Storyboards: Athawe

The Makings of an Adventurer | Reflections | The merchant's apprentice | Revelation | Surrender | Boktor | Completion | Drasnian Merchant | Search | Memories: A flashback | Return to Boktor | The ties that bind | Full circle | The open road

Links: Athawe's profile

The Makings of an Adventurer
Athawe sits in the clan lounge, thoughtfulness taking the place of her usual angry and sullen expression. Occasionally drinking water from a skin, she thinks about recent events. Urmela had agreed to let her join the clan, which surprised Athawe. For years she'd been shunned from every place she'd been. It was nice to belong, for once. Unconsciously tracing the scars on her forearms with a finger, her expression hardens.
"Sometimes, it's better to not belong." She looks startled for a moment, then laughs a light, humourless laugh. Athawe was glad that no one else was in the lounge. She'd said it aloud, without meaning to. Her mouth was like that, sometimes speaking before her brain could tell it not to. Oh well, no harm done. She turns her thoughts to something more productive.
Her newly formed partnership with the Drasnian Khuldir might turn out to be profitable. After meeting him in a tavern in Sendar, she had formed a rudimentary, albeit binding, partnership to deal in trades with him. She wondered what it would take to get him to agree to a full partnership, instead of the forty percent he had offered her. She had accepted, but not without thinking it through. She would wait until he was comfortable, then raise the issue again.
There was money to be made, and she was good at making it. A genuine smile crosses her lips. "Or steal it," she thinks with a chuckle. The thought of stealing from her partner wasn't foreign. Athawe had a partner in Boktor that she'd robbed blind, until the day he caught her. That was an unpleasant meeting, and he'd ended up on the losing end. As much as Athawe wanted her relationship with Khuldir to be strictly business, she didn't want to kill him.
"Imagine that," she murmurs. "An honest thief." She laughs out loud at that, still glad that there was no one in the lounge with her. Anyone walking by would probably wonder, but she wasn't worried.
"You'll never make it, girl." The voice was harsh. Athawe glanced up, and saw Khradnak glaring at her from the doorway. The thief sneered as he walked into the room. "Yer too nice to people."
Athawe grumbled. "I killed him, didn't I?" Her young voice had an edge to it, and she bordered on open hostility. "Don't get fresh with me."
Khradnak smacked her. "I keep ya fed, don't ferget." Athawe glared at him, hatred shining in her eyes. She hated this filthy, smelly, pockmarked man with a passion. But he had a point. He did keep her in food, clothing and shelter. His other habits were bearable because of this, but only slightly. "Now come over here so I can count yer loot fer the day." Athawe grumbled again.
Among his more unsavoury habits was the tendency to drool down her neck while she counted his share of her loot. His share, of course, was all of it. She went to him, grudgingly, and did as he told. After she was done counting, another of his unsavoury habits surfaced...
Athawe blinks. Oh yes. The lounge. Silently cursing herself for getting lost in a memory, she forces herself to think of other things. The clan hall was nice. Siaden, the mute girl, had shown her around the hall.
Siaden was hard to get used to. Her fiery temper and unusual way of communicating was exasperating. Athawe smiles at that. Maybe it would be nice to not be able to talk at all, instead of having to curb the instinct to reveal her past. Athawe envied that about the girl. It'd be nice to not have to talk to people. Siaden had shown Athawe the clan hall, giving her a silent but thorough tour of the hall. The portals were a godsend, and Athawe said a quick thanks to Belar for that. They would help immensely. The healer was another perk of the clan. And of course there was the lounge. Athawe grins to herself. The lounge was a good place to meet people, and although Athawe wasn't in the market for friends, she could probably make some profitable acquaintances. Siaden was quick to anger, though, as Athawe found out. The mark on the wall next to her head was proof. Athawe was glad the broken pieces of the mug had been picked up. And the kid didn't like to have her name shortened. That was easy for the mute to communicate. Athawe figured it out, but had baited the mute into another explosive episode over it.
Ah well. She'd apologize for it later. She hadn't really joined the clan to make friends, anyway. Athawe drinks the last of her water, and stands. A tavern sounded good right about now. Not a heavy drinker, Athawe did enjoy a strong ale on occasion. Still musing about the past few days, she leaves the lounge and heads back to Sendar...

