Returning Home [Open]

[Ilorin Sayre]

The road was hard rock and full of pot holes causing the little donkey driven cart to bump about. Soon the driver would reach the laid down main road that ran its course to the village of Bain but for now its route was the uncomfortable track through several woods from Wyverley College. Ilorin adjusted his position delicately. His left butt cheek was completely asleep and the other was numb. His shoulders ached from laying in the same position and he felt a bruise forming under his shoulder blade where he'd been leaning back against the wooden slats of the cart. He had been laying in an awkward position for an hour or so and had been re-positioning himself frequently since leaving his school. The hay that surrounded him was rough and coarse and he had a feeling some had worked it's way under his shirt.

Brushing a few strands from his longish hair he flopped back down upon his cloak, that had been laid over a couple of bails. Tired, he had left Wyverley College in the early hours of the morning, barely before the sun had risen. After the letter he had received the day before there was no way he could have slept anyway.

His friends and- though he hated to admit he had any- fans at the school has been surprised by his sudden departure but there had been little time to give a suitable excuse for his leaving three days before the end of term. He had already taken his end of school examinations and simply told them that he had been asked to go home early. His missing the end of year celebrations was something his companions hadn't been able to understand. Ilorin doubted that they would have been able to comprehend his true reasons for leaving so suddenly any better. The only people in the school who could have possibly understood were those who, like him, came from the Old Kingdom, and they were in the minority at Wyverley College. Though the school now accepted students of both genders its intake of Old Kingdom students wasn't very long. Ilorin was one of only a handful that attended to institution. There were several reasons why people in the Old Kingdom avoided Wyverley College and in fact the entire of Ancelstierre and they were rooted in the main reasons of seperation between the two countries. Though Ilorin's father had worked for years to bridge the gap between the neighbouring nations little had been done.

The fact that Ilorin's father Nicholas, and his aunt Queen Ellimere refused to allow Ancelstian diplomats into the Kingdom hadn't helped to negate the country's hostility toward Ilorin's home. It didn't seem to matter how many times they were told that it was for their own safety. Only people who lived incredibly close to the border would know that to be true. They were the only ones who knew enough about the Dead and dangers of the Old Kingdom- the Kingdom he was about to journey into... alone.

He was just thankful that Hana wasn't with him. His younger sister, now thirteen, had managed to achieve the bloodline almost lost in Lirael and gained the Sight. She had also taken the blue eyes and blond hair of a Clayr in direct contrast to Ilorin's both dark and pale looks. She had then of course been raised in the Glacier. She came home for every holiday just like Ilorin and had only attended since gaining the Sight, so the two siblings were very close. Despite how much he missed Hanaela Ilorin was glad that he wouldn't have to protect her through the Kingdom, which was likely to be ten times more dangerous than the last time he had gone home if the letter he had received was to be believed.

The contents of that piece of parchment had hit him with all the force of a physical punch to the stomach. His mother, Lirael, had been injured. Wounded by a necromancer. He wasn't sure which scared him more- the idea that he may soon by the Abhorsen or the fact that he would therefore have to fight against the necromancer Lirael had been unable to defeat. Oddly enough he wasn't afraid for his mother's death. She was an Abhorsen and would pass smoothly through the Ninth Gate. There would be no resurrection of her soul into a Dead Hand. Having been trained as the Abhorsen-In-Waiting Ilorin found that his knowledge of Death made dealing of the deaths of those he knew easier. Why, he wasn't sure. He hoped, obviously, that he would return to find his mother healed and well, but if he didn't... the prospect of taking her place was a lot more frightening than her actual death.

Ilorin watched the clouds pass above him as he let his mind drift inward, away from those horrible thoughts. He could feel his sense of the Charter and the Dead growing stronger the closer he got to the border. He would have to hope that those senses were good enough to get him to Belisaere in one piece. He had a Charter-made sword with him but Narima, which he wielded when in the Kingdom was at the border with the head of the Crossing Scouts, locked away safely. There was no reason to risk loosing it in Ancelstierre where he couldn't use his Charter properly to stop any thief taking it, and he needed it when he entered the Kingdom. The Crossing Point Scouts had been an obvious choice for its protectors when he was in Ancelstierre. All he had in the meantime was the sword at his hip which was Charter-made but no-where near the strength of Narima. His mother, who had originally wielded the sword had the Abhorsen's blade of course. Ilorin shuddered as he wondered how long Narima would rest at his hip once in the Kingdom and if the thicker blade of the Abhorsen would replace it when he reached his home in Belisaere. He hoped not. He also didn't have any bells. He had learnt to use them and practiced in the Old Kingdom, but only under his mother's tuition. They were at the Palace. He had sent a message on ahead of himself via three birds to the Abhorsen's House and Sameth for the bells to be delivered there. He would stop at the Abhorsen's House and maybe take a Paperwing to the Palace from there, with the bells. He would feel a lot better when he had that Bandoleer across his chest.

The movement of the cart abruptly changed as the wooden wheels met the smoothly laid road of the main way to Bain. Sighing with relief Ilorin adjusted himself again and settled back against the hay. His closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He had a few hours before he reached Bain, and he needed to be well rested for crossing the border tomorrow. Reaching up he let his hand drift over his chest for a moment wondering how the weight of that Bandoleer would make him feel were he the Abhorsen. Probably less confident than he would like to admit...


Bain was a large village located not far from the Wall. From countless trips back and forth between Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom Ilorin knew the town well. Finding the horse market was easy- you simply followed the smell of dung and horse hair- and finding the right road to a well known tavern was simple from memory. With his dark grey stallion in tow Ilorin made his way through the streets toward the Dancing Bear. It was a favourite in the village for travellers as it was nearer the outskirts of the village, and was the tavern Ilorin always stopped in every year both to and from the Kingdom.

