Monsters and Men, Part 1

It's late. The sun set hours ago, and the chill wind has kept most indoors. But Malik is still out, dressed for the weather, that thin, deadly-looking sword strapped to his hip, even if the bow is nowhere to be seen at the moment.

The market at this time of night is just as alive as is it during the day, even in the chill. But the wares that are sold here at this time tend to be of a much different sort -- less reputable, with a more questionable provenance. The guards learned long ago not to come to this part of the city at this time short of an actual emergency, either through force of threat or the greasing of palms.

Malik makes his way through the dark, cloak flowing behind him in the wind as he goes. Unlike at other times of day, he moves as if on a mission, eyeing some of the wares as he passes, stopping here and there to chat in whispered tones with some of the vendors, the occasional copper or silver changing hands as mysterious packets are put in his satchel.

In such a place as this, one figure is as out of place as a dove in a flock of starlings. As is usual for him in the city, Seldan has eschewed the armor, but a longsword that is much heavier than Malik's thin weapon and of much older origin sits on his own left hip. The robe still hangs over the shirt and trousers, but a blue and silver traveler's cloak is pulled over all and the hood is up against the chill. Despite the hood, the figure is immediately identifiable as an outsider to such a place as this.

He strides through the market, occasionally looking at the vendor here or there, but never for long. His focus is elsewhere as he makes his way back to Malik's.

Malik finishes his transaction, getting ready to turn away. But that blue cloak catches his eye. Seldan definitely looks out of place, and the man is easy to spot even for one that hasn't spent as much time looking at him as Malik has. The wizard tucks whatever last mystery thing he's purchased into the satchel, turning to move toward his friend.

But as he does, his expression becomes more serious. His footsteps pick up their pace, looking directly at Seldan, and his lips press together in a look of deep concentration. And then one of anger. His hand moves to the hilt of his sword as his footsteps become an all-out run, heading directly for the paladin, and not slowing down.

As any adventurer or swordsman, Seldan's eyes see the threat first. It's the footsteps that he hears first, but as he turns towards the running footsteps, a figure is charging out of the dark, directly at him! He moves to sidestep the much faster man, but as he does so, an arcane word and a quickly-drawn pair of runes in the air coalesce as a greasy, slick spot on the cobblestones, only a few feet away from him and yet directly in the runner's path.

Malik sees the man casting the spell. Doesn't have time to stop his momentum. All he really has time to do is shout, "MOVE!" as SEldan is sidestepping, casting that spell on the ground. There's a small curse as he almost loses his footing, but as he moves closer, it's clear enough that he's not moving directly at Seldan -- but looking at something behind him. With little other choice, he throws his full weight across the slippery surface, boot connecting with something heavy just past where SEldan is standing -- and which goes flying over the slick surface, thudding into a wall heavily. Malik manages to keep his footing, but being unable to move, he does about the only thing he can think of -- he tosses that needle-thin sword at the point of the wall where the unseen thing hit, a thin trail of blood appearing on the wall as a cry echoes out from the empty air.

Suddenly, the nature of what is going on becomes much clearer, and finally Seldan is close enough to see a flash of face - it's Malik! The unseen thing, though, has his attention now, and he pulls his own sword with a rasp of metal and leather on metal. "What in-?" Warily, he watches the figure by the wall, blade still out, with only an occasional glance at Malik.

Malik steps forward, carefully, the ground still slippery. Moving to retrieve his sword, he pulls it out with a jerking motion, pointing it at the wall. "Drop it," he says to the air, holding out his hand. A small coin purse appears from apparently nowhere -- one that Seldan might recognize as his own. Malik tosses it back to the man, sword still pointing. "Thanks," he tells the air. "But not what I meant."

It takes a moment, but suddenly, a young man is against the wall, Malik's sword-point to his throat. The spell that was concealing him abandoned, now that the game is up. Malik doesn't look over his shoulder, but calls back over to Seldan, "Check yourself for cuts, or anything unusual."

Without thinking, Seldan moves to catch the purse, automatically checking its contents as well as its structure for holes, tears, or cuts. He raises an eyebrow at Malik, but does as instructed, checking himself over carefully, especially including all magical items. Now that the game is up, he dismisses the grease on the cobblestones with another arcane gesture, and moves to join the pair, tucking the retrieved coin purse inside his short beneath the robe.

