Chapter 1A -- That's Just How It Works

[Luca the Thief]

The sky was tinted purple and pink, twilight covering the land. On the banks of a wide river, sat the sparkling light of a large city, the city of Marcogg. For some, it was time to return home after a days work. For others, the beginning of a fun night among the numerous taverns that lined the city streets.

For another, a young woman looking just out of her youth, it was time to work...relatively speaking. The half-elf, a woman of both elven and human lineage, strolled casually down the streets of Marcogg.

She was down the main market road. Booths and stalls of all sorts lined the wide street, each well equipped with one or two pushy and boisterous clerks.

Her bright brown eyes seemed to be scanning the various goods surrounding her, but the broke half-elf was, in reality, examining the people around her.

Too tall. Too big. Too strong. Too small. Too young. Too old. Too unconcious... she thought lazily as her eyes scanned the crowd.

Luca was a thief, born and raised a pickpocket and gifted with swift hands from birth, and arguably the best Aeruillin had put out in years.

Stifling a yawn, the thief absently grabbed a handful of assorted dried berries, popping a few in her mouth as she walked. Meanwhile, the clerk beamed as he sold half the amount stolen to a little boy and his mother.

What a dull night she thought bitterly, deftly sidestepping an airborn fish What I would do for someting interesting to happen

"Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life"

[Aryia en Evasha]

Aryia`en was tired. Tired of all the human bustling, the human smell, the coarse yelling and shouting of the human language ala big city style. It had been 11 years since she last set foot in Marcogg. She had come to visit an old friend, but she had forgotten how short human years were, and when she arrived, had discovered that the old friend had already gone on his with Queprur.

There was no other reason for her to be in Marcogg anymore then. Perhaps the purchase of a few supplies the next morning, and she planned to leave the city at the crack of dawn.

Aryia`en had her dark cloak pulled tightly around her, and her wide brimmed hat shielded most of her facial features from those around her as she made a brisk stroll down the main market road, heading towards the inn where Shaer was stabled -- stabled quite comfortably too, after the owners of all the other steeds in the stable fearfully removed their horses for fear that Shaer would devour them all. Ignorant humans.

Her destination in mind, she took no account of the swimming crowd around her -- including a pair of trained bright brown eyes scanning the crowd. She missed the wide spaces of the green forests and rolling plains. She decided to make her next trip into another city one that would be very far ahead in the future.

[Luca the Thief]

Luca popped the last of the dried berries into her mouth and sighed, giving one last scan of the crowd before turning in. But suddenly, her eyes drifted towards an elfmaid walking alone through the crowd, a gold purse swaggering on her side, sifting through the people and coming straight towards the thief.

Luca began to walk through the crowds and towards the woman. She dodged and slithered past whatever person happened to get in her way. The half-elf, her short hair bobbing wildly, stopped just a few peds from her target, curiously looking at the elf's silver hair. What a freak. I bet she's insane, Luca thought with a smile.

The thief started to walk, apparently aimlessly, towards Aryia'en, her thumbs hooked lazily over her thick leather belt. As Luca neared the elf, she 'accidentaly' tripped and fell into a fat man with short greasy hair and breath that could choke a maggot.

"Hey! Watsh it, cutie!" he slurred, shoving the thief unceramoniously into Aryia'en. Luca feigned a cry of surprise and twirled and fall directly into the silver haired elf. Luca slid to her knees at the woman's feet and stared up the elf with wide brown eyes and a pouty face. The pickpocket stood, dusting herself off.

"Oi. Sorry 'boot that, 'ear," she said, her voice dripping with an excellent imitation accent of somebody she had met a few years before. Luca began picking and pulling at the elf woman's outfit, dusting her off and realigning her clothes. "Awful sawry with that. I seema 'ave tripped"

Luca brought her hand up and tipped the brim of Aryia'en's hat back so she could see her face better. "Once 'gain, awful sorry," she said with a quick bow. With a salute with her right hand and a lightning quick flash of her signature grin of victory, Luca hopped backward and seemed to melt into the crowd before one's very eyes.

"Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life"

[Ryldor Gadriel]

Ryldor lay on the edge of the roof, looking down upon the masses of the market. He'd been there for an hour, waiting for a certain someone to appear in the market below. Evening was rapidly approaching, and the crowd was beginning to thin. Luckily, he thought, It's hard enough to catch her without a crowd around.