Tying the horse to the casting post Ilorin kept his hood up and entered the small and slightly worn two storey building. A friendly scent of alcohol and sweat overwhelmed him in an envelope of welcome and familiarity. As he walked across to room, his riding boots with their slightly raised heels made a gentle tap against the floor boards and upon reaching the bar he let his hood fall down. His cloak swung about him, hiding most of his body and stature but the owner of the Dancing Bear knew his face well enough.

"M'Lord Ilorin!" The man, Master O'kara exclaimed in welcome. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you for another month or so!" The rotund gentlemen picked up a mug and began to pour out Ilorin's preference of ale. The man continued to call him M'Lord no matter what Ilorin said, though he had managed to squash the title of "Abhorsen" down flat on their first meeting.

Ilorin smiled wryly at the man. "Last year ends early due to examinations O'kara." He didn't bother to offer any further explanation and the man nodded in understanding placing the mug in front of Ilorin. Ilorin reached into his pocket and then pressed a silver coin into the man's palm in payment.

Keeping his shoulders hunched to avoid attracting unwanted attention he began to sip at his drink stopping only once to grab a serving boy by the arm and telling him to go and take care of his horse. The boy, noting the way O'kara had addressed him was eager to obey. Ilorin's dark gaze, once so popular with the girls at school scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Satisfied that his reflexed would alert him to anything that may happen Ilorin allowed himself to relax and take another swallow of his drink. He needed this night, he decided. Needed to relax. After all... with the heightened dangers that lay in the Old Kingdom, he didn't know when he would get his next chance to do so..

[``kiasha morey]

The night was drawing in with a cool chill, and the sounds of slow hoof-beats could be heard along Bain's cobbled streets as a cloaked figure on horseback made its way towards the "Dancing Bear" inn. Rain began to patter down on the town, adding to the noise of the horse's hooves. Inside her hood, Kiasha Morey's expression didn't seem to even register the change in the weather. She didn't need to, after all; the cloak would keep her from getting too wet, and she was almost at her destination anyway. It had been a very long time since she had been to Bain, and even then she had only been through a handful of times, always accompanied by armed guards, and of course her mother. Her father had never entered the Old Kingdom, being of the mind that there was no point in its existence anyway.

Much as Kiasha loved her father Richard Morey for his stern arm in Ancelstierran politics and his ability to argue his point in a logical and direct manner, she had been unable to stay at his home for more than a few nights this time. It had been three whole years since Kiasha had seen or heard from her parents. Three whole years in which she had lived and worked in the lands to the south of Ancelstierre across the seas. It had been an enlightening experience, but one which had come to an abrupt and final end, an end which Kiasha constantly tried to forget, pushing the memories and the nightmares aside as inconsequential. She would not let her fears and doubts plague her waking hours, however, and had instead decided on action.

Almost as soon as Kiasha had arrived back at her father's house in Ancelstierre, a message had arrived from her mother who had gone to the Old Kingdom -- Roble's Town to be exact -- to visit her relatives. The message did not deliver good news, however, and stated that an attack had killed nearly all of Eliann Morey's family. She had said that she would stay in the Old Kingdom to help her elderly mother get through her grief. Much as Kiasha's father loved his wife, he could not leave Ancelstierre to go comfort his wife -- and Kiasha suspected he would never set foot on Old Kingdom soil for love nor money -- and so Kiasha had volunteered to go in his stead. Much to his annoyance, he could see no other way, and made Kiasha promise that she would be back as soon as she could for what Kiasha suspected would be some kind of match-making party. Much as she loved her father, they would never agree on some things -- Kiasha's independence being one of them.

And so here she was, making her way slowly to Roble's Town.

Although Kiasha had travelled there before, she had never travelled alone, nor had she ever had to plan the journey herself. However, she could remember the places she would need to go through on the way, and she would never forget the gorgeous little cottage that her grandma lived in. Kiasha was sure she could get there easily enough. The only problem she might have would be with the Dead. Her mother's note hadn't stated that that was what had killed her family, but from the lack of details on the attack itself, Kiasha was sure that it must be the case. Richard Morey had always steadfastly refused to believe in the existence of the Dead and Charter magic, and so it was no surprise to Kiasha that her mother had left that detail out of her letter. However, Kiasha would have to be very careful. She had learnt enough Charter magic to get by during her time at Wyverley College, and had been quite proficient in its use, but she doubted the little she could control would be much use against the Dead. It also didn't help that she didn't know an awful lot about them. The Morey household had always been an Old-Kingdom-talk-free zone, and the only times Kiasha had garnered any knowledge of the dangers in the Old Kingdom had been when she had visited there with her mother. The armed guards had been Old Kingdom citizens and were eager to tell Kiasha what they knew. However, Kiasha was sure there was still a lot to learn.

Danger there may be, but that had never stopped Kiasha Morey before. She had always been one to throw herself into any situation, no matter the danger involved. Since coming back to Ancelstierre, however, that habit had become more pronounced in Kiasha's mind. She didn't care much for herself. As long as she got what she needed to do done, she didn't think it mattered what happened to her.

Finally, Kiasha's horse came to a standstill, and Kiasha looked up at the sign hanging above her: The Dancing Bear, it read. She vaguely remembered the name of the tavern from her last trip through Bain, but the place seemed reasonable enough from the outside at any rate, and so she brought her leg up over the horse's rump and stepped down into the muddy roadway, her knee-length riding boots getting splashed in the rain. Taking the horse's reigns, Kiasha walked him to the side where she could see a stable, obviously part of the tavern. Peeking her head inside the stable, Kiasha spotted a small boy brushing down another horse. Calling him over, she handed him the reigns and told him she would be staying at the tavern so he should take care of her horse. The boy nodded, obviously scared by the figure in the hooded cloak -- Kiasha always forgot that the deep hood meant that it was almost impossible to see her face when it was up. Still, not really caring that the boy was a little startled, Kiasha took a few things out of her saddlebags and walked back to the inn's main entrance.