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Reflections
Am I not pretty enough? Is my heart too broken? Do I cry too much? Am I too outspoken? Don't I make you laugh? Should I try it harder? Why do you see right through me? I live, I breathe, I let it rain on me. I sleep, I wake, I try hard not to break. I crave, I love, I've waited long enough. I try as hard as I can. I laugh, I feel, I make believe it's real. I fall, I freeze, I pray down on my knees. I hope, I stand, I take it like a man. I try as hard as I can....
Athawe pulls her blankets tighter around her shoulders. Khuldir had finally fallen asleep, giving Athawe the chance to do some inner contemplation. They were only three weeks into their trip to Boktor, a trip likely to take at least another month, if not more. She listens to Khuldir's rhythmic breathing for awhile. It was almost nice to... No, she couldn't start thinking that way. He was a business partner. Nothing more. Grumbling quietly to herself, she turns her gaze back to the stars above.
The stars had been Athawe's friends for a long time. For as long as she could remember, they had been there, holding silent vigil over her. Their presence had been a constant reminder that even at her lowest times, she was never truly alone.
The night is peaceful. It is cool, but not uncomfortably cold. Athawe snuggles even further into her blanket, more for the comfort than because she is cold. She once again finds herself looking at Khuldir's sleeping face. During his waking hours, his face showed the stress of a merchant's life. While he sleeps, Athawe notices, his face shows a gentler side of him.
Sighing again, she berates herself for where her thoughts had started to wander again. Perhaps, if things were different, if she wasn't who she was, she might consider.. No. Best to not even think about it.
Athawe turns her attention to the surrounding woods, her eyes flitting from one shadow to the next. As the night wears on, she keeps watch over the campsite, her mind wandering aimlessly through memories of a happier time.......

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The merchant's apprentice
Athawe huddles in her blanket. It was raining. Again. They'd been on the road just over a month, and Boktor didn't seem to be any closer. She glances at Khuldir, his attention on trying to keep the fire going. Sighing, she looks out over the fens. Ah, the wonderful fens. Such a blissful place to be. Bah! The fens were probably Athawe's least favorite place in the world. She'd rather be in the sewers of Sthiss Tor than the fens.
The sun had already gone down when they finally pulled their canoes up on this drifting mound of vegetation. Athawe couldn't be certain, but she was fairly sure Khuldir was lost. Athawe shuffles over to the fire when Khuldir calls her over to eat. As they begin their meal, Khuldir continues the conversation that had dominated the past few weeks.
"It's all about haggling, you see," Khuldir explained. "You know how much it costs, you know how much you're willing to pay. The trick is to convince the seller that he'll get the better deal by selling at a lower price." Athawe was confused. She was a thief, not a merchant. Always before she had simply taken whatever she wanted, or needed.
"Why not just kill the man and take what you want?" she asks. Khuldir laughs.
"Because then you'll have to dodge guards, patrols and bounty hunters."
Athawe shrugs. "What's so bad about that?" Khuldir sighs patiently.
"You want to be able to go back to that town to do more business. It's a little hard when there's a price on your head." Athawe nods.
"Ohh. I see." She sighs again. "This honesty business will be the death of me, you know that." Khuldir laughs again and spoons some more gruel out of the pan.
"There's no such thing as an honest merchant, Athawe. We're all thieves at heart." Athawe nods again, and finishes her plate.
Later, after the fens had grown quiet and the only sounds that could be heard were the soft rustle of the vegetation floating through the fens, Athawe continues the conversation in hushed tones. "Tell me again how the pricing works?" Khuldir nods.
"See, what happens, is you buy from a merchant. Hopefully, you buy at below current market price. That's where the haggling comes in." Athawe nods. "Then, after you've bought the product, you turn around and sell it at a higher price than you bought it. If you're any good, you can even sell at higher than the market price, hence gaining a decent profit." Athawe nods again. "With any luck," Khuldir continues "both the seller and the buyer will think they got the best of the deal, giving you the possibility of further profitable business with both of them." Athawe thinks for a minute.
"What if the seller and the buyer realize they've been swindled?" she asks. Khuldir chuckles. "Then you talk really fast and hopefully get out of the situation unscathed." Athawe frowns.
"It's a lot like stealing then, isn't it? You take what you want from both of them, under the guise of being an honest merchant." Khuldir beams proudly.
"Exactly." Athawe grins. Shuffling a little closer to Khuldir, she stifles a yawn.
"I think I'm gonna like being a merchant after all."
The moon rises full and bright over the fens. Athawe watches the rise and fall of Khuldir's chest as he sleeps peacefully. Yes, they were lost in the fens. But somehow, it didn't seem so bad anymore.

The sun rose warm over the fens. Athawe was still awake, having kept watch during the night. Khuldir stirs, then slowly begins to wake. Rubbing his eyes, he looks around, as if confused as to where they were. Athawe ruffles his hair playfully, then hands him a plate.
"I made breakfast," she says, then shrugs. Khuldir grins and ducks.
"Ruined my hair…" he mutters, then begins eating. After breakfast, they start packing, and talk quietly to pass the time.
"Tell me about buying," Athawe says. "What if the seller won't give e a starting price?" Khuldir nods, and thinks for a moment.
"One of he most important things," he begins "is to never let them know you on't know what something costs. If they know that, they'll run you ragged." Athawe nods. "Once you've made an offer, watch his face very carefully. Most of them will give you some sign about whether your price is too low, or higher than the value of a product. Your best bet is to look at the product carefully, then give a price much, much lower than you think it's worth. If they object violently, you know it's worth more than that." Khuldir pauses for a moment, then continues. "Pay attention to that. Once you have some kind of idea what it's worth, taking your cues from the seller, act like you're not interested. That will usually get the seller to lower his price." Athawe thinks.
"What if they quote you a price?" Khuldir doesn't hesitate at all.
"Then you quote a lower price. Haggle, kiddo. The number one rule of merchants: Come out on top. Every time." Athawe grins.
"Take what you want, give nothin' back, eh?" Khuldir chuckles.
"Something like that."
The conversation continues as they load their canoes, then launch off the floating mound of vegetation. Tying the canoes together, they set off through the fens, Khuldir leading, though Athawe was still pretty sure he was lost. The sun is high and the sky is clear as they meander their way through the fens, headed in the general direction of Boktor. They hope....