He tried to count the number of times he'd sat around waiting for a particular person to walk by, but quickly gave up, for there were far too many. Besides, this evening's purpose was unlike anything he'd done before. Usually, he was checking out marks; cataloging the habits and behaviors, seeing whom they traveled with and when, deciding when and where would be the best time to make an attempt. This time it was a recruiting mission. She looks like the one. Hmmm… I wonder if this is how Aron felt all those years ago.  

Before he could fully immerse himself in reverie, he spotted her, the distinctive short, choppy hair standing out among the throng. His eyes followed her as she made her way aimlessly through the crowd. Seemingly aimlessly, of course. He'd seen her in action enough times recently to recognize the body language that usually resulted in someone losing their purse. I wonder who tonight's target is. The half-elf took a few more steps before stumbling into a heavyset man and caroming off into a person with... Silver hair? I don't think I've ever seen such a thing. Ryldor was so astonished, he almost missed the move, but he'd seen her use this ploy before and knowing what to look for, he saw the purse being deftly removed and the young cutpurse "disappeared" into the crowd. Smooth as ever.

Silently he dropped the one story to the floor below, walked through the market and at a bottleneck where the crowd was pressed together, "grazed" a merchant that was closing up a stall. A few steps later he hefted his own newly acquired pouch. Hmmm. Must have had a slow day. Now how do I make the approach?

It is not enough to conquer; one must learn to seduce. ~ Voltaire

[Aryia en Evasha]

((OOC: GREAT posts Luca & Ryl!!!  I had to go LOL at the "bet she is insane" part Luca ... ))

Aryia`en was fast approaching the her destination ... just a few more quick strides through the mess of wading human bodies and she would be out of the crowd and in her room with much desired solitude. Everyone in the streaming crowd seemed to be made out of knees and elbows when cramped together on a narrow street full of haphazard stalls and whatnots ...

... and Aryia`en was mightily annoyed when she felt like she had been bumped into by what felt like a terribly huge and especially knobby knee. The "knee" spoke and had a crop of tussled brown hair. "Oi. Sorry 'boot that, 'ear,"

"What are you --" Aryia`en only managed to say so much before Luca's hands were all over her, grappling at her cloak and pulling herself (Luca) up. "Awful sawry with that. I seema 'ave tripped"

"Yes, and you --" Before she knew it, Aryia`en's hat was tipped and a pair of bright brown eyes stared at her somewhat ... with a mischievious glint in them, or so thought Aryia`en. "Once 'gain, awful sorry,"

Starting to speak once more in an irritated tone didn't yield any results either this time round, "That was very --" And before she knew it Luca had melted back into the crowd.

Aryia`en thought she noticed elven-like ears on Luca, but she could not be sure. And besides, elves, unlike their human brethren, would not be as ill-mannered as such, groping and grappling at another -- tripped over or not. Luca's features were well-imprinted in Aryia`en's mind, and if she saw Luca once more, she would be able to to tell her apart from the crowd.

But those city ... waifs, Aryia`en found herself shaking her head inside, though she had often wondered why in 200 years and more, had she not resigned herself to the uncultured habits and mannerisms of the humans. Her thoughts quickly shifted back to her destination, Best to hurry along ...

Aryia`en could not wait to depart from the city.  

[Luca the Thief]

The half-elf sidled into the nearest alley and perched herself happily on a pile of barrels. Luca tossed the gold purse from hand to hand, her soft-as-feathers touch barely making the coins sound.

Without even opening it Luca knew it's contents. "Thirty! Thirty lousy san. I should've known," she said with a sigh, resting her head against the wall behind her. Changing the pitch of her voice perfectly to sound haughty and rich, Luca spoke aloud in the empty alley, "Look at me. I'm a pure elf. I'm too good to carry money around. I think I'll go hug a tree then pray to the stick gods"

~~~~

Walking down a less traveled trail to Marcogg, a heavily cloaked figure drifted in and out of shadows, its silent and almost ghost-like aura causing creatures to become anxious and move away from it. A black glass eye glistened from under the inpenatrable darkness of the cowl of his tattered cloak, and a coarse whisper escaped from his pursed lips, "Her scent chokes the air..."