Stepping inside whilst lowering her hood, Kiasha was mildly surprised with the interior. It looked clean yet well-worn, the perfect atmosphere for an inn of this size. Even if Kiasha came from a wealthy background, she knew the value of money from her lack of it over the past three years, and would never again squander it unnecessarily. So this inn, in its comfortable yet affordable-looking state, seemed the perfect place to spend the night. Making her way over to the bar area, Kiasha nodded at the innkeeper, and asked if there were any rooms available for the night. When he replied that there were, Kiasha nodded thankfully and asked for the price.

"Don't worry about the price my dear. Have a drink first and we'll get you settled in." The stout man said with a smile, "What's your name? I'll need to add it to the register." Kiasha blinked at that. She had forgotten about registers, something that innkeepers in the south never bothered with. Or perhaps it was just the overcrowded inns that Kiasha had worked in that hadn't had any need for them.

"Kiasha Morey." Maybe she should have used a fake name -- after all, her father wasn't particularly well-liked in these parts -- but Kiasha had no time for fakery, even for something as trivial as a name. If anyone were to have a problem with her being here, then she would settle it then and there. She didn't have time for anyone who thought that she was anything like her father. In attitude, perhaps, she was more like her father than her mother, but in how she felt about the Old Kingdom, there couldn't be two more opposing ideas. Kiasha had loved the Old Kingdom from the moment she was born; it had been the location of all her childhood stories and dreams, and even though she had searched the south for something to keep her life interesting, the Old Kingdom was where she really belonged.

Soon after, Kiasha was seated on a comfortable chair beside the window with a mug of ale on the table in front of her. She had taken most of her belongings to her room, and now waited on her dinner. As she waited, the room grew warmer, and Kiasha stood to remove her cloak. As she did so, her long dark-brown hair spilled over her bare shoulders. Perhaps quite unconventional in these parts, Kiasha wore a brown leather corset that had large baggy dark-red sleeves attached just below the shoulder, and this matched with her dark brown leather riding trousers that were well-worn but extremely comfortable. Ignoring the few looks from other patrons, Kiasha's large hazel eyes fixed on the window, watching the rain pour down on the pavements outside. She wondered vaguely if it would be raining like this all the way to Roble's Town. She hoped not, but from the almanac she had scavenged, it seemed more than likely.

[Ilorin Sayre]

Thankfully O'kara was a creature of habit. Ilorin loved the old guy for several reasons but his tenaciously repetitive habits was one of them. From many years travelling to and from the Old Kingdom and staying with O'kara at the Dancing Bear Ilorin knew the seat he would always choose at the bar. It was more a cushioned stool really but it was always the one to the far left. This wasn't due to it being near the kitchen doors where a number of young girls continued to spy on him but instead for the decoration and instruments O'kara liked to keep above his bar. The first row, right up top near the ceiling of the common room was a series of swords, hung lengthways beneath the wooden beams above. Below them however were the simple utensils used about the inn. It was a friendly and unique touch that interested many punters but Ilorin liked the sentiment for its usefulness. Directly before him hung a large brass pot. It was O'kara's habits that had made sure the object had remained in it's habitual resting place and allowed Ilorin to see the entire common room in the smeary golden reflection of the metal. Ilorin had never mentioned this useful addition to the room but he had a strong feeling O'kara knew Ilorin's preference of seat was not to enjoy the audience and attention he received from the aproned maids in the kitchen.

It was in this reflection, undetailed and blurred that Ilorin watched those that came into the common room, or moved around the wide, warm room. He took note of those that played cards, fingered purse strings, or liked to fondle their sword hilts a little too much... It was wise when you were of Ilorin pedigree to pay close attention to your surroundings simply for the risk of danger. Being observant was also a handy trick to have when it came to spotting whether your card-players were cheating. Ilorin had saved a lot of money over the years...

Not ten minutes after Ilorin had entired the tavern, however, another guest stepped in through the heavy oaken door. They had their hood up and cloak drawn close so it was impossible to make out any of their features- especially in the brass pot, but Ilorin felt sure from their height that they were female. There were few males so short with such slim shoulders. Wondering as to why there was a female travelling alone so near the Old Kingdom Ilorin kept an eye on the visitor. His sense of Death, though small and limited this side of the Wall made him feel pretty sure the visitor was alive and well- not a danger in that sense. But there was a certain sway to her walk, a confidence in her step that made him think she could look after herself and therefore likely weild a weapon. Then again her confidence could simply be ignorance and naivete and Ilorin had nothing to concern himself with.

Noting the nice sway of her hips as she moved up to the bar Ilorin reached up to make sure his hood was in place and his features hidden. It was habit to hide his profile when in public for anyone in the area that knew him in the Old Kingdom could expose his job. Of course this was almost superfluous when there were few Dead creatures in Ancelstierre and everyone in the Dancing Bear knew him to be important anyway... But it didn't cost anything to be prepared. Though the workers of the Dancing Bear- the maids and kitchen staff- knew he was someone important and rich he had been careful to inform O'kara that he didn't want people to gossip and know his actual identity. It was one of the reasons he refused to let O'kara call him "Abhorsen". The maids had certainly picked up "M'Lord" easily enough.

Taking a swallow from the thick mug he held Ilorin ran his tongue over his lips and snuck a glance around the side of his green hood at the woman who had entered the tavern. She had reached the bar now and rested her hands delicately on the bar as she leant forward slightly to speak to O'kara. He asked for her name to take down in the register- a formality he had long lost due to his familiarity with the tavern owner and something clicked in his mind. The name was familiar...

Ilorin didn't have an amazing memory for names and faces- that was a talent he had failed to inherit from his father, but he thought he was sure where he knew the name Kiasha Morey from. She had attended Wyverley College a few years back but finished and left before the end of her education... No, that wasn't true- Ilorin frowned... He was sure he'd heard from someone or other that she had worked to take three years of education in one. An impressive feat. Not only had the girl passed her exams but she'd done fairly well in them too. Ilorin, with his slightly idle disposition didn't think he'd have even passed with that level of workload. He only remember the information because he recalled being impressed by it. He glanced again around the cowl of his hood intent on catching another look at her face that wasn't distorted by the moulded metal of the brass pot and caught only a tip of light that shone on the end of her nose before she ordered a meal and went to sit in the corner of the room. Her voice, as she had spoken, had been of average to low pitch and had the husky quality Ilorin often noted in women. It was nice to hear a proper voice from a female rather than the high-pitched twitter of the courts. Those sing-song ladies grated on Ilorin's nerves if he had to listen to it for too long...

