The Princess and the Blade

[Emora Deen]

Tenara held the book, balancing it in one arm as she traced the rune with the same hand she held her piece of bread. She chewed a bit more and then said, “Thvoros, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

She looked from the book to his gesture and then the boat. “Wind?” She put the bread down on the page and then opened her palm, blowing across her skin towards him.

She could see him clearer now in the daylight, see the horns stretching out of his head, like some frightening crown. His eyes were absolutely unnerving, but not as frightening as they'd been in the dark. She lowered her hand, taking up the bread again. "Is there a spell in here that will allow us to understand each other?" She tossed the stale bread off the boat, and it was immediately scooped up by a very vocal bird.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon pointed again to the spell, and then her, and then the floor. "Cast it here. So we can talk properly," he said, the snarl from the night before edging back into his voice. "Damn it. There's got to be marking stones in here." He left her with the book and stomped down into the cabin, looking for something she could draw with. He spotted the coals from the previous night's fire and came up to find her. "Draw it with the charcoal," he called, pointing back at the stove.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara hesitated a moment, piecing together his movements. "Okay..." she said, placing the book on the deck and heading back into the cabin. She looked around before reaching into the stove. The coals were hot, and she stung her hands on a few until she found one at the edge that was cool enough to touch, but still a little warm in her hands. She had to bounce it from palm to palm, blowing as she came back up top.

She sank down on her knees and began to copy the drawing in the book. It took her several minutes to get it exact, and when she was finished she sat back on her heals, admiring her work before adding one final line.

"There," she said. "I don't think we need more wind but I'll trust your judgement. Now, what?"

[Soran Nightblade]

His gold eyes gleamed as he watched her finish the sigil. If he wasn't mistaken, they needed to stand together inside it and speak an incantation. He stepped over the line she'd drawn, and beckoned for her to join him inside the narrow circle. He realized a bit too late how close they would need to be to fit together inside. This woman had been terrified of him the night before.

"Come," he asked her, attempting to soften his tone to not sound overly intimidating. He was out of practice with such things. His usual intention was the opposite.

[Emora Deen]

She tilted her head at him, watching as he stepped into the circle and curled his hand as a signal for her to come into it with him. She hesitated, looking at the book and the image she'd drawn, and then meeting his eyes.

She didn't know what she'd drawn... and he'd asked her to draw it. She remembered she didn't know anything about him or where he'd come from or why the sorcerer had summoned him. And the son of Shea, to be exact. Nothing he could want would be good for her or the world.

She didn't trust him. But he hadn't hurt her so far, and there had been chances... She thought about his claw buried in the book last night. Maybe he just needed her for this and then he'd kill her?

She wasn't certain how long she took to decide, but she took a shaking step forward into the space. She was alone in a country that would do her no favors. She couldn't afford to make enemies with someone who had, quite literally, swallowed her magic whole. She could sort out escaping or ending him later. She stood so close she might have touched him if he were not incorporeal. Her chest brushed the near-translucentness of his. "Okay..." she said, clearing her throat to keep it from shaking.

[Soran Nightblade]

"Together," he said, as calmly as possible under the circumstances. "En riem kralis." He paused, and had to look steeply downward to meet her eyes at this uncomfortable distance. "En riem kralis."

[Emora Deen]

Her jaw clenched. She stared up at him, feeling a cold wind blow over her. A shiver ran through her, and she wasn't certain if it was the cold or a foreboding feeling she had at hearing the alien words. It seemed he wanted her to say them to and everything in her said not to speak them. What would he do if she didn't? She thought of her family, of home, and how much she wanted to be back. To be the in the safety of her fathers' presence. Maybe, if she said them, if she helped him, he would take her home... and then her family could help her decide what to do with him.

She took a deep breath. "En... riem... kralis."

[Soran Nightblade]

He waited, chest to chest, quietly for something to happen. Nothing happened. "Do you understand?" he asked carefully.

[Emora Deen]

"Was something supposed to happen?" she asked him, confusion creasing her brow. She looked down. "Did I mess it up?"

[Soran Nightblade]

"Shit," he muttered. Her words were still alien to him. Had he misread something? He backed out of the circle and went back to the book in an impatient huff. His clawed finger traced the page, reviewing the requirements again. Both of them had to be entirely within the circle. A nauseating thought struck him. Was it because he wasn't fully formed? He didn't want to acknowledge it, but if what he'd read was true...

"Does that need to be in with us as well?" he muttered. Just the thought of it made his hair stand on end. He didn't want to acknowledge the possibility that he might not have a body anymore. He might just be a lost soul bound to a piece of steel. He was in an alien world. The fool who summoned him was dead. Even if someone here knew how to fix this, he had no leverage to convince them to. Suddenly, communicating felt completely pointless in perspective with everything else.

He glared at the book in his hands and worked to control his growing alarm. His voice was low as he turned back to the woman. "Can you bring the sword?" He gestured to a fake scabbard at his hip, as if drawing a weapon. "Bring it here," he pointed to the circle again."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara understood immediately, only because he was getting very good at signing what he wanted. She held up a finger, signaling she'd be a moment, and went down below deck again. It took her a minute to find the sword buried and tangled in the covers. She came back out, standing just outside the circle again, holding the hilt in one hand and the blade angled down along her leg.

She winced at a healthy gust of frigid wind, eyeing him and the circle and then the sword. Was this her second chance to back out?

"Please, don't kill me," she said to him strongly, and took her step into the circle, brushing up against his ghostly form again. She held the sword in her hand, and repeated the words he'd asked her to say earlier, praying with everything she had that it was the right choice. That he wouldn't turn solid and tear out her spine.

[Soran Nightblade]

He spoke the words alongside her, chest to chest, and this time, a humming sound started up in his head, growing steadily louder and louder. It had just reached the point of becoming painful to the point where he thought about jumping back out of the circle when the noise abruptly cut out. The absence of sound left a ringing sensation in his ears as if he'd just been struck in the head. "Damned Svuras lunatics," he snarled as he half-stumbled out of the sigil. "Should've known better than to follow a spellbook written by nutjobs."

[Emora Deen]

She laughed at the sound of his voice, not because it sounded strange, but because she understood him. She shook off the sensation in her mind, worming her free hand against her ear as she did. "I understood that! Is that what it was for? So we could understand each other? I think they knew what they were doing, whatever a Svuras is..."

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon broke from his thoughts and stared back at the woman. She was speaking his language, or at least it sounded like she was. Her voice, speaking in his tongue, held a faint accent that was surprisingly melodic. He stared straight into her eyes and considered barraging her with the overflowing list of questions he had about this place, about her, about the person who summoned him.

Instead, what emerged was a low inquiry. "Your injuries?"

[Emora Deen]

She blinked at the question, looking down at her body swallowed in the sorcerer’s stolen robe. She touched her chest lightly. “Healed...” She lifted the sword slightly, nodding to it. “It’s as if it can’t hurt me now… Well, it can but only temporarily.” She frowned at the sword, remembering the pain of it plunging into her chest and spine, the feel of all her blood pouring out of her. “I’m fine, I’m just a little… lighter.”

She glanced at him. “And… you?”