~~~~

Luca stopped suddenly, eyeing the alley curiously. But the half-elf was positive she was alone. "Odd..." she thought, but continued rummaging through the barrels of stored goods, hoping to find something worth borrowing.

"Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life"

[Aryia en Evasha]

Aryia`en stepped through the familiar battered doors of the inn that she had lodged for two nights prior. She was ready for a session of prayer devotion to Armeros, and then some meditation before dawn breaks. She was not as sleepy as she was weary and tired of the hustle and less than scrupulous bustle in many parts of the city.

Aryia`en had chosen this particular inn because it had looked clean, orderly and calm. The establishment itself was a little older and shabbier than most in the city, but that meant that there would be less of a throng to its rooms, and Aryia`en was fine with less people and more quiet.

This evening would prove her judgement wrong though. The minute she stepped in, a chorus of raspy and coarse voices (All humans had coarse and raspy voices -- especially the males -- one wonders if they really croaked words instead of speaking ... now Elves, were a different matter, naturally.) jarred her ear, making Aryia`en frown in annoyance.

A crowd had gathered at the bar area, a rowdy one from the looks of it. Aryia`en could spot the flash and glint of metal tucked at the ready in some of the gathered patron's hands and cloaks. It also seemed like some of the burlier and more brutish -- How in the creation of Ava was such ugliness allowed to emerge -- men had unfurled their fingers over the edges of chairs. It was thick in the air -- a fight was about to ensue.

Aryia`en had been through her fair share of bar fights. Well, it would be more accurate to say that she had demolished her fair share of bar fights. But this evening she was in no mood to decorate the inn's common area with limp bodies. With nary a word, Aryia`en strode out of the inn, and headed down a different direction at the fork of the main street this time, down a smaller street which was quieter, with numerous alleyways branching out from it.

Aryia`en hoped that the inn would have returned to some semblance of order and calm when she returned. Or she would have to create that semblance and calm herself.

[Luca the Thief]

Luca abandoned the obscenely understocked alley with a sigh and made her way down the still busy market street. The thief ran a half-gloved hand through her hair as she stopped in front of a stall and began examining the items.

She picked and prodded at the merchandise, completely ignoring the young craftsman who, considering the half-elf's shabby appearence and uninterested expression, probably wasn't too thrilled to have the thief there.

Luca was innocently admiring some nicely crafted, and expensive looking, figurines when a small carving made it's way (completely and totally undaided by Luca's hands) into her pocket, an action not unseen by the seller.

The half-elf thought she heard him say something, sounding non-too-please, and Luca gave in to the only instinct a thief could have in this kind of situation. Grabbing two more figurines, Luca dove into the crowd and began weaving herself through the throng of people; her experience and agility allowed the half-elf to gain a decent lead.

She stopped and hopped onto the booth of a flustered clerk, to scan over the crowd. There, picking through the river of bodies, was her assailant. Luca felt kind of guilty, for the young man couldn't have been much over seventeen. He was just a kid, up against an experienced theif and self-proclaimed master of deception.

Luca hopped off the stall and then ran into an alley, taking a few spontaneous twists and turns, going through a maze of backstreets.

Finally, the half-elf stopped in a deserted and quiet street, with no sound but the hallow mew of a stray cat. But something was wrong, the air heavy and stank. An almost...metallic...odor drifting on the  light breeze.

Luca walked slowly down the back street, until the bottom of her soft leather boot stepped into a dark liquid. She lifted her leg, and a strand of the substance followed. On closer inspection, Luca saw it was black...no....red.

"Blood..." the word died on her lips and dripped quietly into the silent evening.

The half-elf stood, her eyes dark and narrowed, and walked slowly into the alley, a small flow of the crimson river drifting into the street. Luca discovered the source now, a body.

It was the corpse of a young man. His throat was slit clean and deep with the blade of so fine a weapon the killing wound was barely visible. His cold hands were crossed peacefully over his chest and his mouth was cracked open slightly...caught in a silent cry.

But his eyes. Those horrible eyes froze Luca solid. They were open still, but the dilated pupils were blocked out by a coin over each...how familiar this all seemed to the thief.

As the half-elf focused on trying to remember the trademark coins, the shadows of the dark alley shifted slightly. A dark cloaked figure emerged from the cover of the shadows, his tall cloaked figure creating an ominous silohette over the only entrance to the alley.