Watching again the soft movement of the girl's cloak that swayed against her hips as she walked Ilorin tried to imagine her figure under the thick woolen cape. Somehow he didn't think she'd be lacking curves. This was proven as she removed the cloak to sit down at her table- evidently the heat of the room had got to her as the hood fell down and then the garment slipped around onto her arm so that she could place it over her chair. Ilorin's interest piched. Miss Kiasha Morey was a good looking girl. He vaguely remembered her at college as being sweet and cute but just not in his group but she had lost the extra roundness she had obviously harboured since youth and retained only the ones she might want. Slim and curvey in the right places she also dressed strangely and caught the attention of males around her. This was certainly true of some of the drunkards Ilorin could make out, practically leaning towards her in their seats to get a better look. She was easily the most attractive woman in the room but it was also true that she was the youngest and there were few women that at that. Ilorin wondered how the girl might measure up to the women of the court he was used to knowing- perfectly elegant creatures bred with good genes. Though her outfit would be entirely out of place and make her look a little shabby Ilorin reckoned the girl could hold her own. Licking his lips again as he took a mouthful of warm mead Ilorin smiled a little. The girl had caught his attention...

...But then it wasn't like he was going to act on that interest. He had to return home as quickly as possible and stop paying attention to pretty girls.

O'kara came over toward Ilorin the next chance he was free from orders and shook his head a little. "Not what I was expecting from Richard Morey's daughter." He murmured to the Abhorsen-In-Waiting attempting not to look at the daughter in question.

Ilorin felt ready to slap the palm of his hand to his own forehead as he realised he had missed the obvious in that Kiasha Morey was probably related to Richard Morey- the man his own father had been in political arguements with for the last five years or so. Both of them were in the political realm of ambassadors between the two nations and while Nicholas wanted a more peaceful and friendly union Richard desired a more definite divide between Ancelstierre and the "backward-ness" of the Old Kingdom. Ilorin didn't know much more about the man as, though he found his father's work interesting at times, it could also be, in Ilorin's opinion very boring.

Ilorin turned his attention back to O'kara's comment and spoke. "I heard she's been travelling in the south the last few years. I wonder what she's doing back up here." He raised his mug to his lips and continued to watch Miss Morey, only this time in the metal of the instrument on the wall. Turning to look over his shoulder would be far too obvious. O'kara raised his eyebrows and smiled. He seemed about to say something concerning Ilorin's interest in the girl but decided better of it and just slipped away to serve a customer. He then welcomed a group of five that came into the common room. Ilorin watched as they seemed to be holding instruments and smiled a little. His own flute was in his bags on his horse but he couldn't be bothered to fetch it now. Instead he would allow others to play.

As they took up their positions at the other side of the bar to him Ilorin noted two flutists, a sitar player, a few drummers and someone playing what seemed to be a string instrument with a bow. He didn't know what it was only that it looked similar to a viola and probably came from somewhere outside of Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom.

They began to play a friendly and welcoming background melody to the chattering, socialising scene of the room.

Distracted by the music for a moment Ilorin suddenly noted a breeze of cool air as the door to the tavern opened again to emit a few more men. The central figure was the largest- probably a foot or so taller than Ilorin while the other two were more wide than tall. They were simple and inexpensive clothing and one of the followers' shirt's was stained. With what Ilorin didn't particularly want to know. Hearing a murmured oath he turned to see O'kara placing down the glass he had been cleaning and raising a hand. He looked confident enough but Ilorin's sharp gaze spotted a bead of sweat on his brow that hadn't been there previously.

"I've told you boys before- I ain't serving you in my inn. Please leave."

Ilorin was a little taken aback. O'kara didn't normally refuse anyone. It instant made his hackles rise to wonder what crime this gang had performed to be demerited in O'kara's book. He reached up to unfasten his cloak a little, freeing his arms better and put down his mug. He would need his hands free if anything happened.

The musicians who had been playing uncertainly broke off for a moment and the common room volume lowered to a dull breathing as everyone focused on the entertainment and possible danger at hand. The men seemed to have ignored O'kara which warned Ilorin of danger straight off. The second was the smell the three bulks of muscle seemed to have brought in with them. Human sweat and old ale... Not a pleasant combination. They were obviously drunk. The leader opened his mouth and yelled.

"Shut your face! We've every right to be here jussasmuch as you all 'ave." The drunk exclaimed his words slightly slurred. He turned his head to spy Kiasha Morey sitting not far from him and grinned, missing a few teeth. "'Ello beautiful..." An older gentleman stood up from his table and calmly inserted himself between the hoodlum and Miss Morey in an attempt to show defiance, but the leader of the group shoved out a hand and send him flying back into his table. Ilorin stood up. The leader turned to look blurry eyed at him and deliberately he withdrew his sword from it's sheath. A few of the regulars leant back out of the way not wanting to be caught in a fight.

"I think it best that you leave." He stated calmly but he man just laughed maliciously and pulled out a long dagger from a sheath at his belt.

"Come on then little boy... What do you think you're going to do with that?" He barked loudly.

Ilorin flicked his wrist. The tip of his blade caught the cross-guard of the dagger the drunk held and the weapon was flicked into the air. The eyes of everyone in the common room followed it as Ilorin snatched it from the air. In the motion his expensive yet common clothing was revealed but his face remained hidden in his hood. The drunk yelled in pain as, as well as releasing the blade from his grip the tip of Ilorin's sword had cut across the back of his hand. This was not an accident on Ilorin's part.