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Revelation
Love. Athawe couldn't believe Khuldir had the nerve to say it. Love didn't exist, as far as Athawe was concerned. It was an empty word, used to gain favours. Her fists clenched, Athawe leaned against a tree away from the campsite. She knew Khuldir felt that way, but she hadn't wanted to admit it. As long as he never said it, Athawe was safe. Now he'd gone and ruined everything. How could he possibly love her? No one loved her. Angrily brushing away unwanted tears, Athawe walked further into the forest.
It just wasn't fair. All she wanted was to be left alone. Love. What a useless word. Love was for weaklings and idiots. Athawe was neither. She was strong, independent. She didn't need anyone, especially not a man. "Then why are we crying?" She wasn't crying, dammit all. She was just "Crying." angry. Khuldir was an idiot. He probably just wanted a bigger profit and figured he could worm his way into "Now, is that really fair?" her life so he could cut her share. Yeah, that was probably it. "Do we really think that?" She did. She honestly "Honestly?" did.
Sighing, Athawe wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes. The moon had risen, and she wasn't sure how long she'd been in the trees, away from the campsite. She wondered if Khuldir was still there. "He wouldn't leave us." Athawe sighed again. No, Khuldir wouldn't leave her stranded. And she admitted, grudgingly, that his feelings for her were probably genuine. Athawe reviewed her words and actions over the past few months, wondering if she had said, or done something, that would lead him to believe she felt the same. She didn't. Did she? No, that was stupid. She didn't need, want, to love. It wasn't part of who she was. She was Athawe. Strong, self-sufficient, "Stubborn." didn't need anyone to do anything for her. "Except maybe love us?" Tears welled up in her eyes again. No, she didn't need that. Didn't want that.
Brushing the tears away, Athawe took a deep breath and looked back toward the campsite where she'd left Khuldir. She could see the faint glow of a fire, and knew he was waiting for her to come back. She wasn't sure she could face him again. She was afraid of what she might say. Finally, she stood. She would go back and talk to him. Because somewhere, deep, deep down, she had admitted it to herself. She was "Go on. Say it." in love.

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Surrender
The fire had diminished to coals. The forest was silent, save for the occasional whisper of an owl's wings as it hunted in the dark. Athawe stared into the coals, snuggled safely in Khuldir's arms. Her head against his chest, she listened to his heart beating. They had long since stopped talking and lapsed into a comfortable silence. Athawe's tears were dry, and the pain she'd carried with her for more than half her life was gone like a weight had been lifted. Once she'd finally admitted to herself that she truly did love Khuldir, everything seemed to fall into place. Sighing, she snuggled closer to Khuldir.
"Anything wrong?" he asked. Athawe smiled up at him.
"Everything is just right." She kissed him, then turned back to watching the fire.

"Let's get married and run away." Athawe giggled. Khureid held her close to him, and spun a fantasy tale. "We'll have a hundred children, and live in the forest and I'll build you a house and buy you things to fill it." Khureid kissed Athawe fiercely. She loved him so much it hurt.
"You don't have to buy me things, Khureid," she said, "Just being with you is enough." Khureid looked deep into Athawe's eyes, then kissed her again. The kiss lasted a long, long time.....

A single tear rolled down Athawe's cheek. Gods, how she'd loved Khureid. His death had been a turning point in her life. After finding his mangled body in a ditch outside of Rheon three days after their scheduled wedding day, Athawe had lived the life of a vagabond, drifting from place to place.
She hadn't allowed herself to feel pain, only anger. She took it out on various people, people who deserved what they got, but not because of Khureid. She'd refused to feel anything but anger and bitterness for so long. Khuldir had changed that. She'd known, from the moment she first saw him. She didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to feel anything. Not love, not hate, not pain, not joy. She wanted to feel only anger, hard and cold as stone. Her heart had lain dormant for so long.
Athawe sighed again, and hugged Khuldir. She was content, if not happy. Khuldir lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.
"I love you." He said. Athawe's eyes shone with an unspoken desire. She reached up and stroked his cheek gently.
"I love you, too." she whispered. Khuldir kissed her again. Athawe returned his kiss with a passion that surprised them both. Khuldir pulled back, uncertain.
"Are... Are you sure?" Athawe bit her lip, then nodded, fear underlying the desire in her eyes. She was scared, but she wanted this. Needed it.
"I'm sure…" Khuldir pulled her close to him, his heart beating wildly. Athawe closed her eyes and gave in to the feelings that welled from deep within her soul....