Malik finally looks over to Seldan as he joins the pair, ensuring that everything is alright. "Not an assassin, then," he says, looking a little relieved. But the voice hardens a bit as he puts the tiniest bit of weight into the sword, making the stranger wince a bit and press his back to the wall. "Just a thief. I'm almost disappointed." He shakes his head, looking to Seldan. "You'd think that magic would make them better at this, but somehow, it just makes them worse. Lazy. He must have studied under the same tutor as Erendriel."

Seldan certainly seems unharmed, though his sword is still in his hand and he stares down at the thief. He isn't actually pointing it, though. "He was good enough to take me unawares," he admits. "You have sharp eyes, Malik. I would not have known. There are many such, who find it easier to steal than make an honest living."

Seldan certainly seems unharmed, though his sword is still in his hand and he stares down at the thief. He isn't actually pointing it, though. "He was good enough to take me unawares," he admits. "You have sharp eyes, Malik. I would not have known. There are many such, who find it easier to steal than make an honest living. Abuse of Her gifts to aid them only makes it that much worse."

Malik nods his agreement, though he pulls his eyelid down a bit, allowing Seldan to see the glowing ring around the iris. "Never come to the market at night without a way to see what someone doesn't want me to." So a spell, then, to pierce the invisible. "It takes quite a bit of skill to pull off a spell like that. I think he chose the wrong profession." But the man against the wall just closes his eyes, swallowing hard, before choking out, "I'm not a thief."

The clothes the man wears aren't exactly noble, by any means, but they're a bit more expensive than what you might see someone in this part of town wearing. It looks as if a man with at least basic means was attempting to dress down a bit, to play a part. Too nice for the slums, but too plain for the nobility, and not the sort of thing that a typical thief might wear.

"Then what are you, and who are you?" Seldan's blade is still in his hand, and the man's pleas get a stare that is not quite impassive. "And why did you steal my coin purse?" He studies Malik's eyes for a moment, then nods his understanding before turning back to the young man. "Explain yourself."

Malik's sword, on the other hand, is still definitely pointed. But he's quiet, for now, as Seldan is asking questions. The young man, too, is quiet, though a bit more pressure with the blade gets him talking. "I'm a student," he tells them. An answer which, at least, gets him a bit of a reprieve from the bite of the metal. "Of the Society of Progressive Arcanists." Malik snorts a bit at the name, but holds his tongue for now.

THe man continues, "And -- I need the money to help my sister," he explains. "She's sick." Malik raises his eyebrows a bit, looking dubious. "That's the best you can do?" he asks the man. "That's probably the most amateur excuse there is."

Seldan is a little bit more patience, although there's a snap in his eyes that says his patience is wearing thin. He finally does level the sword at the man, although not close enough to hurt him unless he lunges. "And so instead of earning the money through honest pursuits that you clearly have the skill to do, or simply asking for help, you instead steal from others by night, abusing the Dreamer's holy gifts to further your laziness." He relents, then, relaxing a little bit, although he sword point does not lower. "My own mother lies stricken with plague. I am not without sympathy for you. But, there are better ways to be about their aid. I will take him back to the Arcanists, Malik, and you may come or stay as you will. My thanks once again for your sharp eyes."

Malik lowers the point of his sword, a touch, taking it away from the skin at least. He looks like he's about to put it away entirely when the man speaks again. "There isn't -time-," he protests. Looking to Malik, this time, he says, "It's mana fever."

Suddenly, Malik's sword is at the man's throat again, eyes wide. "That," he says, voice carrying an edge of warning, "is -not- something that you lie about. Not to me."

The other man just holds his ground. "To the best of my knowledge, it's the only thing it can be."

Malik shakes his head. "Bullshit," he answers. "Not this far south. No." But Seldan knows the wizard enough to know that Malik isn't convinced. Not at all. If anything, the man seems to be trying to assure -himself-, rather than anyone else.

"Malik, if what he says is true, then an innocent life is in danger. Time enough later to determine how such a thing came to be here." Seldan takes the edge of his blade, and gently nudges Malik's aside. "Stand," he tells the boy. "Where is your sister? Who else knows of this?"

Malik allows his sword to be pressed to the side, though his lips are pressed together, face a hard mask. He nods to Seldan, putting the sword away as he steps back enough to let the man stand. "If you're lying, and this is a trap," he warns, "you'll wish my friend had simply taken you back to the Arcanists." But he stands aside, letting the man lead them.

