"Drink."
Megan
She paused, puing from him to run back to theie corpses. She turned them over; puing them side-by-side, she faced them towards the shore. This took time, but she insisted on doing it herself, careful not to get blood on herself. "The ground will take you back, even if no one else would. If it does not, your souls are damned." She said, packing snow over both of their eyes.

She ran to catch up to Rekkan again, her somewhat heavyset steps bringing her closer witb every stride. She certainly wasn't short; depending on how she stood, she seemed to linger between five-nine and five-eleven, wich wasn't exactly much shorter than Rekkan was. Had she had a bigger hatchet, she might have just been left alone. She ducked into the campsite, somewhat enamored by his seculsion, the excellence of something being hidden away like this. However, she had little time to focus on that, for he'd already given her a canteen. She drew back, suprised by such abruptness, but ultimately took it, nodding in kind. She drak from the bottle, careful not to spill anything; five swallows, her mother had said. That is polite. She handed the device back to him, patting the snow off of her knees.

"Are there many people like that?" She asked, speaking of the two men.
Steven
The girl was an abnormality among humans, though not so much that he would call her mad. She seemed to want to give them some kind of proper rest, even after what they tried to do to her. With her. He acknowledged her. He respected her then. A nod reflected that, sudden and subtle.

At camp, the man gathered the twigs and dead leaves to cast them into the middle of the small ashen pit surrounded by stones and pebbles. Rekkan moved his right hand over the mix and made it a living match, dropping an ember that shimmered and heated the branches it nestled into until it made a spark of fire. She did not have the answer to her question right away, nor was the canteen retrieved. A thin trail of smoke erupted before Rekkan's attention was drawn to her. A small flame was born and fed off the fuel it was given. A larger log was added to make the new fire burn brighter and hotter. It staved off the cold of winter but not the swirling wind. The tendrils of red and orange danced with the currents.

The wanderer rose from next to the fire and took a step to the young woman's front. She was not much shorter than him, but he could still look down in the proximity of their bodies. She had a plump form to her cheeks and her shape, seemingly strong, but yet to be adapted to the harsh life on the road. Her eyes were riddled with wanderlust, perhaps, a tiny bit of experience, but much naivety. Rekkan took the canteen in his right hand and pulled away, taking a sip. He felt the moisture of her saliva on the neck of the bottle. It was warm.

Rekkan set the canteen aside and wiped his lips with his left hand's knuckles. He pursed his lips after the fact and then kept a stoic form to his facial features. Apart from a mild look of an age hidden in the thirties, his skin was marked by scars of different types. Contrast to the soft and clean features of the girl standing before him.

"There are." Rekkan replied. "There are others that are much worse too. They prey on the unsuspecting victims, luring them to their camps to take them away." The same smirk from earlier bloomed. "But you will be safe with me. For now."

"Do you want to eat...?"
Megan
The girl seated herself before the fire, a small smile upon her features, as she raised her hands to the growing flames. She tilted her head. Magic. He knew magic. She'd already been warned so many times about mages. How they took nature, perverted it under their own will, and cast it out to harm the very thing that gave them such power. She'd never been able to grasp that; to use nature, one must be in tune with it, no? Besides, the old man who'd told her this had been frozen, permanently, his soul apparently rejected by the earth. So why listen to someone so out of place, so out of touch?

She said nothing about wanting to learn. Not yet. She had hardly a fix on soulspeaking. There was little reason to add something else. She instead focused on his words, looking up from the fire as she began to pry off her boots. She'd wraps instead of socks, but they worked just as well. Her belongings were quality made.

"I would hope so. If something can overpower you, I will have little hope than to run." She said, offering a somewhat cheesy smile. She fiddled with her oddly-tied hair, pulling her knees up. She warmed herself against the flame.

"They say the south has lands so warm that no one needs fire, except to cook. I want to travel there. I haven't seen such a place. A place where life is... Everywhere, and not just fleeting in the shearing season." Ahe said, speaking of sheep. "And speaking of food. Yes. I would like to. I fear-" She began. "I fear I am taking advantage of your hospitality. But I will assuredly find a way to repay you." She said. Her voice carried with it a very faint accent; perhaps comparable to real-world slavic, perhaps french. Italian, maybe. It was hard to place. A remnant of a long-dead language. She'd completely missed the point of his statement about camps. She just figured he was kind enough to give her warning of such... People.
Steven
Magic was intricate, both in design and application. There was no simple magic, only stronger minds or souls, depending from which the raw energy was manipulated and given form out in the sinews of reality. Rekkan was not a mage, he did not see himself as one. He was more akin to a warrior that stumbled upon an event that changed him, more or less, in more ways than he could understand, even comprehend himself.