"Son of a cow you-"

Anger ignited Ilorin raised his sword again quickly for the tip to come to rest at the brute jugular. Suddenly anxious the man took a few hastey steps back. Pulling on his friends the three of them left the tavern. Not indefinitely of course but Ilorin had the leader's weapon and he wasn't about to start a fight without it. Ilorin's intuition had been right- the muscles on the drunk were show not trained for combat; without the small blade the child ran in fear.

A slight scattering of applause and a few cheers called out as Ilorin replaced his sword within its adorned sheath.

[``kiasha morey]

As Kiasha waited for the evening meal she had bought along with her board and lodging, her eyes cast a quick glance around the inn's common room. There were a fair few people in there, none of them really raising Kiasha's interest. Not that there was a lot that could raise her interest anymore; she had been living in a cold shell for the past few months and it would take one huge shock for the tough exterior to be broken. Not even the news of her mother's family being attacked -- though of course upsetting -- had really even dented the tough shell. Kiasha's mind had sunk in on itself in a defensive state to make sure she barely focused on anything except was was needed to survive and get what she needed to get done done in a quick and easy manner. It was running away, really, but Kiasha didn't want to have to face the truth. Not yet.

Finally her meal arrived. Kiasha thanked the young maid who had brought it out and ignored the glare she could see so easily behind the girl's forced smile. Kiasha had never thought herself as being anything but ordinary-looking; in fact it would be a rare day that she would even really think of her appearance at all. She knew she wasn't ugly, and she took care of all her basic necessities so that she wouldn't look or smell dirty, but that was because she knew the value of personal hygiene, not for any ideas of vanity.

Picking up her knife and fork, Kiasha dug into the hearty meal, and was somewhat surprised to find that it was actually very delicious. Or perhaps it was because this was only the second decent meal she had eaten after returning to Ancelstierre. Her father, in his usual pompous manner, had made Kiasha sit and eat with him in their large dining room at home the minute she had arrived. He had gone on to exclaim about how thin she looked, seemingly compensating for her mother's absence by proclaiming the usual things her mother would say. However, Kiasha had had an inkling that the reason for his concern over her apparently skinny figure was more due to his thinking that she would only find a good husband if she was... well, more plump. Kiasha rolled her eyes just thinking of that awkward mealtime. Much as her father probably wanted to know what on earth she had been up to for the past three years, Kiasha refused to speak more than the bare minimum. There was absolutely no way that she was going to speak to her father, of all people, about why she had come back to Ancelstierre.

These thoughts mulled lightly through Kiasha's mind as she ate heartily. One thing Kiasha was sure had changed about her during her time abroad was her eating habits. At first she had been shocked to see in the south that it was a rare occasion to use knives and forks, but when she had seen what kinds of foods were eaten and how they were prepared, it had made sense completely. In the inns she had worked in for the first year, the food had been served in trenches of bread, with spicy broth-like stuff filling the trench. There were so many different types of food that Kiasha had given up trying to name them all, but as soon as she had gotten home, she had realised that she had gotten so used to eating with bare hands that the knives and forks felt foreign in her hands. Chopping up a potato and spooning it into her mouth, the side of Kiasha's mouth rose in a smile. It was strange how such a short period of time could change a person. Kiasha, although she had always been somewhat of an aloof person, had used to be adventurous and inquisitive. Now all she did was the bare minimum. She did everything she had to to get to her goal, and nothing else. There was no spark left in her existence. In fact, in some ways, it was a godsend that she had been given the opportunity to come to the Old Kingdom, as it gave her something to. Kiasha had no idea what she would have done if this hadn't happened. More than likely her father would have tried to get her to do something along the lines of marriage plans. Something Kiasha had absolutely no interest in whatsoever. She didn't think she ever would.

The first thing Kiasha noticed of the goings-on in the common room was when she spotted in her peripheral vision an elderly man step towards her. But his back was to her. Putting her cutlery down, Kiasha looked around the room. However, before her eyes even had time to move to see the commotion beside the bar, the man had been knocked out of the way, sent flying headfirst into her table. With an annoyed frown, Kiasha studied the food that had fallen on the floor. Well that[/] was a waste

[/i], she thought, I hope I can get some more. I'm still hungry. However, even as she thought this, Kiasha's hand was straying to her left hip, where hung a lightly curved scabbard, inside of which was the scimitar that Kiasha had owned now for just over a year. It had been a present from Janco. The hilt was decorated and embossed with floral patterns, and fit perfectly into Kiasha's slim hand. The scimitar was perfectly balanced, and suited Kiasha perfectly as it was lightweight, yet made of a metal strong enough to be able to withstand strong attacks.

However, whilst Kiasha's hand strayed to the hilt of her scimitar, a cloaked figure who Kiasha had noticed earlier sitting alongside the bar, stood up and unsheathed a sword. Kiasha watched the tip of the sword, judging its length. From her viewpoint, there was no way that he would be able to use that sword effectively in here with the low ceiling and pots and pans hanging around. But, Kiasha had learned early on that sometimes all that was needed was a small show of strength and the enemy would go scurrying back to where they came from.

Kneeling down, Kiasha looked down at the man who had been thrown into her table. It had been foolish of him to get in the way like that. Even though she hadn't been paying much attention, Kiasha had easily guessed that she had really been the target. Rolling her eyes, Kiasha ignored the man's protests that he was perfectly alright, and helped him to a sitting position on the floor. What was it about men? It seemed to Kiasha that they were either misogynistic and cruel to women, or they were overly protective and chivalrous. Who would ever have thought that a woman could stand up for herself and defend herself in a lot of situations. Though even Kiasha would admit that when it came to a battle of strength, she would generally not be the victor, she absolutely hated it when someone threw themselves on the line like this for her. It was never a consideration that she didn't want them to do such a silly thing.