I should know this Luca thought to herself. Yes! Now I remember. He used to-- but the woman's thoughts were cut off as the cloaked man spoke.

His raspy voice grated on Luca's spine and the half-elf froze, choking back sudden burning tears that rimmed her once lively eyes. "You knew I would catch you, Princess," he spat, his one good eye gleaming, the other obsidian glass eye gleamed menacingly.

"I'm not called that anymore," Luca half whispered, half moaned. Her left hand burned. Burned so badly. It's happening all over again she thought to herself. Luca clenched her fist, so hard that her nails dug into her burning palm that it bled. But she felt not that pain, but the unbearable illusion that her skin was being seared...as it had been so many years before.

"A shame," he began as the scraping sound of metal on hard leather filled the alley. "But you can't deny what you were, Princess," he mocked, the long and narrow blade of his elven crafted shamshir flashed in the dull alley light.

Luca turned back to stare down at his polished, sharp toed boots. At one man she had once trusted. A friend. Yet undeniably a fiend. "Please...Caranthir, no..." she whispered, her eyes drifting up to look upon the handsome and treachorous face of a thieve's guild second in command. Second to victory.

Edited by: Luca the Thief  at: 1/10/04 3:37

[Ryldor Gadriel]

Using some of his newfound wealth, Ryldor bought some fruit and made his way through the marketplace. The thinning crowd gave him a great opportunity to make small talk with some of the lovelier ladies that worked in the booths selling wares. One lass seemed to be particularly receptive to his advances and plans for dinner that evening were well under way, when a commotion ensued. A merchant, wearing an expression Ryldor was all too familiar with, was dashing after someone in the crowd. Oh no. Don’t let it be her he thought, knowing it was going to be, even before he scanned the crowd for the target of the young man’s search. A figure appeared atop a booth, the short brown hair confirming the mage’s fears. Why me? I try to be good… enough for things like this not to happen. It’s just not fair. ”I’ll call on you,” he shouted over his shoulder as he made his way after the young thief.

As he took off, he knew he’d never catch her directly. She was as quick and agile as he and her smaller size gave her an advantage. Luckily, he did have more experience than her and he had been watching her for a while, so he had an idea in what general area she’d end up. And if she takes a meandering route, I should get the about the same time.

A thought struck him as he reached a deserted area of town. Hmm. Maybe a little stealth. Quickly he scaled the nearest wall and took to the rooftops. He dropped to one knee and listened, wondering if he’d guessed correctly.

It is not enough to conquer; one must learn to seduce. ~ Voltaire

[Benjo]

It was late morning when Benjo had opened his wood-work booth at the marketplace. Now it was almost evening. The day went good, he sold many works and his cart was almost empty. A chair was still there, several small benches. And a few of his figurines that were still on his booth. A young woman came up to his booth and looked at his work. Like any good merchant he was smiling at her. The smile qickly left his lips as he saw that the woman slid one of his precious figurines into her pocket.

"Hey! What the feff do you think you´re doing there?!" he snapped and tried to grap her by the collar. But before his hand could reach her she grapped two more figurines and ran down the market street. Although he couldn´t stand leaving his booth open for everyone else, he could even less stand someone that stole his pretty figurines!. Benjo drew his shortsword from his side and ran after the thief. She must have been some human-elf-mixture bastard, because although Ben was quite quick, he lost track of her.

Now he was standing there, his shortsword in hand, and his neat shortbow slung across his back. Next to him was a dark alley. Ben didn´t know why but he felt like examining it, and so walked in a few steps. At the far end he saw a slender person, somehow looking damn similiar to the thief. He wanted to go and get her to bring her to the cityguards, but just then he saw a tall man step infront of her, a long blade in his hand. Benjo was pleased and worried at the same time. On the one hand the thief would be trapped in the alley. On the other hand, that dark man was probably not going to sell cookies to the woman.

Now, Ben might not be a great talker, but a great listener, and thus he could hear that the woman begging the man not to do...something. Ben made up his mind to help her and sheathed his sword, silently. He knew he´d have to surprise the man, so he unslung his bow and took an arrow from his small quiver. Stringing the arrow to the bow he pulled back the string and aimed at the tall man´s torso.

"...hey...you!" Ben´s voice was slightly trembling. "Leave her be...i can split a coin at 30 peds so don´t think about doing anything smart..."