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Boktor
Athawe drifted in and out of consciousness. She was very tired. Her sudden illness surprised her more than it surprised Khuldir. She never got sick, and even asleep, her mind puzzled over her condition. Athawe opened her eyes. Her vision blurred, then cleared slightly. She saw Khuldir hovering over her, a worried expression on his face. She tried to smile, the closed her eyes.

"It's nothing personal, you understand." Athawe raised an eyebrow at the man she spoke with. "I'm only doing what I was paid to do." The man trembled, but didn't trust himself to speak. Athawe's dagger pressed against his throat may have been a factor in that. This part was always unpleasant. If the man hadn't seen her coming, it would have been much easier. Ah well, live and learn. Athawe set her jaw and slit the man's throat, then stepped back and watched calmly as he crumbled to the floor, his life spilling out through the gash she'd made. Using his shirt to clean her dagger, she patted his shoulder, almost sympathetically, then slipped out the window and back into the darkness of night.

"We have to get married in Rheon." Khureid whined. "My mother can't travel, you know that." Athawe sighed. She hated Rheon, but she did want their wedding day to be happy. Rheon itself wasn't bad, she just wasn't comfortable visiting her childhood home. Her parents had moved to Boktor years ago, and Athawe had no intentions of ever going back to Rheon. Muttering an oath, she pulled Khureid close to her.
"If it will make you happy, love, then we'll get married in Rheon." Khureid squealed with almost girlish delight. If Athawe didn't know any better, she'd have thought Khureid was enjoying this wedding thing more than was normal. She couldn't help but smile as he sat to write his parents, telling them he was bringing his bride home.

It was cold. Bitterly cold. Odd weather for the middle of summer. The sun shone bright and mocking as a cold wind whipped through Athawe's hair. She stood, motionless, over the body of Khureid. Her wedding dress in tatters, she shed no tears, felt no emotions. She just stood, committing every feature of his bruised and broken body to her memory. A long time after the sun went down, she turned and walked back to the house where Khureid's parents lived. She told them what she'd found, then walked away from Rheon forever.

Athawe's eyes opened again, and it was Khuldir, not Khureid, whom her eyes sought out. He was still there. As much as she'd loved Khureid, she loved Khuldir more. She wasn't sure how that was possible, but even in her exhaustion, she instinctively reached for Khuldir's hand. She squeezed it once, then surrendered her tired mind to sleep once more.

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Completion
Athawe sighed happily. She looked down at her husband, sleeping peacefully, one arm draped protectively over the side of the cradle that held their infant sons. Athawe turned her gaze to her sons. She could tell them apart already, a fact that stunned her mother.
Kydarel was awake, his large blue eyes alert even at his young age. He focused his gaze on his mother, then squirmed happily. Athawe smiled and reached down to pick him up. Kydarel had an awareness about him that made Athawe wonder. He was much more focused than his brother. Even at a week old, he seemed to always know what was going on around him. Khureid was a typical baby. He screeched, squawked and made a general nuisance of himself. Kydarel looked at his mother, then yawned.
"C'mon, sweety. Let's go outside so we don't wake your father and brother." Athawe kissed Kydarel's cheek, then smiled fondly at her sleeping husband again.
Athawe gently strokes Khureid's hair and leans over to kiss Khuldir's forehead gently, trying not to wake him. Then, Kydarel in her arms, she heads outside to greet the rising sun.

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Drasnian Merchant
The morning dawns crisp and clear, the sun peeking out over the tops of the houses in Boktor. Athawe slips out of bed and dresses quietly. Just as him and tucks him back in. She repeats the process with Kydarel. Placing him back in the cradle, she smiles as Kydarel drapes his arm protectively over his brother, and drifts back to sleep. They are two weeks old, and Athawe is still in awe of them. She bends over to kiss the boys, then sits gently on the side of the bed next to her still sleeping husband. He was so tired lately, having thrown himself completely into fatherhood. Athawe brushes a strand of hair from Khuldir's forehead, then kisses him softly.
He stirs, but doesn't wake. Taking one last look at her little family, Athawe leaves their room and heads for the marketplace.
Vendors are just beginning to set up their stalls, and Athawe is ready to do business. Her first stop is the fabric vendor. She haggles with him briefly, trying to talk him down on the price of some blue-dyed wool. She wants to make jackets for the babies, but she doesn't want to sell her
right kidney for the material required. She takes brief notice of a man who walks into the stall behind her, then leaves, the vendor fuming at his lost sale. Athawe chuckles. She is Drasnian to the core, and she knows when to haggle, and when it isn't worth her time. Her next stop is a
weapons trader.
Weapons are Khuldir's line of expertise, but Athawe always checks for new merchandise while she's out. Swindling the trader out of an antique dagger, Athawe grins. She knows its worth, Khuldir always makes sure to keep her informed. The trader, however, has no clue. Athawe takes advantage of this, swindling him out of some swords, a few more daggers and a nice-looking leather sword sheath. She decides to keep the dagger for herself, liking the feel of it. The rest of the merchandise, however, will be resold. Athawe heads for the other side of the square for the stall she and Khuldir rent for just this purpose. She lifts the canvas flap covering the doorway, and heads inside. Opening the wooden crate that for some reason thieves always overlook, she pulls out a selection of furs, some clothing and a few valueless trinkets. She quickly sets up shop, then waits.
It doesn't take long before people flock to her stall. Athawe has a reputation for being fair, though she has no idea how she earned it. Her prices are outrageous and her products are low-quality. Perhaps it is her impish smile and willingness to be friendly with her customers. Whatever the reason, people hold breathless, waiting impatiently for Athawe to open her stall so they can be swindled out of their hard-earned money.
"I won't pay any more than half a crown for this." Athawe groans inwardly. Her current customer is a frumpy, toady-looking fellow with bad teeth and a habit of leering. She puts on her best smile and quotes a price much, much higher. He thrusts his nose in the air and storms out of her stall. Athawe laughs out loud. He'd left in such a hurry, he didn't notice Athawe lifting his purse. She grins. Once a thief, always a thief. Feeling smug, she spends the rest of the day selling weapons, fabric and trinkets, making a tidy profit. The dagger she'd bought earlier in the day, however, she's kept to herself. She will give it to Khuldir, she thinks. She closes her stall, and heads back to the tavern, her coin purse full, and a bounce in her step.