The next thing that came to Kiasha's ears was a light applause and a door slamming. She looked up to see that the cloaked man was sheathing his sword. Kiasha had no doubt that he had a smug look on his face, even though it was covered by a deep hood. Eyes suddenly alight with fury, Kiasha stood up. A few of the others in the common room looked at her and smiled, as if this shared experience suddenly made them friends. A couple of them asked her if she was alright and if she wanted to take a seat. What was she?! Some kind of useless wastrel that would faint at the first sign of violence?! Kiasha's furious glares silenced them though, and her booted feet made her footsteps loud on the wooden flooring as she stomped over to the bar and her "saviour".

"I'm guessing you-" But Kiasha's angrily snapped word were cut completely short as the toe of her right foot caught on some uneven flooring, and she was sent careening forwards. It felt like the world slowed down, but that didn't mean that Kiasha could move any faster to prevent what was happening. Her body flew forwards, and Kiasha flew headfirst into the cloaked figure, sending them both flat to the floor, Kiasha somehow ending up underneath him, the breath forced out of her lungs with a sharp 'oof'. But the shock of the fall was nothing compared to the next shock Kiasha received. Her head bashed hard onto the floor, her eyes screwed shut to bide the pain, but as soon as she opened her eyes, her breath was stolen from her once again, her face blanching of all colour.

It was Janco.

No, that's ridiculous, Kiasha berated herself, shaking her head and knocking her thoughts back into place. However, the cold stone wall she had kept up since Janco had died was suddenly crumbling to pieces in front of her. Reality was crashing down, and for a few seconds, Kiasha felt like a little girl who'd bumped her knee and needed a parent to hug her. Without realising it was happening, a few lonely tears spilled from Kiasha's eyes. As soon as she did notice the dampness on her face, however, Kiasha scrambled up from the floor, walking away to the wall. For once, she was conscious of people watching her, probably thinking that she was either crazy or, even worse, was getting all upset because she had just had a horrible experience. But they didn't know about her past. They didn't know the reason that tears were spilling down her cheeks.

Without glancing back, a few lonely sobs breaking free from her lips, Kiasha strode away to the staircase in the corner of the room, and made her way to her loaned room. These were the first tears she had shed for Janco.[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[Ilorin Sayre]

Ilorin didn't really pay much attention to the few cheers and scattered applause that went out around the room. He hadn't really done anything that heroic. It was just that sometimes you had to act like a hero to get the result you wanted. It had certainly worked this time and ended with him receiving claps on the back and respectful smiles. He was used to them back in the Old Kingdom and didn't really pay much attention. He was more concerned with the older gentleman who had fallen into the table but as he was able to take a step in that direction he noted that Miss Morey- the one the older man had been defending was checking to see if he was alright. Assuming the regular would prefer the young woman's touch than his own Ilorin waited just to check that the men were really gone and the old guy was okay. When he was in a sitting position the girl names Kiasha looked up at him and he was a little surprised to see fire in her gaze. After all- he hadn't meant to play the hero but he had just defended her honour as it were. Though of course he was also defending O'kara's bar.

Ilorin watched as the girl sinuously unfolded her body from the floor into a standing position. The scabbard at her side emphasised Ilorin's belief that her seducative movements came from combat training. When sword fighting the body had to move in a flowing rhythm and direction. If the body parts didn't move in synchronicity the sword became useless. He would guess that this girl was used to sword-fighting and that it was that sport that had given her such a flowing motion and step. Something worked itself out in Ilorin's head as he wondered whether this was why the girl was mad. Those sparks in her eyes could very well be from a woman who's annoyed at having her defence come to when she was very capable of looking after herself. Oops. Ilorin hadn't really stopped to ponder the girl's dignity and respect but instead just acted. After all it wasn't just her he was defending but everyone in the tavern.

"I'm guessing you-" She began and Ilorin found that he was hanging on her words, waiting to hear that tone of voice he had picked up on when she'd given her name to O'kara. Unfortunately fate decided to step in and her boot must have caught on some flooring- for that was the only reason Ilorin could come up with for what happened next. Kiasha Morey came flying into him. At first he was kinda pleased- he had to admit it- when a girl comes at you you tend to think it's deliberate. Especially when you're Ilorin Sayre. But when the movement continued suddenly and the forward motion went lower and faster he realised she was falling. Reaching out instinctively he went to put his hands on her hips to steady her. Her forward force however was too great and he felt himself fall backwards. His legs got tangled in his sword's scabbard and he tipped sideways still holding onto Kiasha. In the end the two of them were on the ground, him above her. He looked down at her realising from her blinking that she must have hit her head. He opened his mouth to speak- to apologise, ask if she was alright, make a cocky remark when her face suddenly went incredibly pale.

Ilorin worried suddenly that maybe she had hit her head far too hard and it was causing her death or something but then the red came back into her cheeks with full force as her eyes brimmed with tears. Had the floor hurt that much? He had to admit that his hands around the small of her back hurt like hell where she had landed on them so her head must hurt a fair bit but enough to cry over? He frowned confused.

Suddenly she was scrambling away from him. Despite how nice she felt under him like that Ilorin wasn't someone to force anything along and he rolled quickly out of the way. She hastily got to her feet and headed for the wall where she stood for a moment as if to collect her thoughts- everyone was staring at her now but she seemed oblivious. Turning sharply she headed for the stairs and disappeared. Swallowing Ilorin wondered if he had really done something so wrong...

Slowly the band began to play again and everyone forgot the scene. Ilorin, however, kept playing it and the changes on Miss Morey's face through his head over and over. He moved toward the bar and O'kara came toward him, knowing he would want to talk. The inn keeper murmured a number in Ilorin's ear and he nodded his thanks. He then went out to the stables.

In the stables he quickly found his new deep grey stallion and reached behind the saddles to remove the bags attached. Slinging them over his shoulder and holding his bow over the other he headed back into the tavern with his belongings. The next stop was the kitchen where he went down the wooden steps to stand on the cobblestones of the kitchen floor. Everything went quiet around the stoves and a young girl- Ilorin remembered her name as being Sarnia- came forward. This girl was all curves and Ilorin found himself admiring her hour glass figure and the exaggerated sway of her hips. She placed her fists on the anatomy in question and shook out her curves that hung down her front and rested on her bust.