Don´t talk unless you have to, don´t laugh unless you want to.

[Luca the Thief]

"Hey you! Leave her be..."

Luca's eyes closed slowly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. This merchant was brave, the half-elf had to admit, but did not understand what peril she, and now him, were in.

Caranthir turned his head slowly to regard the young man. "Fool boy," he said evenly, his cloak flashing open as he turned, exposing an impressive array of throwing daggers.

"No, Caranthir," Luca said sternly, holding one of her daggers in her right hand. At the moment, the burning, searing sensation of her her left was already making her faint. "You're fight is with me," Luca stated, holding her head high, then turned towards Benjo and glared, "Leave, boy. You've no place here."

The dark elf lord, his skin as pale as the midnight moon, turned back to grin at Luca. "So true, Princess," he began, taking a slow and drawled out step towards her, "My blades must be sharp...to make clean work of your hand."

Luca's eyes went wide with terror. In her heart, she had always known it to be so, for the rumors of the wizards power to ring true. The pain her hand flared, nearly causing the half-elf to swoon. She fell to the bloody ground onto one knee and let out a pitiful cry.

She stared up at Caranthir, pleading with her eyes, but knowing all too well that she would receive none. His thin, pale lips curled up into a cruel smile, the dark elf twirled his long, thin blade then brought it down on Luca.

The half-elf didn't flinch. The razor sharp blade came to a stop just a nailsbreath from her head.

"Fight, bitch!" he screamed, a sharp pointed boot connecting to the side of the theif's face. Luca cried out, but kept her wits about her. Reeling to the side from the blow, the limber half-elf rolled with the kick, coming to stand, wearily against the wall of the alley.

Caranthir came in with a thrust of his sword, the blade meeting only the brick wall where Luca had once been. The half-elf had twirled to the side and her leg was fast aproaching the back of the elf's knee in a hook.

But the woman was pained and groggy, though the pain in her hand seemed to have subsided somewhat, at least to a bearable standard, Luca couldn't move as fast as she usually could. And she would need every bit of speed she could muster.

Caranthir jumped and spun, his thin blade coming around in a wide arc. Luca fell with the momentum of her kick, coming to slide onto the ground with one leg under her.

He spun his sword in his hand, Caranthir came in fast, the tip of the shamshir leading. Luca rolled, but her leg bent under her was not quick enough and the back of her calf got in the blades way. The shamshir cut through the soft leather boot like a bird through water then dug into her leg.

Luca continued her roll, but the deep cut was already too much pain to stand when included with the illusion of her burning hand at the stinging of her face. If the half-elf had bothered to look around, she would have noticed that Caranthir no longer blocked an escape into the street. But Luca didn't even bother to stand or fight back as the pale man aproached her form on the ground, his sword raised for the killing blow.

"Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life"

[Benjo]

"I warned you...!" Benjo called as he let go of the string, sending the arrow right trough the man´s right shoulder. The tip was slim and penetrated clothing and body easily, stick out on the other side almost a hand´s breadth. At least he wouldn´t be able to wield his sword for sometime...

Ben quickly strung another arrow into his bow. "The next one will hit better, i promise...!"

Don´t talk unless you have to, don´t laugh unless you want to.

[Aryia en Evasha]

It turned out that Aryia`en's assumptions about quiet and calm had been wrong again.

No sooner had she taken but a few steps of her intended stroll down the street, a pained cry reached her ear, and her keen elven hearing told her that the cry was from one of the little alleys that branched out from the street. The important question was which one. Knowing it certainly to be forward and not behind her, Aryia`en took wide strides ahead, when another sharp cry reached her ear again, this time louder and more distinct. Female. Fear. Pain. This time it was clear where the cry had come from, a seemingly dark and innocous-looking alley to her immediate right.

Aryia`en turned into the alley just in time to hear a young male voice sound out, "The next one will hit better, i promise...!" In front of her was a shadowy figure -- from the looks of it, a dark elf -- towering menacingly over -- The waif from the market street! A leg of hers was bleeding. The dark elf's right shoulder was pierced by an arrow, but he seemed to have no intention of halting his raised sword's intended slash.