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Search
She stumbles blindly through the trees, her mind in a fog. She can hear them, crying. Tears well up in her eyes, and she angrily brushes away. A week from Boktor, she doesn't know where she is going. She only knows her babies are gone. And she needs to find them. Her mind reels as her memories of that day, that accursed day, surface yet again.
Athawe smiled at her sleeping children, and closed the door behind her. Her husband, gone for business, had sent her a letter. She'd yet to open it, and wanted to get something to eat before she sat down with it. Skipping down the stairs, she ordered breakfast for herself, and milk for the boys. She was so proud of them. At nine months old, Khureid already favored his father in both looks and temperament. Dear gods, I'm stuck with two of them. she'd often joked to Khuldir. Kydarel, his bright blue eyes inquisitive, was quieter, more bashful than his brother. The two got along famously despite their differences. Athawe was the proudest, happiest wife and mother in all of Drasnia.
Tripping over an errant root, Athawe is snapped from her reverie. Fresh tears spring to her eyes, and she weeps openly. She'd gone back to the room, breakfast in hand, only to find the door had been forcibly opened. Gasping, she'd run to the baby's cradle, only to find it empty. Her wails had brought a mass of people to her door, and a search was hastily organized. Shaking her head, Athawe forces the memories from her mind. Angrily brushing at the tears again, she looks around her. It is dark, and the temperature is dropping. She finds a clearing in the forest and makes camp. The fire, crackling merrily, brings her no warmth.
She sits, lonely, afraid for her babies. She'd left a scribbled note for Khuldir, then left Boktor, carrying only her bags and the blanket her twins had been wrapped in when last she'd seen them. As the moon rises, Athawe places her head in her arms and weeps.

Dear Khuldir, the letter began.
My deepest and most sincere apologies for leaving such as I did. By now, you have discovered that the children are gone. I can never forgive myself for leaving them alone and helpless, and must therefore make the journey to find them alone. Enclosed with this letter you will find my wedding ring. I am truly sorry. My only hope is that you can find a better life with someone who deserves your love and devotion. You will be in my heart always.
A single teardrop stains the parchment as Athawe finishes writing.
With love, Athawe.
And it is done. Athawe reads the letter a few times, reaching for the quill once, then changing her mind. With some effort her ring slides off her finger. She examines it, the memories attached to it making her heart lurch. Finally, her heart protesting loudly, she seals the letter and drops it into a small box, then places the ring inside. She closes the box, then hands it to the waiting messenger. I don't have to remind you, she starts, her voice like steel, what will happen if this ring does not make it to him. The man nods, and Athawe hands him a pouch full of coins. The man opens it, and looks at her, confused. Four times the price you quoted. The man nods again. See that the ring reaches its destination. The man bows, then turns and leaves the room. Athawe sits, the light growing dimmer as the candle burns low, and waits for news that the letter has reached Boktor.
Athawe spent the bulk of the afternoon and evening in a tavern getting drunker by the hour. Finally the barkeep had ordered her out, and now she stands bleary-eyed in the street. The lamps had been lit and, save for the occassional beggar or guard, there is
no one about. In one hand, she clutches a scrap of blanket. In the other, a letter from Czrel. Shrewd of him, Athawe thought, to use her own messenger to deliver the letter. In the months since she'd left Boktor, Athawe had spoken very little, except to ask if there had been seen anyone with a pair of twin infant boys. Hopeless, helpless, Athawe has reached the breaking point. She is ready to give up.
It is late. How late, Athawe isn't sure. She leans against a wall, her drink-sodden mind struggling to stay alert. The letter in her hand has been read so many times, she has it memorized. She'd all but forgotten the clan. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something clicks. Her feet move her away from the wall that holds her up, and take her in the direction of Boktor. She will adhere to her promise to Czrel and join him and their friends in this venture. Now, if she can just find Boktor...