"Can we help you M'Lord?" She purred, looking up at him.

Ilorin smiled his usual charming smile.

"I hope so." He replied. "I need something cold- like ice, wrapped in a towel to press against a wound to cool it down." Several girls came scurrying forwards to ask whether he was injury and he shook head quickly and explained that it was for a friend. One timid girl came forward with a wrapped bundle that he took. It was cold in his hands. He smiled again and sketched a shallow bow to her. "Thank you." And he left the kitchens to the sound of chattering and giggling as the maids all clustered together to talk about him as he left. He met O'kara at the top of the short flight of stairs, re-entering the common room. "I wish you wouldn't go down there. They don't get an order right after you do."

Ilorin laughed and clapped a hand onto the man's shoulder. "You know I don't like the attention O'kara." The older gentleman made a look of sceptisism but Ilorin didn't notice. His mind kept replaying Miss Morey's tears and they were getting to him.

Quickly he made his way over the the staircase that led up to the rooms and headed on upstairs still with saddlebags and bow. Stopping off at his room to dump the supplies he then turned down another corridor and began to feel room numbers again so as the get the right door. After finding the right number he double checked it for a second and then knocked on the wooden panneling.

"Miss Morey." He called softly through the wood. "Is everything alright?"

[``kiasha morey]

What a stupid little girl I am, Kiasha admonished herself as she paced up the staircase, all the while trying desperately to wipe the tears away. This task was made so much the harder by the fact that Kiasha was still crying. She wasn't sobbing -- she wouldn't let herself break out in shakes and shivers here. She would not allow herself to break down into a sobbing mess now. It was pathetic. She had never made such a fool of herself in all her life. There she had been, about to tell that damned man exactly what she thought of him, and she'd ended up tripping over. Tripping over! Janco would have be rolling over on the floor with laughter right now if he'd been there. He would never ever let Kiasha forget that one.

And if the embarrassment of falling over wasn't enough, Kiasha had acted like a lost little child when she had seen Janco -- no, Ilorin's -- face. Yes, she knew perfectly well who he was. Everyone at Wyverley college knew who Ilorin Sayre was. In fact, when Kiasha had first met Janco, she had thought that Ilorin had for some bizarre reason followed her out of Ancelstierre. However, that thought had only lasted in Kiasha's head for all of about a second, and she had quickly gone on to just accept that it was a very strange coincidence. Either way, Kiasha knew Ilorin Sayre full well. Not that she could think of more than perhaps one or two occasions when they had spoken to each other, but everybody knew who he was. He was the one that all the girls fawned over, the one that all the guys wanted to be. But not Kiasha. Oh no. She had seen him for what he was the moment she had set eyes on him: a show-off. One who full well knew how popular he was and didn't even try to be modest about it. It was true that when Kiasha has first heard of the "it" boy in Wyverley, she had been interested to know what sort of person they were. But, as she had expected of someone so naturally popular, the popularity had obviously gone to his head.

The worst thing about Kiasha's obvious dislike for him was that the rumours started to spread. Kiasha, to this day, had absolutely no idea where the idea had come from, but before she knew it, she was inundated with people consoling her. Naturally she was completely confused; these people were saying that they were sorry for her being turned down. But turned down from what? She couldn't remember applying for anything. It was a few days later that she finally found out what all the commotion was about. Not having any close friends, Kiasha hadn't had her own source of information. Of course, she didn't care at all for gossip, and didn't care for the companionship of anyone who did enjoy gossip. So, Kiasha had overheard the "truth" whilst walking along a corridor towards one of her classes. A couple of girls walked past her, and Kiasha heard one mutter, "Look, it's her!" Naturally being completely fed up by that point, Kiasha had proceeded to grab the girl by the collar of her shirt and push her against the wall. Not a particularly lady-like gesture, but, well, Kiasha didn't care for any of that by now. She just wanted to know why people were constantly chattering about her. Without needing too much pressurising, the girl told Kiasha that the rumour was that Kiasha had professed her love to Ilorin only to be turned down.

Fuming, Kiasha had stormed back to her room and dug into her books. It had been very tempting to find the elusive Mr Sayre and give him a piece of her mind then and there, but truth be told, she hadn't wanted more attention on herself. By this time she was already studying hard so that she could leave Wyverley at the end of the year. She wanted to get out of this place where there were people everywhere telling her what to do and how to behave. Schooling had always been a sore point with Kiasha. On the one hand, she loved to learn new things. She loved to learn about other cultures in particular, though she had also always been a keen student of the sciences, chemistry in particular. On the other hand, she hated being taught. She hated being given things on a platter to learn, and instead preferred to find the information for herself. In her first few years at Wyverley, Kiasha had barely attended any lessons, refusing to be spoon-fed and instead spending most of her time in the library reading. But that hadn't lasted long; she had quickly been told that she had to attend the lessons, or she wouldn't be allowed to graduate, no matter how much she had learned on her own. And even if Kiasha herself didn't really care whether she graduated, she knew that she would never hear the end of it from her father, and so began to attend the lessons.

Reaching her room, Kiasha slammed the door with a loud bang, instantly regretting the action as it made a headache instantly start up at the back of her head. For a few seconds, she felt a little dizzy. So for a moment, Kiasha took a deep breath and waited, stood beside the door, hand resting gently on the handle. Her eyes still brimmed with tears, but she had managed to stem the flow a little by now. When the dizziness cleared, Kiasha walked slowly to the bed and sat down on it, legs spaced wide apart with elbow rested on her knees. She let her head rest in her upturned palms and took more deep breaths as she tried to calm herself down from the shock.