He did not wait for her to reply again. His body was already shifting and crawling close to the tent to let his hands rummage through the interior. There were meats from the previous dusk, deer and boar he had hunted and preserved with a saline solution taken from the sea. The wanderer dragged a chunk of the meat out and pulled out his dagger when he sat in front of the fire. Izojnir was to his left and barefoot, only wrapped in cloth that made her toes peek out and warm to the flames. He moved the blade over the fire and let it burn microbes and germs away, making it pure to the tender flesh of deer he cut.

Rekkan smirked at her comment and cheesy smile, nodding both true. "I find it hardly a possibility. Tsk." He said, focusing on the cooking of the meat. It was rather simple to do so, setting the hilt in the ground to make the meat hang up and cook. As he waited, he listened to her speak of the southern parts of Marin. Wasn't he there some months ago? He was traveled.

"A chance meeting." Rekkan said. "I journey south, though not as far as where the sun scorches the earth. At least not again for now." He looked to the side of the beef and saw it cooked. He turned it around for the other side to go.

"Well done or rare?" The wanderer asked. He ignored her words about repaying her debt to him. Over the years, one tends to let go of expectations, as many times over they were shallow words, empty promises. It could be true or not with the girl, it was just a general perspective of things. Callused, cold.
Megan
She watched him work, head titlted as he rummaged theough his supply. He knew the wildlands. She knew, too, but she was nowhere near as preoared as he. She would likely hunt for voles and rabbits, both of wich child's play for her to catch, if she were prepared. Perhaps even a snake, though those were harder to prepare. She listens to him speak.

"What of a white bear? Can you overpower that?" She asked, reaching out to touch his arm. She let her fingers squeeze at his muscle. Lean, like a moose. He was stronger than most men in her village... If not that, then simply less privileged to sit around in the colder months.

"Wgat can you tell me of the lands south of here? They are were I'm headed. I would like to know of who lives there. What it it li-" She paused, as he asked his next question about food.

"Erm-" She began, before reaching her hand out to take the dagged from him. She had a focus in her eyes; she knew what she wanted, but not how to explain it. She lowered her hand, and then spoke, instead. "Pink. There should be pink in the middle. If the flavor has left, one has disrespected the kill." She said, with a shallow nod.
Steven
There was a mystical glow to the fire that sprouted from the shattered ember that the wanderer created. It burned with chirps of wood and leaf, warming the body and the soul as much as it cooked the first chunk of meat that the man arranged. It was not different from the flames that sparkled from flint and tinder.

Rekkan felt the girl's touch and turned his eyes first to the fingers that felt his arm and then to the eyes of the young woman. She studied his lean muscle with promise, her gaze focused on the lines of each muscle and veins that coursed and coiled around his limb. She made the most curious of questions about man versus wild. Particularly about man versus a giant of a bear. He smirked. Rekkan flicked his wrist, turning his hand around and simply repeated her action, grasping the plump girl's arm from under her and feeling the soft skin and flesh mold with his touch, the coil of fleshy tendrils around her.

"Overpower... Perhaps..." He muttered with the same smirk etched on his lips. "But I can definitely outsmart it."

The wanderer glared at Izojnir with squinted eyes and a darker, deeper smirk that stretched slowly into a grin. It faded as she continued with her question, but he interrupted her for the important sake of having her answer on taste. She had a sensible notion of what was good steak. Rekkan let the meat cook the necessary time and pulled it away when he had the gut feeling it was at the right spot. The first one to be served was the girl. The man did not have plates or anything of the sort, so she had to make do with her bare hands. It was hot, but the man offered her his dagger to hold the steak on and use her teeth to shred through. She would see the pinkish coloration inside the steak when she took the first bite.

"Good answer." He said with a firm nod.

"As to your question, there are many distinct traits about the lands south. Plains beyond what the eye can see or forests thick and vibrant with life. Large cities with a life of their own, brimming with people and things. Not like the dreaded quiet of the Witherlands."
Megan
She bit into the steak, her teeth tearing into the flesh, eyes dulling into satisfaction. This was delicious. She chewed through the meat, before swallowing, once more offering a gaze at the man, listening to his tales. 

"...It is quiet here?" She asked, raising a brow. "The earth always speaks. There is always noise." She said, not understanding how something could be so noisy in the first place. The sea was noisy, she knew of that. Perhaps that's what he meant. "The sounds are greater in the townes?" She asked, titling her head.

Surely he had a better explanation. She couldn't quite fathom so many people, either. She fell silent, eating the meat instead. Perhaps it was a better idea to be quiet. She chewed her steak in silence, in no rush to leave the comfort of the fire. "How long will you be staying out here?" She asked, in between mouthfuls. She was quickly whittling the steak down to only a small ring around the tip, wich she carefully removed with her teeth, before sticking the blade back in the flames.