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Memories: A flashback
Author's note: As the subject suggests, this story is a flashback. It takes place several months before Athawe's children went missing. I took most of the story from an RP between Athawe and Czrel (who kindly played the part of Khureid). Thanks for the help and inspiration, Czrel.

A fog hung over the roads of Boktor. The dawn was hesitant to crack, leaving the entire of Boktor in a blanket of misty dew. Athawe slipped quietly from bed. It was dark still, that quiet hour just before sunrise. She moved about carefully, so to not wake her husband and children. Soon, she slipped silently from the room, haggling on her mind. She was itching to do business, and Boktor was an excellent place to do so. She closed the door behind her, and walked through the still silent streets.
Parking herself in the market square, Athawe waited patiently for the business day to begin. Oddly, the area seemed deserted. As the darkness lifted from the city, the square slowly came to life. Traders from nearby homes came forth to set up their stalls for business. The market began to bustle with noise and the usual fanfare of merchants haggling and children laughing. Amidst the crowd, a man noticed Athawe sitting near the fountain at the center of the square.
Athawe fiddled with her coin purse, and glanced around her. Spying a merchant selling fabrics, she slowly walked over to his stall, mentally preparing herself, enjoying the first rays of the sun as she walked.
The man peered around himself as he lost sight of the Drasnian woman. He stepped out into the broad daylight and searched around. Then he spied her in the cloth trader's stall. Quietly, he entered the stall and stood beside her.
Athawe took brief note of the man who had entered the stall. Her hand instinctively fell to her dagger, but she continued with her haggling. The vendor's prices were way too high, and she was already considering moving on to the next one. The stranger remained silent, pretending to examine the Mallorean silks while eavesdropping on the Drasnian woman.
Athawe bade the vendor farewell and left the stall. Spying a weapons merchant, she headed for his stall out of sheer curiosity. Her husband was interested in weapons and, though they were married, business still came first. The merchant tried to talk the stranger into buying the Mallorean silks, but the man ignored him, more intent on tailing Athawe out of the shop. He was careful not to alert her to his presence.
Athawe stopped and turned slightly, her instincts kicking in. The man from the fabric vendor had followed her out of the stall and down the street. She shrugged, passing it off as coincidence, and continued to the weapons merchant. The man's footsteps were light and noiseless. Athawe reached the weapons stall and browsed. She waved the merchant away, not really interested in buying anything. But the weapons seller remained in high spirits seeing another customer in his stall. He greeted the stranger, who promptly frowned at him. Athawe turned and glanced at the man out of the corner of her eye. His behavior was erratic, and she was on full alert.
She toyed with the hilt of her dagger. No longer interested in shopping, she left the stall. She walked slowly, waiting to see if the man follows. Sure enough, the stranger tagged along. Athawe uttered an oath under her breath and turned to confront the man, a verbal assault ready. Her words, however, died before they could be uttered. She looked at him, confused, her mind reeling. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. The color drained out of her face, her body trembling. It simply wasn't possible. Her eyes wide, she stared openly at the man who'd been following her. He smiled briefly, sadly. Seeing her pale face, he turned and dissolved into the bustling market crowd.

Athawe stood, the image of the man fixed firmly in her eyes. The crowd continued to bustle around her, but she didn't notice. The face haunted her. As the tears began to fall, she whispered a name.
'Khureid... '

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Return to Boktor
Athawe sits reflecting on the previous few weeks. When she'd left Boktor, she'd wandered in a southerly direction until she hit Tol Honeth. She spent the bulk of her time there searching frantically for any information at all on her children. Not finding answers, she booked passage from Tol Horb to Melcene. From Melcene, she'd traveled to Selda and subsequently through Darshiva and finally into Mallorea. Her travels had taken her weeks, and she was tired. It was in Mal Yaska that she finally discovered what happened to her children, and spent the next month in Mal Gemila drinking herself into insensibility.

In a fit of rage, a merchant from Mal Yaska had traveled to Boktor intent on killing a Drasnian trader who'd cheated him out of a very large sum of money. Finding the trader, the mallorean merchant discovered the Drasnian had married and fathered children. In a drunken stupor, the mallorean formed a plan to get back at the Drasnian. He watched and waited until the moment was right, then crept into the room and took the twin infants from their cradle.
His plan had been to hold them for a sizeable ransom, but the mallorean quickly grew impatient with the constant squalling of the boys, and he eventually drowned them and buried them on the bank of an obscure river somewhere in the northern part of Mallorea. He then returned to his home in Mal Yaska, where he spent his last night alive getting drunk and bragging about his exploits.
The wife of the Drasnian happened to step into the tavern during his rant. The mallorean merchant, or rather what's left of him, now resides in a shallow grave outside of Mal Yaska.

Athawe sighs. She takes out Czrel's letter and reads it again before pulling parchment and ink from her pouch. Czrel, she starts. After carefully considering all options, I have decided to take you up on your offer. Please convey my regards to Chyre. I am currently in Mallorea, but will soon be on my way to Gar og Nadrak. Once my task there has been completed, I will continue toward Boktor, making a brief stop in Rheon.
The letter signed and sealed, Athawe hands it to the waiting messenger and nods. Soon after, she leaves the inn and heads in the direction of the docks.