There was no time to think. A life was at stake. A quick flick of Aryia`en's left hand brought a shower of tiny, sharp wooden needles upon the dark elf figure -- if he did not shun them, he would surely be blinded, or be dumbed from a damaged throat. The simultaneous motion of Aryia`en's right hand unfurled her Scourge from her waist, and a strong lash sent the twelve bladed ends of her whip fanning out towards the dark elf.  

[Luca the Thief]

Caranthir had barely broken a sweat and now, after over 30 years of trying to track down a friendless half-elf, he would become one of the most powerful men on Aeruillin. He was amazed at how much Luca had grown though. Last time the dark elf had seen her, she had been an abandoned waif with no past and no future. But now, Caranthir couldn't help but almost...respect...such a woman. Luca had grown into a strong, independant and even attractive woman.

But this was no time for sympathy, so Caranthir shook away his thoughts and brought his sword down upon the helpless young woman. But his continuous motion was suddenly halted by a blurred streak cutting in front of his vision and a stinging sensation in his right shoulder. The dark elf let out a feral growl and stared at his impaled right shoulder.

But the pain was numbed by his rage. Caranthir's gaze shot up to glare at the young man, another bow readied. He pulled the arrow unmercifully from his shoulder, leaving a gaping and open wound.

Luca lay, staring up at the elf's impaled shoulder in surprise and horror. Humans are such stupid things. But they are awfully useful things when their stubborness seems to eliminate the presence of concious thought she thought, her usual optimistic outlook not escaping her for a moment.

Caranthir's left hand reached into his cloak and withdrew three throwing daggers, one between each finger. He let all three fly towards the human archer with a single snap of his wrist, tossing the sword to his now free hand at the same moment. Snatching up the shamshir, the dark elf moved to strike again at Luca, allowing his throwing daggers to do their purpose, but his killing blow was yet again interupted.

He cried out angrilly as his face met stinging blow after stinging blow. Caranthir wrenched back, his hands meeting to pull out the first few pins from his cheek and blocking the rest with a metal gauntlet.

The dark elf let out another wail as he felt ten of the vicious scourge's tails bite relentlessly at him. Caranthir batted the whips away with his blade and took a step towards this new arrival.

But he had underestimated the prowess of his first victim. Luca, bleeding, dizzy and confused, spun on her back and hooked her free leg around his ankles. Caranthir's feet were taken from under him and his breath knocked from his chest as he struck the cold hard floor of the alley.

Luca jumped up and hobbled into the street, dragging her bleeding leg along for the ride behind her and leaving a mottled trail of blood behind her. But her vision was blurred by red hot tears that stung as they smeared down her face. She was so tired...so dizzy from pain and bloodloss. Sleep was calling to her. Fingers of darkness beckoned for her to fall into a deep hole....and Luca could no longer resist. The half-elf obeyed, and soon the road was falling up to meet her and Luca fell into unconciousness.

"Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life"

Edited by: Luca the Thief  at: 1/13/04 1:50

[Aryia en Evasha]

((OOC: Since i'm posting first, i'm going to assume that you ducked the three knives that were hurled at you with ease Ben ...))

Everything was a blur of cries, the clash of weapons and blood. Aryia`en was impressed that the dark elf figure had managed to withstand both her pins and a lash of her scourge. A lesser opponent would have been struck down and sent Queprur's way by now. She had no time to intercept the three knives that he tossed towards the young human male besides her, but it was unneeded, as the young human artfully avoided the onslaught.

About to send her Scourge towards the dark elf figure for a final, lethal blow, Aryia`en hesitated but for a split second as Luca tripped the dark elf. Luca's subsequently scramble by her out into the main street blocked her from dealing her final blow to the dark elf figure who was now lying face down on the ground.

Her gaze trailing the trail of blood that Luca had left after her, Aryia`en made a snap decision, That foolish waif! Where did she think she was going? Not far with such an injury!

Aryia`en took a quick glance at the young human male besides her, and then at the dark elf sprawled on the floor. The young human male could easily finish off the dark elf. A life was at stake.

Her mind made up, Aryia`en made a quick turn, and strode after Luca, who had fallen unconscious on the ground.

Aryia`en stooped down, one hand simultaenously reaching into one of her pouches, grabbing out a cluster of different herbs that were tied together. They worked as a kind of herbal smelling salts, and Aryia`en held the cluster close to Luca's nose.  

Edited by: Aryia en Evasha at: 1/13/04 4:54

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