The trip isn't far. STudents of the guild spend most of their money on scrolls and spell components, learning the basics of education. The place that he takes them isn't much better than Malik and Seldan's home, though he's done similar steps to make it liveable.

In the bed, a young woman, about the man's age, lies with her eyes closed, breathing harsh and ragged. Her skin is pale, with splotches of gray, making her look half-dead already -- barely more than a slightly warm corpse.

The young man just points to the girl, shaking his head. "Nobody else knows," he tells the pair. "I haven't dared to tell anyone. Not until I could afford the spells at the temples."

It doesn't take much to see that the woman needs help, now. Seldan pauses only long enough to look back at Malik, to gauge his reaction, before turning back to the boy. "We go to Telmentar's temple. Now. I will pay for her healing, if you will give me your word that never again will you use magic to thieve from or harm others." He pauses, ice-blue eyes steady on the boy, waiting expectantly.

Malik puts a hand on Seldan's arm, holding the man in place firmly. But Seldan can see that all the color has drained from his face now, his own skin almost as pale as the Myrrish man's.

"How long?" Malik asks, the words only barely making it out of his throat, which seems to have turned into a desert.

"Five days," the boy answers. "Maybe six."

Malik swallows hard, fingers tightening on Seldan's arm. "Pull back the sheet." He fixes his own ocean-blue eyes on the boy. It's clearly not a suggestion.

The boy hesitates, though. As if he has to screw up his own courage to do so. But finally, he takes a few halting steps forward, grabbing the edge of the sheet and pulling it down, slowly.

What that, reveals, however, is even more hideous -- the woman's arm has swollen to three times its original size, the fingers seemingly having disappeared into the flesh there. Instead, there are monstrous claws in their place that look like they can gut a man as easily as the other might open a door.

Malik's fingers dig into the flesh of Seldan's arm, no words coming out now. There's just a look of red-hot anger. And no small amount of pity.

Seldan starts and recoils at what has been done to the woman, but it isn't the boy he looks at almost immediately. Nor is it the woman. It is Malik that he turns on as the latter grips him hard enough to leave bruises, but not in anger. There is a wellspring of compassion in his eyes, in his expression, and in the other hand that reaches over to cover the digging fingers. "Malik." He may not know what this is, but what he does know is that action is needed. Now. "Malik. We will find the answers, but she is the only one who can tell us how she came by this. There will be no answers until she has been healed, and if we do not move swiftly, it will be too late. If you would stop this, if you would give her a chance to survive, let us go, and swiftly." He keeps his voice low, steady, and as encouraging as he can make it.

"Getting rid of the disease won't undo the damage," Malik tells Seldan. Or maybe the boy. Or maybe he's just trying to work it through in his own head. "Not to her body. Certainly not what it's already done to her mind. And what it will do to anything that remains, should she be forced to keep living like this."

But he lets go of Seldan's arm, now, seeming to realize how tightly he's holding onto it. It's clear enough that one of them, at least, has some experience with this affliction. And certainly not good ones.

But he steps aside, letting Seldan do whatever he decides to do, looking ready to help if asked -- but not moving closer until then. "Be careful," he tells the pair. "She can easily hurt you. Even if she doesn't intend to. She's likely in a great deal of pain already."

"Then the very least we can do for her is to stop it from getting worse." Seldan may not have as much experience with it, but he is listening, nodding at what Malik says. "Once the disease is gone, we will learn what we can." He's keeping that low, encouraging tone. "Malik, I know this is hard for you. I cannot imagine what manner of atrocity you have seen. But - you cannot help her if we do not act, and if we do not learn how she came by this affliction, how can we stop it from afflicting others?" His fair forearm has bright red marks where Malik gripped it, but he ignores that for now, instead looking back down at the woman. "I think it safer not to move her. If she is in pain, moving her will not help, and it may make her lash out. We go to Telmentar's temple, and seek assistance. I will try to bring them here."

The boy hasn't said anything, so far. He just looks down at his sister with sympathy. THey're close enough in age and features that they might be twins. But it's clear that helping her is beyond whatever skills he has, just looking to Seldan and Malik.

Malik is quiet for a moment, too, listening to what Seldan has to say. But he eventually nods, moving toward the door. "Then we need to hurry," he says, cryptically. Looking over his shoulder, he tells the boy, "It's best if you wait here. Outside."

And with that, he slips out into the night, steps taking him toward the Temple district.