Her wares sold, Athawe prepared to leave Yar Nadrak for Rheon. Czrel’s summon had come at the perfect time. Once a year, on the anniversary of Khureid’s death, Athawe visited his parents in Rheon. This year, her visit would be for more than just comfort. The image of Khureid standing on the other side of the market in Boktor so may months ago still burned in her memory. She wanted answers, and felt it was best to start from the beginning.
Athawe finished her meal, shaking her head at the innkeeper’s offer to sell her a horse at a discounted price. She would walk, as usual. It was a long walk, but Athawe preferred walking over horses. She shuddered at the mere thought, shouldered her pack and left the inn.

It was raining. There were probably other things happening as well, but all Athawe could focus on was the rain. Three days worth of it. For the first time in her life she found herself wishing she'd bought a horse instead of walking from Gar og Nadrak to Rheon. She slogged miserably through the wet, muddy streets of Rheon, aiming for the ruddy glow of a tavern. She'd been on the road for weeks, and was getting tired of travelling. Rheon was her last stop before Boktor. She was way overdue for a visit with Khureid's parents. The thought of him sent a sharp pain through her heart. She paused, deep in thought. It had been him in the market in Boktor those many months ago, she knew it. Ah well, she would have the answers she sought as soon as she met with his parents. First, however, she needed to dry off and get something to drink.
The door to the tavern swung open and a sodden Drasnian woman stepped through. She wiped the water off her face with one hand, pushing the door shut with the other. Shaking her head slightly to rid it of excess water, she walked to the bar and sat. The barkeep raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. His patrons had been coming in soaked for days, and he'd given up trying to keep the floor dry. "What'll it be? " he asked, his voice gruff from years of hollering at rowdy patrons. "Ale. " The woman pulled a few coins from a pouch at her belt and tossed them onto the bar. The barkeep nodded, pocketing the coins, and drew her ale. He winked at her and went on to his next customer.
Athawe, ale in hand, turned on the stool and focused on the bard quietly speaking in front of the fire. His voice was low, but the crowd was hushed so hearing him was easy. The tale he told was an old one, something about a rock that someone stole and some old guy and a bunch of warriors stole back. She was about to turn back to the bar when a familiar face caught her eye. She paused, her mug halfway raised, her mouth agape, her eyes wide. Half turned, the grin on his face slowly faded as he looked at her. Their eyes met and instantly, Athawe knew without a doubt. She gracefully crumpled to the floor, Khureid's name a mere sigh on her lips as her world went dark.

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The ties that bind
She stands, rain pouring from the heavy, dark clouds to soak into the snow, forming a cold slush around her feet. Her clothes are drenched, her dark hair matted to her head. She wipes streaming water from her face, a futile gesture against the deluge. She sighs as she watches lights flicker in the windows of the clanhall as people move around. Merchanting never rests, apparently. She sighs again, a flood of memories, some good, some bad, running through her mind. Her ties were too strong to simply throw it all away.
She turns and, throwing one last look at the clanhall, disappears into the dark night leaving only the sound of rain falling to mar the stillness of the night.

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Full circle
The muted sounds of conversation and laughter come from somewhere downstairs, most probably the lounge. Athawe sits, her back against a wall, and sighs. It is quiet here in the upper halls of the clan hall, and she all but disappears in the long shadows cast by the dim, flickering candlelight. She reaches into her pocket for a small lapel pin and examines it carefully. Such a tiny thing, this pin. Yet it means something to her, something profound. She sighs again and looks at the walls. Her eyes fall to the silver plaques on each of the doors. Reidia's room. Further down the hall Czrel's and .. Khuldir's. Her eyes close briefly as a long forgotten pain stabs through her. She angrily wills it away. Best not to think of these things.
She stands and brushes dust from her legs. Forcing a smile to her face, she wanders down the hall and into the lounge. Too many to count, her clanmates lounge on pillows, on the floor, anywhere there is room. They all cheer in greeting, then go back to socializing with each other. She smiles briefly at a few of them while making her way to the door. It is late, and Khureid will be expecting her. Attaching her pin to her tunic, she waves at the crowded room and leaves the clan hall.

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The open road
Night falls like a curtain closing over a window. The wind whispers faintly through the trees and the smell of rain is in the air. Athawe sits near a small campfire, huddled in her blanket, awaiting the impending rain. She has no tent, having traded it for a hot meal a day earlier. No matter, she is young and can handle sleeping under the stars for a few days. She laments the loss of her map, however. She prefers to be in the forest, but without a map she is hopelessly lost. Assuming the sun always rises in the east, she uses it to guide her in the general direction of Rheon, stopping only when she can no longer see the light on the horizon.
Athawe sighs and looks at the stars. She has been travelling for two days longer than she should have, and she is starting to tire of it. It should take three days to reach Rheon from Boktor. She sighs again and huddles in her blanket miserably. If she didn't reach Rheon soon, Khureid would surely worry about her. She smiles despite her predicament. Closing her eyes, she drifts off into a peaceful half-slumber as she remembers her first few days back in Rheon.