Because it had been a shock. A big one. It had been as if Janco had come back from the dead. For a split second, it had been untold joy that had run through Kiasha's heart. Until she had gathered her wits, that is. It had probably been the force of the bump to her head that had made her react so violently, that had made her believe just for that split second, that the one person she had ever truly loved, was alive and well. Now, Kiasha felt Janco's loss all over again. It wasn't even as if Janco was anything like Ilorin. Sure, he had been a boisterous and funny man, but there was something about him that was instantly likeable. Kiasha didn't know of anyone who had disliked Janco, and even if there were any, Kiasha doubted they had disliked him for long. This was the complete opposite of Ilorin, who Kiasha had disliked from the very beginning.

Just as she was letting go of her head and moving her body backward to lie on the bed, Kiasha heard a light knock on the door.

"Miss Morey." Came a voice, deep but light. From the instant she heard it, Kiasha was certain that it was Ilorin. Turning her head to the side and pushing a hand roughly through her hair to rub the bump on the back of her head, Kiasha watched the door. "Is everything alright?" He spoke again. It looked like Kiasha wasn't going to be left alone. So, sighing, Kiasha sat up. Unbeknownst to her, the hand through her hair had made her hair look very wild and untamed. She had naturally wavy hair, but at the end of the day it was always more thick locks than waves. This was why she usually tied it back; it just got in the way, especially when it was windy.

"What do you want, Ilorin Sayre?" Though Kiasha's rough voice sounded as though she was saying the name to make it look as though Ilorin didn't have the one-up on her for knowing her name, really it was that Kiasha felt the need to assert to herself that this was not Janco. It was someone else. "If you're going to be nosey, just come in. There's no point making yourself look like an idiot standing in the hallway." Though Kiasha's words were harsh, her voice was a lot softer than she had intended. Maybe I bumped my head harder than I thought, Kiasha mused, hoping she didn't have a concussion...

[Ilorin Sayre]

Ilorin frowned a little at Miss Morey's tone of voice that seeped through the wood of the door. It wasn't an amazingly thick piece of paneling that made up the portal so he could pick out the emotions laced in her words just as easily as if she were standing in front of him rather than speaking from a seperate room. He was a little annoyed and yet amused at her tone of voice. Ilorin knew that in this world you couldn't please everyone and that there was no answer to being perfect and likeable to all, but he didn't think he fell amazingly short of the impossibility. He had been well-liked by both genders back at Wyverley College and was someone many attempted to be in the company of back home. He was intelligent, witty, a little sarcastic and amazingly good-looking. Add to that his status of being reasonably wealthy and the Abhorsen-In-Waiting it wasn't really surprising that Ilorin had also grown up as a little over-confident, cocky and arrogant. But that was just the way he was so he didn't feel a significant need to apologise for it. He wasn't that bad after all... At least... He didn't think he was.

With the conclusion that he may be a little snobby but was otherwise a nice enough guy who people liked to be around, Miss Morey's seeming irritation with him surprised him. He didn't consider himself ugly enough for her to burst into tears at the sight of him so he had decided that that episode of tears was due to her banging her head; but this hostile call through the door didn't seem to have any basis or reasoning behind it. He had rarely spoken to the girl at Wyverley College when they had attended together and never seen her since. It was bizarre that she could have such a disliking to him now when she had only just re-met him after three years. Ilorin tried to think back and wondered if he had don't anything to offend her back then during the College years which had made such an impression for her to have been building up hate on her travels. But no, he came up with nothing. He remembered being asked once if she had asked him to be her boyfriend and he had turned her down... He had said that she hadn't and he wasn't interested in her. That couldn't have made a big impression though right?

It was true that he hadn't been interested in her at the time. Kiasha Morey, though a reasonably cute and seemingly polite and nice girl was just a little too young-looking and just didn't run in the same social circles as he did. He had more than his fair share of girls to choose from in the groups he was friendly with so why would he need to look outside of them? Thinking back to how she looked at College and how he had only gotten a good look at her face for about five seconds before she'd fled downstairs Ilorin was suddenly struck with the desire to see what she looked like now- properly.

Deciding to take Miss Morey at her word Ilorin raised a hand and pushed down the door handle. Stepping inside he smiled, his hood up so she couldn't see it anyway, and spoke- "Don't mind if I do, thank-you ma'am." He was slightly smirking in the cowl of his hood simply because he knew she couldn't see him. He had to admit, that he sitting there on her bed was quite a nice sight.

The girl had definitely grown up during her time away. She seemed to have stretched a little, growing taller and leaner, loosing the tiniest amount of puppy fat she had had, but kept adequate curves in the right places. Her hair was longer than it used to be and waved wildly from where she had probably ran her fingers through it (maybe to feel the lump from the bash to the head? Ilorin felt sure that had hurt)... He outfit was strange for northern Ancelstierre and he assumed she had picked up the style from southern countries. It was flattering and just a little exotic. Her face had grown-up as well. Rather than the round young face he remembed, her cheeks and neck had tautened a little, her cheekbones still promenant and her eyes still big. The curve of her mouth was still there and her skin had darkened a little with the southern sun. Ilorin couldn't help noticing that Kiasha Morey had grown into an attractive woman. She had been cute before but now she was edging closer to stunning.

Closing the door behind him Ilorin took a few steps into the room. "I assure you Miss Morey that I attempt to never look like an idiot, even standing outside a door." He paused a moment and then raised a hand to pull back his hood revealling his face properly for the first time. "In that circumstance most would just believe me charmingly persistent." Then he unleashed the full force of his smile.

Ilorin was very much a good-looking guy. His cheekbones were prominent above a steady jaw while his nose, though ever so slightly crooked from a broken nose when he was fifteen, balanced out his eyes- a little large for a guy. His brows were straight and the expanse of his forehead obscured by a few locks of his overlong hair. His smile was a little crooked and produced dimples in his chin and cheek.

He nodded his head formally. "How do you do Miss Morey? I'm sorry I was unable to break your fall down in the common room." Raising a hand he offered the ice bundle that had been previously hidden by his cloak. "I thought you might need something cool for the back of your head."

``OOC || sorry this took me so long! I was trying to think of a way to bulk it out enough ^^ Lol.