Her eyelids flutter as her dreams run rampant through her otherwise sleeping mind.
"Ath!" She looked up and smiled as Alviara bounced across the room. "I heard you were back! How was the trip?" Ah yes. Her trip to Sendar to meet with Khuldir, her new business partner. Athawe grinned. "It was good, I got a lot accomplished..."
Alviara fades.
She pulled a sealed letter from her bag. "It's from Floyd, he asked me to give it to you." Urmela nodded and smiled. "It looks like you've completed the tasks given. Let's go speak with the council members about your rank..."
She mutters something and pulls the blanket tighter around her as her dream shifts.
"Ho, Wylset!" She grinned. "Have you seen Siaden around?" Wylset shook his head. "I haven't seen her for a few days. I'm pretty sure she's still running those errands for Floyd." She nodded. "I wanted to ask you about..."
Again the dream shifts, and she smiles.
"I love you." Khuldir whispered in her ear.
She frowns in her sleep. That wasn't right. The dream shifts again.
"I love you." Khureid whispered in her ear.
Much better.
She giggled and snuggled closer to him. "I have to go back to Boktor, you know," she said. Khureid nodded. "I know. I wish I could go with you." She sighed. "So do I." She smiled up at him. "I’ll be back very soon. It should take me more than a couple of weeks." Khureid poked her nose with his finger. "I wish you would take a horse." She shuddered. "I’ll walk, thank you." Khureid grinned and held her close.

She wakes with a start, the sharp cry of an infant piercing the wilderness. She blinks and rubs her eyes, disoriented. As the forest comes into focus she remembers. The voices had been in her dreams. So many memories she had. She sighs. The sun begins to rise sleepily over the trees, she picks up her blanket and her bag and begins to walk in what she hopes is the right direction. Rheon awaits beneath the early morning sun, and if she is lucky, she will reach the city soon.

The sun drops below the horizon, blanketing the forest in dark silence. The moon, in her infinite wisdom, decides to stay behind the clouds. Athawe shivers, not from cold, but from something she cant quite define. Slowly, her eyes adjusting to the rapidly changing light, she scans the trees around her. All seems to be as it should, but Athawe has learned to be overly cautious. A chance encounter with a bear taught her quickly that just because the forest seems to be safe, doesn’t necessarily mean that it is. The thought causes her to unconciously scratch at the gash in her arm. She got lucky, and she knew. Shivering again, she again scans the trees. This time, she spies a large boulder, stuck in the ground in such a way as to provide shelter. Lucky again, perhaps. To be safe, she approaches carefully. She is not the only creature in the forest, and probably not the only one seeking shelter. A quick but thorough search reveals that the small half-cave is indeed empty. She pulls her blanket from her pack and spreads it on the ground, then rummages for her flint. She quickly clears a space for a fire and, again scanning the surrounding trees, gathers some wood to burn.
The heavy clouds break open, letting the rain pour onto the earth waiting below. It is a cold rain, made worse by the constant blowing wind. Athawe shudders in her sleep, pulling her blanket closer around her. The fire had died long ago, the little warmth it provided long forgotten. A curious rodent of some sort creeps toward the sleeping human, sniffing at the air. Athawe moves and the animal scurries away into the underbrush. Athawe's eyes snap open at the sound, but she hears nothing else as she all but stops breathing, her eyes scanning the treeline. She yawns and wipes at her cold nose, then pulls her blanket back over her and drifts off into a light sleep.

The sun simply refuses to shine. It sulks sullenly behind heavy, black rain clouds, offering enough light to prove that it is indeed daytime, but not letting any of its golden warmth spread to the earth below.
Athawe sniffles and wipes at her nose. She shivers, huddled in her blanket in a little half-cave. She is miserable. Lost, cold and now it seems she's sick besides. She coughs, the sound echoing hoarse and ragged through the forest. She sniffles again and glares at the tiny fire in front of her. Her bones ache enough that gathering firewood is painful. Groaning, she forces herself to stand and shuffle into the trees, searching for more wood.
Many agonizing minutes later, Athawe shuffles back to her cave, only to discover that a very wet and bedraggled fox has made itself perfectly at home in front of her fire. Athawe blinks at it, approaching quietly and cautiously. The animal shivers, but doesn't run off like a normal fox would. Athawe is nervous until the fox sneezes and sniffles. She almost laughs at this. She can certainly relate to being cold, wet and sick. She drops her load of soggy firewood near the back of the cave, and drops an already dried piece into the dwindling fire. It catches instantly, the fire crackling merrily and finally offering a little warmth. The little fox looks almost grateful. It curls up, tucks its wet little nose into its tail and falls asleep. Athawe sits, her body cheering silently at not having to work anymore. She watches the fire for awhile, coughing and sneezing occasionally.
The sun finally mopes beyond the horizon and the land is draped in wet, cold darkness. Athawe sleeps fitfully, shivering constantly. She dreams intermittently of snuggling next to a roaring fire with Khureid.

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